Gatekeepers Page 4

  Toria stared at him with monster eyes.

  “No one’s there,” he whispered. “Didn’t you hear—?”

  The knock again, a gentle rap-rap-rap.

  This time a silhouette filled the window. David’s heart pounded harder, until he recognized the shape of Xander’s shaggy hair.

  “What took you so long?” David said, opening the door.

  “I came through the woods,” his brother said. “There’s a cop car out front.”

  “They showed up right after you left.”

  They stepped into the kitchen.

  “No problems?” Xander said.

  “They knocked, but we didn’t answer.”

  “Creaking!” Toria said.

  David shrugged. “The house was making some noises. I didn’t hear any footsteps.”

  “I did!” Toria said.

  David shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

  “Did too.”

  “All right, guys,” Xander said. He leaned down to Toria.

  “This is from Dad.” He hugged her.

  “You saw him?” David said.

  “He said it’s all garbage. Taksidian set it up. Dad said it won’t stick.” Xander looked at David and rolled his head. “I told Dad I’d give you one too.”

  David hesitated, then smiled. He stepped into his broth-er’s arms.

  “Xander,” David grunted under the crushing pressure. “Not . . . so . . . tight.” When his brother didn’t let up, he brought his foot down on Xander’s toes.

  “Hey!” Xander hopped away.

  “Hey nothing. I got a broken arm, you know.”

  “Big baby.”

  David rubbed his arm. “So, what are we supposed to do?”

  “Hold down the fort. That’s what he said.” Xander looked from his brother to his sister. “So that’s what we’re going to do.”

  CHAPTER

  nine

  WEDNESDAY,12.25 A.M.

  Sitting in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, Deputy Sam Parsell gazed through the windshield at the house. It was barely visible through the trees. Its lack of color allowed it to blend into the shadows, seeming to become nothing but shadow itself.

  “Creepy,” he said. He snatched a Styrofoam coffee cup off the dash and took a sip. He grimaced at its taste, some-thing like cold motor oil.

  His partner, Deputy Lance Harnett, sat behind the wheel.

  “Holy cow,” Lance said. “Listen to this.” He held a magazine closer to the dome light and read: “Authorities in West Virginia are investigating reports of unidentified lights in the sky, which correspond with the claims of a Braxton County woman that a ‘monster’ attacked her German shepherd and ate it. ‘It was horrible,’ said Nanci Kalanta. ‘I went out to see what Killer was barking at. This thing ran out of the woods and gobbled him up. One bite, just like that.’ Kalanta described the creature as having six or eight legs, a spiderlike body, and a bulbous head with tiny eyes and a mouth ‘the size of a storm drain.’ ”

  Lance pulled the magazine down and gasped at Sam. His mouth seemed as wide as the monster’s he had just described; his eyes were big and startled. He said, “Can you believe it?”

  Sam slapped the magazine out of his partner’s hand. “No, I can’t. Stop reading that trash.”

  Lance picked up the magazine. Flipping through it to find his page, he said, “This ain’t no gossip rag. It’s the Midnight Sun, man.” He said it the way another person might have cited the New York Times. “It’s real. They got interviews and pictures and everything.”

  “Pictures of the monster?”

  “Look,” Lance said. He pointed at an image of a backyard cluttered with trash. “That’s where the dog used to be, and look, you can kind of see where the tree branches are broken.”

  “Gimme that!” Sam grabbed the publication out of Lance’s hands. He jabbed a finger into the cover, right into the fanged mouth of what might have been an orc from the Lord of the Rings movies. “What does that headline say? ‘Alien Baby Celebrates Third Birthday.’ ” He threw the magazine at his partner.

  Lance looked injured. He said quietly, “You just don’t believe.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.”

  Lance rolled up the magazine and pointed it at Sam. “People used to think gorillas weren’t real, either.” He shook the magazine. “This here is science. It’s called cryptozoology.” He said the word slowly and carefully. “It’s the study of creatures we don’t know about yet.”

