The Color of Night Page 3

  Rachel wasn’t at school the next day.

  Patrick had woken feeling very positive, like he might make a friend today. He thought he might catch her on the way to school, but the street was quiet as usual—only two short kids walking beside each other further up the street. It seemed that she always got to school much earlier than him, so it wasn’t something to worry about.

  In English class he sat closer to the front. He wanted to give her a chance to sit by him without looking desperate. Keeping a seat open beside him certainly wasn’t very difficult, it only being his third day at Hillward High.

  But when Mrs. Spotts arrived and gave everyone a warm greeting, it seemed that Rachel was running unusually late… and when the teacher finally started her lesson and got a few minutes into it, it was apparent that Rachel probably wasn’t coming at all. This casted Patrick into a glummer mood than he even would have liked to admit to himself.

  All hopes of at the very least having another nice conversation were shattered and Patrick was forced to endure another dragging day of people-watching. Even Mr. Vincent’s lesson wasn’t interesting enough to hold his attention for long, and the end of the day seemed to come several hours later than he would have liked.

  The bell rang and Patrick gathered the books he needed to complete his homework from his locker. He hardly even noticed Dean lighting up a cigarette and strolling toward the parking lot. Mr. Poulton saw him and began to shout something across the lot, but Dean was in his car and driving away within seconds.

  Patrick walked through the cloud of dust left by the faded red car and headed gloomily down the street. He realized that he was reacting much too strongly to Rachel’s absence, and was all the more embarrassed for it. The smart thing to do would be to forget the whole thing and just see what tomorrow brings. She was most definitely going to be back in a day or two. And he couldn’t rule out the possibility that she didn’t even want to talk to him anymore, and that she was just being friendly before.

  This thought made Patrick’s stomach drop, and for his own sake he chose to disregard it. He did maintain however that he was being downright silly.

  His train of thought was suddenly halted when he looked up and found a crow staring at him from a fence post.

  Patrick was suddenly struck with a strong feeling of peculiarity and for reasons unbeknownst to himself immediately stopped walking.

  The crow wasn’t cawing or pecking at the ground or threatening to fly away; it was merely staring directly at his face, the little black marbles on either side of its head unmoving. It stood on a rotten wooden post at a break in the rickety fence separating the road from the trees. Beyond it a narrow and overgrown path led into the woods. He regarded the crow curiously, waiting for it to take flight, or make any movement at all.

  But it didn’t. It only stared at him, almost as if expecting something. It was only a bird (and not a pressing adult or an intimidating classmate), but the steady eye contact was making him uncomfortable regardless. Coming to the conclusion that it was most likely sick or disturbed, he broke from its unnerving stare and continued walking. He felt its gaze on him as he walked by, and could only get a few yards down the road before turning again to see what it was doing.

  It was still looking at him. But after another strange moment it turned and flew straight into the trees and out of sight.

  Patrick stood for just a moment longer, then continued on his way home, not exactly sure what his mind should be hanging onto anymore.

  *****

  Dinner came and went quickly. Lizzy was already comfortable enough at her school to stay the night at a friend’s house. Patrick’s parents were fairly deep in conversation, so he ate his chicken quickly and went upstairs to do his homework. He had hoped to have a little extra free time after school, but with dinner and yet another load of boxes to unpack and homework that was hard to focus on, the time was anything but free and went by almost instantly. He spent the last few hours of the night struggling with the simple task of choosing a topic for an essay and writing an outline. His mind’s refusal to focus frustrated him, and he recalled with a grim sort of humor the elation he had felt the day before.

  Once he had completed everything, his parents had long gone to bed. The world was quiet once again and he switched off his light, happy to grab some mindless sleep before another day of mystery.

  Patrick sat on his bed and looked out his window, as he had been developing a habit of doing.

  There the woods sat, just as they had every night; the same trickle of moonlight, the same dark, looming branches. Patrick found his mind quieting when he looked at them. He had wanted to explore them the moment they first arrived at the house, yet for some reason it seemed impossible to find the time during the day. He could wait until the weekend as he had originally intended…

  But they were so close. Forty feet from the edge of the house, if that. He could be there within minutes, aggressively seizing what had been eluding him since his arrival. At the moment it was the one unresolved aspect of his life that he felt he could actually do something about, and that resolution was in view.

  He considered again what could go wrong and came to the conclusion that it couldn’t possibly be that dangerous. He doubted there were any invisible gaping chasms or rabid badgers waiting in those trees… The worst thing that could happen would be cutting himself on some outstretched branch, and that would only require some disinfectant and a bandage.

  But the darkness…

  It looked pitch black. He might not even be able to see where he was stepping. And though he was hesitant to admit it, the thought of wandering into that darkness was just outright scary. It would be frightening enough with a flashlight, and they were all probably still packed away in the enormous stacks of boxes that filled the garage. He would practically be blind, depending entirely on the few beams of moonlight that happened to slip down through the branches.

