Nieve (9 page)

Nieve was so annoyed, recalling this discovery, that she was about to give the arm of the couch another good wallop . . . then stopped, her fist suspended above it. Footsteps, outside. Someone was coming up the front walk. Not Becky, with her light, skipping tread. These footsteps fell heavily on the flagstones, heavily enough to crack them. She caught her breath, listening, trying to figure out who it might be. Soon, too soon, her visitor was at the front door, pounding on it, hard. The door rattled and reverberated, sounding as thin as plywood under the fist assaulting it. She slid onto the floor and crouched behind the coffee table.

“Truant Officer. OPEN UP!”

She crouched lower, waiting. When he finds no one home, he'll leave, she thought. Won't he? Sensibly, she had locked all the doors and windows after her parents left, although he sounded fierce enough, strong enough, to rip the door off its hinges.

The truant officer bellowed, “YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME!! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE AND I'LL GET YOU NO MATTER WHAT!! OPEN UP NOW OR ELSE!!” He started pounding again.

The only thing pounding harder was Nieve's heart. She'd have to make a break for it, get out. Keeping low, she scurried into the kitchen, grabbed the flashlight off the counter, and unlocked the back door. Before slipping out, she reset it so that it would lock behind her. That way he wouldn't guess her escape route. Better yet, he might get the message that no one was home. The second she heard the door click shut behind her, though, she remembered that someone
was
home.
Mr.
Mustard Seed.
But surely a truant officer wouldn't drag a cat off to school? Not even a truant officer who sounded like a monster? Nieve hesitated. How
could
she abandon him? She stared hard at the locked door. With the racket and bellowing out front growing even louder, all she could do was think hard, really hard, trying to send her thoughts straight to Mr. Mustard Seed. She implored him to be very quiet and keep hidden.

The flashlight's narrow beam sliced through the thick darkness as she darted across the backyard and swerved around the pond, which gurgled like a drain when she passed it. Another time she might have stopped to check it out, but not now. She struck out for the wild area behind the house. Unfortunately, there was no choice about the flashlight, a dead giveaway if the truant officer spotted it, the only light for miles bounding away. Her only hope was that by the time he crashed into the house, she'd be out of sight.

While long grass whispered against her legs, and dry weeds rasped and snapped under foot, none snatched at her or tried to trip her up. Knowing the terrain, she dodged swiftly around rocks and bushes, yet watched her step, not wanting to stumble into any groundhog burrows, which is how she'd gotten the sprained ankle that had sent her to Dr. Morys.

She ran headlong, breathing hard, until she arrived at her secret place, a tree house that no one knew anything about, not even Malcolm. She'd built it slowly over one whole summer, buying nails with her allowance and borrowing tools from the basement workshop, always careful to return them. Loose planks she'd dragged from a derelict shed not far away and hauled them far up among the maple's leafy branches. It was the perfect hideout, a place to go when she needed to be alone, safe
and
secret.

She clicked off the flashlight and leaned against the tree's trunk, its rough, grooved bark a reassuring sensation against her back, and stared at her home, by now a fair distance away. Earlier, because she'd felt so uneasy, she had turned on all of the lights in the house, and now watched as they went out one by one. She winced as each light was extinguished, as if she were seeing her home vanish bit by bit, consumed by the darkness.

Nieve was so absorbed in watching this spectacle that she was completely unaware of the arms that were reaching down out of the tree. They reached slowly and silently, stretching toward her, long arms as rough and lichenous as the branches above that in the past had always offered her protection.

–Ten–
Ferrets

N
ieve heard a faint creak in the branch above her, a sound easily enough dismissed. Wind in the branches . . . although there was no wind. The night was as calm as it was black. She heard a soft cooing sound, the sort of sound a mourning dove might make . . . but not at night . . . .

Instantly, she sprang away from the tree, barely evading the hands that plunged down and snatched at the spot where she'd been resting. She whirled around and switched on the flashlight, gasping to see a pair of mottled, mud-green hands clutch at the air, clawlike hands with thick, pointed black nails that clacked together in frustration – or eagerness. For a heartbeat, she froze. She stared at the hands as they now began to motion her forward. The creature, still hidden in the tree, extended its arms toward her – extremely long arms, scabbed and scaley. Again, she heard that cooing sound, soft and strangely appealing.

