Page 3 of One Bad Knight

When he left, I sighed and my shoulders relaxed. I didn’t realize they’d gotten all scrunched up. Then I raced to the kitchen door leading to the outside. No sign of the boy. He wasn’t in the tree, either.

I couldn’t fit the boy in the shoebox under my bed, but he was my biggest and best secret.

….

The next night,he was there again. Waiting, watching from the tree. It took less convincing to get him to join me this time. I got him to try hot chocolate finally, and he immediately wanted three more cups. By the third one he looked positively green in the face, and I had to keep my giggles quiet.

It went on that way the entire week. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, too excited for both my birthday and my new secret friend. Every night, I’d find him there in the tree and he’d leave before dawn.

I showed him all my toys, but he seemed particularly drawn to the picture of me and my parents by my bed. I picked it up and kissed it, explaining my mom died four years ago and I missed her so much it hurt. But she was an angel in heaven now. From his serious expression, I guessed his mommy was in heaven too, though I didn’t know for sure.

Another night I took him into the living room to show him our new kittens. While petting one of the little tabbies, I explained we had to give them all away but weren’t they cute?

He regarded the small fluff balls with a serious expression. When I handed him a kitten, panic crossed his face.

“You’ll be okay. Just pet them gently, like this.” I took his hand and showed him how.

“What do you use them for?” he asked. It was the first time I heard him speak. My stomach somersaulted, and I instantly wanted to hear his voice again.

“Use them for?” I asked. Wasn’t it obvious? “You love them.”

Something I said must have upset him because his face closed off from me. He bent over the kitten he held and continued to pet it the way I showed him.

I leaned in and dropped a kiss on the kitten’s head. It let out a tiny mewl.

Mimicking me, the boy kissed the kitten’s head and it mewled again. I got another one of those lopsided, “almost” smiles. My heart fluttered again. We took turns leaning over and kissing the kitten’s head, until our faces bumped into each other.

Rubbing my forehead, I laughed too loud. I clapped my hand over my mouth and his eyes followed the movement. When I eventually dropped my hand, he continued to stare. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine.

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. It was quick and warm. I’d seen people kiss on TV, but it felt different from what I thought it would. It was squishier. But I liked it. I couldn’t stop grinning at him, and he gave me an even more lopsided smile. In the morning, I wrote three whole pages in my diary about it. It had been the best week ever.

* * *

The nightbefore my birthday I practically sprung out of bed. I made the boy promise to come back at midnight when it was officially my birthday. We could celebrate together. I was going to show him my secret shoebox. Maybe even let him read a couple pages out of my diary if he wanted, but I would choose which ones.

I tied on my pink robe and tried to do everything I could to distract myself, but time moved impossibly slow. Not even my sketchbook could hold my attention, so I went around the room, rearranging my toys.

Five minutes before midnight, I heard something boom. The sound had come from all the way downstairs.

Maybe my dad had come home. He hadn’t been home most nights, making it easier to sneak around with my big secret.

I didn’t bother being quiet as I went down the stairs. Another crash, and I broke into a run, wanting to catch what was happening. Light spilled out from under my dad’s office doors, so I pushed them open.

I froze, eyes widening as I tried to take everything in. Papers and books were strewn everywhere. Broken statues from the shelves were scattered on the throw rug. The double doors leading to the back terrace were wide open, the sheer curtains flapping almost violently as the breeze swept through.

My father lay slumped over his desk and the boy stood next to him, covered in my father’s blood.

No. No, this wasn’t right. Everything was all wrong.

There was so much blood.

My father wasn’t moving. He should be moving. I didn’t like how still he was.

The curtains slapped against the doors even harder and a dark, monstrous shadow swelled from them. It floated into the office.

My skin turned to ice, and I couldn’t take a breath.

The dark mass twisted and turned over my father, as if inspecting him. The boy turned to look at the darkness, his lips thin and eyes hard. He wasn’t afraid.