Five Stories for the Dark Months (8 page)

The air was cold tonight.
Shivering, she rubbed her arms and stomped her feet. She’d put on
sweats over her flannel pajamas, and the socks she wore were the
fluffy SpongeBob ones her sister had given her for Christmas, but
the wind cut through everything like scissors through gauze.
Strange that it should be so cold: usually it didn’t get below
fifty this time of year.

She supposed she could go into the
house. It would be warmer. But the door was probably locked,and she
didn’t want to wake Jenny for the key. Anyway, what if she
encountered Jenny’s parents? They seemed like nice people, but she
hardly knew them, and she didn’t feel like making small talk.
Better to stay out here.

She could stir up the coals and
roast some marshmallows, but she’d already brushed her teeth. She
hadn’t even brought a book.

Frustrated, Sabrina stared into the
forest. The moonlight fell in broad beams through the leafless
trees, chasing the shadows from the underbrush. Far below, at the
bottom of the hill, the Little River glittered like tinsel. They
had walked along the shore this afternoon, before sunset, but the
place looked very different at night—fairy-haunted;
forbidden.

She paced restlessly around the
edge of the campsite, peering through the trees for a better look
at the water. Every few steps she saw a flash of moon-bleached
sand, a twinkle of water. Then, suddenly, a path came into
focus.

She didn’t know how she had missed
it. It was a wide, straight track between the trees, leading right
down to the water. It looked much more passable than the glorified
deer-trail they’d followed that afternoon. She could probably make
it in her Crocs without twisting an ankle. And it wasn’t that far:
the murmur of the water carried clearly over the chilly night
air.

She could go down now, have a
little walk, and come back without waking anyone. It would only
take a few minutes. She might even be tired enough to sleep when
she got back. Still, it seemed wrong to go off and leave her
friends without saying anything.

Sabrina turned to wake them—let
Jenny or Brian, at least, know where she was going. But they were
all sleeping so peacefully—and she knew they’d tell her not to go.
It wasn’t safe to wander by herself at night.

Making a quick decision, Sabrina
shoved her hands in her pockets and started down the
trail.

On the shore of the river stood the
most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

He was a little older than she was,
tall and broad shouldered, with a swimmer’s body—clearly visible,
as he wore nothing but a pair of soaking-wet jeans. The moonlight
was generous, highlighting muscles that might not have been visible
by day. Half mesmerized by his abs and deltoids, Sabrina stepped
closer.

His face would have been at home on
a Grecian urn. His nose was aquiline, his complexion umber, his
mouth sensuous and a little cruel. He had a satyr’s beard, and his
thick dark curls shadowed his face like little horns. As she
approached, he pushed his hair back, and his sharp black eyes
nearly stopped her in her tracks.

“Hey.” His voice was deep and
lazy.“What’s up?”

She couldn’t speak. She felt as she
were being studied, as if he were assessing her fitness for some
unknown purpose. She groped around for words, and finally came out
with, “Aren’t you cold?”

His laugh rippled through her skin.
“I’m used to it. Where’d you come from?”

“Up the hill.” She pointed toward
Jenny’s house, though she couldn’t see the path anymore. “We’re
having a campout. You know. For Halloween.”

“Very nice,” he drawled, sounding
entirely uninterested. “What’s your name?”

“Uh... Sabrina.”

“Nice to meet you, Sabrina. I’m
Cyrus.” He held out his hand. “Well met by moonlight, et cetera, et
cetera.”

Sabrina took his hand, found it
warm and dry and strong. “You live around here?”

He laughed. “Sure. Over the river.
We’re having a party, too.” He pointed at a spot far upstream,
where the opposite shore was mostly obscured by a clump of deep,
dark forest.

Sabrina couldn’t see anything over
there that looked like a party. She moved closer to the water, and
a wavelet swamped her shoes, soaking through her socks in
seconds.

