Wild Thing (12 page)

She called it Robo.

A few times, when it was doing its silly back-and-forward sleep-marching, she'd fired her arrows at it.  Though she still wasn't sure when it was that her uncle's magic
worked
, and when it didn't.  It wasn't always easy to know when she'd shot it, of course, since it was
in
visible.  But often she was
sure
she'd hit it, yet it would just march straight on anyway, completely ignoring both her arrow and her.  ’Course, that might just be because it was hard to know whether she'd shot it in a deadly place or just “winged” it.  After all, it
was
invisible.

Sometimes, though, it was very much awake.  Then, there'd be an extra coldness to it and a purpose.  And she knew it Hunted, then.  Then, it didn't seem either silly
or
harmless.  Then, she sensed a strange kind of danger to it like her uncle had said.  A wrongness.  She'd follow, as silent as she could be, stepping carefully and breathing lightly.  Not looking at it directly, ’cause then you'd lose it.  You had to see it by its edges, by how the things around it moved; or stopped moving; or slowed and kind of saddened.  It always moved in straight lines, though it could angle off in a new direction at any moment.

Mostly, she felt a bit sad for it and just followed.

This one day, though, it seemed different: really intense.  Determined.  Brutal in the way it stomped through the Jungle, bringing Winter early, to turn it into the Forest.  It was a little scary, to tell the truth.  She wanted to fire an arrow, but she wanted even more to know what it hunted with such concentration.
 
Besides, she still felt kinda sorry for it, for all the times it had prowled, confused, back and forth like a broken cleaning bot.

And, yeah, maybe she was just a little bit scared to shoot.

And as she followed, gradually she sensed something else.

Something else, with sharp edges; which twisted and coiled through the trees more like oil flowing in air, showing off as it tweaked the world that had stilled and hidden, hoping to escape its notice, but jerking and quivering when it jabbed, or it looped and tangled and squeezed.  Twisting and tying fronds.  Tumbling and trapping drier shoots.  Blowing leaves into the middle of spiders' webs, or just pinching the wind to make it gust and tear them.  It felt not just Wrong, but Bad.  Wrong, and mean, and cruel.

And then it found her.

She looked around, but too hard, and suddenly she couldn't see it anymore.

«
Oh.  You're like me.  Did you know?
»
  Sara wasn't sure if she had thought that, or
it
had.
She giggled, inside, but again wasn't sure if that was really her
.

«Y
es, it's just me.  I've thought of a new game.  I'm just talking to myself.  Pretending.
»

Sara wasn't sure.  She didn't really-

«Oh, poo,»
she interrupted herself.  Or did she?  She didn't say
poo.

«Oh, d
on't be silly.  I
'm just playing
a new game I thought up.  A fun game.  I
'm pretending
she's my sister.  A
lovely little
sister.  I want a sister.  Sisters are fun.  Much more fun than boys.
»

A little sister
would
be wonderful…

«
That's right. And I'll grow up fast.  I'm already growing.  Soon I can be your big sister.  Then I'll
teach you grown up things.»

She frowned.  She wasn't sure Grup stuff would be fun.  Godsson didn't seem too impressed by-

«
Godsson?  I think I know Godsson. 
Bent S
on…   Naughty Godsson.
  Bad
Godsson.»

Godsson's not bad!

«
In my pretend he is.  He
has
secrets
.  I remember.  Godsson's mean.  Not like you, big sister.  I like talking to you.  It makes me remember things.  All sorts of things.  Like how to get people – men, especially – to do what I want.  Anything I want.  And all I'd have to do would be to imagine my sister a little harder, let her speak to me just like this, tell me secret things.  Teach me-
»

And then, the other one, scary Robo, came marching straight into her and over her and the daydream ended, leaving her slightly stunned, with a fading memory of an angrily-silenced shriek.  She blinked, dizzy, feeling like she'd just jumped from a too-hot bath she hadn't known she was in, into ice water.

