Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) (3 page)

She flicks her wrist.

The humming stops.

The dog rushes forward, its eyes burning.

Simon can not move.

The woman raises her hands over her head. Light and fog and shadow and mist collide on the beach. There’s a silent explosion of blinding-white light, over almost before it starts.

The dog is gone.

The woman is gone.

He is cold. He is alone.

The Other Voice whispers, softly, seductively. “
Tell me Simon, does your heart go bump in the night
?”

* * *

Back in the living room Simon ran his hand over his face. Something was wrong. He opened his eyes. Fuzz--black, fuzzy fabric with pointed ears was right in his face, and Zoey was hovering over him, perched on the arm of the couch. Her big blue eyes stared right into his. “You said get ready for school. No sleeping!” She pulled her stuffed cat off of his face. “Get up!”

Simon sat up, confused, still tasting the stuffed animal.

“You weren’t getting up. You were shaking.” She grabbed her backpack and headed for the door. “Don’t be late!” She was down the stairs and gone before he could respond.

Simon stood and stretched. He went to give his teeth another brushing, but Sam was at the sink trimming his beard.

“Sorry buddy, you were snoozing.” He grabbed a towel and wiped his face clean. “Another nightmare?”

“How did you know?” Simon asked, reaching around Sam for his toothbrush.

“You were talking.” He ruffled Simon’s hair and stepped out of his way. “You’ve been on edge since the lake.”

“So have you,” Simon said bluntly.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” Sam asked, unable to look him in the eye.

Simon’s cheeks flushed hot. He did’t like talking about the lake. He didn’t answer, instead he brushed his teeth quickly, staring into his reflection until it seemed like someone else was looking back at him. He shivered and spit into the sink. “What was I saying?”

“Well...” Sam had retreated to the kitchenette, where he was rummaging through the junk drawer. He seemed to be stalling. “I don’t know exactly what you were saying, but it almost sounded like...” He paused for a moment, then the lines of his face tightened, his eyes serious. “Pancakes.”

Simon stared at him. “Pancakes.”

“Yep. Guess I didn’t feed you enough this morning.” Sam pulled a small package of white candles out of the drawer. “Ah-ha! Here we are.”

Simon eyed the candles. “What are those for?”

Sam smiled his giant boyish smile. “I have something special planned for you kids and Molly, so after school you and Zoey come straight here, okay? No wandering around with that dog on the loose, got it?”

“All right,” Simon said, slightly annoyed by Sam’s response.

“I mean it,” Sam said.

Simon uncapped the mouthwash. The taste of the felt cat was gone but he could not shake the taste of lake water from his mouth. “Why is this such a big deal?”

“Because I don’t want anything happening to you, okay?” Sam put on his jacket. “Call me skittish but ever since the lake--”

“I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about it.” Simon’s skin erupted in goosebumps. “Drop it, please?”

“Simon,” Sam started, “you need to understand, I just want you to be safe, okay?” He took a deep breath and patted Simon on the shoulder. “
Ex luce vita
,” he whispered softly, closing his eyes.

Simon rolled his eyes, shook Sam’s hand off him. “Not that again.”

“Hey,” Sam said. “Simon, please. Not again. It’s our family motto for a reason. It’s good luck. It’s what saved you at the lake.”

“No it didn’t,” Simon said. “You did.”

Sam sighed, and it was a heavy, weary sound. “Just... please, Simon. Today’s an important day. For me. You’re not the only one I’m surprising, and I don’t need to fight, least of all with you. So can you work with me today?” he asked, looking at Simon expectantly.

Simon relented, fighting the urge to roll his eyes again. “Ex vita luce.”

Sam frowned. “You said it backwards again.”

“Close enough.”

“Not really,” Sam said, giving up. He made his way to the door. “Don’t be late for school.”

“I won’t,” Simon said. He waited until Sam was gone then he made his way to the couch, but this time he pushed the corner away from the wall, exposing a worn floorboard. He glanced over his shoulder, then lifted the floorboard out of place, exposing a small hidden place. He pulled out a composition notebook he had started a few weeks ago, just after the lake, when the nightmares began. It was his dream journal. He flipped through it quickly, past hundreds of notes, scribbles, and drawings--a few of the lake, and several of the large black dog and the woman. It was his mystery, his huge sprawl of questions, and he wanted nothing more to detangle what it all meant. He flipped to the last blank page where he made a note:

Saw the dog. Green eyes this time. Heard the humming again. Saw the woman. Where do I know her?

A weird thought came to mind, like a memory violently unleashed from a trap. “
Smart kid
,” whispered a Other Voice in his mind. His heart skipped when he heard it, unsure if his mind was playing a trick on him again. He waited in silence, but it didn’t speak again. On a new line he wrote with a shaking hand:

Mom?

His heart pounded at the idea, the tantalizing possibility, but before he could consider it anymore, Molly was hollering for him. He hurried and tucked the notebook back into its hiding spot, then reset the floorboard and couch. He snatched his backpack off the floor and took the stairs two at a time. Zoey waited at the door, and together they walked to school, his heart thundering in his chest with every step.

