Rimwick

At Night

Mom's in her pantry when I get home, which is good. She won't know how late I've been out. Quietly, I slip into my bedroom to change into warm pajamas and then go into the kitchen to eat something.

Mom comes in a few minutes later. She studies a box on our wall, then asks, "Riley? Why is the thermostat all the way up?"

I raise my head from my bowl of soup. "I don't know."

"Riley."

"Mother."

"Tell me."

I lower my gaze. "Tell you what?"

She sits across from me at our ancient wooden table.

"Did something happen out in the woods today?"

I nod. Why lie? "Something always happens. The grass grew, some snow melted. The rocks stayed put and the creek-"

Mom's eyes flash with enlightened understanding. "What happened at the creek?"

Dusk it. Sometimes I forget how perceptive my mom is. You just need to say a keyword and bam, she knows something's up.

"Riley." Her voice is more insistent. "I need to know what happened at the creek."

"Why is this so important to you? Sylvia Lamarr fell in the water, that's all!"

"That's all?"

"Yes! I took her home and came back here."

"Did you see anyone else in the woods today?"

I hesitate. I don't want to mention the boys, and what they said. "Just Teryn Atkins."

Mom narrows her eyes at me. "Just Teryn?"

I squirm under the table, where she can't see, and force myself to nod stoically. "Yes."

She visibly relaxes. "That's alright, then. Thank you."

"What's alright?" I demand. "Why does it matter who saw Sylvia fall in the creek?"

Mom gets up and starts putting things in cupboards. "Not who saw. Who was there. There's a difference."

"Why?"

"You know I can't tell you. I just wanted to make sure it was an accident, that's all. Finished?" She points to my soup bowl.

"Um... yes." I clear my spot. "What can't you tell me?"

"That would be telling." She frowns. "Something's going on, and I can't figure out what it is. Did everyone make it home tonight?"

A howl winds its way eerily through the streets outside. A moment later, a lilting voice joins its nightmarish lullaby, chanting words I can't understand.

"As far as I know."

I may despise everyone at school, but even I don't want them trapped outside at night.

Mom goes to the window and lifts the curtain. I shudder and back away. She studies the darkness with her calculating eyes, looking at whatever is out there. My mom is the only person I know who isn't terrified of the creatures that come out after dark. It's dangerous. There are only two things that the people in this town avoid even more than me, and one is my mother.

The other, of course, is the Dusk Children.

Created from shadow, formed in the forge of the moon, burnt to ash by the might of the stars. We take the daylight, and the Dusk Children steal the night.

The legend tells of a rift in the town, long ago, made during an earthquake. Monsters poured through the fissure into our world. When the quaking ceased and the crack sealed, impenetrable mountains caged humans and demons together. The only protection we had from them was our buildings, which they can't enter, and the light, which they can't stand.

No one has seen a Dusk Child. We lock our doors and shutter our windows the moment twilight streaks across the sky. But we know they're their, haunting us- we here their unholy melodies, unintelligible chanting, shrieks to curdle blood. And then there are those who have stayed outside too long and gone missing.

Jay's mom. Daria's brother. My dad.