Page 10

The darkness swallows me whole, tangling its thick tendrils around my wrists and ankles as I fight to escape. I teeter at the edge of consciousness, my arms and legs flexing and kicking to no avail as dense smoke glides over my body, the swirling midnight pulling me back down into its murky depths.

I jolt, my eyes blinking open, and I find myself standing in the dark hallway of my home.

The wind whips against the windows, the glass rattling along with the haunted howls, and I shiver, even though I’m wearing my favorite blue sweater and the brand-new jeans Mother purchased last week when she was out shopping with her friends.

Nana visited a few days ago and sewed a superhero patch on the right pant leg.

It’s so cool. She told me I was now a superhero myself.

It’s what I wanted for Christmas, but Mother said I was too old to play with action figures anymore.

But this is better than a toy because Nana said these pants are now magical.

“I’m only eleven, Nana. How can I be a superhero?” I gripped the jeans, my grubby fingers softly tracing the red cape. Mother was going to be so mad Nana ruined the pants.

But I love it.

“You only need to have a brave heart to be a hero, my darling Stevie.”

I look up, finding the face before me fuzzy, a light glowing behind her head. Nana? Why can’t I see you?

I miss Nana. She gives me the best hugs, outside of Emily, that is.

The floor moves beneath me, and I’m back in the scary hallway once more.

A large wail travels in from the outside and lighting flashes through the dark room in a streak of white.

My heart pounds in my chest just like the time Emily dared me to watch that scary movie about a ghost with her last Halloween.

She said the movie was for big kids and because she was thirteen, she wouldn’t be scared, but she said I would cry. I was buried in the blankets for half the movie, but I stuck through it, because I wasn’t going to lose the bet with Emily. And I didn’t cry at all.

A low rumble ripples through the hall. Squeezing my eyes shut, I put my fingers in my ears, knowing what’s about to come. A piece of paper I forgot I was holding flutters to the ground.

Don’t be scared, Steven. You’re eleven now. You aren’t allowed to be scared. You’re a Kingsley, and Kingsley men don’t let emotions get the best of them.

I keep repeating what Father told me two nights ago in the library before another piercing roar of thunder shakes the windows.

Whimpering, I curl myself into a ball on the floor and try not to cry, but tears fall down my cheeks, just like the rain outside.

My lips wobble and I scrunch up my nose, swipe my face, my heart pounding so fast I could barely breathe.

Father will be so disappointed if he sees me crying.

Taking a deep breath, I swallow a shriek when another bright flash of light floods the hallway, followed by a clap of thunder.

I can do this. I’m a Kingsley. I’m a big kid now, not a baby.

Gritting my teeth, I curl my hands into fists and stand up tall even as the branches from the trees smash against the windows and the wind lets out a painful scream.

I hurry to pick up the paper from the ground and pad down the carpeted floor, wishing Jess or even Emily were here, but they’re both at a sleepover with their friends.

If Emily were here, she’d probably turn on all the lights in the house because she’s afraid of the dark too. And she doesn’t care if Mother or Father yells at her. She’s brave that way. Or if Jess were here, she’d give me a big, warm hug.

Fumbling in the dark, I refuse to turn on the lights because I want to show Father and Mother I’m a big boy now, not a little kid. I’m not afraid.

I walk down the stairs, my hand touching the wall so I don’t trip and fall down. Father should be in the office right now. He always works at night after he comes home from his company. He probably wouldn’t want me interrupting him, but he’d be happy if he sees my test scores.

Maybe he’d tell me good job or give me a hug.

I really want a hug right now.

Clutching the paper tighter in my hand, I puff out my chest, thinking how Mrs. Davis told the class earlier today I had the best score on the math test. She gave me a gold star.

Everyone in class clapped, even Derek the big, mean bully who smelled like sour pickles all the time.

I can’t wait until Father sees the test. Mrs. Davis even wrote “Excellent job” on top of the paper.

He’d be so happy with me. Maybe then it’d be okay for me to ask him for a hug because I’m scared, or to stay with him in the office while the storm is outside.

Maybe he’d play a game of dominoes with me or read me a story.

The office door is open and a warm light shines from within. I walk past the dark living room and poke my head through the doorway.

“Father?”