  “What are they studying, then?” Sam said. He squeezed his eyes shut, mentally kicking himself for opening that door.

  “Evidence! Eyewitness—”

  Sam threw his hands up. “I know, I know. I’ve heard it already.” He looked out at the house. “I can’t believe they got us babysitting.”

  “Well, Sam, them kids are alone in there.” Lance’s big eyes took in the house, the surrounding woods. “Ain’t right.”

  “Hey, it’s their choice. Wouldn’t catch me living in a place like that.”

  Lance turned a big grin on him. “Afraid of ghosts?” he said.

  “No, I’m not afraid of ghosts. I’d be afraid of rafters falling on me in the middle of the night.” Sam opened his door.

  “Hey, hey,” Lance said, grabbing Sam’s arm. “Whatta you doing?”

  “I gotta pee,” Sam said. “If that’s okay with you.” He pulled out of Lance’s grasp, climbed out, and slammed the door.

  Idjut, he thought. He hitched up his pants, adjusted his gun belt, and scoped out the area for a leakworthy spot. The half moon made the house look black and as imposing as an ancient castle. The trees cast deep shadows that shifted as the branches swayed in a light breeze. Mist swirled over the ground, billowing up in the distance. It seemed to glow in the moonlight.

  He veered off, away from the front of the house and from where the headlights would catch him if Lance switched them on. As he approached a particularly dark area, a twig snapped somewhere in front of him. He squinted into the shadows.

  “Who’s there?” he said in his toughest voice.

  Something screeeeeched!

  Sam jumped. His hand dropped to the handle of his pistol.

  Screech!

  He looked up and saw something moving on the roof of the house. It screeched at him again, and he sighed. It was an old weather vane, mounted to the peak of the gabled roof over the tower. He moved his feet, carefully picking his way over exposed roots and low-lying brambles.

  Another twig snapped. He spun toward the sound. It had come from the front of the house on the other side from where he stood.

  Animal, he thought. Had to be.

  He supposed one of the kids could be tromping around, but he and Lance had watched the lights go out more than an hour ago. They had assumed the three inside had gone to bed. He surveyed the front of the house now. No lights.

  Something thumped behind him.

  Oh, man, he thought, cursing Lance and his talk of ghosts and things that ate German shepherds whole.

  CHAPTER

  ten

  WEDNESDAY,12.37 A.M.

  David woke with a large, warm spider clinging to his face. He brushed at it and realized it was Toria’s hand. He lifted it and set it on the pillow between their heads. She mumbled, scratched her nose, and rolled over. She had wiggled toward him until he was teetering on the edge of the mattress. He shifted to his side and gently pushed at her. She didn’t budge. He considered joining Xander on the floor, but even a sliver of the bed was better than that.

  Bump!

  He rose up onto his elbow, listening. Something in the house had made a noise. He heard it again—not a bump this time, but a low creak. Then another.

  Footsteps! Or someone trying to walk quietly. His eyes moved to the bedroom door. By the glow of the nightlight he could tell it was still closed. Another creak—out there, somewhere.

  “Xander?” he whispered. Louder: “Xander!”

  His brother’s deep, rhythmic breathing rea
ched him from the floor on the other side of the bed.

  He dropped his feet to the floor and stood. Something bumped. He thought about the boxes in the hallway: lots of things to knock into, if you were creeping around in the dark. He went around the bed and knelt in front of Xander. His brother’s head was a mass of dark, tangled hair.

  David shook him. “Xander, wake up.”

  Xander shifted in his sleep.

  Creak.

  David snapped his eyes to the door. He shook his brother harder. “Xander!”

  “What?” Xander lifted his head, plopped it back down.

  “I hear something,” David said. “Someone’s moving around out there.”

  Xander rolled over. He blinked at David, his face like someone in pain. “Someone . . . what?”

  “I think someone’s in the house.”

  Xander pushed off his blanket and sat up. He stared at David, listening. “I don’t—”

  “Shhh,” David said.

  Ten seconds . . . twenty . . .

  Creeeak!

