The window shatters where the rock hits, cracks like spiderwebs racing over the few panes that stay in place. Three nearby sheep startle from the noise and run off towards Hutton le Hole’s center. I pick up another stone and hurl it after the sheep, but my aim falters and it clatters harmlessly behind the trailing sheep’s hooves. I feel a pit in my stomach imagining if my throw had been precise, and hastily grab a fist-sized rock and move towards the back of the empty cottage. The place isn’t abandoned, but no one lives here now. I think it’s a summer home for tourists. Peeking inside a second time only makes me mad again, and I step off a few paces, wind my arm back and throw the rock. It smashes through another window.

“Take that,” I mutter.

It’s a two story cottage made of brick. The roof is red slate, the brick looks like washed out honey. The lawn is green, very green, and between that and the nice set up inside it’s obvious the lot is loved and cared for. Every time I see it, I see a perfect family home, a place to make good memories.

I bristle and seek another rock, spotting one near some fly orchids. I bend to grab it, reel my hand back, but I hear the person behind me and whirl around to face him. He seems surprised that I noticed his approach.

“Okay now, you best put that down, kid,” the man says. I think he’s American, or used to be. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

My breath comes out in a scoff. Like he even knows what trouble actually is. Instead of dropping the stone, I throw it at the man. I hear him swear as he lifts his arms to block his face, but I’m already running. I grin as I take off, because it does feel good being on the other end for a change.

My parents won’t find out either. They never come to Hutton le Hole, that man won’t find me in Rosedale Abbey, and that’s the biggest relief because Mum and Dad made it very clear that if there’s another Epping incident that forces us to relocate I’ll pay for it.

Rosedale Abbey is about an hour and a half’s walk from Hutton, so I won’t be back before sundown, but I doubt my parents will notice anyway. Once I’m out of the village, I slow to a walk, looking back now and then but I don’t see the man from the cottage anywhere. I’m halfway home when I remember what night it is. My parents will notice I’m gone! I feel sweat break out over my skin even before I start running.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

My chest hurts by the time I get through the rough tavern door, and my legs shake too as I come to a stop. There’s no customers, which is normal, there almost never are. I think my parents like it better empty, even though I hear them fighting about money a lot. The tavern isn’t friendly or inviting. The floors are uneven and sticky no matter how many times I mop, and the tables have burn marks, scratches and melted wax on them. The shelves behind the bar are nearly empty all the time, so that when people do find the tavern on the outskirts of Rosedale Abbey, they don’t stay for long.

Upstairs is where we all sleep. Dad and Mum are in the loft, I think it used to be a private dining area, maybe for parties, before we moved in. My room is tiny, it used to be a storage space so only my bed and one plastic bin fit in there. I keep my favorite clothes and books in the bin, the rest of my stuff is shoved into boxes in the pantry by the kitchen.

Mum, Dad, and Uncle James are at the bar, the book they’re always obsessing over, Magicks & Alchemy, opened as they lean over it. Mum acknowledges me first, her face twists and her eyes narrow as she looks up. “Did you forget what night it is?”

"I’m sorry!”

“Your sorry is shite,” Dad spits.

“Get ready!” Mum snaps.

I hurry towards the pantry to get my dark leather coat. It has a faded relief of a crown backed by a sun on the back. No one tells me why I have to wear this thing when they go to the moors, but I don’t want to see what happens if I don’t. As I pull the jacket from a box, I hear Mum and James getting into another row.

“No, this isn’t it, you fool! Look, won’t you? Charles your brother is a fucking idiot!”

“Oi, careful now, Ines,” James replies. “I’m the one busting me arse out there lookin’ for this thing.”

“This thing!”

“Let me take Magicks & Alchemy and I’ll have better luck and you can untwist your knickers!”

“Shut that hole in your face, James!” Dad shouts.

“Henry! Hurry up!” Mum adds sharply.

I trot out of the pantry hoping my quick response will sooth her temper. Now I can see the item they were fighting about. It’s some kind of pyramid sculpture, as big as a table lamp, and apparently not the pyramid thing my parents are looking for, the one drawn in the Magicks & Alchemy book. If they really were a forcible witch and wizard like they say they are, they wouldn’t be so obsessed with finding such a powerful artifact, I bet. They’ve always been jumping from artifact to relic to spellbook, so sure the next one would let them accomplish their goal.

Only this time they seem more sure than ever before that the relic in Magicks & Alchemy is what they truly need.

“Our devotion and sacrifice will bring us to victory. We will honor the Nathir, and thus be rewarded!” Mum exclaims.

“Yeah, sure,” I murmur.

I wish I could grab the words and shove them back into my mouth. I didn’t mean to say it out loud!

“Y o u,” she seems to choke on her anger before she continues in a rasp, “how dare you question!”

“Show your mother proper respect, whelp!” Dad barks.

I feel the sting of a belt across my backside as if he really struck me. I’m only remembering the last time he needed to discipline me for insulting Mum though. “Sorry, Mum,” I reply. “Sorry, Dad.”