Frowning, I look around the bright room, seeing Father’s tall wooden desk full of binders and papers, all neatly organized in straight stacks, and his big computer screen turned on. He always said being organized is the key to success and failure always comes to those who let their guard down.

His favorite mug, an old cup with a big letter R and a palm print on it, has steam coming out, but he isn’t here. Mother hates the cup and says it’s ugly and she wants to buy him a new one, but he always tells her it’s his favorite mug and not to touch it.

“Please, don’t do this.”

Noises filter in from the outside—a screech of a monster. A bloodcurdling scream. I inch toward the living room, a shriek tearing from my mouth as I find myself suddenly in the dark pools of the sea. I find her swimming toward me. A predator.

She’s a monster, grotesque with red eyes and a shapeless form. She’s ruling the ocean with her tentacles and venom. She’s approaching and I’m frozen in place.

Swim, Steven. Swim away. Don’t chase after it.

The monster opens her mouth, hundreds of razor-sharp teeth gleaming in front of my face, and I close my eyes and scream—

I jolt awake, my lungs drawing in oxygen like I just broke through the surface of the water right before my breath ran out. Sweat beads my forehead.

A dream, it’s only a dream.

The winds wail outside the windows, sounding eerily like that night all those years ago. My heart races inside my chest as the sounds wrap themselves inside me, once again restricting my airway, and I’m drawn back into an old memory I wish were only a dream.

“Please, don’t do this.”

Noises filtered in from the outside—they sounded like a woman’s cries.

A thumping echoed loudly in my ears and I gripped my test tighter to my chest as I quietly followed the sounds, which seemed to come from the direction of the living room.

My feet stumbled and I caught myself on the side of the big couch and winced, my toe hurting when I stubbed it on the floor.

My eyes burned, the tears making them blurry, and I wanted to pinch myself for almost crying again.

I thought I heard wailing and screaming as I climbed onto the big blue reading chair by the living room window so I could pull the thick curtain aside and peek outside to the front lawn.

“Just leave them, please. Come with us,” a tall lady cried as she grabbed Father’s arm. “Please, just come with us. You know you want to.”

A little girl was hugging her waist. She was so small I almost didn’t see her in the dark. The skies were pitch black tonight and the only light came from a small lamp by the front door .

The rain was pouring and water glided over the windows like I was underwater in a submarine. I pressed my face against the cool glass and held my breath, even though they probably couldn’t hear me.

The lady was wet, like she took a shower with her clothes on, but she didn’t seem to care.

An umbrella laid on the ground, twisted and out of shape.

Her dress was sticking to her skin, and I could only think how Mother wouldn’t ever let that happen to her clothes.

She said her dresses were too expensive and we needed to be careful when we hugged her to not make them dirty.

Father’s head was bowed down, and his hands were on the lady’s shoulders. He was shaking, like he was freezing, and I looked around the room, seeing if I could find another umbrella or his jacket. Father’s dress shirt stuck to him too, like he had been standing out in the rain for a long time.

Father looked up, his hands traveling from the lady’s arms to her face. His body was still trembling even as he shook his head. He glanced up toward the sky, even though there was nothing up there tonight. There were no stars, no moon, only rain and lightning.

A flash of bright light was followed by the loud clap of thunder, and I huddled closer to the window, even though I really wanted to duck and curl into a ball, but I didn’t, because I wanted to know why Father was out there with this strange lady and little girl.

And why he looked so sad.

In the few seconds when the night sky lit up by the flash of lightning, I saw Father’s face. He wasn’t shivering because he was wet and cold.

He was crying. Crying so hard, I could barely tell his tears apart from the rain.

My eyes burned and a thick lump formed in my throat. I tried swallowing, but it wouldn’t go away.

I’d never seen Father cry before. He was always so calm, so serious, and even when I cried, he’d tell me to wipe the tears away and be strong, because Kingsley men didn’t have weaknesses.

Because emotions were for weaklings. My lips wobbled as I saw Father choking back his tears, his sobs loud, like someone was tearing him up from the inside.

Swiping my arm on my wet cheeks, I curled my hands into fists, wanting to run out there to push the lady away from Father. Because she made him cry, and Father never cried before. I scampered off the chair, my hands wiping my eyes furiously because my tears wouldn’t stop falling, and—