  Xander jumped. He got to his feet and pulled David up.

  “Where’s it coming from?” David whispered.

  “In this house, could be anywhere.”

  “Right outside the door,” David whispered. His fear had found its way to his voice.

  “I thought maybe . . . upstairs,” Xander said.

  Great, David thought, now the house is making each of us hear dif-ferent things.

  Xander stooped to pick up the toy rifle that had been lying beside him. With a wood stock and metal barrel, it made a sturdy club. He moved to the door.

  David grabbed a handful of his brother’s T-shirt and followed.

  Xander pushed his ear to the wood. He looked back, shook his head.

  “Let’s go back to bed,” David whispered. “Wait till morning.”

  Xander opened the door.

  CHAPTER

  eleven

  WEDNESDAY,12.41 A.M.

  Sam dropped into the passenger seat of the police cruiser and slammed the door. He glared through the windshield at the house.

  “Everything come out okay?” Lance said with a snicker.

  “There’s something going on,” Sam said.

  Lance followed his partner’s gaze to the house. “Whatcha mean?”

  “I heard noises. Like someone walking around in the woods.”

  “The kids,” Lance suggested.

  Sam didn’t speak for a while. He scanned the woods in an arc, starting where Lance’s head blocked his view and ending with the passenger-side window. Finally he said, “Maybe the kids. But I went up on the porch, checked the door. It was locked. If it was one of the kids, the door wouldn’t have been locked.”

  “Back door, then.” Lance’s eyes were the size of half-dollars.

  Sam could tell he wanted a straightforward explanation for the noises. The guy might get a kick out of reading about boogeymen, but he didn’t want to end up in the Midnight Sun’s next issue under the headline SHERIFF’S DEPUTY MAULED TO DEATH BY ALIEN DOG-BOY.

  “Maybe,” Sam said, not believing his own word. All the breaking twigs and thumps had come from the area in front of the house. Kids would have run off when Sam had started exploring, and he’d have heard them making tracks toward the back. “I think I’ll—”

  Something smacked down on the roof of the cruiser.

  Lance screamed. He fumbled for his pistol.

  Sam grabbed the man’s arm. “Don’t,” he said. “If the kids are out there . . .” He didn’t even want to think of what could happen if Lance started plugging away at the shadows.

  “That’s no kid,” Lance said. “Something landed on the roof.”

  Sam scowled at him. “What are you thinking? Something living?” He shook his head. “A rock maybe.”

  “It was big,” Lance said.

  “Well, I don’t hear anything now. Nothing’s moving up there.”

  “Waiting.”

  “Hey,” Sam said. “A light just turned on in the house. I can see the windows on either side of the door. Couldn’t see them before.”

  They watched the house, but nothing else happened. No more lights, no movement.

  “Turn on the headlights,” Sam said.

  Lance squeezed his eyes closed and flipped on the head-lights. The woods between the end of the road and the house sprang into Sam’s vision. The nearest trees seemed to glow in the brightness. Farther trees caught their shadows and appeared to multiply as they approached the house. The lights barely reached the front porch steps.

  “Hit your spotlight,” Sam said, reaching for the handle on his side of the car. The brighter spots, Sam’s and Lance’s, came on at once. New shadows snapped into place. Sam’s roamed over the right side of the yard—if that’s what you’d call the woods in front of the house—Lance’s over the left.

  “There!” Lance said.

  The leaves of a large bush were shaking.

  “Wind?” Lance said, hopefully.

  “Not the way it’s moving back and forth like that.”

  The shaking stopped.

  “Hold the light on it,” Sam said. He positioned his own light on the porch and opened the door.

  “Wait!” Lance said. “The roof.”

  Sam stepped out, rising slowly to peer at the roof. A large branch lay over the cruiser’s red-and-blue light bar. He looked up. The top of the tree leaned out over the car’s hood. He grabbed the branch and showed Lance.

  “See?” he said. “Probably just fell. Keep your eyes peeled.” He shut the door and headed for the woods. His shadow stretched out in front of him, reaching almost to the house.