“If we done with the fucking drama, let’s get things moving,eh?” Uncle James asks, sneering.

He and Dad pull the one long table in the tavern to the middle of the room. Like I do every time they do this, I climb onto the table and lay down on my back. I’m not allowed to read, write, or do anything. I just have to lay here until they come home. “Stay,” Mum orders as she follows James and Dad out of the tavern. I hear the lock turn and I sigh, settling in for another boring night of trying to find shapes in the ceiling’s cracks.

They come home 2 hours later. As usual, they come bursting through the door as if they’ll catch me doing something I’m not supposed to. There’s always a weird…expectancy in the way they look at me when they come back from the moors. I don’t know what they expect, I only know they’re disappointed every time. “Go to bed,” Mum demands, just like she does the other times. I never argue, at least I can read a little before turning in.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next morning I go to the cellar, where Uncle James sleeps when he’s here. He’s packing up to go back to London, kicking aside the flimsy cot and groaning about a sore back.

“Uncle James?”

“Fucking hell! Maybe some bloody noise when you walk!” he snaps. “Trying to stop my heart? Christ…”

“Sorry.”

“Eh,” he waves it away. “What d’you want then, son?”

“I was wondering if…I could go with you to London?”

He snorts, slinging his bag into place. “You want to come with me? Are you taking the piss?”

“No. Maybe I can help you look for the relic thing.”

“How’m I supposed to woo a fancy bird with a runt at my heel?”

“I wouldn’t get in the way of that!” I exclaim, pulling a face. “I’d just help with the family stuff.”

“Ah, Henry,” he laughs and makes his way to the stone stairs behind me, patting my shoulder. “You ask your Mum. She says ‘yes’ you can get yourself to London and I’ll take over from there. Old cunt’s still sleeping no doubt, and I’m not waiting.”

I wish he would wait, but I don’t ask because he’d change his mind about the whole thing, most likely. I follow him up from the cellar, stopping at the bar as he goes to the door.

“Bye then, Pup.”

“Bye.”

Dad wakes up first, just as the coffee I put on is done brewing. He doesn’t greet me as he fills his thermos, and leaves me to my book as he heads out the door. I don’t know where he’s off to, I don’t want to bother him with asking. Mum comes downstairs a while later.

“Reading. Always reading,” she scoffs. “And never anything useful. What are you reading now, my boy?”

“Dracula,” I hold up the tattered book, but she doesn’t look. She’s busy putting on the toast. “Hey…Mum?”

“Hm?”

“I was thinking maybe…I could stay with Uncle James for a bit. Just until he comes to visit us again.”

I see her shoulders tense, and her lip quivers as she looks at me. “What?”

“I…I thought I could help him look for the thing you need.”

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, I see…”

“Mum?”

“That’s a convenient way to get lost in the city, innit? A way to abandon your family…abandon me.”

“W-what? That’s not what I was thinking!” Maybe it is though, because the thought is like a dream, fleeting as it may be.

“Don’t you lie to me!” she shrieks, storming over to me and grabbing the collar of my jumper. She pulls me out of my seat, my book falls to the floor. “After everything I sacrificed for you! I didn’t scrape you out of me when I was in agony! I didn’t smother you when you would cry, and cry, and cry at night! Or when I learned the complications of your birth meant I couldn’t have any more! If I could, maybe the next one would have appreciated the roof over his head, and having food, and a mother who gave up everything so he can be home schooled because he couldn’t handle normal education!”

“M u m!”

My cry is cut off by her hand slapping me across the face. She lets go of me, her face white except for two splotches of red on her cheeks. “Get out of my sight, ungrateful child!”

I run, and I don’t slow until home is well out of sight.

Blood still roars in my ears when I get to Hutton le Hole, but I’ve finally stopped my tears. My face hurts, my chest hurts too and all I can hear is my mum screaming at me. I scowl angrily at the boys my age who snicker at me as I pass because of my oversized and patchy clothes. Maybe I’m channeling Mum’s piercing look because the boys shy away and quickly disappear from sight. I almost wish they didn’t run, just like I wish my Mum settled for hitting me instead of what she said, even if she never really hit me before.

Or admitted how much she wanted to get rid of me either…

She’s just angry, she’ll calm down, I tell myself this again and again, but she doesn’t come after me. I guess I didn’t really think she would.

The sudden click! of a camera shutter catches me by surprise. I look up and I see the man from the cottage yesterday, pointing his mobile at me. There’s an ugly bruise on the man’s broad forehead from where the stone hit him.

“You can run again if you want,” the man says. “But if you do, I’ll go to the police with this,” he indicates the phone, “and I really don’t want to have to do that.”

“What do you want?” I demand, hoping I pull off my dad’s terse manner.

The man lifts a brow. “Help repair what you broke,” he says. “C’mon, it’s the quickest way to settle the debt.”

