Forgive Me by Kateri Stanley (reading strategies book TXT) 📕

It wasn’t carrying an axe or wearing a gas mask either. There was nothing remotely monstrous about the figure.

It was a boy.

A child, just like her.

His skin was grey and his clothes were caked in soil and leaves, as if he’d been swallowed by a hurricane. He had a rucksack on his back reminding her of a lonely traveller. The glare he gave made her retreat momentarily, then she saw his hands. They were painted in vibrant crimson streaks.

“Do you need help?” the girl asked.

The boy stared at her, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I'm lost,” he said.

“I can get my momma to call someone to take you back home.”

“I... don't have a home.”

“Why are you so dirty? You're not meant to be out there. It’s forbidden! The lumberjack will get you!”

“He doesn’t live out there,” the boy said, his eyes darkening as he moved out of the clearing. “You wouldn’t want to be out here. There are monsters everywhere.”

“I’m not scared,” the girl replied with defiance. He was just a kid. “And I’m not scared of you!”

He leant on the netted fence, peering down at her. “Is that right?”

She froze when she saw his face more clearly. Mud caked his skin. there were purple bruises and cuts on his cheeks. He must have been only a few years older or so. Had someone hurt him?

She didn’t answer his question, he was being mean. The girl stared back, she remembered bright blue glittering orbs hovering before he pulled her closer, his lips finding hers through the netting. He breathed her in, sucking out her energy. His mouth tasted of soil and spit; making her squirm. Her body trembled from his embrace and then she stumbled backwards as he pushed her away.

“Why did you do that?” the girl whispered intimately, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

His lips curled into a gratifying smile. There was no response.

“What’s on your hands?” she asked, fear aching in her throat.

The boy glanced at them, the substance was shiny, fresh and new. He hissed like a snake, his face transforming into pure malevolence.

It made her flee back to the cabin. She huddled into the bed with Momma, telling herself she was safe. Maybe her parents were right, perhaps children shouldn’t be trusted.

At breakfast, she told her story about the strange scary boy with the red hands.

“You read far too many of those horror comics,” Momma whispered softly. “You were having a nightmare, darling. Don’t be frightened, we all have them from time to time.”

“But I wasn’t dreaming,” the girl protested. “I was outside, and I saw a boy.”

“I'm locking the cabinet when we get home, Susan. I know you keep going into daddy’s study to read those comics. You know you’re not meant to.”

Arguing with her wasn’t working. Momma had a response for everything. After she’d wolfed down her pancakes and maple syrup, she’d come to a conclusion. Maybe Momma had been right the whole time; she must’ve been dreaming. She certainly had the imagination for it but her supposed dream didn’t explain the hems of her nightdress being dotted with dirt. Maybe she’d sleepwalked, she’d done it before.

The girl was never told that one of the patrol men was found later on in the day. His head had been ripped clean off. The police put his tragic demise down to a ravage attack from a wild bear or wolf, they were known to freely roam wooded areas.

Chapter Four

Summer 1996

Jace, Doug, Zippo and Stripe sat on the football field during lunch break. They’d finally made it to senior year and were already discussing the prom, the choice of the school play and the next blockbuster movie. Independence Day was a personal favourite of theirs, a science fiction flick where aliens from outer space attacked the world. They loved the scene where Will Smith was dragging a parachute across the piping hot desert, his character had narrowly survived a crash. He started to kick the alien he’d captured out of anger as his character nearly ended up ‘in a barbecue.’

Jace Patterson yanked the peel of her orange and swung the skin into her lunch box, she was the most opinionated out of the group. She had the shortest fuse which matched her wiry copper hair and deep brown eyes.

Doug Hayden was the leader; he had the most ideas when it came to their weekend activities and the only one with a car. He was the ‘handsome’ one out of the guys, according to the authority of the girls outside the group.

Jack ‘Zippo’ Bloom was the liveliest, the most eccentric. Sometimes his actions got him into trouble. The nickname was coined from his colourful attitude and speed-talking nature, he wore the name proudly like it was a medal of honour.

Stripe was the quietest one out of her friends; well she wasn't all the time. Sometimes, it was hard to get a word in edge ways with the mouths she congregated with. Her long blonde hair fell to her shoulders and she messed with the sleeve of her t-shirt. She was obsessed with history and crime stories. She’d revolt her friends with tales such as the British monarch, Henry Tudor who had six wives, two of them were beheaded on his orders and the Hungarian Countess Elizabeth Báthory, who bathed in the blood of maidens to keep herself young. She enjoyed reading the latest details in the news and occasionally brought up random articles to tease their reactions.

“Sheila Martin was axed to death in her sleep,” Stripe said, slapping the local newspaper on the grass. “They still haven’t found the killer. Now that’s three people gone.”

“Don’t, Stripe, I’m trying to eat,” Jace grimaced.

“You should want to know what’s happening in the world, J. Aren’t you a little curious?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to bring up my lunch!”

“Hey,” Doug whispered. “Joan Jett. Nine o’clock.”

The group clocked to a tall girl walking along the pathway to the gym with a bunch of boys. Her name was Cameron Storms.