And the Trees Crept In(44)

“Please.”

Nori looks up, but Gowan doesn’t move. I hate the way the corners of his mouth fold down, the tiny wrinkles on either side of his mouth.

“Please,” I say again. “Please, Gowan.”

He looks at me then. But the light is gone from his face.

We are running out of fire.

I say it out loud, and he understands what I mean, because his face crumples and he shoves away his chair, leaving the room before I can see him cry.

Stunned, we sit in silence.

The candles burn low, and then die.





One night, I wake to find Nori gone. I wander out of the library, where we all sleep now, with one of the last candles, the light casting grotesque shadows along the high walls.

“Nori?”

The basement door is open, so I close it and hurry past.

“Nori?”

I hear something upstairs, a scuttling noise, and hesitate. Nori doesn’t make sounds like that.

“Nori…”

And then I hear her footfalls, tiny thumps that I still recognize. I follow them upstairs, but they are above me still. I ascend to the third floor—the abandoned hallway. The door to the wasp room at the end is open, and my stomach lurches with some emotion. Fear? Apprehension?

I find her crouching in the center of the pile of husks.

“Nori, what are you doing?”

She turns to look over her shoulder, her eyes too big in her gaunt face. She has a handful of wasp husks, and she is chewing.

I bend over, the same feeling in my stomach intensifying. Not fear, not apprehension, but disgust.

The C R U N C H I N G sound as she chews seems to echo in my head.

“Nori, don’t!” I scramble forward and open her mouth, scooping out the remains of decade-old dead insects from her tongue.

She bites down on my fingers and I swear, but I keep scooping.

“Spit it out! Spit it out now!”

She cries and tries to grab more of them but I lift her into my arms and I run. I run down the hall, my candle long-extinguished, and I dash into the library. I bolt the top of the door, where she can’t reach, and I hug her tightly as she cries silently, her little fists beating on my chest. She wriggles to get free, and finally manages it, running to lie down with Gowan, who wraps her in his arms in his sleep.

She stares at me from his embrace, eyes accusing.

I hear the Creeper Man scuttling along the halls.





It’s the smell that wakes me. A slow, noxious stench that first infiltrates my dream as a cauldron of bubbling witch’s brew. Then it slowly penetrates and my mind wakes to escape it.

I cough.

Gag.

I stagger to my feet, retching. “What is that?”

Gowan enters the library, fully clothed, looking cleaner and more handsome than he has any right to in this filthy, rotting hovel.

“Smell it?”

“No.”

He looks pale. Working too hard to get us out.

This is the day I begin hunting.





18


jesus, god



Wakey, wakey, rise and shine

mind your toe upon that vine

slinking in across your floor

oops! The woods are at your door!





BROKEN BOOK ENTRY


Listen to me. Listen very carefully. You’re trapped. Right now, you’re trapped. You’re stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe. You’re walking around in your life, like your own little isolation bubble, following their footprints, thinking: This is it. This is me. This is MY SELF. This is how it goes. This is how it works. These are the rules. But here is the secret. You are free. You’re not one of those fools. There is no bubble except the one they put you in. But it’s made of soap, of air—of nothing at all. Only, you’re taught that it’s indestructible—no way of getting through that barrier. And you can pop it with your little finger. You could pop it with your breath. You could blow on it, and it would fizzle away.

You are free.

You can do what you want.

When you want.

How you want.

On your time.

You can destroy yourself, kill yourself— And then get up and walk away.

You are free. No but. No or. No either.

You are an indestructible machine.

You are magnificent.

You can steal; you can cheat.

And you can lie. Be a liar.

I am.





“If there was meat in the house, don’t you think we’d have eaten it?” I yell. “Don’t you think I’d have given it to Nori, instead of letting it rot?”

Gowan folds his arms. “Silla, what are you talking about?”

“Meat! This house reeks of rotting meat!”

He frowns. “This again?”

“Can’t you smell that?” I retch, turning away. “It’s disgusting! If there is meat in this house, I’m sure as hell going to find it.”

I feel a tiny pressure on my hand—fingers encircling my wrist. She has no words, so I probably missed her sign—Silla?—and so I thought it was Gowan. I spin, rage beating through my veins in a pulsing, virulent rhythm of aggression, and I slap her.





She is so small.