Defy the Dark (10 page)

“I don't want a show on the Discovery Channel!” I reach out and punch him in the upper arm, hard enough to make him wince. “I want to go
home
, you douchebag! That thing could
kill us
.”

Kelley shakes his head. “No way. It was pretty small, like one of those miniature collies.”

“But there's more than just one of them,” I say, remembering the rocking of the truck, the scraping of claws. How many “miniature collies” would it take to make a truck this big sway like that?

It's like he doesn't even hear me. “It ran this way, but if I can corner it . . .”

I lift my hands, wanting to wrench the steering wheel out of his hands. But as fast as we're going, that would probably crash us into a tree. Instead, I tuck my legs underneath me, rising on my knees to face him. “Kelley, listen to me. There are lots of these things. And I think they have claws, and it doesn't matter that they're small if there're hundreds of them.”

“There aren't hundreds, Sam. People would've seen them. And besides—HA! Got you, you little bastard!”

Something bounds into the headlights. Kelley's right—it's not very big. Maybe four feet long, and I can't tell how tall because it sort of leaps as it runs, almost like a deer. As it flees, it glances over its shoulder with a quick flare of red eyes. I catch sight of its long muzzle, and the briefest hint of teeth.

Lots of teeth.

Branches slap the windshield, the roof, the windows, as the truck flies over roots and rocks. I hang on to the strap by the door, but all that accomplishes is pulling a muscle in my shoulder. We're rocking back and forth, and my stomach is somewhere in my mouth, so even though my brain screams,
Stop stop STOP
, no words come out. There's a high-pitched whimpering coming from somewhere, and I suddenly realize it's
me.

Beside me, Kelley grips the wheel, his jaw set, his eyes focused right between the headlights. The thing's powerful hind legs flex as it bounds in front of us, moving in and out of the lights.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Kelley mutters under his breath, and I wonder if he's talking to the truck or to the thing.

The tree is there so suddenly that I don't have time to scream. I barely get out a gasp, and then we're slamming against the trunk of a towering oak. There's a crunch of metal, and the surprisingly loud
pop
of the airbags, but even over that, I hear that shriek/howl again. It's louder this time, and it rises in a cry of pain before trailing off. And then everything is quiet except for the tick of the engine, the creaking of the tree, and my own chattering teeth.

Kelley flings open the door and leaps out while I sit, shaking and staring at the thing pinned between the tree and the truck. Lying against the hood, mouth open, its long tongue is very pink against the dull silver paint. Its eyes are still open, and, the red slowly fades into nothingness.

Kelley leans over it, shaking his head as if he can't believe it. He meets my eyes through the windshield. “Holy crap, right?”

My legs are shaking. Getting out of the truck is hard for me, but I manage it. I walk across the back of the truck and come around to stand next to Kelley. He's still smiling when I reach out and punch him as hard as I can.

As his breath whooshes out and he doubles over, I stare at the ruined truck. There's no doubt that it's totaled, that it'll never get us out of here. And I focus on that, because it's a lot easier than wrapping my brain around the fact that monsters are real, and that Kelley has just killed one.

“Sam,” Kelley wheezes, “I'm sorry about this
—
”

“About what exactly? The leaving me alone part? Or ignoring when I said I wanted to leave? About
ramming your truck into a tree like a lunatic
?”

“All of it,” he replies, and he does look sorry. Then that grin again. “But come on. You have to admit this is pretty badass.”

“I want to go home,” I say for what feels like the thousandth time. I think about my phone, probably dead by now, somewhere in the truck. I wonder what time it is. I wonder if it's past 11:30, and if Linds is worried about me.

Kelley heaves a sigh. “We will. Let me just call . . . I don't know, my dad, I guess.”

While Kelley reaches into his pocket for his phone, I slump to the ground, leaning against one of the tires. It's hot against my back. Kelley is lit up in the glow of his phone as he turns it on, so I can see the panic that darts across his face. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I don't have a signal.”

I laugh. The noise startles Kelley and he glares as giggles pour out of me. “Of course,” I gasp. “Of course you don't have a signal! And mine is dead!
Of course
that happens when we're trapped in a monster-filled forest!”

“Jesus, Sam, calm down. You sound crazy.”

