The Devouring (8 page)

“Go home, Aaron. You’re not welcome here.”

Henry laughed bitterly and walked away.

Aaron caught his breath. His pulse pounded with rage and fear. He snatched up a hunk of hard, icy snow and hurled it at Henry. It slammed into the back of his target’s head.

“Aaron!” Reggie yelled. “Chill out!”

Henry yelped and twisted. He growled and leapt at Aaron, knocking him on his back. His hands curled around Aaron’s throat, and then the drowning sensation struck again, full force.

“Henry — 
stop
!” Reggie screamed.

Aaron kicked and writhed, his lungs afire. Reggie grabbed Henry’s shoulders, trying to pry him off.

“Henry! Leave him alone! STOP IT!”

Henry flailed, smacking the point of his elbow into Reggie’s face, hitting just under her left eye. She gasped and staggered back.

Aaron clenched a fistful of snow and mashed it into Henry’s face, making him shriek and jump away. Reggie dove to grab her brother around the waist, but he snapped forward and head-butted her in the nose. She fell to the ground like a sack of stones.

Aaron, his vision clouded with yellow dots, tried to focus. Henry’s cheek and nose looked
seared
where the snow had hit him, like raw meat dropped in a hot skillet. Gray threads branched out from the blackened patches.

“Jesus ... ,”
Aaron gasped.

Henry covered his face with both hands and raced up the deck into the house.

Reggie lay perfectly still on the snow, warm blood gushing from her nose and staining the whiteness around her.

8

Reggie vaguely recalled clinging to Aaron as he furiously pedaled his bike. “Reggie, can you hear me? Don’t let go!” Fogged with pain, she stayed upright and focused as best she could on her friend’s voice.

She awoke with Eben’s frowning face above her, his gentle hand holding the ice pack to her nose. Reggie grimaced, the skin beneath her eye puffy and tender. Aaron stood behind Eben, biting his lip in worry.

She reclined on a small Victorian fainting couch. Behind it stood a tall glass-fronted cabinet, filled with ancient-looking books. An orange cat with one pronounced fang stalked in the hall beyond. This was Eben’s apartment above the bookstore.

“No broken bones, but you’ll have some bruises,” Eben said.

Aaron leaned in.

“Merry Christmas, huh?” He smiled and stroked her hair. “I didn’t think you’d want to deal with my mother asking why your nose looks like a plum, so I came here.”

Reggie nodded. She tried to sit up, but dizziness forced her back down on the couch. Eben put a hand on her shoulder.

“Easy does it. We don’t want the bleeding to start up again.”

“Where’s Henry?” Reggie ran her tongue along her teeth and tasted the rusty, dried blood. Blurred images floated around in her brain. She turned to Aaron and saw the faint blue marks Henry’s little hands had left on his neck. “Oh, God. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Aaron’s hand reflexively went to his throat. He nodded. “I guess Henry’s still at home,” he said.

“Alone?”

“For now.”

“I have to go. My dad —” Reggie staggered to her feet. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I left Henry home alone, especially on Christmas Eve.”

“Sit down, Regina,” said Eben.

Reggie sank back down on the couch.

“Henry killed General Squeak,” said Aaron.

“I know.” Reggie swallowed hard. Her throat burned. “I think I knew it before you did.”

“He needs to see someone, Reggie,” Eben said. “I’m not trying to butt into your family’s life, but if he’s hurting people now . . .” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth. “You don’t want this to escalate.”

“I know. He needs to see a shrink,” Reggie said.

“Henry needs more than a shrink.” Aaron picked up a glass of water from the coffee table, and the ice cubes clinked from the shaking of his hand. “I think something happened to Henry after we read from that book the other night.”

“
The Devouring
? I read him a story from it. I’ve been thinking maybe that triggered bad memories.”

“No, Reg. Not memories.”

“Then what?”

“He’s different now.” Aaron looked her straight in the eyes. “I don’t think he’s your brother anymore. I don’t think he’s Henry.”

Reggie choked out a laugh.

“Oh, yeah? Then who is he? Elvis?”

Aaron didn’t smile.

“Wait. You’re seriously thinking —? That’s freaking great, Aaron. Thanks for that terrific rational approach. Now we’re really getting somewhere.”

“I did the rational, and none of the answers make sense.”

“Slow down,” said Eben. “Aaron, what are you saying?”

Reggie jabbed a finger at Aaron’s chest.