  CHAPTER

  twelve

  WESNESDAY 12.50 A.M.

  “Xander!” David said. He was standing at the junction of the second floor’s main hallway and the smaller one that went to the room they were using as a Mission Control Center.

  Xander was shining a flashlight on the secret door at the end of the short hall.

  “It’s still latched,” Xander said, running his hand over the wall.

  “There are lights shining in from outside,” David said. The glow flickered in the main hallway, brighter than the dim overhead fixtures.

  Xander stepped up beside him and switched off the flash-light. He brushed past David, who once again grabbed hold of his brother’s shirt. Xander edged closer to the staircase.

  “Is it the cops?” David whispered.

  As Xander eased forward, the light caught him, flickering like a fire. He said, “Probably. But what are they doing?”

  “Maybe they spotted something,” David said, thinking of the creaking floorboards.

  They stopped at the top of the stairs. The light was coming through the windows by the doors. Something moved in front of the beams, causing a bobbing shadow. It grew larger and darker. The porch stairs creaked.

  “Xander?” David said.

  Xander sidestepped behind the wall. They both crouched low. Xander craned his head around the corner; David bent around Xander to see. The shadow took the form of a per-son: head, shoulders, arms. Footsteps clumped on the porch. The door handle rattled. The person moved to the side window and peered in. He was silhouetted with light radiating from behind.

  Xander pulled back behind the wall. He nudged David. “Get Toria,” he whispered. “We have to be ready to get out of here.”

  David looked down the hallway to the chair that they had replaced under the linen closet handle. “The closet?” he said.

  “That’s the plan,” Xander said. “Now, go.”

  CHAPTER

  thirteen

  WEDNESDAY,12.52 A.M.

  At the window, Sam cupped his hands against the sides of his face. The upstairs lights were on, but he didn’t see any-one. The rest of the house was dark. The door was still locked. Probably one of the kids had gone to the bathroom. He turned away from the window.

  The cruiser’s lights glowed at the end of the road like a four-eyed spide
r waiting to pounce. Mist snaked slowly from the side of the house, swirling around trees and billowing up against the bushes.

  He looked at the big clump of bushes Lance’s spot was on. From his perspective it was mostly a shaggy black mass. He went down the steps, treading softly. As he approached the bush, it shook.

  He stopped. “Who’s there?” He unsnapped his holster and moved closer. “Trinity County Deputy,” he announced. “Come out with your hands up.”

  The bush rattled. Something growled, low and guttural.

  Sam stepped back.

  A twig cracked, closer to the cruiser—no, no, not a twig. It sounded like something had smacked against glass. He squinted at the car. Had Lance got out? The thing in the bushes growled again.

  A loud crack! came from the cruiser, and Lance’s spotlight blinked out.

  What in tarnation?

  “Lance?” he called.

  A screech made his blood run cold. He swung his head around. That blasted weather vane!

  The headlights and his own spot were pointed not at the bush, but at the house. The bush was now illuminated only by the backsplash of light bouncing off the ground and trees. Somehow that made it appear even darker, bigger, and a whole lot scarier than it had looked in only the moonlight.

  The leaves rustled. That deep-throated growl reached his ears, getting louder.

  He pulled his pistol. “I got a gun,” he said. “You hear me?”

  Movement drew his eyes to the side of the house. The mist drifted among the trees. Sam’s breath froze in his lungs. The clear shape of a man stood rock-solid near the rear of the house.

  “Who’s that?” Sam said. “Come here . . . slowly.”

  The figure didn’t move.

  Sam swung his gun toward it. “I’m not kidding, buddy!”

  The bushes shook. The growling continued.

  Sam held the gun on the unmoving figure and raised his free hand to shield himself from whatever might rush out of the bushes. He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t going to shoot at the figure: Not when the guy wasn’t even moving. Not when there were kids around, and he couldn’t be absolutely sure the figure wasn’t one of them—though the man in the mist seemed a lot bigger, more solid than any kid he’d ever seen.