Cyrus laughed as she cursed and
staggered backward. “Don’t get wet.”

“Thanks.” She kicked off her shoes
and peeled off her socks, rubbing her feet on the sand to try and
dry them. She felt like she’d been frostbitten, and knew she should
probably go back to camp. “How’d you get here, anyway? I didn’t see
a bridge.”

He shrugged. “Walked. Ain’t that
deep. I’m about to go back...” He looked her up and down
thoughtfully. “Want to come with?”

She should say no, of course, but
found herself stammering. “Uh... I... I don’t know.” She dropped
her shoes and socks on the sand. “What kind of party is
it?”

“Oh, you know. Just a small
gathering—food, beverages, entertainment. Kind of a yearly
tradition.”

Sabrina glanced back towards the
house again. Would her friends wake up, if she went with this
stranger? Would they find her gone, panic, and call the cops to
search the river? “I probably shouldn’t. Didn’t tell anyone I was
c—”

Cyrus grinned, and she stopped
speaking abruptly, realizing that she should have kept that
information to herself.

But he only turned away, and said,
“You’re probably right. Best to go on home. Could be dangerous over
there—you might meet strangers.” He patted her arm. Her whole body
tingled. “So long...”

“Wait. I...”

He shook his head. “You probably
wouldn’t like it. I mean, you’re already scared...”

“Scared?” She
looked down at herself, as if that accusation might be visible on
her shirt. “I’m not
scared.
I just...”

But was she? A chill was running
through her veins—but she didn’t think she was frightened. Excited,
maybe. Intrigued. “I’m not dressed for a party,” she
hedged.

Cyrus laughed. “You look fine. No
one over there’s going to care what you’re wearing.”

Sabrina stared across the water.
The moonlight was so bright that in places the surface of the river
looked almost opaque. It rippled so smoothly she knew it had to be
deep. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Not if you’re with me. I can
carry you over.”

He probably could, she thought,
looking him up and down. He was as tall as Brian, and looked
stronger, though Brian had been a football player before his
injury. Cyrus looked like he’d never been injured in his
life.

She turned away, wondering if he
could see her blush by moonlight. “What are you, the
ferryman?”

He laughed again. “If you
like.”

Well, he was a cocksure bastard of
the first degree, but she had to admit he was oddly alluring.
Unconsciously, she moved a little closer. “How do I know you won’t
drop me in the river?”

“You don’t.” He held up two
fingers, a Scout’s-honor gesture. “But I swear I’ll do my best to
keep you dry.” Then he lowered his hand and leaned quite close, so
his breath ghosted over her face. “I’ll keep you dry,” he murmured,
“as long as you pay the toll.”

She breathed in, then exhaled,
distracted by the smell of his hair: moss, dry leaves, and
something animal. “Wh-what kind of toll?”

“Well, what have you got?” His
lips curled into a teasing smile. His face was nearly touching
hers. “I can’t work for free.”

Sabrina shivered, but stepped back,
trying to conceal her disappointment. “I guess that settles it,
then.” She tried, and failed, to smile. “Don’t have any
money.”

“Oh, it doesn’t have to be money.
Could be anything. A silver coin. A loaf of bread.” He pushed a
strand of hair behind her ear. “Even a kiss.”

Even as her whole body came alive
with interest, she thought guiltily of Brian, sleeping by himself
at the campsite up the hill. She should walk away now—shouldn’t
even consider the offer. But the moonlight made the river seem like
a different world, and Brian had no part in it. “All right,” she
said, surprising herself.

Smiling, Cyrus opened his
arms.

He was hot, and strong, and his
warm lips tasted like river water. It was the best kiss she’d ever
had.

Without taking his lips from hers,
Cyrus gathered her into his arms. Despite his heat, a chill ran
through Sabrina’s body. She realized, very faintly, that he was
walking—wading into the water, his feet sinking into the sandy
riverbed. Her heels dipped into the river, and cold water soaked
the hems of her sweatpants, but she didn’t open her
eyes.