But not appealing enough. Nieve began to back away slowly, keeping an eye on the motioning hands in case the creature made a lunge for her. Then abruptly she wheeled around . . . and stopped cold. Directly in front of her, blocking her way, was a figure that must have risen silently out of the long grass while she'd been turned toward the tree. She didn't think, didn't have time to. The flashlight, pointed at the ground, illuminated the figure's bare feet – four toes on each foot! – and that's all she needed to see. She swept her arm upward and struck it with the flashlight. The figure moaned and doubled-over, hands flying up to its face. She must have hit it square on the jaw – if it had one – but didn't wait around to find out. She sprinted off, tearing back through the field, but veering away from her house. She ran and ran, putting as much distance as possible between herself and
them
, one of which was now chuckling softly to itself as it slithered down from the tree.

By the time Nieve got to the edge of town, she slowed to a walk and turned off the flashlight, which had begun to dim and flicker. Casting an anxious glance back, she was keenly aware that the dark was populated with unseen dangers – including the fact that she might blunder into a wall, or fall into a hole – but there was nothing for it, she'd simply have to keep her senses on high alert. She began to edge along Main Street (she
refused
to think of it as Bonefyre), sliding along the storefronts and slipping into doorways. Here, a few antique street lamps – another recent addition to town – cast a weak, brownish light that helped her to see where she was going.

Passing by Warlock's store, she glanced in, recalling the display he'd been setting-up in the front window earlier that day. What she saw were books with lurid, blood-splattered covers that depicted ghouls and ghosts, vampires and werewolves. She found the images too cartoonish to be scary, too familiar to take seriously, and, oddly, she even felt some relief in looking at them. What alarmed her more was what she couldn't see, what unsuspected horror might be lying in wait for her. She turned away from the window and surveyed the street. It
seemed
empty – not a single moth swirled around the street lamps. And yet . . . and yet . . .
.

Nieve hurried by the pharmacy, the Wormius & Ashe signboard creaking noisily as she passed beneath it. She noted that the bat was no longer hanging from it (which might explain the dearth of moths). Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she detected an unusual fragrance in the air, sickly sweet, that went straight to her sinuses and made her eyes water. The remaining summer flowers in the streets' planters were slumped and blackened, and the Morning Glories that had twined vigorously up the parking signs now hung as limp as boiled spinach. Not them, then. She thought of the classy woman she'd passed earlier going in the pharmacy. Perhaps a perfume she'd been wearing had lingered. More likely, the woman herself was lingering in the pharmacy doorwell, about to nab her. But, no, that wasn't likely, either. The woman was attending the wake at Mortimer Twisden's. Why else was she in town?

Right or wrong, Nieve expected to find out because that was where she was going. Her parents might have gone kind of funny, but they
were
her parents and they would protect her from weirdo truant officers and . . . other
things
.

Stepping off Main Street and onto the road that led out of town toward Ferrets, Twisden's grand house, she felt the darkness close around her like liquid. The few houses that were arrayed along the road had lights dimly aglow in their windows, which did help some. Nieve figured she knew this road pretty well, knew its dips and twists, its rocky spots and potholes. Yet, the farther along she got, the less familiar it appeared. Where the road should have curved, it went straight, and where she expected to tromp through a dusty patch, she splashed through a puddle and soaked her feet. Burly, man-shaped bushes fronting the houses, seemed to shake themselves awake and lurch toward her as she passed by.
It's only the dark
, she told herself,
the dark changes things.
She
knew
they were only bushes. Although knowing it didn't stop her from keeping a wary eye on them and picking up her pace to get beyond their reach.

