a presence – just on the edge of my vision – and snatching the bedspread in both hands I whipped around, heart hammering, mouth dry.
The boy sat on the end of my bed, smiling, rain-wet red hair spilling around his shoulders, black eyes shining like wet pebbles, cloak spread out around him. I watched him breathe, the smooth rise and fall of his chest; he watched me, smiling all the time. It was so quiet. All I could do was stare at him.
“Why did you run?” asked the boy.
When I spoke, my mouth was so dry with terror I could hardly spit out the words. “Because I wasn’t meant to be there. My mum—”
“But I invited you.” I could tell he was angry, now, his eyes flashing. “You were my guest. There was no need to show me discourtesy.”
“I don’t even know your name.” In the back of my mind, I screamed,
Why aren’t you shouting for help?
But I couldn’t. At last I managed to ask, “Who are you?”
He laughed – a strange, silvery sound. I knew he would never tell me his name.
“What do you want?” I forced each word out between lips frozen with fear.
“What do I
want
?” His voice was incredulous, mocking. “Listen to me. We have watched for so long. We saw them crawl out of hot seas when the sun was still young. We were there when they came down from the trees and began to hunt. We guided their hands like mothers with young as they first began to mix colours and paint their dreams on the walls of caves. We watched in awe as they multiplied and spread across the earth.” He reached out and cupped my chin in his hand. I flinched, drawing in a sharp breath. “Do you not see, Lissy, that there are too
many
of them?”
For a second, we stared at each other, and I looked into his black shining eyes.
He was talking about the human race. Which meant, which must mean, that he was
something else
—
He was the first to look away. “Your time’s up,” he whispered. “I gave you as much as I could. I have suffered enough for you, Lissy Harker. I’ve been alone among my own kind, despised by my closest kin, all for you.”
And the curtains blew, filled tight and round like the sails on a boat, flapping and snapping in the wind before dropping back to hang against the wall, now still.
When I turned back to face the boy, he had gone.
I just heard his voice, whispering in the shadows. “Come dance with us. Come dance.”
I leaned back against my pillows, grabbing one of them and clutching it against my chest. My breath came in short gasps as if I’d been running in freezing fog. He was gone, as if he’d never been there. As if I’d imagined the whole thing. Which I had, of course. All that weird stuff about people evolving and spreading across the earth like a
virus
or something—
Your time’s up?
What was that supposed to mean? It sounded like a threat.
He really did know my name.
“A dream,” I said aloud. “It was definitely just a dream.”
And, then, I heard a noise in the house. Downstairs. A great bright smashing noise – breaking glass. It hadn’t been a dream. He was still here. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t, I couldn’t make a sound; it was so horrible wanting to shriek and nothing coming out but a weak gasp. I waited a moment, expecting to hear movement down the corridor, where Mum and Nick’s room was. They were the adults. They should have been responsible for making sure everything was all right. But I waited and waited and no sound came until I heard the soft squeak of bedsprings coming from the room right next door to me.
Where Joe was sleeping. Not sleeping but moving: he was getting out of bed. Did he hear the boy, then, as well? Did he know?
I heard the floorboards creak slightly, footfalls one after the other. No hesitation.
Is he brave,
I wondered,
or just completely unimaginative?
I suppressed a wave of pure irritation. Boring Joe, getting in the way again. Obviously his fifteen minutes of glory weren’t enough. Now he was playing heroes
The boy sat on the end of my bed, smiling, rain-wet red hair spilling around his shoulders, black eyes shining like wet pebbles, cloak spread out around him. I watched him breathe, the smooth rise and fall of his chest; he watched me, smiling all the time. It was so quiet. All I could do was stare at him.
“Why did you run?” asked the boy.
When I spoke, my mouth was so dry with terror I could hardly spit out the words. “Because I wasn’t meant to be there. My mum—”
“But I invited you.” I could tell he was angry, now, his eyes flashing. “You were my guest. There was no need to show me discourtesy.”
“I don’t even know your name.” In the back of my mind, I screamed,
Why aren’t you shouting for help?
But I couldn’t. At last I managed to ask, “Who are you?”
He laughed – a strange, silvery sound. I knew he would never tell me his name.
“What do you want?” I forced each word out between lips frozen with fear.
“What do I
want
?” His voice was incredulous, mocking. “Listen to me. We have watched for so long. We saw them crawl out of hot seas when the sun was still young. We were there when they came down from the trees and began to hunt. We guided their hands like mothers with young as they first began to mix colours and paint their dreams on the walls of caves. We watched in awe as they multiplied and spread across the earth.” He reached out and cupped my chin in his hand. I flinched, drawing in a sharp breath. “Do you not see, Lissy, that there are too
many
of them?”
For a second, we stared at each other, and I looked into his black shining eyes.
He was talking about the human race. Which meant, which must mean, that he was
something else
—
He was the first to look away. “Your time’s up,” he whispered. “I gave you as much as I could. I have suffered enough for you, Lissy Harker. I’ve been alone among my own kind, despised by my closest kin, all for you.”
And the curtains blew, filled tight and round like the sails on a boat, flapping and snapping in the wind before dropping back to hang against the wall, now still.
When I turned back to face the boy, he had gone.
I just heard his voice, whispering in the shadows. “Come dance with us. Come dance.”
I leaned back against my pillows, grabbing one of them and clutching it against my chest. My breath came in short gasps as if I’d been running in freezing fog. He was gone, as if he’d never been there. As if I’d imagined the whole thing. Which I had, of course. All that weird stuff about people evolving and spreading across the earth like a
virus
or something—
Your time’s up?
What was that supposed to mean? It sounded like a threat.
He really did know my name.
“A dream,” I said aloud. “It was definitely just a dream.”
And, then, I heard a noise in the house. Downstairs. A great bright smashing noise – breaking glass. It hadn’t been a dream. He was still here. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t, I couldn’t make a sound; it was so horrible wanting to shriek and nothing coming out but a weak gasp. I waited a moment, expecting to hear movement down the corridor, where Mum and Nick’s room was. They were the adults. They should have been responsible for making sure everything was all right. But I waited and waited and no sound came until I heard the soft squeak of bedsprings coming from the room right next door to me.
Where Joe was sleeping. Not sleeping but moving: he was getting out of bed. Did he hear the boy, then, as well? Did he know?
I heard the floorboards creak slightly, footfalls one after the other. No hesitation.
Is he brave,
I wondered,
or just completely unimaginative?
I suppressed a wave of pure irritation. Boring Joe, getting in the way again. Obviously his fifteen minutes of glory weren’t enough. Now he was playing heroes
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