That just makes me laugh harder. “Oh, right, I'm crazy. You just totaled your car chasing down a freaking
chupacabra
, and
I'm
crazy.”

Kelley scowls. “You know—” he starts, and then whatever he was going to say trails off as he stares into the trees. I follow his gaze.

Monsters are real, so maybe that means other bizarre stuff is real, too. Stuff like time travel. Or wishes.

I wish now. I wish to go back to the Sam I was just a few hours ago, the Sam leaving stupid Smart-N-Sav with her best friend. I wish Kelley Hamilton hadn't come to get me tonight. I wish that I had gone home with Linds, and texted my boyfriend, and never known how truly terrifying the world could be.

I wish, and I watch as two, then four, then dozens of red eyes start to glow in the darkness.

Valerie Kemp

Stillwater

N
othing ever changes in Stillwater. Nothing. I get up every morning at the crack of dawn, in the blazing heat, and drive our pickup all over, delivering eggs and milk and whatever else my daddy feels like selling, to the good people of Stillwater, population 319.

I work my way in a circle from the edge of town, where we live, to the center. I endure all the little old ladies who like to pinch my cheek when they tell me, “Why, Pruitt Reese, you are becoming more like your daddy every day!” Like that's a good thing.

Then I stop over at Henderson's, top off the gas tank, and wash the sweat off my face before heading to the Stillwater Café, and Delilah. Not that she cares. The way her nose wrinkles up whenever she opens the back door for me, you'd think I'd rolled myself in manure.

To understand Delilah and me, you have to understand the Reese family—both halves. And to understand that, you have to go way back. I'm not gonna lie, it ain't pretty. Although if you ask my folks, they'll say they don't know what you're talking about. Our ancestors weren't bad people. They didn't break the law or nothing.

“Times was different,” my granddaddy would tell you. I s'pose he's right, but that don't really make it better.

Anyhow, once upon a time, a man named Jedediah Reese found himself a nice piece of land, high up on a hill overlooking a little creek, and started a farm. He had a lot of land and only a couple sons, so he did what most folks did back then. He bought himself some slaves and set to work building his fortune. And he was so successful that he founded the town of Stillwater.

Then the Civil War came. Jed was already dead by then, his land split between his two sons, Ezekiel and Thomas. They both fought for the right to feel superior and died trying. Zeke had a son, so his half of the land went to him, but Thom didn't have any kids that outlived him. And his wife, displaying a kindness unknown to the men in my family, left it all to her housekeeper, Elisabeth Reese, outing a long-kept family secret—that Elisabeth came by the name Reese honestly. Jed was
her
daddy, too.

And there you have it. The saga of the Reese families. One black, one white. Neighbors and sworn enemies. At least, that's how my folks see it. If you ask me, they spend too much time focusing on what we used to have instead of making something of ourselves now.

Delilah, Elisabeth's six times great-granddaughter, is the brightest thing in this whole town. And even though I'm supposed to hate her, I can't help but notice. Even when she turns her nose up and walks right past me like I'm not her seventh half-cousin once removed or whatever. Like I'm nothing at all.

Today's no different. She pulls the door open and steps back, her pretty brown eyes all scrunched up like just the sight of me is painful. I find myself fumbling for the right words and staring at her shoes, like always.

Delilah sighs. “Just put it in the back,” she says as she leaves me to haul in my stuff, and she opens the walk-in refrigerator.

She's wearing a red Stillwater High T-shirt under her apron today. It brings out the little bits of auburn in her long, dark curls. Most people probably think her hair is plain black, but that's 'cause they don't pay attention. When the light catches it just right, you can see a whole rainbow's worth of colors in it.

The way she handles the deliveries like she owns the diner and not like she's just working there for her folks makes me feel like a sorry excuse. We're both seventeen, but she runs circles around me.

“Delilah,” her dad shouts. “Did that boy deliver those supplies yet?”

“He's here now, Daddy,” Delilah calls from the doorway.

“Tell him I'm tired of his father sending us the crap no one else wants. Needing money is no excuse for being a cheat.”

I can feel the heat rushing up my face. I got my back to Delilah, but I know she can see how red my ears must be. My daddy ain't no cheat, just stubborn and proud. He overcharges Delilah's daddy because he knows they can afford it. Delilah's daddy pays because they pity us. Least that's what my daddy thinks. Which just makes him madder and more inclined to give Delilah's daddy less.