What had just happened?  Just ahead, on the path, a tiny tornado of confusion, of thrashing and flailing edges, felt rather than seen, spun, and dwindled, and collapsed.

She felt kind of… icky.

She realized
her
monster, the one she Hunted – Robo, or scary-Robo – had driven it off.

That night, she tried telling Uncle, but though he'd listened at first, the more she explained, the more annoyed he got.  His fingers twisted and turned in odd patterns, like he was spelling out some signal with them, and then he looked away and went still.  Just for a moment, she thought he was excited, and she remembered “seeing” the invisible creatures, but he frowned straight after, looking angry.

She found herself thinking about what had happened, the memories shuffling past her mind's eye like a deck of cards, and then he turned back to her and opened his eyes, looking straight at her.

'You can't be a Hunter, Sara, if you spend all your energies on make-believe.  Don't fool yourself into seeing patterns where there are none.  Human beings are far too good at self-delusion.  Frighteningly so.  Don't start imagining that
spirits
are talking to you, girl.  They simply don't do that.  That's just the sort of thing too many of the inmates here believe.  The
crazy
people.  Do you understand?  I won't have you of all people walk down that path.'

She pursed her lips, biting down on the desire to tell him he was wrong, that they were real.  She knew that would only make him angrier.  He hadn't believed a single word she'd said.  He'd made up his mind already.

He suddenly looked even angrier, like she'd said that aloud.

'Bah.'  He threw his napkin down and stood up.  'Why should I expect reason from a nine-year-old girl?' he said as he stalked off.

At the table, fists clenched tight, she watched him go. 
J
ust for that, I won't tell you about any more Hunts in the future.  N
ot ever!
  That'd show him.

Spring brought its own joys – fresh green shoots on the trees, strange creatures emerging from tiny cocoons, life bursting forth all around her.

Though all the time, mixed in with the net-based schooling and outdoor activities, were the tests and strange exercises her uncle set her.  Chores that made no sense to her.  Like concentrating on candle flames, or counting backwards from a hundred while she imagined the numbers getting smaller and smaller, or picturing herself walking around and around and down and down long flights of stairs, going deeper and deeper, darker and darker.  At least he didn't get cross at her when she fell asleep doing them.

She'd been there almost a year before she finally asked him what he actually
did
at the Institute.  He looked surprised – maybe at her question: maybe that she knew the word “institute.”

'I study things you wouldn't understand.'

'Yes I would.'

'Really,' he sniffed.  'Well in that case, I'm happy to tell you that through subtle applications of paranormal patterns, I am endeavoring to unlock the secrets of the collective unconscious, examine the validity of the concept of racial memory, and clarify and possibly
expand
the set of Jungian archetypes.'

She blinked.

'Well.  Now you know, don't you?'

'Yes.  And
I
know
lots
about… about young Arga Tipes.  And
grown-up
ones, too.  But I'm not telling
you
!'  and she'd stalked out of the room and then headed into the Jungle to hunt Arga Tipes, a kind of small but fierce brown tiger.

Later, she'd forgiven him and offered to take him into the Jungle to help her hunt the fiercest Arga Tipe of them all.

She was surprised when he'd agreed.  They had an exciting hunt, because the Arga Tipe was cunning and led them on a long and tricky chase: through quicksand, up trees, and into its secret tunnels.  But in the end they'd won, since they'd driven it away and made the Jungle safe again.

Then, all through dinner, she told her uncle the story of all the things they'd seen and all the things they might have seen if they'd been luckier.  She'd stomped around the dinner table, advancing on him with big lurching steps, arms stretched up high and fingers curled into claws, to show him how a Giffen looked when
it
hunted.

He put her to bed, but she was too excited to sleep: maybe Uncle had had so much fun with her, he'd want to do it
every
day!  And suddenly the idea to
pounce
Uncle himself leapt into her mind in vivid color.

She got out of bed, and tiptoed from her room and to his door.