I almost refuse, but I think about that warning from my parents again – especially with Mum being so upset with me. When I got into a fight with my classmate in Epping a few years ago, my teacher decided that my parents needed to be called in for how badly I hurt Simon. I remember them spending the better part of an hour coming up with a story to explain my behavior, and the dread that pooled in my stomach when my teacher told them it wasn’t just the fight that was the problem, but that my grades and attendance were slipping. They didn’t know I skipped classes, but sometimes I couldn’t bear to be around anyone. In the end, I don’t think Ms Emmerson believed my parents, and that’s why we moved to Rosedale Abbey and why Mum homeschools me now.

Except, she doesn’t have all the time in the world to focus on me. She has to maintain the tavern too, so she usually gets me books and I learn from those. Maybe this is a good way to learn too, because I know nothing about fixing things since I’m usually just cleaning endlessly.

“My name is Elijah Stone, by the way,” the man says as we walk through Hutton to return to the cottage.

“Henry Bishop,” I mumble.

“You live ‘round here?” Stone asks.

I shrug, and I’m glad Stone doesn’t press me on the matter. I’m not used to having secrets, my parents are set against the idea, but there’s something quietly exciting about it.

“I’m here on and off,” Stone continues amiably. “I’m mostly out in Texas now, by way of Rhode Island, got a small ranch out there, living the quintessential cowboy dream I never grew out of. Livvy, that’s my younger sister, she lives here in England full time with her husband. If he wasn’t such a great guy, I’d hold a grudge for him getting my sister off coffee and onto tea.”

“Ha ha,” I feign humor, aiming to offend because I’m still yearning for some kind of confrontation. I’m too full of my mother’s voice in my head. “She like crumpets too, then?”

“Matter of fact she does,” Stone replies easily. “Do you?”

Another shrug, but by now we’ve reached the cottage. I see that some work has already been done, the windows I broke are empty squares now, and it looks like Stone installed new insulation and leveled out the opening judging by the chipped wood pieces scattered nearby.

“Do you think you can handle caulking the opening?” Stone asks.

“Uh…”

“I’ll show you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you messing up the place more than you already have! This airbnb keeps me able to fly back and forth as much as I do.”

I’m not moved by the answer, because the idea of hopping on a plane whenever is too far away for me to ever even hope for. I shrug, and he looks at me more closely because his gaze lingers on the red mark that I can still feel pulsing in my cheek.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say quickly. “Just show me the stupid caulk.”

Stone leads me into the cottage, but he leaves the door open as if he’s expecting me to need a quick getaway…which may be true. Being inside is worse than looking in. It’s clean, the furniture looks comfortable and is set up in a way to encourage conversations and quality time together. Stone doesn’t let me stand there taking it in, he brings me to the first broken window, where a replacement frame waits, surrounded by various tools. Stone takes the caulk gun and hands it to me before he indicates where I’m supposed to bead the sticky substance in preparation for installing the frame.

“So,” I begin after we’ve been working for about half an hour in near silence, save for Stone’s pointers and instructions, “were you just…lurking about town waiting for me to show again?”

“No,” Stone laughs. “I went to the town center for lunch and saw you on my way out of the cafe. Hey, that’s some good work though, Henry,” he adds after inspecting the shims I inserted to level the frame.

“Thanks,” it’s strange to hear a genuine compliment without a caveat attached, or a followup insult.

“So what are you interested in, Henry?” Stone asks as we continue working.

I open my mouth, but embarrassment stops me because I’m now facing the fact I don’t have many. “Well, I like to read,” I reply. “I read a lot of the classics, as many as I can get my hands on, there’s just something about them…” I like the stiff language in the classics, like it separates all the characters from the events of the story somehow, which has been helpful for me in real life. When things get bad, I can pretend I’m in that sort of setting too, that it’s just an old story. I can’t tell Stone that though, because I don’t want to get myself into trouble if he asks me to explain what I mean.

“I can’t remember the last time I sat down with a book,” Stone admits. “Reading is great, though, don’t stop reading, kid.”

When both of the windows are done, Stone smiles in a satisfied sort of way. “I love this kinda work. You see the problem in front of you, and you get to solve it right away, seeing every step of progress and controlling it all with your own hands.”

“It is nice,” I admit. The physical work drains me of that edginess, and requires too much attention for me to keep thinking of my mum over and over again.

“Well tell you what, I’m going to be doing some more work on the place next weekend. You get a hankering for more learning, you can come over and help me. Livvy will be by then too so you can meet her, she’s great. You can invite your folk out too.”

“They work…a lot,” I improvise. “But I’ll ask them.”

“Sounds good. Heck, if you do help out, I’ll even pay you.”

“No,” I say sharply. “Uh, about paying, I mean. It’s fine, I’ll see if I can make it.” If he pays me, my parents will find the money and they’ll take it, then they’ll find a way to bleed Elijah dry.

When I leave Hutton le Hole that afternoon, I make sure I don’t see Elijah anywhere. It’s better if he thinks I live in town, I don’t want him asking me where I go if he sees me leave it. Confident that I’m not seen, I take my time walking home. As I draw nearer to the tavern, I imagine my mum’s face again, how angry she was and the words that hit me harder than her hand did.

