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Running With the Demon - Chapter One
Running With the Demon
Copyright � September 1997 by Terry Brooks
Chapter One
Hssst! Nest!"
His voice cut through the cottony layers of her sleep with the sharpness
of a cat's claw. Her head jerked off the pillow and her sleep-fogged eyes
snapped open.
"Pick?"
"Wake up, girl!" The sylvan's voice squeaked with urgency. "The feeders
are at it again! I need you!"
Nest Freemark pushed the sheet away and forced herself into an upright
position, legs dangling off the side of the bed. The night air was hot and
sticky in spite of the efforts of the big floor fan that sat just inside
her doorway. She rubbed at her eyes to clear them and swallowed against
the dryness in her throat. Outside, she could hear the steady buzz of the
locusts in the trees.
"Who is it this time?" she asked, yawning.
"The little Scott girl."
"Bennett?" Oh, God! She was fully awake now. "What happened?"
Pick was standing on the window ledge just outside the screen, silhouetted
in the moonlight. He might be only six inches tall from the tips of his
twiggy feet to the peak of his leafy head, but she could read the disgust
in his gnarled wooden features as clearly as if he were six feet.
"The mother's out with her worthless boyfriend again, shutting down bars.
That boy you fancy, young Jared, was left in charge of the other kids, but
he had one of his attacks. Bennett was still up--you know how she is when
her mother's not there, though goodness knows why. She became scared and
wandered off. By the time the boy recovered, she was gone. Now the feeders
have her. Do you need this in writing or are you going to get dressed and
come help?"
Nest jumped out of the bed without answering, slipped off her nightshirt,
and pulled on her Grunge Lives T-shirt, running shorts, socks, and tennis
shoes. Her face peeked out at her from the dresser mirror: roundish with a
wide forehead and broad cheekbones, pug nose with a scattering of
freckles, green eyes that tended to squint, a mouth that quirked upward at
the corners as if to suggest perpetual amusement, and a complexion that
was starting to break out. Passably attractive, but no stunner. Pick was
pacing back and forth on the sill. He looked like twigs and leaves bound
together into a child's tiny stick man. His hands were making nervous
gestures, the same ones they always made when he was agitated--pulling at
his silky moss beard and slapping at his bark-encrusted thighs. He
couldn't help himself. He was like one of those cartoon characters that
charges around running into walls. He claimed he was a hundred and fifty,
but for being as old as he was, it didn't seem he had learned very much
about staying calm.
She arranged a few pillows under the sheet to give the impression that she
was still in the bed, sleeping. The ruse would work if no one looked too
closely. She glanced at the clock. It was two in the morning, but her
grandparents no longer slept soundly and were apt to be up at all hours of
the night, poking about. She glanced at the open door and sighed. There
was no help for it.
She nudged the screen through the window and climbed out after it. Her
bedroom was on the first floor, so slipping away unnoticed was easy. In
the summer anyway, she amended, when it was warm and the windows were all
open. In the winter, she had to find her coat and go down the hallway and
out the back door, which was a bit more chancy. But she had gotten pretty
good at it.
"Where is she?" she asked Pick, holding out her hand, palm up, so he could
step into it.
"Headed for the cliffs, last I saw." He moved off the sill gingerly.
"Daniel's tracking her, but we'd better hurry."
Nest placed Pick on her shoulder where he could get a firm grip on her
T-shirt, fitted the screen back in place, and took off at a run. She sped
across the back lawn toward the hedgerow that bordered the park, the
Midwest night air whipping across her face, fresh and welcoming after the
stale closeness of her bedroom. She passed beneath the canopies of
solitary oaks and hickories that shaded the yard, their great limbs
branching and dividing overhead in intricate patterns, their leaves
reflecting dully in the mix of light from moon and stars. The skies were
clear and the world still as she ran, the houses about her dark and
silent, the people asleep. She found the gap in the hedgerow on the first
try, ducked to clear the low opening, and was through.
Ahead, Sinnissippi Park opened before her, softball diamonds and picnic
areas bright with moonlight, woods and burial grounds laced with shadows.