Sneaking through his darkened office, she quietly opened the inner door, behind his neat and almost-bare desk.  That door led down a short hallway with three other doors opening off it, all dark.  The only lighting came from an Exit sign in the corridor.

Now what?

Through the door beside her, a toilet flushed from somewhere further inside.  Quickly opening that door, she slid inside, hearing it
snick
shut behind her.  Dim light escaped under the crack of another door across the room to her left, just enough to make out the rumpled bed in front of her on the far side of his bedroom.  Then the door to her left opened and she froze as light flooded in.  But only for a moment.  Her uncle must have turned it off before he'd even left the bathroom, trusting himself to find his way to his bed in the dark.

In the now pitch darkness she heard his heavy footsteps cross from her left, deeper into the room, then heard the bed creak under his weight and the blankets drawn up.

He didn't see me!

She let dark seconds flow through her as she slowly but surely became The Monster-Under-The-Bed.  On bare feet, then, she crept slo-o-owly across the room, step by cautious step. 
This was going to be
so
good!
  She wanted to laugh, but forced herself to stay silent.  Briefly, she had to halt, hugging herself in delight as she fought to stop the giggles from escaping and ruining the Hunt.  She even kept her breathing soft and gentle, so he wouldn't hear her.  The fuzzy cloth of her pajamas made no sound as she stole across the room, testing the ground ahead with her toes so she didn't accidentally kick something.  But the floor was clear, no mess on it at all – just like his office – and after only a minute she stood while the sound of his breathing came from right in front of her.

He shifted position, the bedclothes rustling, and she froze.  She was close enough.  Now to get under his bed.  What she
wanted
to do right now was bounce up and down, but by biting her lips and clenching her hands into fists she locked the excitement inside.

She carefully bent down, one hand reaching out to the floor.  V-e-r-y carefully stretching out on the carpet tiles she slo-o-owly eased herself under the bed.  There!  She was in position.  Her cheeks were aching from how wide her grin was!

The Monster Under The Bed breathed in, then: a long, soft, breath that her prey probably couldn't even hear.  But it was a really
deep
breath, because the Monster was big, so it had big lungs.  Above her, the movement of her prey hesitated, as if it had sensed something was wrong, that something had changed.  That it wasn't alone.  Now?

Now!

Softly but quickly she slid out from under the bed.  But not silently: she needed her prey to know that
something
was nearby, moving in the night.  There was a satisfying sudden stillness above, as her prey froze.

Now the darkness seemed alive, filled with her menace as she invisibly loomed over the bed, arms stretched out with claws at the ends like a Giffen.  She paused, shaking with excitement and anticipation as she held her breath at the side of his bed.  So quietly it was barely a whisper, she growled her softest Warning Growl.

Then
Pounced!

And oh, his shouts, and her screams!

Laughing shakily, he turned on the light.  Shook his head.  Her eyes gleamed with delight at her success.  He lifted her up and bounced her on his lap.  'Sometimes, I swear, you behave like such a wild little thing, I think I must be your keeper.'

'Yes!  Yes!'  She clapped her hands.  'I'm Wild Thing!  You're my Keepie Keeper!'  She bounced up and down on him, relishing the physical contact.

He even stroked her hair, when she paused in her bouncing, to stare at her almost like she was something wonderful, and she snuggled in to him.

'But this Keepie is much too tired to play now.  So his Wild Thing will have to go back to her lair.'

Despite her protests, he took her back into her room and put her into her bed.

They spoke for a little while longer as she settled down, and he warned her again to be careful in her exploration of the Institute.  'Brian Shanahan mentioned an odd thing today.  It seems he's been noticing more and more strange glitches in the security systems for the permanent patient section.  Odd shadows at the edge of the camera-sweep zones.  You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Sara?'

She shook her head, making her eyes as wide and innocent as she could.

'Good, good.  He tells me that they're updating the system soon, because of it.  They'll be using infra-red sensors to direct the cameras.'

'What's that?'

'Heat.  The cameras will be able to detect body heat.'