Finally, when Sabrina was quite
breathless, the kiss ended. They were on the opposite shore, and
Cyrus was setting her down on the hard-packed sand. The cold ground
was like an electric shock on her bare feet. She staggered,
clutching his arms for balance, and opened her eyes.

While they’d been crossing, the
moon had passed behind a cloud. The shore was entirely dark, and
very quiet. Thick bushes crowded them like thugs. A strange bird
cried in a nearby tree. Even the river sounded odd—its voice a
sullen murmur, as if heard through a layer of ice.

She hadn’t
realized, from the other side, just how
wide
the river was. It had looked
small, and passable—an inconvenience, but not really an obstacle.
From this shore, though, it looked wide, and deep, and
dangerous.

She turned back to Cyrus, suddenly
unnerved. He was wet from the ribs down, and the muscles of his
abdomen gleamed like oil. Unconsciously, she reached out to touch
them.

He pushed her away, almost gently.
“That’s enough now.”

Embarrassed, Sabrina pulled away,
confused by the distance that had come into his face and voice.
“What’s going on?” Her voice, in her ears, was childish. “Where are
we?”

“The other side. Come on, now.” He
turned away, and started upstream without waiting for her to
follow.

Sabrina was suddenly,
overwhelmingly conscious of the dangerous situation she’d walked
into. She opened her mouth, about to ask him to take her back, but
he was far away by then. His strides were swift, unfaltering: he
seemed to have forgotten she was there. When she called to him, he
barely slowed.

As they walked, she started hearing
voice, laughter and conversation and even song echoing out of the
darkness. Far ahead, faint golden light reflected off the river.
“Is that the party?”

Cyrus nodded.

Then they came around a bend, and
there it was.

The shore had broadened, and the
air was warm, fragrant with woodsmoke. Tiki torches had been set
out in a large square across the side. Inside were dozens—perhaps
hundreds—of people, sitting around bonfires and under striped
pavilions.

She rubbed her
eyes, but the picture just got clearer. How could they all have
gotten here? This was parkland—she was pretty sure no roads led in
or out. Had they come by boat? A few were tied up on the shore, but
not nearly enough to have brought so many people. And the sound
should have carried—why hadn’t she and her friends heard the party
from their campsite? And who
were
these people, anyway?

They looked, at first, like a
historical reenactment society with a very relaxed dress code.
Their clothes spanned the last two or three centuries, and seemed
to have come from a number of cultures and walks of life. Most of
the guests were dressed as farmers—in shirts and homespun trousers,
calico dresses, or T-shirts and overalls. A few, however, wore hoop
skirts and frock coats. Some of the black people wore old cotton
clothing, and had a beaten-down look that made Sabrina think of
slaves. A number of the guests looked like full-blooded Native
Americans, and wore beaded shirts and dresses with feather-topped
hats for the men. There were soldiers, flappers, hippies,
businessmen, and even a few people who might have come from
Sabrina’s own street.

Then there were... others.
Firelight flickered off of faces and bodies that weren’t entirely
human. There were small, nude people with bald heads and jagged
teeth; there were enormous men with branches that looked like
clubs. A woman in the corner had three or four arms, all pouring
drinks for the crowd around her. There were even people who seemed
to have animal heads: dogs, cats, birds, foxes. Sabrina thought
they were masks, until she saw one blink.

She turned to Cyrus, meaning to ask
she-knew-not-what, but he was already gone. A moment later she
spotted him across the campsite, accepting a mug of something from
the woman with too many arms. Even he looked wilder here—the curls
that had shaded his face like horns now looked like horns indeed.
She waved to him, but he didn’t even look at her.

Despondent, Sabrina crossed the
line of torches. Friendly face surrounded her
immediately.

“Hello, dear,” said a little round
woman, whose skin was wrinkled like tree bark. “Is this your first
time?”