Page 497 of Flirting with Darkness

LOVELY DARKNESS

MAY DAWSON

1

TEN YEARS AGO

He only ever came out when it was raining.

There were no other children outside those days. Everyone else was tucked away in their houses that lined the broad street, with rose bushes planted around the mailboxes and big oak trees planted in the median.

The houses were all frilly Victorians, like something out of a storybook. In the wintertime, twinkling, white lights glowed from all the trees. In the summertime, red-white-and-blue bunting hung from the porch railings. The houses were just far enough apart no one could hear a child scream.

I always tried to be out of the house, and even in the rain, I would come home from school and tiptoe through the big quiet house, hang my backpack on its hook and slip on my raincoat and my pink Jelly boots. I’d slip out into the rain, which seemed to seep up through the thick coat of green grass in the backyard.

At the back of the yard, the grass gave way to forest, trees that stood so close together that the woods rose like a wall. As soon as I stepped into those woods, the trees overhead seemed to close out the sky. The scent of flowers hung in the air, lush and dangerous. I couldn’t see any flowers. The breeze always seemed to pick up then, sending the sound of leaves skittering through the trees rising into the air, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching me.

So, I stayed in the yard. Just before the trees, as far from the house as they could put it, my parents had erected a treehouse and swing set. It was sturdy and enormous, and visitors always commented on what a lucky girl I was.

The first time he'd come, I thought he was one of the neighborhood boys, even though he didn’t look quite right. There had been something odd about him, his face blurred and forgettable even when I tried to look right at him. His dark curls seemed to flicker.

“Who are you?” I’d asked.

“Who are you?” he’d parroted back to me, sounding far ruder than I had.

“This is my yard,” I’d shot back.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “This is my forest.”

He was a little bit rude, but I was lonely. The other kids didn’t always include me in their games, and today no one was playing outside anyway.

In a more conciliatory tone, I said, “My name is Bethany.”

“You can call me Tor,” he said.

I’d slid off the swing and walked closer to him. I wanted to get a good look at his face, but the closer I got, the harder it seemed to see him.

“What are you doing?” he asked when I stopped right in front of him.

“I want to see what you look like.”

If I had said that to another, normal eleven-year-old boy, he probably would have told me to get my eyes checked. Tor was just a little taller than me, but somehow, he still managed to stare down at me.

“I doubt that very much,” he said in an even, low voice.

“Do you want to play?” I asked him. I’d been out here for a very long time, and I’d be out here for far longer still, and I was very bored. I was curious about him, but I didn’t want to risk having him go away again into the woods.

“Yes,” he said, smiling a little, and I caught a glimpse of unusually sharp teeth. “Yes, I want to play.”

An edge of fear bit into my stomach, and my chin lifted. Why did this boy make me nervous? He was just a little boy. A strange one, sure. But I was a strange kid myself.

“Let’s play tag,” I said, because part of me wanted to run away from him anyway.

“Tag?”

I frowned at him, thinking he was making fun of me but not quite sure. Afraid to answer in case he was teasing, I reached out and pushed his arm, then dashed away.

I turned back a dozen feet away, my heart pounding. He stared down at his arm for a second, then raised his eyes to me.

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