No one is outside the tavern when I get there, and I swallow the sting of disappointment that they aren’t looking for me at all. When I walk through the door, however, Mum bustles out from the kitchen and pulls me into a tight hug.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“My boy, my precious boy,” she whispers, kissing the top of my head.

Tears renew as I wrap my arms around her in turn and let her hold me for a while. I knew she was only angry, I knew she didn’t mean what she said before.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Uncle James is usually gone for a long time between visits, and since I only have to make sure I’m home those nights when they go out to the moors, I have a lot of free time on my hands. When the weekend comes around, I tell Mum I’ll be out for the day and when she doesn’t respond, I take it as her permission and leave for Hutton once more. It’s mid-morning when I arrive and there’s already activity at the house. I see Elijah and another man carrying large paint cans from the bed of a truck to the front door. When he sees me, Elijah sets down his burden and lifts a hand in greeting.

“Hey!” he exclaims. “Come on over here!”

I approach, warily eyeing the other man.

“Henry, this is my brother-in-law, Edward. Edward, this is Henry – who I told you about earlier this week.”

“Good to meet you, Henry,” Edward says with a smile.

I don’t know if Elijah told him about how we met, but I mumble a hello in turn.

“Eli! Where are the linens?” a voice calls out from inside. Its source is a pretty woman, and I can see immediately that this is Livvy. She and Elijah look similar, both with their sandy hair and blue eyes, their slightly upturned noses and the noticeable freckles on their cheeks. Livvy’s features are softer, her face more round than her brother’s, and she has a wide mouth that is currently curved upwards into a smile. “Oh! Is this Henry?”

“That’s him,” Elijah replies. “And I told you ‘bout a million times the linens are in the master bathroom’s closet.”

She dismisses the information and beams at me. “Good job with the windows, Elijah told me how you helped update a few.”

“Uh…thanks,” I murmur

“Your parents couldn’t make it then?” Elijah asks.

“No, they’re working.”

“That’s a pity,” Livvy replies. “Did you want to help the boys with painting or do you want to join my quest to find anything in this house?”

“Help her out, Henry,” Edward laughs. “She’s in dire need.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know I find your impatience endearing, love,” Edward replies smoothly.

"Uh huh, nice save. I guess I don’t have to confiscate your cupcake,” Livvy retorts with a grin. “Do you like cupcakes, Henry? I just put some in the oven, you can take some home with you if you like.”

“Oh, um, that’s…yeah, maybe.”

“We’re burning daylight here, folks,” Elijah points out.

He and Edward go back to bringing in the painting tools they need while Livvy invites me inside the cottage. The smell of vanilla hangs in the air and my stomach grumbles. I didn’t find anything for breakfast before I left. Embarrassingly, I realize that Livvy heard the growling of my gut and my face flushes when she gives me a knowing look.

“I brought some snacks,” she says, going over to the refrigerator and pulling out an assortment of fruits. She opens a cabinet as well and takes down a box of breakfast bars. “Dig in and we’ll get started when you’re done.”

“Thank you.”

Maybe she can see that I’m buckling under all this attention, because she leaves me to eat alone. I’m waiting for the catch…They’re expecting something from me to repay for all this kindness. They have to be. I try to figure out the ‘what’ of it as I eat, keeping a watchful eye for any hints. But Elijah and Edward are busy with laying out tarps and getting the paint cans open, and it sounds like Livvy is sweeping the entryway.

When I’m no longer hungry, I help Livvy search through the cottage for various inventory that needs cleaning or replacing. It’s easy work, and Livvy talks through most of it and tells me about growing up in Rhode Island with Elijah. She also told me how she met Edward in college, where he was an exchange student, and decided to move to England with him after her parents passed away. I continue to ask her questions about everything that’s not too personal, because as long as she keeps talking then I don’t have to.

By late afternoon, I take my leave, unable to escape without a tin of cupcakes. Once again I make a point of seeming as if I live in Hutton le Hole, but once again I’m not followed. I get home while the sun’s still hanging in the air, giving the surrounding moors a golden hue. I’ll have to throw away the cupcakes, unfortunately, they’ll draw too many questions.

“Oi there, Pup, what’cha got there?” Uncle James’ voice calls out and I see him looming near the front door with a cigarette between his fingers.

So much for throwing them away. “Cupcakes,” I reply simply. “Want one?”

“And it’s not even me birthday,” James croons. “Where’d you get ‘em?”

“I nicked them.”

“Bold.”

I shrug, like it’s no big deal, and open the tin as I approach him. The vanilla cupcakes are topped with colorful frosting and sprinkles. James wrinkles his nose. “It’s like packaged diabetes.”

I stare pointedly at the cigarette. “Yes, best to watch your health, uncle.”

He swats me upside the head, but there’s no force in the blow this time.

“I thought you left. Was what you found what Mum and Dad were looking for after all?” I ask, figuring it’s the only reason he’d come visit again so soon.

