Shadows Lurking
One

August 12th, 2005 - Friday, 7:15am

The sound of the television blaring in the living room can be heard even over the running faucet in front of me. Noah is no doubt passed out again in a drunken slumber from his night of heavy drinking. Doesn’t matter though, if he’s asleep then he can’t see me off on my first day back to school. The last thing I need today is to deal with his drunk ramblings. I’ll already have plenty of crap to deal with when it comes to the gossiping kids in class. Rumors are already spreading about me after being suspended for nearly smashing some guy’s face in. He needed twelve stitches, and I left without so much as a scratch.

Glancing up, the mirror in front of me reflects a poor image. A sickly pale twelve-year-old boy with shaggy brown hair that covers thin brows and pale blue eyes shielded by thick black lashes. The contrast between the darkness of my hair and the paleness of my skin has always made me seem like a sickly child. I’ve never had a tan, not even a sunburn. My body has been going through a lot of changes as of late, but some of them I’m not so sure I can chalk up to puberty anymore.

Gripping the dull kitchen knife in my right hand once more, I watch as it drags forcefully across my left palm, causing a familiar stinging sensation to spread through my hand. I watch in astonishment as the deep crimson droplets drip into the sink, but the deep gash they were falling from is already nothing more than a red stain. Healed within seconds. Something about that just doesn’t scream puberty to me. Sure, my height has increased by an entire three inches, putting me at five-foot, but even that seems out of the ordinary. I was just four-foot and nine inches last week. I’ve been having a large number of cramps lately, but still, there’s no way that’s normal.

A doctor’s visit is very much out of the question as well. No way would that end well for either me or Noah. I’d be taken if they caught even a glimpse of the slashes lining my back, the constantly healed over scarring white lines. This is just something I’ll need to figure out on my own.

Knowing that my birthday is tomorrow doesn’t help with the overwhelming anxieties I’ve been feeling as of late.

Miss Howard, my English teacher, has been on my case lately about finishing up some pointless essay about a dragon-slaying knight. A hero. The thought alone is almost laughable. There is no such thing as a hero or a knight in shining armor, not in my experience. There are only villains and then those that are preyed on by said villains. If there were such a thing as knights and heroes, surely one would’ve come to my rescue on the countless nights that I needed one. Those nights I spent crying, bruised, battered, and broken from the endless torture at the hands of the monster sleeping on the couch in the next room.

I grip my black bag and sling it over my shoulders, exiting the bathroom before I lose my temper and smash the mirror, causing Noah to wake up from his alcohol induced coma. That sad excuse for a father can stay passed out all day long for all I care. Better yet, I hope he sleeps all of tomorrow away as well, that way I’ll have at least one decent birthday, for once.

For the past four years now, Noah Evans has made me spend my birthdays tied to a metal chair, pouring liquids down my throat that burned the inside of my body like molten lava. No matter the number of times I begged him to stop, he never once batted an eyelash at my pleas, the sick sadist. Even when it came down to punishments, Noah’s favorite form of torture was pouring the vials down my throat and then lashing me with that chain.

Just once, just one time is all it would take to end his miserable life, but then I would be put into the system and that seems worse somehow.

I stop just outside of the living room and notice the grandfather clock just standing at the edge of the hallway. Without a second thought, I set the time ten minutes behind. At least now I’ll have ten minutes of being thirteen without the old man interfering, knowing that the minute that clock chimes, he’ll drag me to the basement and lock me up once more. Not this time, old man, not this time.

The walk to school is the same as usual. Rienridge is the smallest town anyone could ever imagine, barely even a population of four thousand people, nestled in the mountains in between New Castle and Covington, Virginia. Noah had packed our bags and moved us here, still doing his drunken rambling about how the place should be safe now after all these years. I still don’t know what the old man had meant, but a part of me doesn’t want to know. For as far as I can remember, we’ve never once lived here before, but then again, I never paid much attention to things like that. Anytime we moved, I’d enroll in school, keep my head down, and do my best to avoid attention from others. The less attention, the less chance of someone finding things out.

“Rylan!”