She angled right, toward the roadway that led into the park, settling into
a smooth, even pace. She was a strong runner, a natural athlete. Her
cross-country coach said she was the best he had ever seen, although in
the same breath he said she needed to develop better training habits. At
five feet eight inches and a hundred twenty pounds, she was lean and rangy
and tough as nails. She didn't know why she was that way; certainly she
had never worked at it. She had always been agile, though, even when she
was twelve and her friends were bumping into coffee tables and tripping
over their own feet, all of them trying to figure out what their bodies
were going to do next. (Now they were fourteen, and they pretty much
knew.) Nest was blessed with a runner's body, and it was clear from her
efforts the past spring that her talent was prodigious. She had already
broken every cross-country record in the state of Illinois for girls
fourteen and under. She had done that when she was thirteen. But five
weeks ago she had entered the Rock River Invitational against runners
eighteen and under, girls and boys. She had swept the field in the
ten-thousand-meter race, posting a time that shattered the state high
school record by almost three minutes. Everyone had begun to look at her a
little differently after that.
Of course, they had been looking at Nest Freemark differently for one
reason or another for most of her life, so she was less impressed by the
attention now than she might have been earlier.
Just think, she reflected ruefully, how they would look at me if I told
them about Pick. Or about the magic.
She crossed the ball diamond closest to her house, reached the park
entrance, and swept past the crossbar that was lowered to block the road
after sunset. She felt rested and strong; her breathing was smooth and her
heartbeat steady. She followed the pavement for a short distance, then
turned onto the grassy picnic area that led to the Sinnissippi burial
mounds and the cliffs. She could see the lights of the Sinnissippi
Townhomes off to the right, low-income housing with a fancy name. That was
where the Scotts lived. Enid Scott was a single mother with five kids,
very few life options, and a drinking problem. Nest didn't think much of
her; nobody did. But Jared was a sweetheart, her friend since grade
school, and Bennett, at five the youngest of the Scott children, was a
peanut who deserved a lot better than she had been getting of late.
Nest scanned the darkness ahead for some sign of the little girl, but
there was nothing to see. She looked for Wraith as well, but there was no
sign of him either. Just thinking of Wraith sent a shiver down her spine.
The park stretched away before her, vast, silent, and empty of movement.
She picked up her pace, the urgency of Bennett's situation spurring her
on. Pick rode easily on her shoulder, attached in the manner of a clamp,
arms and legs locked on her sleeve. He was still muttering to himself,
that annoyingly incessant chatter in which he indulged ad nauseam in times
of stress. But Nest let him be. Pick had a lot of responsibility to
exercise, and it was not being made any easier by the increasingly bold
behavior of the feeders. It was bad enough that they occupied the caves
below the cliffs in ever-expanding numbers, their population grown so
large that it was no longer possible to take an accurate count. But where
before they had confined their activities to nighttime appearances in the
park, now all of a sudden they were starting to surface everywhere in
Hopewell, sometimes even in daylight. It was all due to a shifting in the
balance of things, Pick advised. And if the balance was not righted, soon
the feeders would be everywhere. Then what was he supposed to do?
The trees ahead thickened, trunks tightening in a dark wall, limbs closing
out the night sky. Nest angled through the maze, her eyes adjusting to the
change in light, seeing everything, picking out all the details. She
dodged through a series of park toys, spring-mounted rides for the
smallest children, jumped a low chain divider, and raced back across the
roadway and into the burial mounds. There was still no sign of Bennett
Scott. The air was cooler here, rising off the Rock River where it flowed
west below the cliffs in a broad swath toward the Mississippi. In the
distance, a freight train wailed as it made its way east through the
farmland. The summer night was thick with heat, and the whistle seemed
muted and lost. It died away slowly, and in the ensuing silence the sounds
of the insects resurfaced, a steady, insistent hum.
Nest caught sight of Daniel then, a dark shadow as he swooped down from
the trees just long enough to catch her attention before wheeling away
again.
"There, girl!" Pick shouted needlessly in her ear.
