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Authors: Isobelle Carmody
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the main body of the house.
Rage crept along the hall past the bathroom door, Billy padding by her side. She passed the door to her mother’s empty room and came to the short hall that led to the oak door and the extension. She opened the heavy door as silently as she could, then shut it behind her and pushed the lock. Only then did she relax enough to become aware that her legs were shaking.
The first part of the extension was a little office room where a big desk was heaped with Uncle Samuel’s notebooks. A night-light lit up a small, uncurtained window behind the desk. Fortunately, a crate on the desk had been pushed in front of the window, so even if something were tracking her movement through the house, it would not be able to see in. She crept through the little office and hesitated a moment at the doorway leading to the tiny sitting room. She could not see where her uncle slept because there was no night-light here and the couch bed was at the end of the room farthest from the door. The only other things in the room were a wardrobe, more crates piled against a wall, and a small case of Uncle Samuel’s few personal belongings and clothes.
“What is it, Rage?” His voice came out of the darkness, alert and low pitched.
Rage gasped and then bit her tongue, though her heart was hammering crazily. “I…Billy was growling at my window,” she said breathlessly. “We…I think some kind of animal is prowling around the house.” Her heart gave another horrid lurch when her uncle rose to his feet at once, saying that he would go and check.
“We can just stay here until it goes!” she cried too loudly, but he was already brushing past her, bidding Billy to stay with her and telling her to climb into his bed until he returned. He pulled on a sweater and his shoes in three swift movements, then reached into his suitcase and pulled something out before reaching up to the top of the wardrobe and getting something else. Rage was in shock to see that he was holding a gun, pushing the bullets in with efficient little snick s. Only when he had gone through the office to the oak door did she unfreeze to run after him and beg him not to go out.
Uncle Samuel turned toward her. A chink of light from a strip of window not blocked by the crate lit his craggy features, revealing eyes as wild as they were kind, just as they had been when she had first seen him in her dreams. “Sometimes you have to face the things that come after you, Rage,” he said.
Then he was gone. Rage pressed her ear to the door, but it was too thick to hear anything. The wind howled, making the house creak. The branches of the big walnut tree scraped against the house like claws. Rage imagined the enormous beasts leaping onto her uncle. If only she had told him about them! If he was killed, it would be just the same as if she had murdered him!
Rage reached for the door handle and Billy gave a slight growl. Looking into his eyes, Rage did not dare to open the door because he was quite capable of nipping her hard to stop her. Before she could decide what to do, there was the crack of a gunshot.
Rage’s heart seemed to stop for a long minute, as did the howling of the wind and the scraping of the tree branches against the house. It was as if all the world held its breath. Then another shot rang out. Rage told herself these had been measured shots made with a steady hand and not shots fired by her uncle as he was being attacked by one of the huge beasts that had chased her into the bike shed.
“Billy—” she began in a pleading voice, but the door burst open and she staggered back.
It was her uncle.
Rage blinked hard at the sudden brightness of the hall light. She teetered on the edge of an impulse to rush into her uncle’s arms and hug him, but shyness and the fear that it would annoy him strangled the notion. He brushed past her, and she watched him unloading the remaining bullets. He tossed them into the top drawer of the desk before going
Rage crept along the hall past the bathroom door, Billy padding by her side. She passed the door to her mother’s empty room and came to the short hall that led to the oak door and the extension. She opened the heavy door as silently as she could, then shut it behind her and pushed the lock. Only then did she relax enough to become aware that her legs were shaking.
The first part of the extension was a little office room where a big desk was heaped with Uncle Samuel’s notebooks. A night-light lit up a small, uncurtained window behind the desk. Fortunately, a crate on the desk had been pushed in front of the window, so even if something were tracking her movement through the house, it would not be able to see in. She crept through the little office and hesitated a moment at the doorway leading to the tiny sitting room. She could not see where her uncle slept because there was no night-light here and the couch bed was at the end of the room farthest from the door. The only other things in the room were a wardrobe, more crates piled against a wall, and a small case of Uncle Samuel’s few personal belongings and clothes.
“What is it, Rage?” His voice came out of the darkness, alert and low pitched.
Rage gasped and then bit her tongue, though her heart was hammering crazily. “I…Billy was growling at my window,” she said breathlessly. “We…I think some kind of animal is prowling around the house.” Her heart gave another horrid lurch when her uncle rose to his feet at once, saying that he would go and check.
“We can just stay here until it goes!” she cried too loudly, but he was already brushing past her, bidding Billy to stay with her and telling her to climb into his bed until he returned. He pulled on a sweater and his shoes in three swift movements, then reached into his suitcase and pulled something out before reaching up to the top of the wardrobe and getting something else. Rage was in shock to see that he was holding a gun, pushing the bullets in with efficient little snick s. Only when he had gone through the office to the oak door did she unfreeze to run after him and beg him not to go out.
Uncle Samuel turned toward her. A chink of light from a strip of window not blocked by the crate lit his craggy features, revealing eyes as wild as they were kind, just as they had been when she had first seen him in her dreams. “Sometimes you have to face the things that come after you, Rage,” he said.
Then he was gone. Rage pressed her ear to the door, but it was too thick to hear anything. The wind howled, making the house creak. The branches of the big walnut tree scraped against the house like claws. Rage imagined the enormous beasts leaping onto her uncle. If only she had told him about them! If he was killed, it would be just the same as if she had murdered him!
Rage reached for the door handle and Billy gave a slight growl. Looking into his eyes, Rage did not dare to open the door because he was quite capable of nipping her hard to stop her. Before she could decide what to do, there was the crack of a gunshot.
Rage’s heart seemed to stop for a long minute, as did the howling of the wind and the scraping of the tree branches against the house. It was as if all the world held its breath. Then another shot rang out. Rage told herself these had been measured shots made with a steady hand and not shots fired by her uncle as he was being attacked by one of the huge beasts that had chased her into the bike shed.
“Billy—” she began in a pleading voice, but the door burst open and she staggered back.
It was her uncle.
Rage blinked hard at the sudden brightness of the hall light. She teetered on the edge of an impulse to rush into her uncle’s arms and hug him, but shyness and the fear that it would annoy him strangled the notion. He brushed past her, and she watched him unloading the remaining bullets. He tossed them into the top drawer of the desk before going
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