On instinct, I jerk back at hearing my name being shouted. Not many people other than teachers and the old man on occasion use it. So, it’s strange sometimes to hear someone like Thomas use it. The guy’s three months older than me, but thanks to the growth spurt, I’m now taller than him. I had gotten to know him my first week here, seven months ago, when I snuck out after Noah passed out, making my way to the local park. There had been a small group of boys my age and a couple of ten-year-olds with their skateboards. The kids had been kind enough to welcome me into the neighborhood, but I made sure to not get too attached to them.

“Rylan! Wait up, dude!” Thomas shouts out as his sneakers slap against the pavement. Blonde curls bounce as he bounds towards me, nearly shrouding his beaming blue eyes.

As much as I would love to just keep walking and ignore the guy, I know he won’t back off. He’s been persistent on being friends with me despite my obvious lack of reciprocation. Being cold and distant with him hasn’t seemed to take effect like I had thought it would. He only smiles while clapping my shoulder, letting me know that he gets it. Whatever it is. He’s strange considering everyone else I’ve treated this way has just left me alone, not bothered me and kept their distance from the town’s new freak.

“Hey,” he pants out, clearly not accustomed to running like that. “Thought for sure you were just gonna keep on walking there for a second.”

“I was.”

The deadpanned expression and chill in my voice does nothing to derail him. He only releases a winded breath before nudging me onwards, earning him a swift shove. Not being one for physical touch, he sometimes gets hit or pushed at by me. He always comes out with a quick but half-hearted apology, probably just out of forced niceness rather than genuine sorriness.

“Did you hear?” Thomas points over towards the playground across from the wooded area that edges the town from all sides. “Mary Littleton and Jackson Fairfield got put in the hospital the week before last. Kids say there was a huge wolf that came charging out and nearly took Jack’s leg. Mary fainted and only just woke up two days ago. Crazy, huh?”

A giant wolf, huh. More like a coywolf. The species is horrid compared to a real wolf or even a real coyote. Noah had been worried before about moving here because of them. He had said that the wolf population was out of control in Virginia, but according to the wildlife pamphlets in the hunting shop down the road, wolves haven’t been seen in Virginia since the early 1900’s. I think he might have been talking about the coywolves.

“Impossible. Wolves haven’t been in Virginia in forever. It was probably Miss Birshap’s Rottweiler again. She’s always saying how Poopsy needs to run free sometimes.”

“Nah, man.” Thomas has this blazing fire behind his brown eyes. “There are definitely wolves in town. You just haven’t seen them yet.”

“And I won’t, considering their non-existent here.”

Thomas holds my stare before chuckling at the challenge behind them. “I love it when we bond like this, you know. It makes me feel so much more closer to you than before.”

“Bold of you to assume we’re getting closer.”

“You know what they say about assuming, right?”

I can’t help but smile this time. He may be annoying and never understands the meaning of personal space, but he surely does know how to make a crap day feel better. Or at least, I thought he did.

“So, you’re coming back to school then, huh? What- Could they not prove that you killed that kid?”

My feet plant themselves on the cement sidewalk. “I didn’t kill anybody. The kid lived, just needed stitches is all. He’s alive.”

“Right.” Thomas doesn’t seem convinced as we finally reach the school. “The guy just so happened to die from an unrelated incident right after you put him in the hospital. I’m sure that’s what happened.”

“What are you on about? I talked to him after he got released.” I stop Thomas from walking through the front doors of the small schoolhouse. “Thomas, are you saying that the kid I beat up is dead- like seriously dead?”

The look in his eyes proves to me that his words are true. “Well, the cops never came right out and said the guy died because of what you did, they never even asked about you. They were looking into the case of an escaped prisoner that came through this area. Apparently, the dude has some kind of pervy thing for underaged kids, boys and girls.”

“So, they think that, after he was released, some escaped, perverted convict murdered Cody? That’s sick.”

“Yeah…” Thomas looks apologetic now as says, “But the rumor going around is that you beat him to death, so bad that they had to just take him off life support.”

Great, just great. It’s my first day back and now everyone in school thinks that I’m some pyscho that murdered another student. This wasn’t how my day was supposed to go. It was my last day to just be a little free before being confined to a chair and forced to endure the torture my father has no doubt already set up for me.

