1970

Chapter twelve: Tales and Promises

Dinner at the Ayuluk farmhouse always felt like stepping into another world. while outside the windows, darkness gathered like a held breath. The kitchen was warm, steam rose from bowls of rich stew. Carrying with it the scent of home and safety, the comfortable closeness of bodies around the old oak table. Outside, the sky had begun its slow fade to dusk, painting the windows in watercolor purples and golds.

Husky's dad, Dmitri, had always been a natural storyteller, his deep voice filling the kitchen with tales that bordered between memory and myth.

"You know," He said, ladling out second helpings with the ease of long practice, "all this talk of strange happenings reminds me of something from when I was about your age." His voice carried the hint of a smile, the way it always did when he was about to tell a story.

Quinn's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.

"There used to be this spot in the woods out back," he continued, gesturing vaguely with the ladle. "Where the trees grew so thick they seemed to make their own twilight, even at noon. Swear I saw a woman there once, just... standing."

"Oh?" Loch's tone dripped skepticism, but she leaned forward anyway.

"Mmhmm." Mr. Ayuluk's eyes crinkled at the corners, caught somewhere between amusement and something deeper. "You should have seen her," he was saying, gesturing with his spoon. "Standing between the trees just as the sun was setting, pale as moonlight. Thought I'd wandered straight into one of my mother's old stories about rusalkas."

"Thought you said she was a siren," Husky replied absently, his father chuckling with warmth.

"Indeed, beautiful woman, she was. Hair like silver, skin that seemed to glow." He chuckled, the sound rich and warm as honey. "Course, turned out that was just your mother, Ivanovich. Caught her gathering herbs for her father's shop."

Quinn looked in Husky direction, eyes fixing on Him with sudden intensity. But Husky wasn't paying attention, his gaze soft as he watched Valerie carefully spooning stew into Corbat's mouth, murmuring quiet encouragement. The little boy was fighting sleep, his head nodding between bites.

Feeling Quinn's stare, Husky finally looked up, one eyebrow rising in silent question. Quinn just shook his head slightly, returning to his bowl.

The conversation drifted, carried along by Mr. Ayuluk's deep voice and Hailey's occasional bright laughter. But something had shifted, like a key turning in a lock none of them could see.

—----------------

When the bowls were empty and the sky outside had deepened to purple, they gravitated back to their timeline spread across the living room floor. All except Valerie, who stood with reluctance, Corbat heavy-eyed in her arms. "I should get him home," she said softly. "But I'll meet you all tomorrow at the graveyard?"

"The school bus graveyard," Hailey clarified, as if there might be confusion about which collection of abandoned vehicles they meant. "Like, the one behind old Mr. Peterson's place?"

"First light," Quinn confirmed, not looking up from where he was adding another note to his journal.

Valerie nodded, already moving toward the door. Husky was on his feet before she'd taken two steps, Tonrar padding silently beside him. "I'll walk you out, Dad can drive you," He said, not quite a question. His fingers brushed her elbow, gentle as Sunday morning.

The three of them made an odd silhouette in the doorway—girl, boy, and beast—framed by the gathering dusk.The porch light caught in Valerie's hair, Mr. Ayuluk close behind with an old umbrella—just in case, though the sky was clear.

They stood for a moment on the porch, watching Husky's dad unload a toddler seat for Valerie's brother from the back of his truck. The evening air was thick with the scent of summer grass and distant rain.

"Be careful going home," Husky said, then immediately felt foolish. It was barely dark, and she'd made this trip a hundred times before.

Valerie shifted Corbat's weight, her smile barely visible in the gathering darkness. "Always am."

—-------------

Husky and Tonrar watched until the truck's taillights disappeared around the bend, two red eyes swallowed by the twilight. Something about watching them disappear into the gathering dark made Husky's chest tight. He stood there longer than necessary, Tonrar pressed warm against his leg, both of them staring at the point where the road curved away into shadow. When they returned to the living room, Quinn had somehow produced a battered VHS tape labeled "Unexplained Phenomena of the Pacific Northwest."

"Found this at the library," he was saying, waving it at Hailey and Loch. "Documentary about unexplained phenomena in Alaska. There's this one case that—"

"Really?" Loch's voice dripped fond exasperation. "We're doing this now?"

But she settled onto the couch anyway, wedged between Hailey and the armrest. The TV flickered to life, casting blue shadows across their faces as a grainy documentary began to play.

The night stretched on, punctuated by the whir of the ancient VCR and the soft scratch of Quinn's pen. Outside, crickets took up their evening song, a counterpoint to the narrator's droning voice from the TV.

Finally, Hailey stirred, checking her watch with obvious reluctance. "Mom's gonna flip if I'm not back soon."

"Yeah," Loch agreed, though she made no immediate move to get up from where she'd ended up leaning against Hailey's shoulder. "I should head out too."

Quinn gathered his materials with careful precision, each newspaper clipping and note tucked away like precious artifacts. "Bus graveyard," he reminded them as they filed out into the night. "Don't be late."

"Try to sleep," Husky called after him, but they all knew it was a hollow suggestion. Sleep wouldn't come easy, not with the memory of those stones still fresh in their minds.

He stood on the porch again, watching taillights disappear one by one. Tonrar whined softly beside him, ears pricked toward the woods where, decades ago, a woman who might have been a siren had walked between the trees.

The night air carried the distant song of the Kinkik River, a melody that seemed to promise answers—or perhaps just deeper questions. Tomorrow they would meet again, among the rusted bones of abandoned school buses, to chase whatever truth was hiding in their quiet town.

But for now, Husky thought he understood why his father had once mistaken a woman for something otherworldly. In the right light, at the right moment, even the most ordinary things could reveal their magic.

Or perhaps nothing in their town had ever been ordinary at all.

Finally, only Husky remained, sprawled on the floor with Tonrar's head heavy on his chest, trying not to think about the way Valerie had looked in the porch light, or the meaning behind Quinn's intense stare, or the stones that even now stood waiting in their perfect circle by the river.

The dog's eyes reflected the TV's light like mirrors, fixed on something beyond the walls of the familiar room.

"What do you see, boy?" Husky whispered, but Tonrar only huffed a breath that might have been a sigh.

Outside, the night drew its dark curtain across the sky. Somewhere in the distance, the river sang its endless song. And in the woods behind the house, shadows moved between the trees like memories of things that might have been women, might have been sirens, might have been something else entirely.

Tomorrow waited like a promise, or perhaps a threat. But for now, there was only the quiet of a summer night, the weight of a dog that might be more than a dog, and the feeling that everything—everything—was about to change.

Sleep came eventually, but even in dreams, the stones waited. Patient as the river. Patient as time itself.