“
The Devouring
is just a stupid book! A fairy tale, Aaron. Words, nothing more.”

“Words are written down for a reason. Was there a real Cyclops? No — but could there have been some big, ugly mother of a mutation with one eye? Yes.” He looked to Eben. “You’ve read every book ever written. Do you understand what I mean?”

Eben considered Aaron’s words.

“Are there nuggets of truth to incredible tales? Sure. But it’s quite a leap to say that just because this book exists, there are creatures from another dimension who steal children’s souls. I don’t think an inquisition is the next logical step here.”

“Just hear me out,” said Aaron. “Henry’s a kid who freaks out easy. If Vours
do
exist, if they attack those most afraid on Sorry Night,
Henry
would be the perfect victim, right?”

“I hate to say it, Aaron, but
you
weren’t exactly a portrait of courage the other night,” Reggie answered. “Why didn’t they get you?”

“Because I wasn’t alone — and I didn’t really believe in the Vours. Think about how they came for Jeremiah in the book. Jeremiah’s sister ran away and left him all alone in the field. This was just a game to us,” Aaron said. “But to Henry, it was real.”

“So if I go home and chant ‘Bloody Mary’ into my bedroom mirror three times I’ll have a gory corpse standing behind me, if I believe in her?” said Reggie. “Great. Maybe she and Henry can go slaughter stray cats together.”

“Reggie, I saw things.”

“What things?”

“Henry’s skin. Something happened when the snow touched it. It got ... darker.”

“Like a rash?”

“No. Like a burn.”

“People have reactions to extreme cold, Aaron,” said Eben. He leaned forward to scratch his cat between the ears. “It’s not uncommon.”

“Henry’s a snow rat! Have you ever seen him have an allergic reaction to snow, or ice, or the cold? Even once?” Reggie shook her head. “Well, neither have I.”

“You said ‘things,’” said Reggie. “What else did you see?”

“You’re going to think I’m insane.”

“I’m already there.”

“When I fell on my knees? I fell because I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning.”

“What?”

“Henry looked in my eyes and he knew what I was afraid of. I can’t explain it, but he knew, and he made it real in my mind.”

Eben stood up.

“That’s enough. You’re both upset —”

Aaron slammed his palms against the table; the sudden noise sent the cat scampering under the couch.

“There’s something
in
him, damn it! I saw it!”

“What did you see, Aaron?” asked Eben. “Describe it.”

“We were face to face, and I saw
something
behind his eyes.”

Reggie scowled.

“Here’s what I think. You think you saw something, and I don’t blame you. He was choking you and you freaked. But fear does strange things, and the truth is, you’re scared of your own shadow.”

Seeing the look on Aaron’s face, Reggie instantly regretted what she’d said.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did, and I don’t care. I’m a coward, fine. But I’m not a fool, Reg. I know what I saw. And I’m willing to bet Mrs. Boswell saw something, too. Henry showed her something that literally scared her to death.”

“First my brother’s a demon, and now he murders little old ladies?” Reggie stood and strode toward the doorway. “I’m leaving.”

Aaron grabbed her arm as she passed him. “Don’t trust anything he says. Stay away from him tonight. Even if you just get spooked, call me and I’ll come over.”

Reggie wrenched her arm free and headed down the stairs. She stepped out onto the sidewalk and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She didn’t want to
think.
Her mind was like some medieval castle, with her hope locked up inside and Aaron’s words laying siege to it.
I don’t think he’s your brother anymore ... I don’t think he’s Henry . . .

A red Mustang slowed to a growling crawl beside her. The window rolled down, and Quinn called to her from behind the wheel.

“Hey, Halloway!” His smile quickly fell. “Whoa, what happened to your nose?”

Reggie’s hand flew to her face. She’d forgotten she looked like a punching bag. “Sledding accident,” she said.

Oh, fantastic. What fifteen-year-old still went sledding?

“Was it contact sledding? Let me give you a ride home.”

Reggie smiled gratefully and reached for the passenger side door just as her father’s pickup pulled up behind Quinn’s car. He rolled down his window, and Reggie could smell his anger.

“Get in.”

9

Dad barely talked on the ride home, except to ask what on earth Reggie had done to her face. She said she had slipped on some ice.

As they drove, Reggie realized she had no love for the season anymore. Her mom was gone, her dad no longer trusted her, and her brother ... well, Aaron thought her brother was a Vour. All the cheesy lights, recycled carols, and plastic reindeer around Cutter’s Wedge just reinforced her faithlessness in anything redemptive about the holidays.