This was my last shot. I think deep down, a part of me understands that this might be my last day.

Ever.

I’m not entirely sure how much longer I can keep dealing with him- with that monster. Never has something like that crossed my mind before, but a part of me is tired. Every single morning feels pointless anymore.

Why am I even here- What purpose do I serve- Why prolong the torture?

I’m stuck with him until I’m eighteen or until he finally gets bored of me and dumps my body in a ravine somewhere. No one would come looking, no one would even ask questions. If anything, people, teachers in particular, might be relieved that I never show back up to their classes. I’m known as a nuisance at home and at school.

Kids pile up just outside of the school entrance, gossiping about me, about Cody, about Jackson and Mary’s incident. No one is even attempting to be discreet. Small towns really are the worst kind. The one we lived in before here had a population of nearly ten thousand. This one? Measly four thousand at best, and that’s throughout the entire county, not just the town. Everyone knows everything there is to know about everyone here. And I loathe it.

“There’s our town’s little killer,” Brently Bergem beams with a sick and twisted smile on his perfect, golden-boy face.

Knowing already how badly I would mess up Brentley’s face, I step around the tall blonde and make my way for science. There’s no way I’m getting suspended again. Noah’s stripes he left weeks ago are still sore across my back. It’s just not worth it anymore.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Brentley’s hand grips my upper arm and it’s an automatic response. A fist flies out towards his unexpecting face but nothing makes contact. The fifteen-year-old bully remains untouched while my wrist is locked in another kid’s grip. His eyes are dark, a piercing green as they pin me in place. It’s as if I’m being dared to jerk my arm away from his hold. Despite the warning in his glare, I jerk my arm back, but he holds it tightly, refusing to let me win whatever this contest is.

“I’m trying to help you,” he grits out as he slowly starts releasing my arm.

Finally, he releases it and I find myself gripping it. There’s a burning pain under his handprint now being covered by my own. He’s strong. He’s just about my height, black hair that touches his jaw and barely covers his eyes. Eyes that are still locked onto mine, daring me to try and fight Brentley again. It’s tempting to attempt another swing at the still smirking peanut before me. I’ll let it go, for now. He’s a bit stronger than I am and I’ll need all my strength for tonight.

“Whatever, not even worth my time,” I spit out at Brentley in particular.

“You’re welcome,” the kid mutters toward Brentley.

“Like I needed saving from one of the psych ward kids from out in the holler.” Brentley’s little gang of minions begin laughing, at what I’m not sure. “Why don’t you go on back into the woods and eat some poor little bunnies. Freak!”

Two of the guys on the other side of the kid grab his arms and begin pulling him towards the edge of the woods. The kid lets them. He just- He lets them do it. He was strong enough to stop my fist and keep me from moving, but he somehow can be dragged away by those two scrawny teens? No way. My feet begin moving before my brain does but before I can ever get close enough to them, the kid shakes his head. He’s not fighting against them on purpose?

The two teens sling him backwards and he tumbles back into the opened area of the woods across from the school. The black-haired kid comes to a stop before standing as if nothing had happened at all, as if he wasn’t just rolled through the leaves and dirt. He turns to stare into my eyes again as the two teens move past me, high fiving one another without even realizing they haven’t accomplished anything. Slowly, the kid slinks off into the darkened alcove of the woods, disappearing from sight without another word or glance back.

Shuffling to my left and I turn to meet Thomas’ confused stare. “Did you know that kid?”

Shaking my head, I realized that I really didn’t know the kid. “No, I didn’t. Did you?”

“No. But if he’s from the pyscho school then I would steer clear of him from here on out.”

“Pyscho school?”

Thomas looks surprised now before pointing towards the wooded area. “I thought I told you already. No? Well, there’s a school deep in the woods, just over that abandoned factory and up on the hill, and it’s for these weird kids. Dougie out on main street says that he caught a few of them out, late at night, eating raw rabbit meat. He also says that faeries stole his eyeglasses one year at the state fair, so how accurate the story is, I couldn’t say. I do know though that those kids usually never mix with us townies. They stay to themselves and that’s how everyone likes it. Sheriff Goodey don’t care for ’em much, but he has to be nice. Sheriff and all, you know.”

