Candle in the Attic Window(13)

I know I should ask whom he was running away from. Instead, I do something stupid. I talk about books. “Have you ever read Stone Dogs?”

The new boy shrugs. “Nope. Sounds like some weirdo New Agey thing.”

I wave my hand excitedly. The more he looks at me, the more I want him. “No. It’s fantasy.”

New boy Nogitsune puts his fingers to his head. Like a gun. Pulls the trigger, bang. He’s dead. Tongue sticks out; head lolls back. “Oh gawd. Not more of that Tolkien shit. I am so sick of elves and dwarves. Don’t you guys read anything good? Like Camus? Or Sartre? Or – f*ck – I don’t know. Flannery O’Conner?”

Geoff blushes. “I read that stuff.”

I push him. I don’t know why I do it. He doesn’t deserve to be pushed. “No, you don’t,” I say.

Geoff is hurt. “If he can lie to me, I can lie to him.”

I see him look at me. His face is red. He’s about to cry. He runs off screaming. Nogitsune looks at me and his eyes light up. “Woah, good going, there. I thought he would never leave. So – what did you say your name was again?”

I almost answer when the bells rings.

“Shit. Late for class. Sorry.”

I run off; he yells at me.

“Late for class? How can you even care about such things when the world is going to end?”





Friday: Study Hall





I love the prose in Stone Dogs. It is unlike any fantasy I have ever read before. The sentences flow over each other. Tripping on the words and melting into a soup of language. I’ve got some time in Study Hall, so I will copy my favourite two paragraphs here:

The kindly birds, they speak and sing, with knives for beaks and swords for wings; they drip and dance orange light, discarding stray feathers like leaves on the ground. They are the autumnal gods, the speakers of mist; they have come to grant Alisandre 50 wishes, if only she can climb with needle hands and spindle fingers, up the labyrinth halls, past the walking dreams of angels and into the fire of morning light. There, there, burning puppets and the lies of sitars’ men. We all know who lives here, the Medusa-spined, the stone singers. The hot and hollow dolls that grab the grass of dreams and weave coats of undying love.

But in corners of anger dwell the archling comedunly, who stretch with milky white eyes and cough and pour starch in the flour. They grab all hair and make them sing and dance. They have fingers; they have eyes. Oh, what burning things they can do to the pretty-pretty. Oh, what holes they can cut into our song boxes.

Absolutely chilling stuff. I have dreams that are written like that, in that same flowing way. Some day, I hope to write like that. Maybe, if I keep reading it and copying the words. Maybe my mind will drink in that style. Will become it.





Friday: Lunch





Geoff is not in the lunchroom. He is not at our normal table, not sitting at his normal seat. I wander around the crowd and look for him. Nothing. Some of the kids in the back wear paper-plate masks, with pictures of the dead stapled over top of them.

I wonder briefly if they are ghosts.

I see new-boy Nogitsune. In front of him, on an intricately detailed plate, is a dead fish. Cooked. With head and eyes still intact. He motions me to sit down.

I set my red plastic tray on the table. Chicken salad. Not bad for cafeteria food.

After I sit, he tells me a story about foxes. About their genealogy. About their species. I am bored and I realize Geoff would love this conversation. It is so full of details.

As he speaks, he eats. Cutting the fish slowly. Leaving the bones on his plate. When he is done, I let the silence sit for a moment. I don’t know what to say. I am numb from listening.

“When do you think they will let us go home?”

Nogitsune drums his fingers on the table. “Never. Things have changed. We are in the snow lands, now. They didn’t want to tell you, but if you go outside, you will see. There are no more trees, no more roads. We are surrounded by miles and miles and miles of ice and snow. Nothing else.”

I stare at the last piece of lettuce on my plate. It is drowned in dressing. It will sting when I stick it into my mouth, coated with all those spices. “Never leave? I don’t believe you. You’re lying, again.”

He picks up his plate and slides it into his trenchcoat. It disappears beneath the folds of clothing. “That’s not all. I’ve seen giants outside. Wandering in that wasteland. You can see them. Their heads scrape the sky. They wait for us. And they are hungry.”

Nogitsune gets up and leaves.





It still smells like socks in here.

I wonder where Geoff is.





Friday: Biology





Our teacher doesn’t show up for class. They say she tried to leave, tried to go out one of the second floor windows and into the snow. I hope she’s okay. I hope she doesn’t get eaten by a giant. Nobody else seems to care.

The other students leave. I stay and read. I like the room. I like being surrounded by these pretty dead things. So neat, so tidy. So intricate.

I pull out Mister Harvey’s book. Careful, making sure nobody else is anywhere near me. I flip through the pages, looking in the background. The main story isn’t interesting. A simple quest of some sort. It ends with the main character, that nude girl, having a threesome with a giant and dwarf.