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Authors: William Joyce
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Another Nightmare
K ATHERINE WAS RUNNING. S HE was in a forest. It was night. There was a bright moon, which made seeing easier, but it also made the shadows even denser and darker in contrast. There was no wind at all; the air lay thick and heavy all around her. There were no insects singing or the usual low commotion of a forest at night. Just an unnerving quiet. The only sound was her footsteps on the grass.
And the sound of the Thing that was pursuing her.
It seemed as though she’d been running for days. Even though she was going as fast as she could, herfeet were as heavy as lead. She could barely raise them. She heard the Thing coming behind her. Its movements were smooth and agile. It was coming closer, and quickly.
She had to hurry! Why were her feet so leaden? She seemed to be slower with each step.
She’d glimpsed the Thing, but only for a few fractured instants as it moved from leafy shadows into the moonlight, then back into shadow. Light. Shadow. Light. Shadow. A horrible flickering. Never long enough to see the Thing clearly. It was a squirming, lumpy mass, as big as Bear, but not like a bear at all. Not like anything she could name. It was coiled and knotted, like a tangle of giant snakes, but there was an arm too; a man’s arm, Pitch’s arm, coming from the Thing’s center, clawing at the ground and pulling it forward. Large snaky tails, each as thick as a smalltree trunk, twisted out from the main mass, helping the arm move its bulk over rocks and roots with a disturbing ease.
Katherine was desperate to get away from the Thing. She had to go faster. But her feet grew heavier still. Stepping over tree roots grew harder, then almost impossible. The Thing was getting closer.
Ahead was a small clearing where the ground was level. Katherine willed herself to reach it—maybe she could run faster from there. She staggered toward it. The sound of clawing behind her—a lean whisper of slithering—was getting closer. Now she didn’t dare look back.
She reached the clearing. Her first dozen steps were a victory; swift and strong, she was gaining speed!
Her feet were light now; she was running! Shecould feel the strength surging through her legs as they quickened their pace. She felt revitalized, as if she could run like this forever. Fists tight, she pumped her arms up and down in perfect rhythm with her stride.
Up ahead there was a huge tree. It looked familiar. It was Big Root! Faster! FASTER! If she could just make it to the door, she knew she’d be safe. She tried to call out—someone would hear her, help her.
“Nightlight!” she gasped, but she was too winded. She didn’t dare slow down. The Thing was right behind her. It would catch up. She tried again, “Nightlight, help!” But her voice was barely a gasp. Faster. Faster. Faster.
Then her foot came down onto ground that was like mud—softer even. Her leg sank past her knee; her next desperate step went even deeper. She triedto push herself forward, but it was no use. She was sinking.
She could hear the Thing hurrying behind her. She was too afraid to look. She was sinking quickly. She struggled to free herself from the sucking mud, looking yearningly at Big Root all the while. The tree began to pull away from her. How could that be? The distance between them—the ground itself—began to pull up into the air. Were her friends leaving her?
The Thing. She didn’t dare turn around, but she knew it was only steps away. As it covered the last bit of distance between them, she heard it reach the mud. It couldn’t be more than ten feet away. Five. She closed her eyes. It did no good. She could still see the Thing in her mind. Then she felt the hand of it on her collar.
She tried to scream. But nothing came out. Not even a whimper. If her friends could only hear her, they would come. They always had. Why couldn’t they hear her?
C HAPTER T WENTY -T WO
At Last a Kind Wind
S ANDERSON M ANSNOOZIE HAD BEEN extremely busy. He had
Another Nightmare
K ATHERINE WAS RUNNING. S HE was in a forest. It was night. There was a bright moon, which made seeing easier, but it also made the shadows even denser and darker in contrast. There was no wind at all; the air lay thick and heavy all around her. There were no insects singing or the usual low commotion of a forest at night. Just an unnerving quiet. The only sound was her footsteps on the grass.
And the sound of the Thing that was pursuing her.
It seemed as though she’d been running for days. Even though she was going as fast as she could, herfeet were as heavy as lead. She could barely raise them. She heard the Thing coming behind her. Its movements were smooth and agile. It was coming closer, and quickly.
She had to hurry! Why were her feet so leaden? She seemed to be slower with each step.
She’d glimpsed the Thing, but only for a few fractured instants as it moved from leafy shadows into the moonlight, then back into shadow. Light. Shadow. Light. Shadow. A horrible flickering. Never long enough to see the Thing clearly. It was a squirming, lumpy mass, as big as Bear, but not like a bear at all. Not like anything she could name. It was coiled and knotted, like a tangle of giant snakes, but there was an arm too; a man’s arm, Pitch’s arm, coming from the Thing’s center, clawing at the ground and pulling it forward. Large snaky tails, each as thick as a smalltree trunk, twisted out from the main mass, helping the arm move its bulk over rocks and roots with a disturbing ease.
Katherine was desperate to get away from the Thing. She had to go faster. But her feet grew heavier still. Stepping over tree roots grew harder, then almost impossible. The Thing was getting closer.
Ahead was a small clearing where the ground was level. Katherine willed herself to reach it—maybe she could run faster from there. She staggered toward it. The sound of clawing behind her—a lean whisper of slithering—was getting closer. Now she didn’t dare look back.
She reached the clearing. Her first dozen steps were a victory; swift and strong, she was gaining speed!
Her feet were light now; she was running! Shecould feel the strength surging through her legs as they quickened their pace. She felt revitalized, as if she could run like this forever. Fists tight, she pumped her arms up and down in perfect rhythm with her stride.
Up ahead there was a huge tree. It looked familiar. It was Big Root! Faster! FASTER! If she could just make it to the door, she knew she’d be safe. She tried to call out—someone would hear her, help her.
“Nightlight!” she gasped, but she was too winded. She didn’t dare slow down. The Thing was right behind her. It would catch up. She tried again, “Nightlight, help!” But her voice was barely a gasp. Faster. Faster. Faster.
Then her foot came down onto ground that was like mud—softer even. Her leg sank past her knee; her next desperate step went even deeper. She triedto push herself forward, but it was no use. She was sinking.
She could hear the Thing hurrying behind her. She was too afraid to look. She was sinking quickly. She struggled to free herself from the sucking mud, looking yearningly at Big Root all the while. The tree began to pull away from her. How could that be? The distance between them—the ground itself—began to pull up into the air. Were her friends leaving her?
The Thing. She didn’t dare turn around, but she knew it was only steps away. As it covered the last bit of distance between them, she heard it reach the mud. It couldn’t be more than ten feet away. Five. She closed her eyes. It did no good. She could still see the Thing in her mind. Then she felt the hand of it on her collar.
She tried to scream. But nothing came out. Not even a whimper. If her friends could only hear her, they would come. They always had. Why couldn’t they hear her?
C HAPTER T WENTY -T WO
At Last a Kind Wind
S ANDERSON M ANSNOOZIE HAD BEEN extremely busy. He had
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