Halversham (23 page)

ROSEMARY ANTHONY writes suspense fiction with a twist. She has a Bachelor’s degree in Management from the University of Science Malaysia and recently made the jump from writing official documents to writing fiction novels. Blessed with 17 nephews and nieces, she finds the world of young adults to be a thrilling source of inspiration for her books.

Rosemary lives in a small town in Malaysia and travels as often as possible to learn more about foreign cultures. You can find out more about her books, giveaways, and new releases on:

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/rsanthony.author/

Instagram:
http://www.instagram.com/r.s.anthony

Twitter:
http://twitter.com/rosebudmary

One Last Thing…

If you enjoyed Halversham, I’d be very grateful if you’d post a short review on the page where you bought this book. Your support and help in spreading the word really does make a difference.

Thank you again, for your support!

RS Anthony

PORK

RS ANTHONY

High school is torture for Steven Walthurst, and home isn’t a whole lot better. The only place that offers respite is an abandoned tree house at the edge of town. But something lurks in the nearby woods, and the long line of elm trees has a clear message for Steven: keep out.

Then one day, Steven finds a little girl lying unconscious, perilously close to the woods. As the two get to know one another, Steven experiences real friendship for the first time—and gets closer than ever to knowing the darkness that skulks between the trees.

He dedicates himself to keeping his new friend safe, but the tranquility of their fragile hidden world doesn’t last long. When an act of cruelty pushes Steven to his limits, his secrets—and those of the dark woods—come close to unraveling, threatening to destroy the one thing making his teenage life bearable. Can Steven save everything he’s built from crumbling under the pressure?

Steven stuffed a plastic container filled with chicken sandwiches into his backpack, zipped it, and slung it over his shoulders in three rapid movements. He clenched his teeth in concentration, trying to ignore the white noise of his momma’s voice droning on and on. Fat drops of sweat formed on his forehead and trickled down his eyebrows. He had to get out of there. Fast.

“That’s right, Stevie! Run. Run just like your pa did. Don’t give a damn about me!” his momma’s voice shrilled in the background. “One of these days I’m gonna find out where it is you keep running off to. ’Cause I know it’s not the library!” She glared at him. “You’re just like him, Stevie. Good for nothing! I had a good-for-nothing husband and he left me with a good-for-nothing son!”

Steven walked to the door, pulled it open and slammed it shut after him, muffling his momma’s voice in the house. The mild, sweet smell of hyacinths and freshly cut grass in the wind helped calm his nerves. Soon spring would come to an end, exchanging the temperate weather for harsh summer heat. He took a moment to suck in a generous amount of the cool air and looked around to see if anyone was watching before half sprinting to his tree house.

He hated doing that to her. Hated running out on her, especially knowing she’d equate him to his pa. But he also hated being with her when she was like that. Soon her hands would do all the talking and he had no intention of being there when that happened. He figured someday, when he was less terrified and his blood had stopped boiling, he’d stick by her. Keep quiet until she’d fully vented and then reason with her with kindness in his voice. He’d calm her down and hug her until she didn’t want to scream anymore. But as long as he was still fifteen, running was all he was willing to do. Just like his pa.

He’d been walking the exact same dirt path through the town for three years. It was always the same route, past the same cherry trees, the same dated houses and chickens. He didn’t exactly know how far the path led since he always turned down a narrow trail just before the creek. The place he needed to be in was about a mile from his momma’s house and it took him exactly eighteen minutes to get there.

After passing through the town’s main street, Steven took the dirt path and crossed a short wooden bridge. He skipped across a few missing planks, then turned left into a wide clearing. The sight of the sturdy old oak tree in the center was all he needed to relieve the tension building at the base of his skull. His little tree house was camouflaged among the leaves and branches.

Steven crossed the clearing, climbed a creaky ladder up the balcony, and admired the view for a minute before heading inside. The cherry trees looked surreal from up there, the pink blossoms like soft cotton candy. It wasn’t as much a house as it was a quiet place for Steven to hide out until it was time to go home and face his momma again. If he was lucky, she would’ve gone to work by the time he got back.

Inside, the cedar plank sidings sported wide ledges on all sides. Steven sometimes used them to catch an afternoon nap if he was tired. A big window facing the creek allowed breeze to cool the house when it got hot and humid during summer, and the shingle roof also helped keep the temperature down. Steven made it a point to keep the window open whenever he was there, except during winter.