Once she'd left the last house behind, she began to hear an eerie rustling noise, as if someone were passing through dried grasses along the side of the road, someone walking exactly parallel with her and keeping pace step for step. Nieve stopped and the sound stopped; she started walking again and the rustling sound started up. She stopped and turned on the flashlight, playing the weakening beam over the place where the grasses
had
been – someone had scythed them down. Her light began to flicker again, about to die entirely, but still she could see that nothing was disturbed, nothing was moving . . . no one was there.

She turned off the flashlight, conserving whatever power remained, and kept on. The rustling resumed, only now she began to hear a voice as well. An extremely soft voice, so faint as to be almost inaudible.
Nieve
, the voice sighed,
Nieve,
Nieve . . .

This was
too much.
Unnerved, she took off, determined to outrun it whatever it was!

But she didn't outrun it, nor did the pounding of her feet on the road drown out the whispering in her ear . . .
Nieve,
Nieve.

She stopped again, fists clenched. She didn't turn on the light this time, no point. That
voice
. . . it reminded her all too well of how she'd been taunted by Alicia and her pals when she'd first started school.
Nievy
,
Nievy
,
nick-nack
, they'd chanted over and over as they formed a tightening circle around her. Closing in, they'd started to shove her from one to the other,
Nievy, Nievy, nick-nack, Nievy Nievy,
nick-nack!

Nieve didn't cave, didn't give them what they wanted: outrage, or tears. She didn't even fight back. Or not in the way they might have been expecting. She simply stared them down, calmly, if intently, one after the other. The taunts died in their mouths, their arms dropped limp as ropes to their sides, and they turned away, startled and speechless. She'd given them a good blue-eyed “blasting” as Gran called it, and they'd never bothered her since.

But on this road, in the dark, there was no one she could see to blast.

Instead, frustrated, she said, “Whisht!” She didn't know why she said it, why it came to mind, but it felt good. So she said it again, louder, “WHISHT!!”

And weirdly . . . it worked. The voice ceased; the rustling sound, too. “Whisht,” she repeated, softly, to herself. Silence. Complete silence, except for the distant sound of a dog barking, but once only, a short, clipped report.

Cautiously, Nieve started to move forward. Thinking about that word, Gran's word, it struck her: Gran
is
home
.
She was sure of it, positive. Gran
had
come by the house that morning when Nieve was out, but her dad had forgotten as usual, or what had become usual. Why hadn't it occurred to her before? The book Nieve had picked up and flipped through while sitting on the couch hadn't been there yesterday and must have been a present from Gran. She paused, undecided about what to do. Retrace her steps and try to find her way up the lane to Gran's? Her preference, definitely, but she had to be nearing Twisden's place by now, and the less time spent wandering around in the dark the better.

Switching on the flashlight briefly to get her bearings, Nieve saw Ferrets' massive fieldstone gateposts only a short distance ahead. She decided to keep on, get a ride home with her parents, and visit Gran first thing in the morning. There was a ton of news to tell her. Most of it disturbing, but the thought of sharing it with someone sympathetic and smart lifted her spirits. A “cunning woman” Dr. Morys had once called her, which didn't seem an altogether nice thing to say, although Gran had been pleased.

Urn-shaped lamps sat atop the gateposts but hadn't been turned on, or weren't working. Nieve wondered how many guests had missed the turnoff and had gone wandering into the night. Cheery, welcoming lights might not be appropriate for such a sad occasion, though they sure would have been useful. The wrought iron gates stood open in any event, and, starting down the drive that led to the house, she did see a light glimmering in the distance.

When she was about halfway down, she heard a car turn in off the main road. She heard it, but couldn't see it, because
its
lights were turned off. She scrambled to get out of the way and groped around on the side of the lane for something to hide behind. Mainly, she didn't want to get run over, but she also didn't want to be seen. Not by anyone who drove a car without lights, yet had no problem navigating in the dark. The strangeness of this vehicle was only heightened as it neared. It seemed to be muttering to itself as it cruised along . . .
closer, closer.
Nieve ran her hand over the rough grainy surface of a large rock and slipped behind it as the car glided smoothly past,
someone, someone
. . . Okay, maybe it wasn't all that strange. She'd heard of cars that told you to fasten your seat belt and that sort of thing, although no one she knew in town owned one.