Read Online A Hollow Dream of Summer's End by Andrew van Wey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew van Wey
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yard, unable to find any outstanding shape among the shadows. There were a thousand suspects, sure, but none better than the others.
"Do you think we should go down?" he asked. “To check at least?”
"Yeah, maybe that's a good idea," Freddie answered.
The two boys slowly opened the wood hatch, ready for anything to pop out. But nothing did. They stared down into the wet abyss below. Damp grass glistened in the beam of Freddie's flashlight. Soggy dirt and tanbark at the base of the redwood.
They would get wet. They would have to run through the sprinklers, but perhaps they would get away, and if they did the cold would be worth it. Anything would.
"I don't see it," Freddie said. "Do you?"
"Hand me the flashlight."
"Don't drop it."
“Duh.”
Aiden leaned over the hatch, lowered his head. The world tilted upside down. The grass became the heavens; the dark, cloudy sky a milky seascape below. Aiden panned the flashlight across the yard, searching for forms among the shadows. Shapes and faces, so many dark places to hide. Yet he found nothing, no trace of Mister Skitters.
"I think it's clear," he said.
"You sure?"
"No, I'm not. But I think it's clear. Maybe we should drop the ladder."
"Okay," Freddie whispered and started to unroll the ladder.
"Dude, your hand," Aiden said, pointing to Freddie's left hand.
"It's nothing," the lanky boy answered, scratching his enflamed forearm. The skin had taken on a dark discoloration, not unlike a rash of poison oak. There was plenty of that in the woods and foothills of Alder Glen of course, but none that acted that fast. This rash had come from that lash of Mister Skitter's arm.
"It itches, okay? Just stop staring."
"Yeah, sure," Aiden answered, making sure to avoid the dark spots where the filth had spotted and stained the rungs of the ladder. "Okay, that's it."
The ladder dangled thirty feet into the wet shadows below. Again, Aiden dipped his head below, turning the world upside down once more. He scanned the lawn, the perimeter, that faint flashlight beam doing its best to render monsters out of nothing.
And what if that was all it had been? he wondered. A shadow and a fear? A prank his dad had pulled? What if Brian had been in on it?
Perhaps, he thought. Perhaps that was it. Two summers ago it had been the campfire story of the Razor Tickler. Or the woman with the painted face that wandered by the old asylum. Or the twins in the middle of the lake, the ones that could only be seen at midnight on the anniversary of the night they drowned trying to save each other.
And suddenly it didn't seem so scary to climb down that ladder. Suddenly the thought of something that skittered on three legs seemed to be back where it belonged: among the childish fears of shadows in closets and monsters beneath the bed.
"Who goes first?" Freddie asked.
"I don't care," Aiden answered. "Rock paper scissors?"
"Sure."
They bounced their hands in three silent bumps, each throwing paper on the first try. Freddie's fingers were red, long tendrils running down his arm, even more vibrant than they seemed a few minutes ago. Aiden tried not to notice. "Rock, paper, scissors," the lanky boy called.
A second round saw them both throw rock. Then paper. Then three sets of scissors and two more sets of paper. Finally they throw rock five times in a row until Freddie just gave up and snapped, "I'll go. I don't care."
But something told Aiden he did care. He always cared. Freddie tried to hide a lot of things behind a mask of indifference, but at the end of the day that's all it was: a mask.
Then he was gone, descending the rickety rope ladder. Aiden lowered his head, studied that upside down world. Clicking sprinklers. Shadows. A thousand trees on the edge of the property. And that distant house, bright, warm. Sanctuary. Could he make it?
Yes, he thought. Freddie wasn't the fastest, but he could move when necessary. And if anyone had a chance...
Aiden's thoughts turned cold.
"Freddie," Aiden
"Do you think we should go down?" he asked. “To check at least?”
"Yeah, maybe that's a good idea," Freddie answered.
The two boys slowly opened the wood hatch, ready for anything to pop out. But nothing did. They stared down into the wet abyss below. Damp grass glistened in the beam of Freddie's flashlight. Soggy dirt and tanbark at the base of the redwood.
They would get wet. They would have to run through the sprinklers, but perhaps they would get away, and if they did the cold would be worth it. Anything would.
"I don't see it," Freddie said. "Do you?"
"Hand me the flashlight."
"Don't drop it."
“Duh.”
Aiden leaned over the hatch, lowered his head. The world tilted upside down. The grass became the heavens; the dark, cloudy sky a milky seascape below. Aiden panned the flashlight across the yard, searching for forms among the shadows. Shapes and faces, so many dark places to hide. Yet he found nothing, no trace of Mister Skitters.
"I think it's clear," he said.
"You sure?"
"No, I'm not. But I think it's clear. Maybe we should drop the ladder."
"Okay," Freddie whispered and started to unroll the ladder.
"Dude, your hand," Aiden said, pointing to Freddie's left hand.
"It's nothing," the lanky boy answered, scratching his enflamed forearm. The skin had taken on a dark discoloration, not unlike a rash of poison oak. There was plenty of that in the woods and foothills of Alder Glen of course, but none that acted that fast. This rash had come from that lash of Mister Skitter's arm.
"It itches, okay? Just stop staring."
"Yeah, sure," Aiden answered, making sure to avoid the dark spots where the filth had spotted and stained the rungs of the ladder. "Okay, that's it."
The ladder dangled thirty feet into the wet shadows below. Again, Aiden dipped his head below, turning the world upside down once more. He scanned the lawn, the perimeter, that faint flashlight beam doing its best to render monsters out of nothing.
And what if that was all it had been? he wondered. A shadow and a fear? A prank his dad had pulled? What if Brian had been in on it?
Perhaps, he thought. Perhaps that was it. Two summers ago it had been the campfire story of the Razor Tickler. Or the woman with the painted face that wandered by the old asylum. Or the twins in the middle of the lake, the ones that could only be seen at midnight on the anniversary of the night they drowned trying to save each other.
And suddenly it didn't seem so scary to climb down that ladder. Suddenly the thought of something that skittered on three legs seemed to be back where it belonged: among the childish fears of shadows in closets and monsters beneath the bed.
"Who goes first?" Freddie asked.
"I don't care," Aiden answered. "Rock paper scissors?"
"Sure."
They bounced their hands in three silent bumps, each throwing paper on the first try. Freddie's fingers were red, long tendrils running down his arm, even more vibrant than they seemed a few minutes ago. Aiden tried not to notice. "Rock, paper, scissors," the lanky boy called.
A second round saw them both throw rock. Then paper. Then three sets of scissors and two more sets of paper. Finally they throw rock five times in a row until Freddie just gave up and snapped, "I'll go. I don't care."
But something told Aiden he did care. He always cared. Freddie tried to hide a lot of things behind a mask of indifference, but at the end of the day that's all it was: a mask.
Then he was gone, descending the rickety rope ladder. Aiden lowered his head, studied that upside down world. Clicking sprinklers. Shadows. A thousand trees on the edge of the property. And that distant house, bright, warm. Sanctuary. Could he make it?
Yes, he thought. Freddie wasn't the fastest, but he could move when necessary. And if anyone had a chance...
Aiden's thoughts turned cold.
"Freddie," Aiden
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