If you ask me, Delilah's daddy is just as stubborn and proud, and he overpays to prove how much better his business is doing. Of the two Reese families, Delilah's is for sure the more successful. But they're equal when it comes to foolish pride. Only in Stillwater would folks
choose
to do business with each other out of spite.

I busy myself with clearing a space for the last crate until I figure he's gone. It ain't like I haven't heard it before, but I feel like a fool all the same. I keep my eyes straight ahead on my way out, and when I pass Delilah, she turns away.

Me and Delilah ain't never gonna happen. I don't know why I can't get that through my head.

 

A
fter I finish the deliveries, I drop the truck off and get on my bike before anyone decides they got something else for me to do. Once I get down the hill and through the town, there ain't nothing but empty roads and clumps of trees and fields as far as the eye can see. I keep on going, anyways, just looking for some kind of sign that there's a world out there worth escaping to.

There's got to be more to life than Stillwater.

The air is so thick, I can't hardly feel a breeze as I'm riding. It's so humid, my wheels don't even kick up any dust on the dirt road. Sweat runs down my face in little rivers.

Days like this, when I'm hating everything about my life and wishing the summer would end already, I like to push myself.

I focus on the sound of my tires on the dirt, my heavy breaths. I pretend I can pedal myself into a new life—I just have to keep going, ignore the heat, ignore the pain. Ride just a little bit further.

I ain't stopping this time till I collapse. They'll have to scrape me up off the ground. I grit my teeth and pedal harder, right down the middle of the road. All of a sudden, my bike slams into something and I'm flying. Not over the handlebars, but back, like someone snatched me up and threw me. I have just enough time to give the bike a shove away from my body before I hit the ground. My back slams down first and then my head. It don't hurt as much as I expect. Just one bright white flash of pain and then the dark.

A hand grabs me by the jaw and gives my head a shake. “Holy crap, Pruitt! You all right?”

I open my eyes and see a face so much like my own that for a minute I think I'm hallucinating. Same slightly crooked nose, same dirty-blond hair, but shorter than I like to keep mine. He looks about my age, but his eyes are tired and older—an “old soul” my granny would call it—than mine could ever be.

He slaps my cheek and starts looking worried. “Pruitt, can you hear me?”

Matt
. The name comes to me from the back of my mind. How could I forget my own brother? “Yeah,” I say, pushing his hand away. “What happened?”

He sits back, relief all over his face. “It's what I wanted to show you.”

“What?” I'm lying in the middle of the road. Other than my bike and his, there's nothing out here to see but trees.

Matt throws out his arms like he's presenting something. “The Stillwater town limit.”

I start to lift myself up onto my elbows, but a sharp pain in my arm stops me. I suck air in through my teeth to keep from crying out. My right forearm is shredded. It's gonna be one hell of a scar.

Matt's eyes are all lit up and I can't figure why he's so excited. He's not talking a lick of sense. “Why'd you have to knock me off my bike for that?”

“I didn't,” he says, frowning at me. “Something ain't right about this town. Can't you feel it?”

“The only thing I feel is a knot coming up on the back of my head.”

Matt smacks my good arm and stands. “Jeez, Pruitt, why do you have to be such a kid sometimes?” He holds a hand out to me. “Get up.”

My head aches. I lie back down on the ground and shut my eyes against it. “Just gimme a minute.”

Matt ain't having it. “Pruitt. Get up.”

I sigh real heavy so he knows I'm irritated before I open my eyes and sit up. “Fine,” I say, but I'm talking to the air. There ain't no one out here but me. It takes a minute before I realize that's how it should be. I came out here alone, and I don't have a brother. I must've been dreaming, but it felt more like a memory. Like that déjà vu stuff people talk about. I guess that's what I get for riding like a maniac. Crazy dreams about brothers I never had.

My hands and legs are all scratched up and bleeding, but when I lift my right arm to check the damage, there is none. Instead, I see the jagged scar I've had for as long as I can remember. That fall must've really done a number on me. I'm woozy but I manage to make it to standing. It's gonna be a long walk home. Mama's gonna love it when she sees me crawling in all scraped up and bloody, tracking in dirt on her kitchen floor. If I'm lucky, I can slip past her and say I'm taking a nap before she gets a good look at me. That's all I want anyhow, to sleep this day away like none of it ever happened.