Beyond the window and the ledges, there wasn’t much of anything inside the tree house. When he had first stumbled upon it, it was dirty, with rotting leaves pasted to the wooden floor and acorns scattered everywhere. He had found a tarp, hordes of empty beer cans, a few dead batteries, some rope, and a dingy mattress among other miscellaneous junk.

For the next three days, Steven would bolt home as soon as school finished and visit his momma in her various stages of stupor. Then he would run to the tree house before she woke up. He would clear out the rubbish, get rid of the dingy mattress, and scrub the floor until it regained some of its original luster. After a week, he moved what little possessions he had to the little tree house and staked his claim to it. Now, after three years, he had no doubt the house was his.

He wiggled out of his backpack and tossed it on the wooden ledge before unfastening a latch on the window. When he pushed it open, cool air rushed in and dried the sweat that had formed on his upper lip. He sat on the ledge for a minute and let his eyes wander to the creek. It usually dried out during the summer months, but for now there was a steady trickle of water. A few sparrows spread their wings and chirped noisily as they bathed in the shallow creek. One skipped out, shook water off its feathers, and flew away.

Steven had wandered through most of the town before, especially when Aunt Therese was still alive, but never beyond the creek. He didn’t exactly know what lay there except for the dark, thick woods, but something about it bothered him. In his mind, the long line of elm trees and the creek just before it served as an undeclared boundary to prevent people from this side of town going to the other side.

As he got off the ledge to start on his homework, his eyes caught a piece of white cardboard about fifty yards from the treehouse, reflecting sunlight by the side of the creek. He hurried down the ladder and ran toward the cardboard, but it disappeared as soon as he approached the spot. He scanned the ground for a minute before running back up to the house to take another look. It was still there. He ran down the ladder again. This time, he kept the spot locked in his memory with specific markers.

He took slow, tentative steps until he reached the exact spot he had marked. And he found it. It wasn’t a piece of cardboard gleaming in the sun, but a girl dressed in a white sleeveless t-shirt, unconscious. She was on her side, surrounded by tall grass, which was probably why he didn’t find her the first time. Dark soil and bits of decomposing grass clung to her wet t-shirt and limbs. Her face was hidden under short curly hair, but judging from the damp t-shirt and dirt on her face, she had to have come from the other side of the creek. Sometime during her journey she must have fallen into the creek, and when she finally crossed it, when all her strength was spent, her body had given up. Her dirty hands and feet were bare, and aside from the t-shirt, she wore only a pair of white panties, now soiled.

Steven dropped to his knees and parted the curtain of black hair on her face. He placed a finger under her nostrils and warm air brushed his skin. He took a deep breath and released her hair to stare at the creek, unsure of what to do next. He had to do something, but he was afraid to touch her. After a great deal of thought, he placed a hand on the girl’s back and rocked her gently.

“Hey, wake up,” he said. Nothing. The girl was still. “Hey, wake up,” he tried again.

Still nothing.

Feeling a bit more courageous, he rolled her skinny body to face the sky, and her right hand flopped to the ground next to his knee. He brushed the hair off her face, revealing her pink little lips. Her skin looked pale against the dark soil. An idea occurred to him, and he ran back to the tree house.

When he returned five minutes later, he was holding a tarp and a cloth. He dropped the tarp on the ground, dipped the cloth in the stream, and gently wiped her face clean. The girl had the face of a baby; Steven guessed she was no more than six. Tucking the corner of the damp cloth into his pocket, he unfolded the silver tarp and spread it on the ground. He rolled the girl onto the tarp and pulled it toward the base of his tree house.

Fifteen yards on, the tarp lacked tension and weighed little more than the shirt on his back. Steven turned around to find the girl curled on the ground, still unconscious, while his hand gripped the empty tarp. He let go of the corner he was holding and rolled her back onto the tarp before pulling it again. Finally he reached the tree, his breath quick and uneven. He was sweating again.

“Hey,” he said, tapping her face. He checked her breathing once again before sitting down on a protruding oak root. Wiping the sweat off his brow with a forearm, he reached for the damp cloth tucked in his pocket and wiped her hands and legs. He ran to the creek twice to wash the cloth, and every time he did, he wondered if what had happened to the little girl would happen to him if he ever decided to cross to the other side. As he gave the cloth a final rinse, he looked up at the woods and watched the maple and elm branches as they swayed in the wind.