“If I didn’t think it would ruin Christmas for the family, I’d ground you through New Year’s,” Dad finally said.

“The family. Right.”

“Don’t push it, Regina.”

“Ground me. What’ve I got to celebrate? More laundry?”

They pulled into the driveway and Dad cut the engine. Reggie opened the door and stepped out.

“Drop the attitude, Reggie. This is tough for all of us. Doesn’t help the situation if you —”

“Sorry, Dad. I’ve got pants to iron.” She slammed the car door and marched into the house.

Upstairs, Reggie noticed hot steam escaping beneath the bathroom door. Henry was in the bathtub singing “Deck the Halls.” For a moment she thought about confronting him, but then remembered what Aaron had told her.

Stay away from him tonight.

So she went straight to her room and closed the door. Lying in bed, she felt the blood thumping in her bruised face. She heard Henry’s bare feet running down the hallway, followed by Dad’s heavy footsteps. Through the heating vent in the wall, Reggie heard their bedtime chat.

“You get some sleep now, little man,” Dad said.

“I know.” Henry sighed. “Santa won’t come until I’m asleep.”

“Funny to hear you say that. Last year you told me you didn’t believe in Santa Claus.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Well, just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

“That’s exactly right. Goodnight, Henry.”

Reggie heard Dad leave the room. She lay with her eyes closed, the wind tapping against her window. An image of the mangled hamster lying in the shoebox came to her.

“Reggie . . .” Her brother’s voice was a whisper. “Reggie, I’m sorry about today.”

She opened her eyes and turned her head. A short silhouette stood in her doorway. The pitiful Kappy dangled from his hand.

“How could you do that to Aaron?”

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

“How could you
do
that?”

She could hear him breathing. She thought she saw him smile.

“He started it.”

“Henry, what’s happened to you? Is something going on at school? Are you getting picked on?”

“I do the picking now.” His voice was gravelly, and cold surged through Reggie at his words.

“What do you mean?” she asked slowly. Henry just swung Kappy back and forth. A piece of stuffing fluttered to the floor.

“I got some presents for you, Reggie. I think you’ll like them.”

The silhouette disappeared back down the dark hall, and Reggie heard Henry’s door close. She rose and shut her own door.

Ever since Sorry Night, life had gone from difficult to dismal. When she first had borrowed
The Devouring,
it seemed twisted and fun. Now, she recalled its pages as emanations of darkness and madness. She regretted ever picking it up.

It’s not possible . . .

Something moved to her left. A spider was crawling down the wall. It might have been the one Aaron had released from the jar on Sorry Night, mottled brown and fat, but it seemed larger. Bumpy skin stretched tight over the meaty bulk of its abdomen. Thick fang-tipped appendages, moist with venom, twitched in the center of its face. Its segmented legs, bristling with hair, rose and fell with sickening undulation as it crept closer. Eight tiny black eyes gleamed at her through the darkness. Reggie knew it couldn’t be possible, but she thought she heard it breathing. Terror bloomed inside her, freezing her, clogging her throat.

Something scratched and rattled behind the vent near the ceiling. Her gaze snapped up to the sound, and she saw the tips of innumerable spider legs poking through the grate. The vent creaked and shifted in its moorings. The spider on the wall hissed, and a creature beyond the vent replied, and then another, and another, multiplying the sound until a horrid rasping chorus filled the room. The vent’s cover burst open and clattered to the floor.

A mass of scrambling legs and dripping fangs poured down the wall and flooded onto the floor like a dark boiling slime.

Reggie scrambled to the door, only to find that the knob would not turn. She yanked it desperately until a hairy brown spider crawled through the keyhole and made for her fingers. Flailing and stumbling, she headed for the window, but dozens of spiders dropped from the sill and crept around the curtains.

Helpless, Reggie tried to dive under her covers, but spiders flooded into her bed from all sides, spinning down from the ceiling on sticky white threads or crawling out of the pillowcases. She realized she was screaming, but the shrieks were so piercing and uncontrollable that they seemed to be coming from someplace else, somewhere that had been hidden deep inside of her ... until now. She yanked the blanket from her bed, sending spiders scattering in all directions, then pulled it over her head. The world darkened around her. Amid the crawling chaos, she heard someone calling for her.