“And you say they’re in a pyscho school?”

“Well...” He trailed off for a moment. “They aren’t like crazy or anything, that I know of. It’s just that you have to be really rich to get into that school and also meet some weird requirements they have. Carol Bellcroft went there after she turned eleven and was accused of nearly ripping another kids head off- She was crazy, like growling and foaming at the mouth kind of crazy. It’s just- It’s for weird kids, hence, pyscho’s.”

“Seems reasonable.” My eyes scan over the woods once more, but nothing can be seen in the thicket of trees. “Strange that he just came out of nowhere, helped me, and then went back in. Maybe they are pyscho’s.”

Thomas laughs while tapping my chest before running back towards the school. I didn’t even get to punch him for touching me. I didn’t even get to punch the weird kid for touching me. Something inside me told me not to though- that it would only end badly for me.

Friday, 11:50pm

The sun began setting hours ago, but I still stayed late at the park. Thomas wanted me to teach him how to ride a skateboard. I didn’t even know that I could ride one, but he said I had the body of a skater. Apparently, I have decent enough balance to operate one. Being lanky and having little-to-no muscle definition makes for a great skater body, according to Thomas anyway.

The chirping of crickets grows louder as I finally reach the front door of the little white house on the end of Cormick Street. A deep part of me is tempted to just run away. Noah wouldn’t even notice I was missing until the chime of the grandfather clock, signaling his workday of making my life miserable. But if I were to leave there’s no telling what would happen to me when he finally finds me. And he would find me. He’s always been able to track me down wherever I’m at. It was annoying for the times I wanted to just hang out with other kids after school. That was before the beatings started. That was before the venomous comments and the late-night visits when he was too drunk to even comprehend how to speak properly.

I’m better off here. Something I always tell myself, but never believe.

Pushing the door open, trying to avoid waking the beast just yet, I make a quick dash for the refrigerator. Some nice lukewarm soda and a turkey sandwich will help settle the rumblings in my stomach. The cramps have gotten worse over the years. For the past four years, each night before my birthday, horrible cramps in every single muscle would cause me to nearly vomit. That’s when the grandfather clock would strike midnight and Noah would chain me up, even through all of those agonizing cramps and muscle spasms. The monster never shed one tear, blinked one time, or gave me a single ounce of pity as he shackled me and forced that disgusting drink down my throat. Never knew what it was though, never asked because I knew I’d never get an answer.

Passing by the photo wall in the hallway, I noticed the one that was here when we moved in. A picture of a kid my age sitting on a bench with two other boys and a girl. The black and white photo must’ve belonged to the people who lived here before us, and Noah never bothered to take it down. There were loads of furniture here when we moved in, and Noah never bothered with any of it, not even with an explanation of why it was all here already.

The five kids all look to be smiling and enjoying their day, something I’ve never had the pleasure of doing it. I’ve never really had friends, never sat down and took old photos with anyone. I can’t even recall ever seeing a baby photo or an album of any kind.

Forcing myself to look away from the picture, I make my way into the dark and musty kitchen. Opening the fridge door, I reach for the fruity soda on the second shelf and a painful spasm hits my left leg, causing me to drop to the floor. No, I should have another ten minutes. A glance at the clock and I realize that I forgot about setting the time back ten minutes already. It’s midnight. It’s midnight and I’m not chained up to a chair and being forced to drink whatever that stuff is. Yet, here I am, still in agonizing pain on the cold tiled floor.

A rush of something hot begins searing my insides. Each and every nook and cranny are filled with intense heat now as I pant against the floor. Hot breath evaporates as it hits the tile, steam rising and dissipating into the air. Cracking, sickening sounds of bones breaking without being touched echo through the eerily silent room. The pain had never got this far before, my bones had never broken while being untouched.

Gripping the tile beneath me, grasping for something, anything to hold onto, but my fingers are unnaturally shaped. Long, black, and dull nails extend from my fingertips. No, not fingertips, claws. Claws that leave deep impressions on the off-white tiling as an eek fills the silence from scraping those claws against it. Another yelp, less quiet this time, leaves my lips and I’m doubled over, attempting to hold off another.