“Nah, I decided to stick around and find out what your mum said about you coming to London. Fucking pointless endeavor, eh? She told me right off what she said. I’ll be heading back to the city in a bit.”

“You waited?”

“Just said so, didn’t I?”

“Well…thanks.”

“Don’t be a cunt about it,” James huffs. “Could’ve used the extra pair of eyes, is all.” He snatches a cupcake from the tin. “Go on then, Pup. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Bye,” I mutter before I step inside the tavern. I don’t see my parents, so I go to my room and slide the tin under my bed. Why should I throw them away? I don’t have to talk about them and they won’t do any harm. Besides, dinners have been light lately and I’m tired of being hungry.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

This becomes my new routine, going to Hutton le Hole on the weekends to visit with Elijah. He continues teaching me practical skills, and I find him a willing tutor when I ask about subjects I have trouble understanding just from reading the books my parents give me as my formal education. Elijah is observant too though, and I’ve seen the question in his face when I’m not careful enough – like wearing a t-shirt when my wrist was bruised after my father grabbed me too tightly. It’s just a matter of being more careful on my part; wearing clothes to cover any marks, and smiling no matter what because I don’t want to risk ruining anything. I can deal with the not so good things at home so long as I have this weekend retreat. Besides, I always get an apology from my parents after a while, they’re just passionate people and it comes out harshly sometimes.

I’m able to keep my routine for 3 months before Uncle James returns so he, Mum, and Dad can make another trip to the moors. It’s the middle of the week, so I don’t have to worry about being home on time as I don’t plan on going anywhere. I don’t ever want Elijah to ask about why I’m not in school. I’m happy during those months, and I feel like part of that normal family I imagined any time I saw the cottage in Hutton le Hole. Livvy and Edward are there some of the weekends, and it feels warm and cozy being around the three of them. Except, they do start insisting that they meet my parents. It was my fault for mentioning my upcoming thirteenth birthday, which they insist we celebrate together. I can tell my parents’ absence is going from curiosity to concern, and I’ll need to come up with something soon.

I’m still thinking about what I’m going to say that afternoon. I’m out in the moors, enjoying the silence there but not enjoying the lack of ideas. It can’t be anything too horrible…I sigh as I reach the top of a rise, and from here I can see the crummy tavern I call home tucked away in the shadow of another hill. I can also see a shambling shape rushing up to meet me. I cry out in alarm when the shape seizes me and clings to me, and I find myself looking into the wild eyes of a woman.

“Help me, help me!” she wheezes.

I stare in growing horror as she cries as my mind speeds into overdrive. Where did she come from? Who is she? What is going on? “I…” my voice trails off. Do I bring her home and ask my parents for help? Why do I feel such dread when I think of them?

“Oi, you dodgy cunt!” Uncle James’ voice interrupts the low sigh of the wind as he hurries up the rise to meet us. The woman screams and brushes past me, but James is upon her and clamping a hand over her mouth while his arm circles vice-like around her to lift her from her feet. My uncle rounds on me angrily. “Keep an eye out here to see if anyone’s coming!”

“W-what? What are you—”

“Shut your fucking mouth and do as you’re told!”

I’m frozen as I watch him haul the struggling woman back towards the tavern. My heart is racing, I can feel sweat trickling down my spine and a tightness seizing my chest. I’m shivering despite the warm air, and I feel like I may vibrate out of my skin as I stand there. Why was this happening? What is James doing? And if the woman escaped from the tavern…what does that mean? What are my parents doing? What have they been doing?

I don’t know what to do. I should run. I could go to Hutton. My feet won’t move. I can’t move!

I am still rooted to the spot when Dad comes running out of the tavern and comes to collect me. “Let’s go, boy,” he says roughly.

He snaps me out of it, and I turn to flee but his big hand catches the back of my collar and he yanks me after him.

“Wh-what are you doing? What’s happening?!”

“We’ll tell you later if you mind your bloody self!”

I stumble after him, I can’t believe this is happening and I hope I wake up to find it was just a nightmare. It keeps going though. We get into the tavern and Mum is right there waiting for us. She snags me from my father’s grasp and pulls me into a hug, but I cannot bring myself to hug her in return. I hear James in the cellar below, but I don’t hear the woman. Have they kept people down there in the past? The door is usually locked, my parents warn me they have dangerous artifacts down there so I never attempt to get down there. Has this been going on all along?

“My poor boy,” Mum whispers. “How frightening this must be. I promise we’ll talk all about it later tonight, but for now you just have to trust me.”

I look up into her pale face. “But…but you’ve kidnapped that lady.”

“No, no,” she hushes. “It’s all for something greater, something good. You’ll understand later and so will she.”

“But…”

“No more,” she says. “No more, love. Why don’t you read to me? You mentioned I would like the book you’re reading now.”

“I…okay,” I’m bewildered. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t think I can say anything else. I can’t think. I can’t focus on anything apart from that woman’s wild eyes. I let Mum herd me into my tiny bedroom and we sit on my bed. She presses Wuthering Heights into my hands and insists that I start at the beginning.