  He was surprised by how close he was actually coming to making the attempt, but as usual reality eventually set in and he decided it was just too unnerving an idea. But the split second before he could lie down something black caught his eye.

  A little blurb of darkness under the trees. Patrick’s first thought was that it was some animal, but then he decided it was probably just a rock.

  Then it moved.

  He thought the motion might have just been imagined—nighttime and darkness had a tendency of making any shadow or object appear as though it were moving—but then the little dark thing hopped on black legs out of the shadow of the trees and into the moonlight.

  It was the crow—the one from his walk home today.

  He immediately realized the silliness of this thought however, as there were probably hundreds crows living in Hillward. But still… this one seemed to be staring at him like the other one did. From all the way across the yard he could tell that its little head was pointed directly at his window, and this brought back that creeping sense of unease.

  After a few peculiar moments it jerked its head away and turned, hopping straight into the woods and disappearing.

  He acknowledged the fact that the animal was a crow, and only a crow, but his small superstitious side seized the image and rocketed the mystery surrounding the woods to an unbearable level. Patrick stared at the spot where the crow had hid in the shadows, feeling now that the barrier of trees had become more of a personal challenge than anything. He thought of how incredibly brave he would feel if he accomplished this task. Maybe it would give him new inspiration to talk to Rachel again—or to talk to anyone for that matter.

  A spark of some strange sort of drive that must have been insanity was struck inside him. Without considering it any further he jumped out of bed, put on his favorite green hoodie and dug his boots out of his closet, careful not to make too much noise. He didn’t take the time to change out of his pajama bottoms.

  He crept downstairs and across the living roo
m. Soft moonlight shone through the sliding glass door, which was without shades or curtains. He unlocked it with a soft click and began the slow process of opening it. On the first day in this new house he had discovered that if the door was opened too fast the friction created a loud rumble that practically shook the whole side of the house. As such he slid it open with extra care, and a few moments later found himself crossing the yard. It seemed a much greater distance across than it had from afar, and with every step the trees loomed further over him and grew all the more menacing. Soon he was standing face to face with the woods.

  It was only a small wooded area—probably not even large enough to be called “woods”. Darkness, in the end, meant just about nothing as long as he was careful. Chances were, there were no dangers that weren’t also present during the day—apart perhaps from the presence of skunks, which very certainly wouldn’t kill him.

  Yet this challenge seemed momentous. He knew it was entirely irrational, but he felt a very real fear when he looked into those trees. Everything inside him told him to go back up to his room and go to bed, and wait for the daylight to go exploring. Maybe even get up with the sun and do it before school—just anytime but now!

  But the desire to give up was outweighed by the huge sense of accomplishment he would surely feel if he completed this task. If he could do this, he could do anything. Maybe if he could breach this invisible barrier he could begin to break the ones that plagued him in his everyday life.

  His only real comfort was that he could see a few feet in front of him into the woods. From Patrick’s few experiences camping with friends he knew that no matter how dark it got outside, it could rarely get so dark that you couldn’t see anything at all. Sort of like driving at night; you can only see what’s right in front of you, but you can make the whole trip that way.

  So, with one final deep breath, Patrick let his legs take him into the space where he could see and that odd spark past it to where he couldn’t—deep into the woods and the darkness.

  When he left the moonlight behind, a very different breed of butterflies began to flutter around his stomach—the kind that made him feel uneasy, and made his shoulders want to tremble. Every slow step was a massive effort, yet he continued to stare into the black woods ahead, knowing that looking back and seeing his comfortable house through the trees would make the temptation to run at full speed back to his bed unbearable. So further and further he walked down the vague path, goose bumps racing down his arms and back in waves.

  At first he couldn’t make out any shapes; he could only see what was immediately in his path. After a minute or so however his eyes adjusted slightly, and the sparse moonlight further illuminated the woods in front of him. His intense nervousness didn’t lesson though, and the butterflies only got worse the deeper he went—the further he got from his house and the streets and other people. The only sounds he could hear were the crunching of leaves beneath him and the chirping of crickets. Each was uncomfortably loud in his ears.

  Eventually he stopped, trying to hear beyond the chirping insects. There was no wind. No shuffling. No mysterious footsteps. Just cricket calls, echoing in the distance.

  A sharp CAW came suddenly from behind him and he jumped and spun toward it, his heart beating a mile a minute. His first instinct was to run, but he held onto his nerves a moment longer and his eyes finally focused on a small, dark figure standing in front of him.

  Patrick stared at the crow, breathless and holding his chest, almost wanting to kick it for scaring him so badly. Once again it seemed to be staring at him.

  Then, Patrick’s vision began to blur.