She raced in pursuit of the barn owl, following his lead, heading for the
cliffs. She ran through the burial mounds, low, grassy hummocks clustered
at the edge of the roadway. Ahead, the road ended in a turnaround at the
park's highest point. That was where she would find Bennett. Unless ...
She brushed the word aside, refusing to concede that it applied. A rush of
bitterness toward Enid Scott tightened her throat. It wasn't fair that she
left Jared alone to watch his brothers and sisters. Enid knew about his
condition; she just found it convenient now and then to pretend it didn't
matter. A mild form of epilepsy, the attacks could last for as long as
five minutes. When they came, Jared would just "go away" for a bit,
staring off into space, not seeing or hearing, not being aware of
anything. Even the medicine he took couldn't always prevent the attacks.
His mother knew that. She knew.
The trees opened before her, and Daniel dove out of the shadows, streaking
for the cliffs. Nest put on a new burst of speed, nearly unseating Pick.
She could see Bennett Scott now, standing at the very edge of the cliffs,
just beyond the turnaround, a small, solitary figure against the night
sky, all hunched over and crying. Nest could hear her sobs. The feeders
were cajoling her, enticing her, trying to cloud her thinking further so
that she would take those last few steps. Nest was angry. Bennett made the
seventh child in a month. She had saved them all, but how long could her
luck hold?
Daniel started down, then arced away soundlessly. It was too dangerous for
him to go in; his unexpected presence might startle the little girl and
cause her to lose her balance. That was why Pick relied on Nest. A young
girl's appearance was apt to prove far less unsettling than his own or
Daniel's.
She slowed to a walk, dropping Pick off in the grass. No point in taking
chances; Pick preferred to remain invisible anyway. The scent of pine
trees wafted on the humid night air, carried out of the cemetery beyond,
where the trees grew in thick clumps along the chain-link fence. In the
moonlight, the headstones and monuments were just visible, the granite and
marble reflecting with a shimmery cast. She took several deep breaths as
she came up to Bennett, moving slowly, carefully into the light. The
feeders saw her coming and their lantern eyes narrowed. She ignored them,
focusing her attention on the little girl.
"Hey, tiny Ben Ben!" She kept her voice casual, relaxed. "It's me, Nest."
Bennett Scott's tear-filled eyes blinked rapidly. "I know."
"What are you doing out here, Ben Ben?"
"Looking for my mommy."
"Well, I don't think she's out here, sweetie." Nest moved a few steps
closer, glancing about as if looking for Enid.
"She's lost," Bennett sobbed.
A few of the feeders edged menacingly toward Nest, but she ignored them.
They knew better than to mess with her while Wraith was around--which she
fervently hoped he was. A lot of them were gathered here, though.
Flat-faced and featureless, squat caricatures of humans, they were as much
a mystery to her now as ever, even after all she had learned about them
from Pick. She didn't really even know what they were made of. When she
had asked Pick about it once, he had told her with a sardonic grin that as
a rule you are mostly what you eat, so the feeders could be almost
anything.
"I'll bet your mommy is back home by now, Ben Ben," she offered, infusing
her voice with enthusiasm. "Why don't we go have a look?"
The little girl sniffled. "I don't want to go home. I don't like it there
anymore."
"Sure you do. I'll bet Jared wonders where you are."
"Jared's sick. He had an attack."
"Well, he'll be better by now. The attacks don't last long, sweetie. You
know that. Come on, let's go see."
Bennett's head lowered into shadow. She hugged herself, her head shaking.
"George doesn't like me. He told me so."
George Paulsen, Enid's latest mistake in the man department. Even though
she was only fourteen, Nest knew a loser when she saw one. George Paulsen
was a scary loser, though. She came a step closer, looking for a way to
make physical contact with Bennett so that she could draw the little girl
away from the cliff. The river was a dark, silver shimmer far below the
cliffs, flat and still within the confines of the bayou, where the
railroad tracks were elevated on the levy, wilder and swifter beyond where
the main channel flowed. The darkness made the drop seem even longer than
it was, and Bennett was only a step or two away.
