Read Online The Monsters of Stephen Enchanter by D.J. Natelson - Free Book Online
Authors: D.J. Natelson
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four unremarkable children and one remarkably reprehensible child who was always getting into trouble and didn’t know not to go out wandering at night, so let that be a lesson to you.
This child’s name was Sophia, and she was lying in bed, waiting until it was safe to slip out of bed and plant spiders in her sisters’ shoes and worms in the muesli. It was about five in the morning, but dawn was still hours off—which suited her perfectly. Her family always rose and went to bed with the sun, regardless of time of year.
Sophia crawled out of her warm bed and pulled on layers of clothing, shivering. She worked quickly, emptying her jar of spiders and picking out the fattest worms that she had found snuggled deep in the cellar, hibernating. She giggled to herself.
Something thumped in the distance, and Sophia froze. Had she been caught out? She had been very naughty indeed, and her guilty conscience made her frightened—as should all children be, who have disobeyed their elders.
But no; the sound was coming from outside the house. There was a smell that accompanied it, like and unlike smoke. It made Sophia curious.
No one was likely to be around at that time of morning, so Sophia pulled on yet more layers, took the key off its hook, locked the door behind her, and went to investigate.
The moon shone bright, and the snow gleamed white beneath its glow. Sophia needed no lantern, which was just as well, because it would have alerted the neighbors.
All was still and peaceful, the only sounds the gentle crunching of Sophia’s boots in snow and the peculiar noise that had led her to investigate. It wasn’t exactly a thumping, she determined. It sometimes hissed like gas or slurped like mud. Sophia had no idea what someone was doing to make that noise, but she knew she wanted to find out.
Sophia walked right through the town of Quag, following the noise. She finally traced it to the back of old Leonard Goose’s barn. She circled around it and spotted an enormous dark thing. It was moving slightly and, she perceived, slurping.
“Hello,” said Sophia. “Are you a fairy creature?” She stepped forward and her foot landed in something grey and warm and soft.
Ash.
Sophia looked back at the Goose barn. The entire side of it was gone, and the smell of smoke lingered stronger than ever.
“Excuse me,” Sophia said—politely, because it was never wise to insult a fairy creature—“but that was the Goose barn. I didn’t like them much, but they can yell like anything when you’ve done something wrong, and they aren’t going to be happy about their barn. They’ll say it’s unpleasant. You’d better apologize. Apologies make everything better.”
The beast put its head to the ground and began lapping up the ash. Its long tongue swept back and forth. On the fourth sweep, it touched Sophia’s boots, and prodded them, investigating this strange new taste.
“Please don’t,” said Sophia. “That’s gross.”
The tongue swept up her boots and over her coat and knocked off her hat.
“Please stop,” said Sophia, retrieving the hat. It was slime covered, but the early morning was simply too cold to do without it.
The tongue withdrew and the beast puffed out a lance of flame, white hot. The flame engulfed Sophia before she could scream, and a fresh little pile of grey ash fell to the earth. The beast industriously licked up her remains, and went to find more of the screaming things that made such tasty ash.
Three towns later, at the end of the coldest day, the beast lay down where it was and slept, not to reawaken until the weather was once again sufficiently cold. It had woken six times in the past forty years, and would wake again tomorrow if someone didn’t do something about it.
“There you have it,” Tinkerfingers observed when Youngster had finished . “Myth,
This child’s name was Sophia, and she was lying in bed, waiting until it was safe to slip out of bed and plant spiders in her sisters’ shoes and worms in the muesli. It was about five in the morning, but dawn was still hours off—which suited her perfectly. Her family always rose and went to bed with the sun, regardless of time of year.
Sophia crawled out of her warm bed and pulled on layers of clothing, shivering. She worked quickly, emptying her jar of spiders and picking out the fattest worms that she had found snuggled deep in the cellar, hibernating. She giggled to herself.
Something thumped in the distance, and Sophia froze. Had she been caught out? She had been very naughty indeed, and her guilty conscience made her frightened—as should all children be, who have disobeyed their elders.
But no; the sound was coming from outside the house. There was a smell that accompanied it, like and unlike smoke. It made Sophia curious.
No one was likely to be around at that time of morning, so Sophia pulled on yet more layers, took the key off its hook, locked the door behind her, and went to investigate.
The moon shone bright, and the snow gleamed white beneath its glow. Sophia needed no lantern, which was just as well, because it would have alerted the neighbors.
All was still and peaceful, the only sounds the gentle crunching of Sophia’s boots in snow and the peculiar noise that had led her to investigate. It wasn’t exactly a thumping, she determined. It sometimes hissed like gas or slurped like mud. Sophia had no idea what someone was doing to make that noise, but she knew she wanted to find out.
Sophia walked right through the town of Quag, following the noise. She finally traced it to the back of old Leonard Goose’s barn. She circled around it and spotted an enormous dark thing. It was moving slightly and, she perceived, slurping.
“Hello,” said Sophia. “Are you a fairy creature?” She stepped forward and her foot landed in something grey and warm and soft.
Ash.
Sophia looked back at the Goose barn. The entire side of it was gone, and the smell of smoke lingered stronger than ever.
“Excuse me,” Sophia said—politely, because it was never wise to insult a fairy creature—“but that was the Goose barn. I didn’t like them much, but they can yell like anything when you’ve done something wrong, and they aren’t going to be happy about their barn. They’ll say it’s unpleasant. You’d better apologize. Apologies make everything better.”
The beast put its head to the ground and began lapping up the ash. Its long tongue swept back and forth. On the fourth sweep, it touched Sophia’s boots, and prodded them, investigating this strange new taste.
“Please don’t,” said Sophia. “That’s gross.”
The tongue swept up her boots and over her coat and knocked off her hat.
“Please stop,” said Sophia, retrieving the hat. It was slime covered, but the early morning was simply too cold to do without it.
The tongue withdrew and the beast puffed out a lance of flame, white hot. The flame engulfed Sophia before she could scream, and a fresh little pile of grey ash fell to the earth. The beast industriously licked up her remains, and went to find more of the screaming things that made such tasty ash.
Three towns later, at the end of the coldest day, the beast lay down where it was and slept, not to reawaken until the weather was once again sufficiently cold. It had woken six times in the past forty years, and would wake again tomorrow if someone didn’t do something about it.
“There you have it,” Tinkerfingers observed when Youngster had finished . “Myth,
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