  An entirely foreign and indescribable sensation washed over his entire body. His heart hammered faster than ever in his chest and he began to panic as he found the ground rushing up at him. He landed on his hands and tried to push himself back up, but his limbs felt strange—felt wrong—and he couldn’t seem to move properly. He craned his neck to look for the crow, but it wasn’t there, and the feeling engulfed every part of him. It was like pressure, but also like some massive release—somehow like being crushed and pulled apart at the same time. It was like heat and cold, like dying and dreaming and pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shout but couldn’t control his voice, and he found himself lost in this overwhelming sensation of complete helplessness, like falling—so much like falling.

  Then it stopped.

  Patrick opened his eyes. The woods were still dark. He stirred and tried to stand up and found that he couldn’t. He was low to the ground—like he was crawling, only it was the highest he could go. His arms and legs were wobbly, and he had the intense desire to throw up.

  Then he took a deep breath through his nose, and the world around him lit up.

  He could see almost nothing, but every other sense was a massive blur. His head filled with intense and indescribable sensations. Color assaulted his mind’s eye and tastes filled his mouth, and it was almost too much to handle. This brightness surged with each inhale of cool night air, and his only theory as to what was flooding his mind with these odd colors was a crazy one.

  It was almost as if they were smells.

  The sound of the crickets was now almost deafening, and he could very clearly hear his own quickened breathing. He heard the crunch of the leaves echo through the woods when he took a step, heard the unbearable shrieks of the hunting bats above—heard their leathery wings beating the air. As he turned, dozens of other smells he couldn’t even begin to describe invaded his mind, barraging him with sensations he couldn’t understand. They were on the bark of the trees, all over the leaves, in every hole and on every rock on the forest floor, making freeways of scent that crossed through the air and around every turn, each one calling to him, begging to be consumed.

  He began to walk slowly and shakily forward (or crawl—he couldn’t tell). His mind reeled, and it was difficult not to topple over. He trudged around the trees, his sense of direction failing him completely. He couldn’t stand, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t escape this place and this darkness that was so full of colors that didn’t exist. Panic was steadily tightening its hold on his heart, and he was starting to think he would wander in these woods for the rest of his life when he saw something loom over him.

  In his jumbled senses Patrick couldn’t quite tell how much of the object he was seeing and how much he was smelling. It was tall, he knew that. Tall and dark, even darker somehow than the pitch-black woods. The smell was different. It was an older smell, more musty and rotten, more sharp and strange. He stopped and looked to it, breathing deeply and listening, listening for anything. He couldn’t move at all now; he could only watch the thing and wait, wait for something to happen or something to come. But it only grew darker and taller, and as he focused more closely on it so it grew in his mind and his sight, smelling of something different, something old…

  Then he woke up.

  Chapter 4

  Patrick opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the ceiling. The sun was beginning to rise and bluish light poured in through the large window. The haunting remnants of the dream still hung in his brain as the last bits of sleep withdrew from him like a lifting fog. What was left was a deeply uneasy feeling—the kind only a very bad or strange dream can give. He continued to stare at the ceiling as the sun came up and until he had to get ready for school.

  He was hardly aware of the world as he walked up the street. The dream was returning to him backwards, the intense and strange events being the most clear and the details that led up to them developing in bits and pieces. It hadn’t been like any bad dream he’d ever had; it was so much more confusing, and a lot more unnerving. He couldn’t even remember it clearly, yet it hung in his mind as though it were somehow truly meaningful.

  Soon he had arrived at school and was left to puzzle at the dream further as the class waited for the teacher to arrive. The other students chatted noisily with one anot
her as Patrick stared at his desk.

  The oddest thing about it was that even though the end had been hazy and confusing, the memories of the beginning that had drifted back were shockingly vivid. There were still pieces missing here and there, but he had never had a dream before that was even almost as coherent and logical as this one. Normally something even as simple as walking outside would be interrupted by his third-grade teacher riding a giant snake or by the ground opening up in a surge of flowing lava… But this time it had all seemed so real, up until the second half—the part when those feelings began. It always came back to those impossible sensations that confused his mind whenever he tried to remember them. If it had been a dream, then why could he almost remember what they felt like?

  “Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday.”

  Patrick turned to the desk on his right. He hadn’t even noticed Rachel sit down, and now she was looking at him.

  She was smiling.

  “I forgot my dad was taking me to my orthodontist appointment,” she continued. “But I got my retainer out, so I’m pretty excited about that.”

  Patrick smiled back.

  “Awesome.”

  Speaking and making eye-contact with someone was somehow enough to shake the dream from his mind.

  “So what did I miss?” Rachel asked as she took her binder out of her book bag.

  Patrick had hardly paid any attention at all the previous day.

  “Uh, nothing really,” he said. “Nothing important, at least.”

  Finally Mrs. Spotts entered the room and their conversation was cut short. Class went along as usual, and he found himself extremely pleased to have someone to sit by. So pleased, in fact, that the novelty caused the period to zip by, and before he knew it the bell was ringing and all the students were stirring. He put away his binder, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and headed for the door.

  Rachel followed him. Her persistent friendliness enchanted and baffled him.

  “So are you done unpacking yet?” she asked as they stepped into the hallway.