CHAPTER THREE

THE BOOGEYMAN

Simon waited for Zoey to join him in front of their school that afternoon. He had started the eighth grade a few months earlier, where Zoey had just started the first grade. He sat on a bench and looked at the Halloween decorations in the windows. Halloween was only a few days away, on a Saturday this year, but where most kids relished a whole weekend of candy and parties, that didn’t mean anything special for Simon. Every year Sam refused to decorate the tavern with decorations of any kind, save for one small plastic gargoyle Molly had taped to the register one year. She had even nicknamed it Little Sam as a joke
.
Sam seemed to like it though, and for a time Simon had hoped it would lead to paper skeletons, big stuffed crows, and smiling cardboard ghosts taped to the walls. Yet every year they never came.

Zoey skipped down the front steps, wearing a pair of costume cat ears and waving a large paper pumpkin made out of construction paper. “Simon!” she was huffing, tiny puffs of air visible for only a moment as she talked. “We made arts and crafts today!” She held her pumpkin in Simon’s face. “I did this!”

The pumpkin’s eyes were cut from black construction paper. “Looks great,” he said. He fished in his backpack, pulling out a small bag of candy as they started to walk home. “Candy corn?”

Zoey smiled wide and popped a piece of candy into her mouth. She continued telling Simon about her day--how they had bobbed for apples, and made masks, and how the they had gone trick-or-treating to the other classrooms after lunch. Simon smiled and nodded while she talked. He remembered what Sam had told him that morning, and now he kept trying to figure out what surprise was waiting for them.

They approached the corner of the block when freezing pain exploded in Simon’s left hand. For an instant, his entire arm throbbed with frigid, wintry misery, then just as quickly as it came, it went. Simon stared at his hand in fearful curiosity while Zoey continued to talk about her day.

The pain started again, slowly, in the palm of his hand, then slowly it throbbed up to his wrist, then his elbow. His hand went cold.

“Simon?” Zoey was watching him, her costume cat ears wobbling precariously, almost alive.

Simon’ bones were ice. The throbbing in his hand was getting worse by the second. He took a deep breath and flexed his fingers tentatively, then shaking his hand hard, but the pain only grew, vibrating up his to his shoulder. He looked at Zoey, her tiny eyes wide.

“I’m okay,” he said quickly, shoving his hand in his jacket pocket. The pain was fading, but some strange warning went of in the back of his mind, an alarm rattling loudly, but he couldn’t for the life of him tell
why
.

“
Danger
,” his internal alarm suddenly screamed, taking a voice in his mind. “
Get going
.
Hurry now
.”

It was the voice from his dreams.

He swallowed his fear. “Here,” he said, offering his other hand to Zoey. “We should go.”

“
Something’s watching you
,” the Other Voice whispered. “
You’re not safe here anymore
.”

They were just in front of the firehouse when the pain in Simon’s hand returned, dropping him to one knee. His vision started to blur. Zoey was shouting at him, but he couldn’t understand her. His head felt like it was filling with water, sloshing up against the inside of his skull. He couldn’t breathe again.

He couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t speak. He motioned towards the firehouse, and Zoey ran to the front door and tried to pull, but the door wouldn’t open.

“It’s locked!” Zoey pulled harder on the door, but it stayed closed. She pounded her fists against the door, but no help came.

Simon was starting to fade. He focused on Zoey, not ten feet away, telling himself the whole time to
hold on
. They were close to home, all he had to do was
hold on
until the pain went away again. It had to, it had to fade. Things
had
to be all right.

Darkness crept into the edges of his vision. He looked around and didn’t understand how one of Crowley’s main streets could be so empty at this time of day, how it could be only him and Zoey in front of all the shops and the firehouse. “
Get
going,”
the Other Voice screamed again.

Simon dug down, summoned the strength to lift his head. Zoey was still there, frozen mid-knock. He struggled to follow her gaze, and when he looked around the voice in his head stopped dead--they weren’t alone anymore.

A large muddy-brown dog stood by the corner of the firehouse, its face a snarl of twisted features. A tangle of scars and mange covered its stubbed snout. The ears, which would have dangled on any other dog, stood at flicked attention, horn-like, on top of the patches of black that surrounded the coal-black eyes which stared straight into Simon. Below its massive jaws was a collar, bone-white, and the sight of it made Simon’s blood run cold. The dog stood motionless at the end of the block, never taking its eyes off Simon.

Terror seized Simon. The dog could snatch him or Zoey in its jaws in a heartbeat. All it needed was one tiny provocation, and it would be on them, and its eyes flicked between the two of them, eager to find an invitation to attack. Simon felt the creature
enjoying
this.

“Zoey,” Simon gasped. “Don’t run.” He struggled to talk, his voice coming out a weird, twisted garble. He forced a painful gulp of air into his lungs and pointed towards the tavern. “
Walk
. Walk to the Paw. If you run--” he gulped more air. “If you run he’ll chase you.” He prayed this would work, that the beast’s instincts would hold until Zoey was safe.

“I can’t!” Zoey’s little voice was frantic. “I can’t cross the street alone!” She ran to Simon’s side. “Get up!” She cried. “Come on, Simon! Get up!”

Zoey had set the dog in motion. It snarled and bolted straight towards them, its teeth bared. Light glinted off the dog’s collar.

“
Light
,” the Other Voice in his head screamed. “
Light!”

The tightness around Simon’s throat suddenly vanished. Cold air flooded into his lungs, the pain already melting away. No bite came. Simon opened his eyes. The dog was laying several feet away, stunned and on its side.

Zoey clung limply to him. “Zoey!” He quickly scanned her for bite marks. “Zoey! Are you okay?” The dog was beginning to stir again. Simon worried it would be back on its feet soon. “Zoey! Answer me!”