Eden's Creatures

Copyright © 2015
Valerie Zambito

All Rights Reserved

1st Electronic Edition

Cover design

Elena Dudina

Interior design

www.pencastlebooks.com

Copy Editing

Champagne Book Editing

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

T
he shadow moves smoothly into the room, black wisps trailing from its body as it approaches the small bed. Red eyes glow in sinister delight at sight of its prey. A gnarled, pale hand reaches for the thin sheet, the only protection the boy has, and flings it to the floor.

Only the boy isn’t there. This time, he’s been waiting, and he springs out of the closet and runs from the bedroom.

The shadow howls at the ruse and chases in pursuit.

The boy sprints as fast as he can, but the short hallway in his home has lengthened overnight. A mile? Two miles? Will it ever end? Every anxious backward glance shows him that the shadow is gaining on him. Reaching for him.

The boy finally bursts free of the house and darts into the forest. He knows these woods. He loves these woods. Surely, here, he will be able to lose his pursuer.

Cold air seeps into his bones. Twigs and rocks bloody his bare feet. Yet he dares not stop.

Up ahead, the path abruptly ends at a cave he has never seen before. He rushes inside and wedges his body behind a large rock. He pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them close, willing himself not to cry, not to breathe. Not to do anything that might attract the shadow.

But it’s too late. It’s always too late.

The moonlight at the cave opening darkens and those awful eyes turn his way.

There’s nowhere left to run.

P
unch him again!”

At the shouted words, Cal jerked his head out of the path of imminent pain, but he wasn’t fast enough and the fist hammered into his mouth. An agonized grunt slipped from his lips as his face whipped to the side, a long string of blood and spittle trailing behind.

The two boys holding his arms shoved him to the ground.

“What’s the matter, little guy?” one taunted. “We’re just having some fun. Grow some balls, will you?”

If Cal could have opened his left eye, he would have seen the boot before it connected with his jaw. As it were, he saw nothing before another jolt of fire lanced through the lower half of his face.

“What a jackhole,” spat Bo Pervall, the owner of the boot. Not yet satisfied, he leaned down to grind Cal’s face into the snow before finally stepping away to join his two brothers. More Pervalls. Each bigger than the next. Star football players at Mendon High. All part of the waking nightmare of Cal Taylor’s life.

Amid callous laughter, the trio walked away, leaving Cal facedown on the ground. Snow seeped into his nose. The cold burned his skin. Yet he didn’t move, afraid they’d still be hovering nearby.

When the need for air finally won out, he got up onto his knees and saw that they were gone. He ran a tongue lightly over his swollen lip and tasted blood. Not bad considering that they cut his arms with a knife two weeks ago. Superficial wounds only, but they stung for hours afterwards.

Cal pulled his backpack close and stood. Luckily, he only had six more months of this and then he’d be done with school, done with the Pervall brothers and done with this town.

He gave a mental snort.
Big dream for a kid who’s never stepped foot out of Pennsylvania.

And probably never would.

He had no money saved or jobs lined up or prospects of any kind. His technology teacher told him he had one of the brightest minds she had seen in a long time and tried to persuade him to give college a try, but that seemed just as farfetched. His mother couldn’t afford college and couldn’t even be bothered to fill out any of the applications that would allow him to apply for aid or loans.

No, at the end of the school year, he would just be trading one nightmare for another.

He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and started down the road to his house.

“Cal! Wait up!”

He turned, surprised to see his little brother running toward him. “What are you doing here?” Cal asked when Landon skidded to a stop. “I thought you had basketball practice.”

“Nope, it got cancelled.”

Cal mussed the blond curls atop Landon’s head, so unlike his own dark hair. “Good, then you can clean my room for me.”

Landon groaned. “How about we go sledding instead? Or we could go hunt rabbits. Or,” he said, warming to his ideas, “we could go find Mom a Christmas tree.”

Cal smiled, doing his very best not to see his stepfather in those blue eyes staring back at him. “We’ll see.”

“Come on,” his brother whined.

“I said we’ll see. Now, shut up.”

A moment of silence passed — a record for Landon — and then he asked, “So what do you think we’re having for dinner?”

Cal shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably Frosted Flakes. Same as yesterday.”

“Probably,” Landon agreed, but then stopped Cal with a hand on his arm. “Wait. What happened to your face?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, I do worry about it. Was it Bo?”

“And his brothers.”

“Why don’t you ever fight back, Cal? Maybe then they wouldn’t bother you so much.”

The question caught him off guard. Especially coming from a twelve-year-old. The last thing Cal wanted was for Landon to think his big brother couldn’t protect him and keep him safe. Even if he couldn’t.

“Because the cowards are so afraid of me,” Cal said, dancing on his toes and thrusting out a few air jabs, “that they only come at me when there’s three or more. Don’t worry. I’ll get ‘em next time.”

Landon nodded proudly. “I’ll help you.”

“No, you just stay away from them and let me handle it.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Landon changed the subject to his day at school and kept up a running commentary the rest of the way home.

“…and then Ethan pulled out Joey’s chair and he fell right on his butt. Mr. Bolton slammed his fist on the desk and—”

They both froze.

As soon as they had turned onto the driveway that led to their small house set back at the edge of Burdick Forest, the familiar sounds of home reached out to them.

Every tortured scream felt like a knife to Cal’s heart. Every violent grunt a blow to his stomach that hurt far worse than anything the Pervalls could ever dream up.

He’s hitting her again.

Landon let out a small moan.

“Stay here!” Cal screamed and took off at a sprint. He raced up the driveway, flew up onto the porch and shouldered through the front door. The yells were louder here, fueling his anger even more and sending him into a reckless charge down the hallway to his parents’ bedroom. A well-placed kick crashed the door open.

His mother lay on the bed in a fetal position and his stepfather, dressed only in a pair of jeans, stood over the top of her with his fist raised.

“Leave her alone!”

Ross Taylor turned toward the door with bloodshot murder in his eyes.

Cal braced for his second beating of the day. His stepfather outweighed him by about sixty pounds, but it couldn’t be helped. It was the only way to protect his mother. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about Landon. The elder Taylor saved all of his alcohol rages for those not of his blood.