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Authors: Amber Benson Christopher Golden
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to bring to his supporting role. He’d made enough
bad decisions after so that people forgot he could really act, but Good Will
Hunting proved it. Rose had a soft spot for Affleck. She wondered if it was
because he looked a little bit like Mike Richards. On the other hand, she
wondered if she had a soft spot for Mike because he looked a little bit like
Ben Affleck.
She figured the truth was that she had a soft spot for Mike
because he was Mike. Rose knew he had feelings for her, and she knew she felt
something in return. But it didn’t feel like love to her. She’d known Mike most
of her life and though she knew he was a good, decent, hard-working man, in the
back of her mind there would always be the goofy kid who’d snapped her bra
strap like an elastic in the sixth grade and didn’t think girls should play
hockey.
Mike now was so completely different from Mike then. He was
a man, now. A catch, her mother had told her, many times. Maybe she ought to
work harder at not seeing the goofy kid in his face every time he smiled at
her.
Or maybe she should just not watch Good Will Hunting so often.
The movie was still on in the living room. All day she’d
been turning over in her mind the stricken look on her grandmother’s face that
morning when she’d dropped the tea cup, and the thing she’d said. Talking to
Jenny had only guaranteed that Rose would continue to work the thing over in
her mind. In the middle of watching the movie, she’d found herself drifting back
to those thoughts again and again, until finally she just had to satisfy her
curiosity.
A quick net search, that was all. She didn’t even bother to
pause the movie. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen it before. Anyway, it would
only take her a few minutes. In her bedroom, where her computer desk took up
nearly all the space that wasn’t occupied by bed or dresser, she hadn’t taken
the trouble even to turn on the light.
Now she sat in front of the screen and typed “Seven
Whistlers” into Google search. There were a few references to books of folklore
and legends, but not many. This didn’t surprise her. Some bits of folklore made
it into popular culture, but most never did.
She hit a couple of dead links before coming up with a web
site that had a description of the legend. As she, a chill spread through her.
“The Seven Whistlers are evil spirits most often
mentioned in the folklore of various regions of England, primarily
Worcestershire. They appear as enormous black dogs, often accompanied by loud
shrieking or whistling noise, as of the wind. Legend says they are demons
loosed from Hell, searching for souls upon which the devil has laid claim. They
harbinger disaster and ill luck for any who encounter them. If all seven should
ever gather at once, it is believed that the world will end.”
Rose read the last line again, and shivered. The chill she
felt would not go away.
CHAPTER 9
Rose slept poorly.
Her dreams were filled with visions of huge mongrel dogs,
their saliva-flecked jaws snapping hungrily as they chased her through the dark
woods that surrounded Kingsbury.
The squeal of a truck’s bad brakes outside her window made
her eyes flutter open, and she glared at the wan morning light filtering
through her bedroom window. Her legs ached as if she had run a marathon. The
dread and terror of her nightmares lingered and she intended to get up right
away, not wanting to descend back into dreams. Instead, she rolled over and
promptly fell back to sleep.
When she woke again, her head ached and she had cotton-mouth
in the worst way. Reaching for the glass of water she always kept on her
bedside table, she groaned as she caught sight of the clock. It was after nine
o’clock. She hated sleeping late.
Rose dragged herself from bed, went into the kitchen to pour
herself some orange juice, and then opened her door to pick up the newspaper
from her doormat. Thursday. And her grandfather was still dead, his wake and
funeral yet to
bad decisions after so that people forgot he could really act, but Good Will
Hunting proved it. Rose had a soft spot for Affleck. She wondered if it was
because he looked a little bit like Mike Richards. On the other hand, she
wondered if she had a soft spot for Mike because he looked a little bit like
Ben Affleck.
She figured the truth was that she had a soft spot for Mike
because he was Mike. Rose knew he had feelings for her, and she knew she felt
something in return. But it didn’t feel like love to her. She’d known Mike most
of her life and though she knew he was a good, decent, hard-working man, in the
back of her mind there would always be the goofy kid who’d snapped her bra
strap like an elastic in the sixth grade and didn’t think girls should play
hockey.
Mike now was so completely different from Mike then. He was
a man, now. A catch, her mother had told her, many times. Maybe she ought to
work harder at not seeing the goofy kid in his face every time he smiled at
her.
Or maybe she should just not watch Good Will Hunting so often.
The movie was still on in the living room. All day she’d
been turning over in her mind the stricken look on her grandmother’s face that
morning when she’d dropped the tea cup, and the thing she’d said. Talking to
Jenny had only guaranteed that Rose would continue to work the thing over in
her mind. In the middle of watching the movie, she’d found herself drifting back
to those thoughts again and again, until finally she just had to satisfy her
curiosity.
A quick net search, that was all. She didn’t even bother to
pause the movie. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen it before. Anyway, it would
only take her a few minutes. In her bedroom, where her computer desk took up
nearly all the space that wasn’t occupied by bed or dresser, she hadn’t taken
the trouble even to turn on the light.
Now she sat in front of the screen and typed “Seven
Whistlers” into Google search. There were a few references to books of folklore
and legends, but not many. This didn’t surprise her. Some bits of folklore made
it into popular culture, but most never did.
She hit a couple of dead links before coming up with a web
site that had a description of the legend. As she, a chill spread through her.
“The Seven Whistlers are evil spirits most often
mentioned in the folklore of various regions of England, primarily
Worcestershire. They appear as enormous black dogs, often accompanied by loud
shrieking or whistling noise, as of the wind. Legend says they are demons
loosed from Hell, searching for souls upon which the devil has laid claim. They
harbinger disaster and ill luck for any who encounter them. If all seven should
ever gather at once, it is believed that the world will end.”
Rose read the last line again, and shivered. The chill she
felt would not go away.
CHAPTER 9
Rose slept poorly.
Her dreams were filled with visions of huge mongrel dogs,
their saliva-flecked jaws snapping hungrily as they chased her through the dark
woods that surrounded Kingsbury.
The squeal of a truck’s bad brakes outside her window made
her eyes flutter open, and she glared at the wan morning light filtering
through her bedroom window. Her legs ached as if she had run a marathon. The
dread and terror of her nightmares lingered and she intended to get up right
away, not wanting to descend back into dreams. Instead, she rolled over and
promptly fell back to sleep.
When she woke again, her head ached and she had cotton-mouth
in the worst way. Reaching for the glass of water she always kept on her
bedside table, she groaned as she caught sight of the clock. It was after nine
o’clock. She hated sleeping late.
Rose dragged herself from bed, went into the kitchen to pour
herself some orange juice, and then opened her door to pick up the newspaper
from her doormat. Thursday. And her grandfather was still dead, his wake and
funeral yet to
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