stop tomorrow?”
“Sure thing.” Gabe took a few steps up the hill before stopping and turning around. “Hey!” he called.
Seth stopped and turned back. “Yeah?”
“If we destroy the altar, and the Hunter loses his power, is the game over?”
Seth shook his head. “Doubt it,” he said, and smiled. “The Hunter always finds a way to come back.”
AFTER DINNER, GABE’S FATHER INVITED him and his grandmother upstairs to his makeshift workshop. When Glen turned on the lights, Gabe was surprised to find that the puppet was finished. The creature stood against the windows, nearly seven feet tall. His googly eyes stared at the ceiling, irises slightly askew, and his mouth hung open, revealing marshmallow-shaped teeth. Short, sharp horns erupted from the top of his head. Shaggy gray fur hung like dreadlocks from his wide shoulders. Blunt black claws poked out from his fingers and toes.
“What do you think?” Glen asked.
“Oh, he’s beautiful!” said Elyse.
“Yeah, Dad,” said Gabe, forcing a smile. “Really cool.”
Glen approached the puppet. “I’m still working on the inner framework and mechanical details, but I think I have at least enough to show the producers.”
“What’s his name?” Elyse asked.
“Milton Monster,” Glen said with a smile.
Elyse crossed the room, took Milton’s hand, and examined Glen’s craftsmanship. “Jim Henson seams,” she said. “Nearly invisible. Beautiful work, sweetheart.” Her eyes glistened as she glanced at her son. “I’m so proud of you. Back on your feet so soon.” Glen stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her slight shoulders, and squeezed.
Gabe felt like he wanted to throw up. He was happy for his father, of course, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking what these kinds of creatures had done to him in the past. Heconsidered what Seth had said about the Hunter always finding a way to come back. Apparently monsters were not so easily defeated.
A few minutes later, as his father (the builder of beasts) led his grandmother (the illustrator of gothic horrors) out of the room, Gabe wondered why his family seemed to surround themselves with this darkness. Was this his destiny too? He turned off the light and followed them into the hallway.
Gabe wandered into his bedroom, closed the door, and leaned against it. Maybe monsters could be useful? If you could learn to control them, they might become essential allies, protectors, heroes. He thought of Seth, of the game, of the whispering hole beneath the pile of stones. He imagined the Hunter, standing at the edge of the woods, a shadow surrounded by shadows, watching, waiting, amused by his puny efforts to understand.
ON SATURDAY MORNING, Dolores knocked on Gabe’s bedroom door, waking him from yet another dream of smoke and fire. “You’ve got a phone call,” she said, peeking in at him.
Gabe crawled out of bed, wiping sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. Seven thirty? Who would be calling so early, especially on the first Saturday of the school year? Since his grandmother didn’t have a cordless phone, he had to trek all the way downstairs to the kitchen. Miri was perched in her high chair beside the table, moving soggy apple slices around on the tray. She smiled at him as he came through the door. Gabe went over to her and rubbed her head, then snatched up a piece of apple and popped it into his mouth.
The receiver sat on the counter. “Hello?” His voice felt froggy.
“Hey!” Seth. Even with one short word, he sounded wide awake, raring to go. “What are you doing right now?”
“Um. I was sleeping.”
“Get dressed,” Seth said. “Meet me at the crooked tree. You’re not going to believe this.”
Twenty minutes later, dressed in a rumpled T-shirt and jeans he’d grabbed from his bedroom floor, Gabe hiked down the hill behind the house, still half-asleep.
It was another sunny day, but the air was cooler than it had been earlier in the
“Sure thing.” Gabe took a few steps up the hill before stopping and turning around. “Hey!” he called.
Seth stopped and turned back. “Yeah?”
“If we destroy the altar, and the Hunter loses his power, is the game over?”
Seth shook his head. “Doubt it,” he said, and smiled. “The Hunter always finds a way to come back.”
AFTER DINNER, GABE’S FATHER INVITED him and his grandmother upstairs to his makeshift workshop. When Glen turned on the lights, Gabe was surprised to find that the puppet was finished. The creature stood against the windows, nearly seven feet tall. His googly eyes stared at the ceiling, irises slightly askew, and his mouth hung open, revealing marshmallow-shaped teeth. Short, sharp horns erupted from the top of his head. Shaggy gray fur hung like dreadlocks from his wide shoulders. Blunt black claws poked out from his fingers and toes.
“What do you think?” Glen asked.
“Oh, he’s beautiful!” said Elyse.
“Yeah, Dad,” said Gabe, forcing a smile. “Really cool.”
Glen approached the puppet. “I’m still working on the inner framework and mechanical details, but I think I have at least enough to show the producers.”
“What’s his name?” Elyse asked.
“Milton Monster,” Glen said with a smile.
Elyse crossed the room, took Milton’s hand, and examined Glen’s craftsmanship. “Jim Henson seams,” she said. “Nearly invisible. Beautiful work, sweetheart.” Her eyes glistened as she glanced at her son. “I’m so proud of you. Back on your feet so soon.” Glen stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her slight shoulders, and squeezed.
Gabe felt like he wanted to throw up. He was happy for his father, of course, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking what these kinds of creatures had done to him in the past. Heconsidered what Seth had said about the Hunter always finding a way to come back. Apparently monsters were not so easily defeated.
A few minutes later, as his father (the builder of beasts) led his grandmother (the illustrator of gothic horrors) out of the room, Gabe wondered why his family seemed to surround themselves with this darkness. Was this his destiny too? He turned off the light and followed them into the hallway.
Gabe wandered into his bedroom, closed the door, and leaned against it. Maybe monsters could be useful? If you could learn to control them, they might become essential allies, protectors, heroes. He thought of Seth, of the game, of the whispering hole beneath the pile of stones. He imagined the Hunter, standing at the edge of the woods, a shadow surrounded by shadows, watching, waiting, amused by his puny efforts to understand.
ON SATURDAY MORNING, Dolores knocked on Gabe’s bedroom door, waking him from yet another dream of smoke and fire. “You’ve got a phone call,” she said, peeking in at him.
Gabe crawled out of bed, wiping sleep from his eyes. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. Seven thirty? Who would be calling so early, especially on the first Saturday of the school year? Since his grandmother didn’t have a cordless phone, he had to trek all the way downstairs to the kitchen. Miri was perched in her high chair beside the table, moving soggy apple slices around on the tray. She smiled at him as he came through the door. Gabe went over to her and rubbed her head, then snatched up a piece of apple and popped it into his mouth.
The receiver sat on the counter. “Hello?” His voice felt froggy.
“Hey!” Seth. Even with one short word, he sounded wide awake, raring to go. “What are you doing right now?”
“Um. I was sleeping.”
“Get dressed,” Seth said. “Meet me at the crooked tree. You’re not going to believe this.”
Twenty minutes later, dressed in a rumpled T-shirt and jeans he’d grabbed from his bedroom floor, Gabe hiked down the hill behind the house, still half-asleep.
It was another sunny day, but the air was cooler than it had been earlier in the
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