In the Shadows

had chased and been consumed by . . .

They were real.

“Arthur!” Thomas hissed.

“This is a bad place,” Arthur said. The initial shock of dread

had settled into its old home in his bones now. The necklace wasn’t

meant for him. He was never meant to see it. Unlike his father, he

wouldn’t chase any of this. If they got out now, without being

caught, then maybe he wouldn’t have to run.

A soft creaking, the step of a light foot on the floor above

them, had the same effect as a gunshot. Thomas and Arthur ran

from the room just as they heard Cora scream outside.

Thomas was through the door first and down the porch steps

in a single leap. Arthur thought he’d keep going, but without

pausing, Thomas scooped Cora up from where she had fainted to

the ground, throwing her over his shoulder and continuing his

mad race into the night.

Arthur flew like their shadow down the hill, silent companion

to Thomas’s crashing footfalls. When they reached the bottom,

Thomas kept going, never looking back.

Arthur wanted to do the same, more than anything. He

wanted to fly and keep flying, to melt into the trees and disappear.

He wanted to never have seen that beetle, the one his mother,

weeping, sometimes drew on the skin over his heart, whispering

about protection. He stopped instead, and turned back toward the

house.

There, on the second floor, a silhouette marked their retreat.

As he watched, a dark hand raised and pressed itself against the

glass.

They had been seen.

New Orleans