Dweller - Jeff Strand [2]
Perfect.
He stabbed at the air again. He almost snapped out the blade, but if he accidentally cut himself, his parents would know that he’d broken their rules, and they’d take away the pocketknife. By his next birthday, he was certain that they’d let him open the blade unsupervised, and also that they’d let him go out into the woods farther than…
Toby looked around. He’d been so engrossed in his fantasies that he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. He hadn’t been paying attention for quite some time. None of his surroundings looked familiar.
As Dad liked to say: “This ain’t good!”
What should he do? If he kept wandering, he might continue to go deeper and deeper into the woods. If he called out for help, his parents would know that he’d gotten lost and they’d restrict him to the backyard. There was nothing wrong with the backyard—it had a swing set and a sandbox and a few decent anthills, but it was nowhere near as wonderful as the forest.
Fortunately, he hadn’t been walking long enough to get out of earshot of his parents. So he’d simply stay here, wait for Mom and Dad to call him in for dinner, and then run toward the sound of their voices. They’d never know that he went out farther than he was supposed to.
Toby grinned. It was a great plan.
He was mostly sure he wasn’t out of earshot. You had to be really deep in the woods not to hear his mother yelling.
Toby sat on the ground, leaned against a tree, pursed his lips, and began to whistle. He was starting to get pretty good. Not quite to the point where he could whistle an actual “tune,” but he could now whistle notes that sounded different from each other. Previously, he’d been limited to squeaking and blowing soundless air. Any day now he’d be able to whistle the Lone Ranger theme.
He sat there for a while, whistling and playing with his unopened pocketknife.
He sure hoped he wasn’t lost. It was too nice of a day to be ruined with a lecture.
What if the woods were haunted? No matter how sharp or long it was, a knife blade wouldn’t save you from a ghost. Toby wasn’t exactly sure what a ghost could do to you—they couldn’t vaporize you like aliens or drink your blood like Dracula—but they had to be able to do something bad, right? Maybe they dragged you off to meet the devil.
He really should have paid attention to where he was walking. He’d do that from now on.
Some bushes shook.
That wasn’t anything unusual. The bushes in this forest were always shaking. But this sounded like it was caused by something big.
He stood up. The sound wasn’t that far away. So many ghastly things it could be…but Toby quickly decided that he wasn’t scared of any of them. Nobody was going to ever call Toby Floren a coward. He was going to march right over to those bushes, find out what was shaking them, and let that intruder know that he wasn’t going to put up with any funny business in his forest.
The bushes rustled again. Toby’s bravery faltered for a moment, then returned in full force and he walked forward, prepared to deal with the menace.
He froze. The large cluster of bushes was about ten feet away, and there was definitely something hiding in them. Not an alien or something boring like a deer, but a…person?
“Hello?” he said.
Toby screamed as it emerged from the leaves.
It wasn’t huge—maybe the size of his dad. Covered with brown hair. Sunken yellow eyes. Claws. Teeth.
Toby wasn’t sure if it reached for him, or if he just thought it did, but he turned and ran, not caring which direction. His knife slipped out of his hand but it didn’t matter, he just left it behind; it wouldn’t do any good against that beast anyway.
He fled for his life.
It didn’t sound like the monster was following him. He didn’t look back to be sure.
He didn’t stop running until his foot struck a root or a rock and he fell to the ground, throwing out his arms just in time to avoid bashing his nose against the dirt. So much pain shot through him from