“Rylan.” Slurred words and stumbles followed by curses. “Rylan.”

My blood begins running cold alongside the pain, realizing now that I must’ve woken the beast from his drunken slumber. Scanning over the kitchen doorway with urgency, my heart begins beating irregularly. If I can make it past the table and through the doorway, I could maybe reach the bathroom, latch the door from the inside like usual. My feet though, stubborn and drowned in cramps, refuse to move even an inch from their spot in the open hallway.

“Rylan!” Noah shouts from the living area. “Where ’re you, boy? That you makin’ all that noise?”

Collapsing to the ground, my body finally giving in to the intensely overwhelming pain building up, it seems like there’s no hope in sight. With all the strength I have left, my deforming fingers grip the tile and drag my body along the cool and smooth surface, whimpers escaping trembling lips as I ignore the burning in my legs. The cold tile eases the pain some by lessening the heat. Another yelp escapes my lips as the burning spreads from my legs to my entire backside. I’ve never gotten this much pain before, not even when Noah was at his worst.

“What did I tell you ’bout all that whining, boy!” Noah bellows from the hallway now.

The thought of Noah’s voice growing closer has me scrambling for the doorknob, but the golden knob is too far out of reach, and I continue to writhe on the floor. The sound of those all-too familiar clunky boots vibrates the tiles and I find myself wincing with every Bang, Bang, Bang! I don’t dare peek out from behind my arms, the ones shielding my face, not even when the stomping has stopped.

“What’d you do to yourself now?”

There is no parental concern in Noah Evans’ voice, no tell-tale sign that he cares for me in the least bit. His words slightly slurred from the copious amounts of alcohol he’s no doubt consumed since three in the morning until he passed out from the sheer force of it all. The disgruntled old man could drink his weight in liquor if given the chance and the access. I know all too well what’s to come now that he’s awakened from his vodka, whiskey, and rum concocted coma. Pain. Even more pain than I’m going through right now and the thought alone causes a new burst of emotion to flood my veins.

Courage. There are no knights in shining armor, but that only means that I need to be one for myself.

With hands lying flat on the tile now, I slowly lift my head to face the monster that has beaten, battered, and broken me for as long as I could create memories. No more, no more will I be subjected to the cruelty of his words and actions anymore. No longer will I allow anyone else to put their hands on me, to treat me as though I’m nothing but the dirt under their boots. Those dirty, brown, torn up boots with the steel in the toeing. The steel that caused many fractured ribs and hospital visits.

As my eyes travel from those boots to the pale brown eyes of Noah Evans, I can now hear it off in the distance. The chiming of the grandfather clock in the living room echoes through my pounding eardrums before being drowned out by my own screams of agony. No longer able to contain them, they run wild in the stale air. Begging and pleading to no one in particular for the pain to just stop, to just leave me alone, but there’s nothing that can be done. There seems to be no end in sight as I struggle to push myself up onto my knees.

“Get up!” Noah belches as he kicks out against my torso.

The expected blow still leaves me gasping for air as I double over in pain. Still having an ounce of that courage lingering in my veins, I manage to pull myself from the floor, legs staggering slightly. The pain, the one that was unbearable, it had to have been growing pains of some kind. My legs seem stretched, but unnaturally. I’m almost levelled with Noah’s chest.

My mouth opens, ready to tell this sad excuse of a father to never touch me again, but words don’t leave my mouth. A guttural growl leaves my throat, almost animalistic in a way. It shocks both of us as we stare at one another now in absolute silent confusion. The thing that throws me off the most is the emotion in Noah’s eyes that I’ve never seen before, fear.

Another surge of cramps and heated pain rushes through me, causing yet another yelp to escape my lips as I drop back down onto my knees once more. I don’t know how it’s possible, but my legs seem to be growing more, stretching and elongating. The sounds of bones breaking can be heard through sickening crunches. Coarse hair, dark grey and heavy, begins sprouting all over my body. I can feel my jaw stretching, teeth becoming jagged while whines that don’t sound like they’re from me come out in between pants. The last thing I can hear before the darkness consumes me is the sounds of my dad’s own screams, screams of absolute horror.

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