Read Online The Night Wanderer by Drew Hayden Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Drew Hayden Taylor
Tags: Fiction, General, Bildungsromans, People & Places, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Social Issues, Canada, Vampires, Horror Tales, Horror & Ghost Stories, Teenage girls, Adolescence, Indians of North America, Ojibwa Indians, Ontario, Native Canadian, JUV018000, Teenage Girls - Ontario, Indian Reservations - Ontario, Indian Reservations
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them relax by his waist. âWe have an agreement, then.â He seemed to be waiting for something. The stranger cleared his throat. âI assume the fabled basement must be down that stairway? It has been a tremendously long journey and I have things to unpack.â
Only then did it occur to Keith that LâErrant wouldnât know the way. âFollow me.â He led him to the flight of stairs, Granny Ruth following close behind.
âYou poor thing, you must be exhausted,â said Granny Ruth as she opened the door, quickly turning on the basement light.
âYou have no idea. It seems like itâs taken me an eternity to get here,â replied their guest.
Granny Ruth made her way down the stairs, the groan of abundantly aged wood and dampness telling the world not to trust its strength for much longer.
Keith led his guest to the corner where he had constructed the room for Tiffany, a place she had earlier referred to as a reserve within a reserve. Granny Ruth started moving all her granddaughterâs clothes and CDs back upstairs. Keith looked almost apologetic. âItâs not much, like I said. You can still change your mind, if you want.â
âNonsense. This will be fine. I already feel at home.â LâErrant reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet. He opened it and removed several hundred-dollar bills and promptly handed them over to Keith. âI hope this will be sufficient?â
Keith eyed the bills. That would pay all of this monthâs utilities and potentially several more months. Maybe having some stranger staying in his basement wasnât such a bad idea. Who knows, he thought, maybe he could talk the guy into staying a bit longer.
âThank you very much, Mr. LâErrant . . . Pierre. Sorry. Just let us know if you need anything. Anything. Have a good night. Iâve got a very early morning.â
âIt is indeed a good night. Sleep well, Keith.âThe man was left alone in the makeshift room, a slight breeze coming from the small window next to it. It was head high in the cement, ground level outside. It was open, maybe an inch. LâErrant opened the window full, and the breeze increased. He breathed in the air deeply. It filled his sinuses and lungs. This land had an aroma that he had waited so long to smell again. He was home. And this time, he would not leave again.
EIGHT
H IGH ABOVE the house an owl surveyed the landscape. With its piercing eyesight, it could see deep into the forest despite the darkness of the night. It was the perfect nocturnal winged predator. Slightly hungry, it casually scanned the terrain below the towering oak tree to see what was available. To its lower right, something caught its attention. One of those two-legged creatures that seemed to be everywhere was crawling out of a window.
Curious, it watched the human stand upright and brush himself off. And then, scanning the forest in his own manner, he looked up, directly into the owlâs eyes. It was as if the two-legged creature could see the owl, quietly nestled in the thick of the branches at the top of a very tall tree. The owl was used to being invisible. In fact, the construction of its wings made even its flight virtually soundless. A whisper in a land of winds. So it should have been impossible for this creature, famous for having such poor night vision, to see the nocturnal raptor.
The human pursed his lips and emitted a note-perfect owl call: â who . . . who . . . who . . . â It was so perfect, even the owl did a double take. The two-legged beast could see him and talk like him. This was too much for the simple country owl. This was not the way things were supposed to be. Knowing there would be good hunting down by the lake, the owl eagerly leapt off the branch, spread its strong wings, and ascended into the night.
As the owl flew north, the two-legged creature on the ground watched it leave. Then, smiling to himself, he
Only then did it occur to Keith that LâErrant wouldnât know the way. âFollow me.â He led him to the flight of stairs, Granny Ruth following close behind.
âYou poor thing, you must be exhausted,â said Granny Ruth as she opened the door, quickly turning on the basement light.
âYou have no idea. It seems like itâs taken me an eternity to get here,â replied their guest.
Granny Ruth made her way down the stairs, the groan of abundantly aged wood and dampness telling the world not to trust its strength for much longer.
Keith led his guest to the corner where he had constructed the room for Tiffany, a place she had earlier referred to as a reserve within a reserve. Granny Ruth started moving all her granddaughterâs clothes and CDs back upstairs. Keith looked almost apologetic. âItâs not much, like I said. You can still change your mind, if you want.â
âNonsense. This will be fine. I already feel at home.â LâErrant reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet. He opened it and removed several hundred-dollar bills and promptly handed them over to Keith. âI hope this will be sufficient?â
Keith eyed the bills. That would pay all of this monthâs utilities and potentially several more months. Maybe having some stranger staying in his basement wasnât such a bad idea. Who knows, he thought, maybe he could talk the guy into staying a bit longer.
âThank you very much, Mr. LâErrant . . . Pierre. Sorry. Just let us know if you need anything. Anything. Have a good night. Iâve got a very early morning.â
âIt is indeed a good night. Sleep well, Keith.âThe man was left alone in the makeshift room, a slight breeze coming from the small window next to it. It was head high in the cement, ground level outside. It was open, maybe an inch. LâErrant opened the window full, and the breeze increased. He breathed in the air deeply. It filled his sinuses and lungs. This land had an aroma that he had waited so long to smell again. He was home. And this time, he would not leave again.
EIGHT
H IGH ABOVE the house an owl surveyed the landscape. With its piercing eyesight, it could see deep into the forest despite the darkness of the night. It was the perfect nocturnal winged predator. Slightly hungry, it casually scanned the terrain below the towering oak tree to see what was available. To its lower right, something caught its attention. One of those two-legged creatures that seemed to be everywhere was crawling out of a window.
Curious, it watched the human stand upright and brush himself off. And then, scanning the forest in his own manner, he looked up, directly into the owlâs eyes. It was as if the two-legged creature could see the owl, quietly nestled in the thick of the branches at the top of a very tall tree. The owl was used to being invisible. In fact, the construction of its wings made even its flight virtually soundless. A whisper in a land of winds. So it should have been impossible for this creature, famous for having such poor night vision, to see the nocturnal raptor.
The human pursed his lips and emitted a note-perfect owl call: â who . . . who . . . who . . . â It was so perfect, even the owl did a double take. The two-legged beast could see him and talk like him. This was too much for the simple country owl. This was not the way things were supposed to be. Knowing there would be good hunting down by the lake, the owl eagerly leapt off the branch, spread its strong wings, and ascended into the night.
As the owl flew north, the two-legged creature on the ground watched it leave. Then, smiling to himself, he
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