Craven Manor(3)

“Sorry, buddy.” He picked up the game controller and began selecting options for a new match. “You know I have too much stuff to fit into that poky space. Hey, can you fetch me a drink from the fridge on your way past?”

Daniel obediently collected a can of soft drink, tossed it to Kyle, then slipped through the apartment’s door. His heart pounded, and his palms felt sweaty. The idea of living on the street again—panhandling and digging food out of trash cans the way he had before Kyle found him—made nausea flood his mouth with a metallic flavour.

He stood on the doormat, listening to the crying baby’s shrieks echo along the hall. The light flickered, and every flash of light seemed to tighten the nerves inside him.

He ran his thumb over the cool paper, feeling the texture and the weight. Of course it couldn’t be one of Kyle’s jokes; it was too nuanced and strange. His cousin preferred the flashier, louder variety, like putting firecrackers in Daniel’s bed at three in the morning. His sheets were still singed from that one.

But who else would leave this note? Not Mrs. Kirshner. She’s too sweet, and her writing isn’t this neat. But I don’t think anyone else in this apartment block knows my surname.

Daniel practiced folding and unfolding the note. The creases were sharp and precise. He murmured the words to himself. “Offer you the job of groundskeeper…”

The baby’s wails finally subsided into hiccups. Daniel tucked the letter into his jeans’ pocket and jogged down the stairs to the foyer, where he stored his bike. It was nearing dinnertime, but the sun wouldn’t set for another couple of hours, so he had time to at least check whether the property existed.

He lived in a home for desperate people, and desperate people couldn’t be choosy.





Chapter Two





Daniel leaned forward on his bike and relished the sensation of cold air whipping his hair about his face. Whenever he got out of the city, he liked to pump the pedals as fast as he could and race over the hills and dips. If he found just the right angle, it felt like he was flying.

Surrounded by bird chatter, he turned down Tilbrook Street, following the note’s instructions, and found himself in an area he wasn’t familiar with. He occasionally passed farmhouses and turnoffs, but no cars disturbed the tranquillity of early evening. The farther he biked, the more remote the buildings became, until he was surrounded by only thick pines and strangling vines.

He followed the road’s bend. A massive, long-dead oak tree stood at the end of the path. Its branches seemed to extend towards Daniel like gnarled, twisted fingers. His breathing ragged, he slowed as he neared it and stopped in its shadow.

The path took a sharp curve to the left at the oak tree, as though it had hit the obstacle and been forced to go around. The note said to go right. Daniel looked, but there was no sign of any path—just dense, clumpy vegetation.

It was a prank after all. He turned to search behind himself. Uneasiness made the hairs on his arms rise. It wasn’t hard to imagine a crime cartel luring a desperate, friendless young adult down a remote road with the promise of a job, only to knock him unconscious with a brick and steal his kidneys. Daniel knew human organs could sell for a lot on the black market; he’d researched it on some of his more desperate nights.

The dirt path was bare, and as far as he could see, nothing lurked amongst the vegetation on either side. He stepped off his bike, remaining alert, and moved closer to the tree.

Kids and teens had scratched messages into the trunk. Some looked old enough to predate Daniel; none looked recent. Many used the familiar initials and plus sign enveloped in a heart, and one appeared to be a rhyme that had been broken off partway through. And one simply read Craven Manor with a tiny arrow pointing to the right.

Daniel turned. There was still no path through the trees. The sun was getting lower, and now that he was no longer moving, he’d begun to feel chilled. Turn around. Go home.

He imagined what the evening might hold: lying awake in bed, hungry and frustrated, while he listened to Kyle play his game. He would be bone tired, but the aches in his muscles wouldn’t let him sleep for hours. Daniel grimaced.

Walking the bike at his side, he approached the patch of trees and vines where the path should have forked. When he drew close enough, he saw a series of grey shapes embedded in the ground. He scraped his shoe across one to clear the dirt away and found a flat, manmade flagstone. He lifted his eyes and saw more of them leading into the woods. Some poked up at strange angles where tree roots had excised them from the ground. Others had sunk deep into the dirt and were barely visible. He suspected still others lurked out of sight, hidden by time, creating something like a path.

“Well, how about that.” Daniel cast one final glance behind himself to make sure he wasn’t about to be kidnapped, then he lifted his bike and carried it over the oak tree’s massive roots.

He didn’t think he was imagining that the air was growing colder. The forest had become dense enough to block out light, and drops of water clung to the plants. They splashed onto him as he brushed past, running under his collar and making him shudder.

The path wove erratically. In some places, trees grew up through the stones, interrupting the path, and Daniel had to hunt around to find where it continued. He didn’t like how neglected the trail was. He supposed it was possible that another road approached the manor from a different direction and that the house’s owner had simply given him a long-disused shortcut. But he felt vulnerable. The birdcalls seemed distorted, and the trees dwarfed him. Their trunks were so wide that he could have wrapped his arms around them without his fingers touching.