Buku Mr. Sticks by Jeffrey Hale

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Mr. Sticks by Jeffrey Hale

Author:Jeffrey Hale

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Sands Press

Published: 2018-12-24T16:00:00+00:00

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Mr. Sticks by Jeffrey Hale

Chapter 20

Seven-year-old Finley was running. Her pale red hair was whipping around her cheeks, wild and free. She might have been screeching with delight, but Lucia couldn’t rightly tell. The sounds in her world were muffled. Echoey. Distant. Eyes closed, she would have guessed that she was standing at the far end of a concrete tube. Time was running slow as well, but that particular disparity did not, for whatever reason, strike her as unusual. Perhaps the sight of her sister, young and happy and full of life, was more important to her than the mechanics of the dream world. Because she was dreaming. On some level, she realized it; she simply didn’t care.

Don’t go too far now, she thought as she followed the elementaryschooler through the cornstalks. She may have said those exact words, long ago, but if she had, they had since been devoured. Whether by time or by space or by an ancient race of subhuman deities, they had been devoured. The only noises that stood out to her were the crackles and thumps of footfalls; the drone of the wind through the dry and crusty stalks.

 

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Mr. Sticks by Jeffrey Hale

Author:Jeffrey Hale , Date: June 11, 2019

,Views: 21

Author:Jeffrey Hale

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Sands Press

Published: 2018-12-24T16:00:00+00:00
Chapter 20

Seven-year-old Finley was running. Her pale red hair was whipping around her cheeks, wild and free. She might have been screeching with delight, but Lucia couldn’t rightly tell. The sounds in her world were muffled. Echoey. Distant. Eyes closed, she would have guessed that she was standing at the far end of a concrete tube. Time was running slow as well, but that particular disparity did not, for whatever reason, strike her as unusual. Perhaps the sight of her sister, young and happy and full of life, was more important to her than the mechanics of the dream world. Because she was dreaming. On some level, she realized it; she simply didn’t care.

Don’t go too far now, she thought as she followed the elementaryschooler through the cornstalks. She may have said those exact words, long ago, but if she had, they had since been devoured. Whether by time or by space or by an ancient race of subhuman deities, they had been devoured. The only noises that stood out to her were the crackles and thumps of footfalls; the drone of the wind through the dry and crusty stalks.

Had the stalks been dry and crusty back then? No. They couldn’t have been. That particular day had taken place in August, well before harvest. The stalks had been tall and green; the tassels vibrant and yellow.

This revelation changed nothing about Lucia’s environs, however. The further she went, the more sickly the stalks seemed to become, until they were little more than skeletal shoots—shoots which rattled and hissed at her passing. A few of them wavered in her peripheral vision, as if they were, in reality, the dried husks of snakes, revived by the late afternoon sun, but she paid them no mind. Her eyes were glued to her sister—to that hummingbird-print sundress and those slightly-too-big tennis shoes.

Lucia knew precisely what that little girl was going to encounter when she left those decaying cornstalks, but she was unable to imagine the course of events differently. She felt like a ghost or, perhaps more accurately, a balloon, attached to the seven-year-old’s wrist. No matter how fast or slow the little girl ran, Lucia always remained a step and a half behind.

Sensing—rather than seeing—the field’s perimeter, Lucia made one final effort to stop the girl. She reached out her hand and she willed the words “slow down” to reverberate from her lips. But she was too slow. In the blink of an eye, seven-year-old Finley was gone, and the repetitious thud-crackle thud-crackle thud of vulcanized soles was replaced by a long, lingering squeal. Not a human squeal, either. A—

Hinge! Lucia thought, jolting upright. She remembered right away that she was in her sister’s bedroom, which meant that she was in her mother’s trailer, but it took her an additional five seconds to realize that the sun was low on the horizon; that it was no longer one o’clock in the afternoon.

“Shit. Shit shit shit,” she hissed, retrieving her cane and trundling to the doorway.

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