"George needs to get an attitude adjustment," Nest offered. "Everybody
likes you, Ben Ben. Come on, let's go find your mommy and talk to her
about it. I'll go with you. Hey, what about Spook? I'll bet your kitty
misses you."
Bennett Scott's moppet head shook quickly, scattering her lank, dark hair
in tangles. "George took Spook away. He doesn't like cats."
Nest wanted to spit. That worthless creep! Spook was just about the only
thing Bennett Scott had. She felt her grip on the situation beginning to
loosen. The feeders were weaving about Bennett like snakes, and the little
girl was cringing and hugging herself in fear. Bennett couldn't see them,
of course. She wouldn't see them until it was too late. But she could hear
them somewhere in the back of her mind, an invisible presence, insidious
voices, taunting and teasing. They were hungry for her, and the balance
was beginning to shift in their favor.
"I'll help you find Spook," Nest said quickly. "And I'll make sure that
George doesn't take him away again either. What do you say to that?"
Bennett Scott hugged herself some more and looked fixedly at her feet,
thinking it over. Her thin body went still. "Do you promise, Nest? Really?"
Nest Freemark gave her a reassuring smile. "I do, sweetie. Now walk over
here and take my hand so we can go home."
The feeders moved to intervene, but Nest glared at them and they flinched
away. They wouldn't meet her gaze, of course. They knew what would happen
if they did. Nevertheless, they were bolder than usual tonight, more ready
to challenge her. That was not a good sign.
"Bennett," she said quietly. The little girl's head lifted and her eyes
came into the light. "Look at me, Bennett. Don't look anywhere else, okay?
Just look right at me. Now walk over here and take my hand."
Bennett Scott started forward, one small step at a time. Nest waited
patiently, holding her gaze. The night air had turned hot and still again,
the breeze off the river dying away. Insects buzzed and flew in erratic
sweeps, and, not wanting to do anything that would startle the little
girl, Nest fought down the impulse to brush at them.
"Come on, Ben Ben," she cajoled softly.
As Bennett Scott advanced, the feeders gave way grudgingly, dropping down
on all fours in a guarded crouch and skittering next to her like crabs.
Nest took a deep breath.
One of the feeders broke away from the others and made a grab for Bennett.
Nest hissed at it furiously, caught its eye, and stripped it of its life
with a single, chilling glance. That was all it took--one instant in which
their eyes met and her magic took control. The feeder collapsed in a heap
and melted into the earth in a black stain. The others backed off
watchfully.
Nest took a deep, calming breath. "Come on, Bennett," she urged in a tight
whisper. "It's all right, sweetie."
The little girl had almost reached her when the headlight of the freight
train swept across the bayou as the lead engine lurched out of the night.
Bennett Scott hesitated, her eyes suddenly wide and uncertain. Then the
train whistle sounded its shrill, piercing wail, and she cried out in fear.
Nest didn't hesitate. She grabbed Bennett Scott's arm, snatched the little
girl from her feet, and pressed her close. For a moment she held her
ground, facing down the feeders. But she saw at once that there were too
many to stand against, so she wheeled from the cliffs and began to run.
Behind her, the feeders bounded in pursuit. Already Pick was astride
Daniel, and the barn owl swooped down on the foremost pursuers, talons
extended. The feeders veered away, giving Nest an extra few yards head
start.
"Faster, Nest!" Pick cried, but she was already in full stride, running as
hard as she could. She clutched Bennett Scott tightly against her, feeling
the child shake. She weighed almost nothing, but it was awkward running
with her. Nest cleared the turnaround and streaked past the burial mounds
for the picnic ground. She would turn and face the feeders there, where
she could maneuver, safely away from the cliffs. Her magic would give her
some protection. And Pick would be there. And Daniel. But there were so
many of them tonight! Her heart thumped wildly. From the corner of her
eye, she saw shadows closing on her, bounding through the park, yellow
eyes narrowed. Daniel screeched, and she felt the whoosh of his wings as
he sped past her, banking away into the dark.