There were no open wounds or blood on any part of her body, just a few scratches on her hands and blisters on her feet, probably from crossing the creek. She could have been running away from something in the thicket beyond the creek. Something or someone could have chased her in there. Steven shook his head and blocked his mind from thinking about it, at least for now.

When he finally sat on the root again to rest, sharp pangs of hunger struck him, so he ran up the ladder to retrieve his chicken sandwiches and a bottle of water. He perched the container on his knees and ate two of the five sandwiches he had brought. He drank some water, and when the girl still didn’t wake up after five more minutes, he sat watching her.

Steven found himself dozing off on the bulging root, his head lolling this way and that on an elbow he had rested precariously on his knees. The girl finally stirred, and Steven bolted upright, wide awake. She opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and then closed them again. A second later, she rubbed her eyes and lifted herself to sit up. When she winced, Steven leaned over and supported her back with one hand, and she sat up, staring blankly at him. He noticed for the first time her bright blue eyes, a burst of brilliance against her pale skin and jet-black hair.

“Hi,” he said. Her eyes drifted to the bottle at his feet. Noticing the unspoken request he asked, “Would you like some water?” He reached for the plastic water bottle and handed it to her. The girl took it without a word and struggled with the yellow lid. “No, you’re not supposed to twist it.” He took it back from her and flicked the lid open. “See?” He handed it back, and she drank until there was little more than an ounce left. As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes drifted once again to his feet. The sandwich container. “You can eat this,” he said, and she took the container with both hands like it was a precious gift. “What’s your name?”

The girl took a huge bite off a sandwich and munched, ignoring his question. There were only three left in the container, and he had hoped to have at least one more before going to bed that night. But seeing the way her bones made ripples on her skin, he decided she could have all of them if she wanted. If he went back late enough, his momma would be gone, and he could have some of the canned fruits she had brought home some time ago.

“My name is Steven,” he said. “Can you say it? Steven.” He placed a hand on his chest and repeated slowly, “Steee-ven.” The girl seemed oblivious to his words, peeking through the layers of the second sandwich. She finished it in two bites and reached into the container for the last one. “Do you have a name?” The girl went on chewing, her focus set on the sandwich. “Are you deaf?” he asked, raising his voice a little, pointing at his ear.

She lowered the half-eaten sandwich, cocked her head, and belched. It was deep and guttural. Steven, finding it funny, chuckled. The girl stopped chewing and stared at him. Her lips sagged at the corners and he felt guilty.

“Sorry,” he said, shrugging. The girl’s lips curled up, and a second later, she let out a soft giggle. Steven smiled, and his forehead lost its wrinkles. “Where did you come from?”

One more bite and the last sandwich was gone. She wiped her fingers on her t-shirt and tipped the water bottle with two hands, finishing the last drop Steven had brought. “Did you come from there?” He pointed at the woods. She glanced in the direction of his finger for a brief moment before handing the container and bottle back to Steven.

“What are you going to do now?” The girl rose, lifted her t-shirt, tapped on her protruding belly, and belched again. This time, both of them chuckled. The sun was beginning to dip low. Time for him to go home. He hated walking back in the dark, but he also didn’t want to leave the girl alone. “Where do you live?” he tried again. If she would only tell him where she had come from, he’d walk her back, just to be sure she was safe. “If you want, I can walk you home,” he said and regretted it immediately. She obviously came from the other side of the creek. What if she took me up on my offer?

She looked up at the sky, narrowed her eyes, and turned toward the thicket. She paused and smiled at him before heading toward the creek. Steven followed her, wondering if she expected him to accompany her all the way across. A bead of sweat formed on his neck and rolled down his chest to his belly, where his pants absorbed it. The girl stopped walking and glanced back at him. She continued, but when she saw Steven take a step after her, she stopped again and walked to him. She took his hands and set them to his sides while shaking her head, gesturing for him not to follow. He slipped his hands into his pockets with relief and stood watching as she skipped across rocks to the other side of the creek and disappeared into the woods. A cool breeze caressed his skin and he shivered when he looked down at his scruffy shoes almost touching the water in the creek.