The Pines

toward the dry shadow of the house while all around her hot sand hissed and sighed.

Lightning illuminated the kitchen as she pulled open the back door. She slapped at the wall, groped for the switch. Thunder sounded distantly. The house creaked under the rising wind, and fitful rain tapped like moths at the windows. She moved swiftly through the first floor, switching on lights. Another clap of thunder detonated, the loudest so far, and through the rumblings came ragged shrieks.

“Matthew?” She raced to the foot of the stairs. “Matthew, what’s the matter?”

Shrill cries grew louder. She caught a flash of movement.

“Pammy! Where Pammy an’ Chabwok got in his m-mouth and red…all red?” Crashing down the stairs, the boy charged at her. No time to get out of the way—she clutched at the banister as he slammed into her, tumbling her backward.

The house lights went out.

Toppling in sudden darkness, she landed on her hip with the boy on top of her, pain and panic searing through.

“Pammy…d-dark now…Pammy red and the rain! Go and…got to!” They grappled furiously in the blackness, Athena struggling to get up, the boy screaming and shaking her, desperation in his voice.

“Matthew, it’s all right.” She got hold of his arms, tried wriggling free. “Everything’s going to be all right.” A glancing blow caught her on the side of the jaw.

“Pammy! Chabwok, the dogs! Save Pammy. Save!”

Somehow, she pushed him back, warded off beating fists. She tried to pull herself to her feet, but again he flung himself at her. He grabbed her around the waist and hung on, wailing with fear and need.

“Matthew, stop this, please. Let me up!” She managed to free herself from one clinging hand. “What’s wrong? Can you tell me?” Prying herself loose, she stumbled into the darkened kitchen to lean against the table.

Lightning probed at boarded windows. The boy hadn’t followed her. The flash showed him still lying on the floor, weeping as he hadn’t since infancy. Pam was in danger—his hysteria convinced her. “It’s all right now, Matthew.” She felt along the wall for the cellar door. The key grated, and the doorway opened deeply. An ammoniacal smell flooded the room: a damp musk, full of the stench of mouse droppings and dust-laden cobwebs. Steadying herself against the door, she reached for the shelf, groped among the cans and jars. Finding the flashlight, she turned it toward the choked sobs. “Everything’s going to be fine now.”

“Pammy…n-n-no no don…Chabwok!” The boy stood at the kitchen threshold, face running with tears. “Pammy, no, don wanna…” The glare of the flashlight made his tear-swollen features appear even more distorted.

She directed the beam back toward the shelf, then lifted down the kerosene lantern and took the rattling box of matches from the stove.

“…dogs…the dogs inna woods…” He dropped to his knees, then slid to his side, moaning. “…gonna get Pammy! Pammy!” An explosion of wind brought a cracking noise from the walls.

A quivering puddle of lantern light covered the table and overflowed into the rest of the kitchen. While the boy wept, she stood searching for her strength. She had to do something. Could the feral dogs really be near Pam’s trailer? And how could the boy know? How could he?

Something scraped the back door. “Pamela?” Hurrying, she pulled it open—a burst of coolness. Rain gushed in. A dark shape heaved up from the porch. “No!” She tried to slam the door, but the shape struck against it with a yelp, shoving the door out of her hands and knocking her aside as it plowed through. Claws skittered loudly across the floorboards. “Oh.” She clutched at her throat, feeling her pulse hammer while the door flailed in rainy wind.

Black and soaking, the dog ran twice around the kitchen, then stopped to lap at Matthew’s face before shaking, spattering her jeans and the room with mud.

Drifting mist surrounded her, and she breathed in the scent of the rain. Then she heard fiercely chaotic barking, murky through the storm, definitely coming from the direction of Pamela’s.

The boy grabbed her, startling her. When she put her hand on his head, he whined and shook all over. The words wouldn’t come out through his chattering teeth, and he pressed shut his eyes, his whole face clenching. The veins on his face swelled as though they’d burst at the temples if the choked-down sobs did not emerge.

She knew what she had to do. Freeing herself, she moved quickly to the cellar door, reached again for the shelf. “Matthew, you’re to stay in the house with Dooley.” Her voice sounded odd, and she tried to imagine the expression on her face. “The lights should come back on soon. You’re not to touch the lantern. Understand?”

The boy watched as she grabbed down first the shotgun, then the box of shells.

“Do you understand?” With a steady hand, she loaded two shells into the gun, then picked up the flashlight. The boy tried to follow her out onto the porch.

“I said stay in the house!”

The boy hadn’t moved in long moments. He stood rooted to the spot, staring at the back door. It had already swelled from the rain, and she’d had to shove it several times before it had closed properly. He’d watched it jerk and tremble, listened to her grunt against it. Then the lock had clicked. Since then all had been silent save the storm.

It rattled at the walls. He lifted the lantern from the table and carefully carried it into the living room, the dog barking and following. Shadows lurched and fled before him, swinging wide across the floor and walls. Matty set the lamp down on the little table and ran to the window. He stood there, his face pressed to the glass. Silent incandescence showed only the running pane, as though the world slipped away, pattering. The curtain of water glittered…and when the night-voice found him, he’d already begun to shake. Cries of distant hounds drummed through the window glass with the thunder.

Reflected light gleamed dimly from the glass. Reversed, the room wavered on the pane. He stepped back, saw a face against the liquid night, a face like his, in a room such as this, framed by hair that held the lamplight like glowing coils, with eyes that seemed those of the night itself. “No! You! No, I won’t!” He screamed and the face screamed with him. He raced into the dark kitchen, struck a chair that overturned. Sand grated on the windows, trying to get in. “No, Pammy! Not again! I don’t want it to be! Save!” The dog growled once, then whimpered and began scratching frantically at the door while the boy yelled.

“Gotta get out!” Froth clung to his lips, and he clutched his abdomen. His eyes rolled back in his head, and gasping shrieks tore in agony from his stomach.

He lunged for the door. The dog scrambled away, whining, to slink into the living room. “Chabwok! Chabwok!” The boy screamed, and the door shook as he beat on it.

Squeezing beneath the sofa, the dog lay very still.

She’d been soaked through in seconds, yet she slogged on determinedly.

Wet sand blew full in her face, then slackened somewhat. The flashlight broke the storm apart, reduced it to dazzling fragments. She tilted the light downward, and it threw a wavering patch on the yellow ground. She was glad the dog had come home, because she couldn’t have left the boy alone otherwise. Pamela must have had sense enough to lock her door and stay inside, she decided. She must have. Dashing for the road, she listened. She wouldn’t try to make it over here, would she? Muffled, the barking seemed to have moved away. If she were frightened?

She was already running for the bridge when she realized she could have driven part of the way. Damn. She splashed through a puddle. The shotgun weighed so much, it interfered with her balance, its shaft so dense the lightning scratched no reflection on it. For just an instant, she considered going back for the car, then realized the road might well flood anyway. Ahead of her, the flashlight’s beam created a wraith of luminous vapor that darted from tree to tree and melted into the battering water, a pale and shimmering extension of herself.

The rain picked up to gale force again, sweeping the road in thick, rapid sheets. Oh damn. Half drowned out, her footsteps drummed across the bridge. Below, water churned. She paused for a moment, breathing heavily, then ran forward. Her foot found nothing, empty air, then caught, wrenching beneath her. She thudded hard against the wooden bridge and rolled.

She fell into blackness, one with the storm.

Lightning flickered through missing planks.