I sink into the story as I read it, I escape into it; the setting, the characters, the sense of being in a different time, a different world. It fills my mind completely, so that when my mother puts a hand on my shoulder and says ‘it’s time’ it feels like no time has passed at all. She leads me downstairs and I see that it’s dark outside, indicating how long I’ve been pretending this afternoon didn’t happen.

“Get ready,” she prompts me, giving me a little push towards the pantry.

My feet shuffle forward on their own accord and I grab the jacket mechanically, wincing when I hear the table being dragged to the middle of the tavern again. I look between Dad and James, but their expressions are neutral so I get onto the table and lay down, trying not to visibly tremble. Where is the woman?

The three of them leave the tavern, the door locks, and I wait. I listen with rapt attention for a change, and I hear the creak of the cellar hatchway opening at the side of the tavern. They’ll be bringing the woman up that way then, but why? Why are they bringing her with them to the moors? I can’t stay here. I can’t just pretend it’s not happening. I wait a while before I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the table, then get to my feet. My heart thuds almost painfully in my chest as I go to the tavern door, disengage the lock, and step out into the night.

It isn’t hard to follow their trail, I can see where the woman’s feet dragged against the ground. Eventually, deep in the moors, I hear their voices and as I cautiously move around a small rise, I see them. They stand around a large bolder, one that looks like it’s naturally been shaped by time into a crude table. The woman is lying on her back, her wrists and legs bound. Mum and Dad stand to the right side of her, Uncle James is on the left, and they are lit by the sheen of the full moon hovering over them. Hands raised to the sky, I hear that my parents are chanting something and I dare creep closer to understand what they’re saying, even as I try to convince myself I’m not seeing any of this at all.

“Tonight, we gather here at the moors,” my mother speaks with the kind of gravitas befitting a church, pale eyes fixated on something only she can see.

“To the rustic moon, the sign of the King,” my dad continues. “We pay tribute to the liberation…”

“A release from bondage,” James adds. “A tribute of blood for the Nathir.”

The desolate darkness turns what should be a pleasant backdrop of rolling moors into a nightmarish hellscape. The thin grass whistles in the wind, the distant trees sigh and moan, and the moon bears down on them and looks touched by blood, like a great angry eye hungry for the promise made by my family. I watch with my mouth agape and my eyes wide enough tears prick at them as my father and mother lift knives. The moon catches the blades and ignites a sharp glare, and I see the woman writhing more desperately on the stone slab. Her hoarse voice joins the sound of the wind and mingles with their chanting. I tremble as they speak of gifting the life force of their sacrifice to this Nathir, pleading for it to come and awaken and change the world. They can’t do this; they aren’t really going to do this!

And yet the daggers flash and then plunge into the woman’s chest. I cry out before I can stop myself. All three look sharply at my hiding space behind a jagged rock. “James!” Mum shrieks.

I scramble upright and start to run, mindlessly heading back in the direction of the tavern. I just need to get away from them, I have to get away! I hear the thundering of my uncle’s footsteps behind me. “No…no…no!” I pant, urging my legs to go faster. I’m rushing down the side of a hill and I hear him getting closer, then the sound of him grunting and the sudden weight of his bulky form crushing me down to the dirt. The wind is knocked out of me, and I hear my gasping, seizing breath as I still try desperately to crawl away from him.

“Pack it in,” he snarls. “You want this to get worse? No? Quit your fucking whinging!” His hand grabs me by the back of the neck and he hauls me up, my toes barely skimming the ground.

“You…you…y-you…!”

“What did I just say?”

I hear the exerted breaths from my parents and soon they are joining us. “Well done, James,” Dad even claps his brother on the back. “We’ll take it from here, go take care of the body.”

“Sure, sure, all right, I’ll just keep breaking me back tonight,” James sighs.

What hope I had that I could escape in the turnover doesn’t last. My father grabs me and slings me over a shoulder while my mother walks behind us, catching me in her gaze. There’s something so cold in her eyes that it freezes my lungs and all the accusations I want to shout at her get stuck in my throat.

“Open the cellar,” Dad grunts when we get back to the tavern.

Mum complies without argument and all three of us go down the steps. My father drops me graciously to the cement floor and I suck in a sharp breath as my elbow smacks it particularly hard. I look up at them, trembling still as they stare down at me.

“Is…i-is that what you do…every time?” I whisper finally.

They don’t answer, but I don’t think I really need them to. Instead, they look to each other and seem to communicate silently. My mother heads back up the stone steps, my father gives me a hard look. “You only had to stay put, you impertinent shit,” he mutters. “Keep quiet.” And with that, he follows Mum and I hear the lock click into place. I don’t dare climb the stairs to test the lock, I don’t want them to hear me at all.

I don’t know what to expect because this is all so unexpected. Maybe I hope that the door will unlock in a matter of hours, but it doesn’t. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, only that my stomach clenches in hunger and I need the bathroom. The door finally opens and I sit upright in a flash. Dad comes down the stairs with some food and water on a wooden platter that he sets down at the foot of the stairs.