"I'm sorry, Mommy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bennett Scott sobbed, a prayer
of forgiveness for some imagined wrong. Nest gritted her teeth and ran
faster.
Then suddenly she went down, arms and legs flying as she tripped over a
road chain she had missed vaulting. She lost her grip on Bennett Scott and
the little girl cried out in terror. Then the air was knocked from
Bennett's lungs as she struck the ground.
Nest rolled to her feet at once, but the feeders were everywhere, dark,
shadowy forms closing on her with wicked intent. She turned to mush the
handful that were closest, the ones that were foolish enough to meet her
gaze, ripping apart their dark forms with a glance. But the remainder
converged in a dark wave.
Then Wraith materialized next to her, a massive presence, fur all stiff
and bristling, the hairs raised like tiny spikes off his body. At first
glance, he might have been a dog, a demonic German shepherd perhaps,
colored an odd brindle. But he was deep-chested like a Rottweiler, and
tall at the shoulders like a boxer, and his eyes were a peculiar amber
within a mass of black facial markings that suggested tiger stripes. Then
you recognized the sloped forehead and the narrow muzzle as a wolf's. And
if you looked even closer, which if you were one of the few who could see
him you were not apt to do, you realized he was something else altogether.
Scrambling over each other in an effort to escape, the feeders scattered
like leaves in a strong wind. Wraith advanced on them in a stiff-legged
walk, his head lowered, his teeth bared, but the feeders disappeared as
swiftly as shadows at the coming of full sun, bounding back into the
night. When the last of them had gone, Wraith wheeled back momentarily to
give Nest a dark, purposeful glance, almost as if to take the measure of
her resolve in the face of his somewhat belated appearance, and then he
faded away.
Nest exhaled sharply, the chill that had settled in the pit of her stomach
melting, the tightness in her chest giving way. Her breath came in rapid
bursts, and blood throbbed in her ears. She looked quickly to find
Bennett. The little girl was curled into a ball, hiding her face in her
hands, crying so hard she was hiccuping. Had she seen Wraith? Nest didn't
think so. Few people ever saw Wraith. She brushed at the grass embedded in
the cuts and scrapes on her knees and elbows, and went to collect her
frightened charge. She scooped Bennett up and cradled her gently.
"There, there, Ben Ben," she cooed, kissing the little girl's face. "Don't
be frightened now. It's all right. Everything's all right." She shivered
in spite of herself. "It was just a little fall. Time to be going home
now, sweetie. Look, there's your house, right over there. Can you see the
lights?"
Daniel winged past one final time and disappeared into the dark, bearing
Pick with him. The feeders were scattered, so the owl and the sylvan were
leaving, entrusting the return of Bennett Scott to her. She sighed wearily
and began to walk through the park. Her breathing steadied and her
heartbeat slowed. She was sweating, and the air felt hot and damp against
her face. It was silent in the park, hushed and tender in the blanket of
the dark. She hugged Bennett possessively, feeling the little girl's sobs
slowly fade.
"Oh, Ben Ben," she said, "we'll have you home in bed before you know it.
You want to get right to sleep, little girl, because Monday's the Fourth
of July and you don't want to miss the fireworks. All those colors, all
those pretty colors! What if you fell asleep and missed them?"
Bennett Scott curled into her shoulder. "Will you come home with me, Nest?
Will you stay with me?"
The words were so poignant that Nest felt tears spring to her eyes. She
stared off into the night, to the stars and the half-moon in the cloudless
sky, to the shadows of the trees where they loomed against the horizon, to
the lights of the buildings ahead where the residences and the apartments
began and the park came to an end. The world was a scary place for little
girls, but the scariest things in it weren't always feeders and they
didn't live only in the dark. In the morning she would talk with Gran
about Enid Scott. Maybe together they could come up with something. She
would look for Spook, too. Pick would help.
"I'll come home with you, Ben Ben," she whispered. "I'll stay for a little
while, anyway."
Her arms were tired and aching, but she refused to put the little girl
down. By the time she reached the crossbar blocking the entrance to the
park and turned left toward the Sinnissippi Townhomes, Bennett Scott was
fast asleep.
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