 

W
hen I wake it's dark out, and I got pieces of a dream clinging to me. Not enough to make any kind of sense, though. Just me and Matt again, feeling so much like he's my big brother, out on the ridge at the edge of our land. I keep hearing his voice telling me:
Something ain't right about this town
. And my gut keeps saying he's right.

The clock says it's after ten, which means my folks are out cold for the night. I'm wide-awake with nothing but time and a jumble of thoughts in my head. Might as well see if I can puzzle this thing out.

I climb out my window onto the porch roof and jump down to the grass. The sun might've gone down, but it's still too hot to be decent. I miss the fan in my room already.

In the northeast corner of our property, where it meets Delilah's, the land rises then drops off. We don't farm that area, so it's mostly still full of trees, but there's a clearing where the ridge juts out over the dry creek bed, and that's where I'm headed.

If the moon ain't full, it's as close as it can get and I'm glad for the light. I haven't been out to the ridge at night since I was a kid. I'm not supposed to go out there alone on account of it's dangerous, but I've never thought much of rules. Folks have been saying the ridge is cursed ever since the creek dried up forever ago. Seems like my whole life is cursed. I can't see how going out to the ridge makes any difference.

The night air is sticky and heavy with the scent of pine, just like in my dream. The closer I get to the ridge, the more them pieces of my dream start making a whole picture.

I was following Matt down this same path. He made his way through the tangle of branches like he'd done it a hundred times before, and I was just trying to keep up. He'd woke me out of a dead sleep and all I wanted was to go back.

“Can't this wait till morning?” I asked. I was cranky, and the mosquitoes were biting.

“No,” Matt said without looking back. “It has to be now, so you'll remember it.”

“I remember things much better on a full night's sleep.”

Matt just shook his head. “A full night's sleep won't do nothing but make you forget. Trust me.”

And I did. Even when he was talking crazy and marching me out to the ridge in the middle of the night. So I kept on following him, right up to the edge of the ridge.

“Look,” he said, and pointed out into the dark.

All I saw was black. “I don't see anything.”

“Exactly,” he said. “There's nothing out there. Nothing at all.”

“You woke me up to show me nothing?”

“Think about it, Pruitt, shouldn't you be able to see the fields out there? The stars? Clouds? Something?” He turned and pointed at the sky behind us.

I looked up, and sure enough, there were stars, and even a cloud in the night sky behind us, but in front of us, over the cliff, there was nothing. Just black. “What the . . .”

“Hold on, it's almost midnight,” Matt said.

And this is how I know I was a dreaming and not remembering, because right then, the black in front of us wavered. Specks of light popped up, one by one at first, and then a whole world appeared. Headlights and taillights, streetlights and porch lights, and way in the distance, tiny skyscrapers all lit up and clustered together like a city.

“Do you see it?” Matt asked. It was the first time I'd ever heard him sound unsure about something.

My heart pounded in my chest. This had to be some kind of a trick. There's nothing outside of Stillwater for miles and miles. Too far to see, even at night. “What is that?”

Matt blew out a long breath and then squared his shoulders. “That's where I'm going.”

A rustle in the trees startles me, and I'm surprised to find myself standing right at the edge of the ridge. Just like in my dream, there's nothing out there but darkness. No stars or signs of life. The crack of a branch breaking comes from my right, followed by footsteps, each one closer than the last.

I'm man enough to admit that whatever's coming has got me scared. I don't know if them rumors about this place being cursed are true. And this dream, or whatever it is in my head, has got me all shook up. The rustle of leaves on leaves gets louder, and I crouch next to a cluster of big rocks.

For one crazy second I think maybe that dream was real and it's my brother, come to take me away to the city. “Matt?” I mean to shout it, but it comes out all weak like I don't want to be heard.

Delilah steps out from the trees. “Who's there?”

My heart keeps right on stuttering in my chest at the sight of her. In the moonlight her skin could be any color: blue, silver, white. She stands still as a statue, frowning, fists clenched up like she's fixing to fight. Her eyes catch on mine and I can't look away, even though I want to.