“Please,” I venture.

“Shut up,” he growls.

“I…I need to use the loo.”

He looks around the sparse cellar and kicks a wooden bucket in my direction. Without another word, he goes back upstairs and I feel a vicious streak of anger race through me. It’s all his doing, if Mum came down here, she’d let me out right away. But she isn’t here, and I can’t do anything but take what Dad gives me for now. I eat and drink, then I drag the bucket to the furthest corner of the cellar, feeling the heat in my cheeks and across the back of my neck.,

I think I’m going crazy. I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. There are no windows to see the shifting daylight, and I’m worried the light is about to go out so I don’t leave it on as much anymore. It’s so dark. It stinks. My body is sore from lying on the hard floor. I’m fed and given water, always by my father, never getting any sort of update. Do they intend to leave me down here for the rest of my life? I have highs, bouts of anger where I yell and pound at the door. I destroy the jacket with the emblem of their ‘Nathir.’ I even rushed my father once, but the harsh blows that followed keep me from trying that again. I have lows, where I sit huddled at the door whimpering and pleading, promising I won’t say anything. I ask for my mother. I tell Dad I’ll be good.

Just when I give up hope that they’ll ever let me out, the door opens again and both my parents come down the stairs. I look up at them from where I’m lying on my side on the floor, bracing myself for some new punishment. Instead, Mum pushes Dad forward a bit and he comes to me, gently helping me to my feet. I look up at him, and while I don’t see kindness, there’s an absence of scorn as he guides me to the stairs and back into the light. As soon as we cross the threshold, I am taken into my mother’s arms and she ushers me to the nearest table. I smell food, a fresh aroma of spices and herbs that indicate more effort than usual. This assumption is confirmed when Dad sets a heaping plate in front of me; lamb, mashed potatoes, steamed green beans, bread rolls with soft butter nearby, a small glass of red wine, a taller glass of water.

Mum sits next to me; Dad stands nearby and I can’t decide if his presence is meant to convey comfort or intimidation. I focus on her instead, on the way that her mouth still looks cruel even though she’s trying to look sympathetic.

“Eat up, love,” she coos.

If I don’t, if I start asking about what happened…they’ll probably make me go back into the cellar. Maybe that’s why Dad stands by, maybe they’re expecting an outburst. I want to ask. I want to demand why, but I’m hungry and it’s so good being out of the cellar. I want to shower. I want to sleep in my bed. I want to go outside and smell fresh air. So, I pick up my utensils with shaking hands and eat. It’s delicious, it’s a bribe. Can I forget? Can I ignore? What would that make me? My gaze drifts up from the plate to look at my mother, who smiles thinly and reaches out to brush greasy hair from my forehead. I shift my attention to my father, who stares at me with cold eyes and his arms crossed, waiting.

I eat slowly, I drink my wine and grimace inwardly at the bitter taste, but it warms my belly and dulls the ache in my head. All the while they watch me and I try not to let the weight of their gaze bother me. It does. It makes my skin crawl and my shoulders creep up towards my ears. I hunker over my plate like a dog guarding its food, but really I just want to escape their watchful eyes. Only when I finish do they move, Dad comes to collect the dishes and I whisper a ‘thank you.’ I flinch when his heavy hand rests on my head, waiting for the blow only to realize he tousles my greasy hair before picking up my plate. The show of affection startles me into further silence, and Mum waits until he leaves for the kitchen to wash up before she lets out a sigh.

“Henry, Henry,” she says. “My poor, sweet boy.”

“Can…can I ask about it?” I ask.

“I’d rather you didn’t, you’re so young. You weren’t supposed to see any of that, not until you were older.”

“But I…I don’t understand. You killed that woman…”

“I know, it must have been scary. It was for good reason though, my sweet. It was for a better future, and she will know no more pain. Her sacrifice will be part of the change that benefits the whole world.”

I swallow the rising panic, wanting to avoid showing anything that might make her decide I’m not ready to be free. “What…change?”

“Just trust me, Henry. Trust me when I say there will be a rebirth, and it will be so beautiful. The cost may seem too high for you right now, but think of it. When most want change, thousands die. Your father and I wage no war, we aren’t singling out a specific people to destroy. We take only what we need.”

It’s still wrong! I want to shout that at her, but I clench my jaw and just look at her.

“Say you understand,” there’s an edge to her voice now. Not pleading, commanding.

“I…I understand.”

Another smile curls her lips. “Good boy. Now go wash up and get in bed. Put this out of your head, you’ll see the wonders of what we do in time.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I stay at home for the next couple of days. My parents don’t avidly watch me like they did while I ate, but I can sense they’re paying more attention to me than usual. I do my chores, I speak when spoken to, and I read…although I’m not really reading anymore, sitting with book gives me privacy, and I can observe the state of things without interruption. It’s upsetting how quickly they go back to normal, and I can’t imagine how many people they’ve killed for that to be the case. About a week after I’m released from the cellar, I ask my mother if I can wander the moors for the day. She gives me a suspicious look, but agrees to it.

I don’t stay in the moors; I make my way to Hutton le Hole as quickly as I can. I cut through the small town, ignoring the sheep braying at me, and go to the cottage. It looks so quiet. Feeling my heart thudding more noticeably, I go to the window and press my face close to the glass, looking inside. Has Elijah finished working on it then? Did he go back to the States or to York with Livvy and Edward? I step back, staring up at the house and feeling an electrifying burst within me that has me seizing a stone and rearing my hand back. I don’t throw it though, I stand there with it poised, my chest rising and falling rapidly and the sting of tears in my eyes. I take a slow breath, then let the rock fall to the ground and make my way slowly towards home.

For three months nothing changes. I can’t forget about what I saw that night, but I have nowhere to go. While my parents are kinder for the first month, things go back to how they were after that. Dad is short with me, Mum is indifferent. I can almost believe it when I tell myself that it was a nightmare, nothing like that will happen again. I go on pretending, until Uncle James comes back, and now I know what his visits mean.

“All right there, Pup?” he asks me with a grin as he walks through the door. When I don’t answer, he huffs. “Oi, you daft? You go fucking dumb on me?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Well thank fucking Christ for that, eh?”

“Is…there someone in the cellar?” I ask.

“Hey?”

“You brought someone…someone to kill, didn’t you?”

“Henry!” that’s Mum, hearing my raising voice and quickly descending from the loft to join us in the tavern proper.

“I won’t!” I shout. “I won’t be part of this!”

I see Mum give James a hard look, and my uncle comes towards me. I won’t go back in the cellar either. The same fury that possessed me in Epping returns, and when James is close enough, I lash out and kick him swiftly in the groin and make him drop to his knees with a yelp. Mum screeches, but I don’t hear what she says because I’m all but flying out the door and racing away from the tavern on the outskirts of Rosedale Abbey. I run to my sanctuary of Hutton le Hole, unsure what I’ll do there, but needing to get away from home. I don’t pay attention to the few people out and about who watch me in question as I hurry past, I’m focused solely on the cottage.

The sun has mostly set by the time I get there, and I see a light on in the cottage that makes me choke on a sound of relief. My legs are aching and I’m covered in sweat, but I force myself to run the rest of the distance to the front door. I pound on it until I hear Elijah’s voice telling me to ‘hold your horses!’ before the door opens. “What’s going on?” he asks, taking one look at my face and stepping back to let me inside.

And I tell him everything except what’s important. I talk about how mean my parents can be, about the blows, the sharp words, being locked in the cellar for disobeying, but I can’t tell him about the woman, the ritual, the murder. I can’t bring myself to go that far, because I keep seeing my mother’s pale face of shock and betrayal every time I consider it. It’s enough with what I do tell him, Elijah’s normally happy expression has turned to something angry and cold.

“I was worried something happened when you stopped coming around,” he admits. “Bring me to them.”

“No! No, they’ll probably hurt you!” I cry.

“No, they won’t, and they won’t hurt you again either.”

We get into his truck and I quiver with the need to tell Elijah don’t, because he doesn’t know what he’s getting involved in. But I don’t think he’ll be deterred, and then he asks if I want to go away with him, that he can help me, and I think of my dream of a place far away, with an open view of the sky and long, sunny days. I nod, incapable of speech, but I feel sick anyways.

I don’t leave the truck when Elijah stops it in front of the tavern. I want to, but Elijah tells me I shouldn’t, so I peer out the window, my shallow breath leaving steam against the glass as Elijah knocks at the door. It opens to Ines and Charles Bishop; I don’t see James and think he must be in the cellar with the next sacrifice…or perhaps hunting for one in the surrounding area. If I presume the latter, it’ll make running away easier. I can’t hear what’s being said between the three adults, I just see the angry gestures from Elijah, the livid rage in my mother’s face, and the intimidating glare of my father. I see them look towards the car, at me, and I know that if they could get their hands on me, I might not survive it this time. To my surprise, however, Elijah says one final word, and both of my parents nod. Elijah turns his back on them and comes to the truck. I wait for retaliation from my parents, but it doesn’t come, they just look at me and the smile that curls my mother’s lips terrifies me more than any shouting could have.

We drive south with no incidents. Elijah stops only for gas and some fast food during the 10-hour drive to York, to Livvy’s home. Before we leave the truck, Elijah twists in his seat to look fully at me.

“I don’t want to just decide for you, I can’t morally let you go back to those people,” he says. “I can start an adoption process, it’ll take a while, and I don’t know all the alternatives if you say no, but I promise I will find each and every one if this isn’t what you want.”

I don’t, not in that second, but only because I’m expecting my parents to swoop in out of the shadows with murder on their minds. Then I think about all those normal days I had with Elijah, and with Livvy and Edward too, the happiness I was allowed to feel without thinking I’d owe something for it. I nod, swallow, then mutter, “okay.”