Chapter 1

Chapter 1


��������Mark lay asleep in his bed, barely a sound escaping his lips as he slowly breathed in and out. Moonlight spilled into the room from the window above him, casting rays of pale silvery light onto the doorway. His eyes fluttered for a moment when he heard the door creak, but they didn�t open.
��������A long, pale hand slipped in through door just below the handle. Then another slender hand slid in towards the top, carefully pushing the door open another few inches while two more hands crept in around the bottom corner. As the door opened long, skeletal arms reached into the room like giant spider legs. In a great cluster, ten more arms came in together, then parted, taking hold of the floor and walls. All at once they tensed, bending as they shifted weight and brought in the body of the creature.
��������Mark�s eyes fluttered again, barely opening a slit to behold what stood like a statue before him. The face of a girl stared at him, perhaps sixteen, with pale grey skin, and dark stringy hair falling all around her eyes. The eyes were hard to see, but from what he could see they were yellow, and slit from top to bottom like that of a snake. Mark closed his eyes, then opened them again.
��������Her mouth hung agape, making it appear as though her jaw were broken. This contorted head hung from a twisted neck, attached to a strange abdomen that looked almost like an insect thorax, but made of soft, pulsing flesh. Long, spider-like arms shot from her body in all directions, as many as twenty, suspending her just above where Mark lay as though she were a fly immobilized in the center of a web.
��������As the seconds ticked by the creature didn�t move. Mark�s heart began to pound, thumping hard against the inside of his ribcage. An intense cold wrapped around his chest and seized his limbs. His eyes were wide open now, and his entire body shook. The thing just kept staring at him, it�s bulging eyes emotionless, it�s body stone-like in its stillness.
��������He opened his mouth to scream when suddenly the creature snapped back, every limb pushing at once, whisking the torso instantly to the doorway. The sound was almost like a drum roll of hands slapping walls floor and ceiling as the thing disappeared back into the darkness. Mark jumped up from where he lay, and peeked out the window. Like a giant spider, it skittered away through the deep snow, head sagging almost to the ground as it went.
��������Laying back down, trying to slow the beating of his heart, Mark forced his eyes shut. His head began to ache, and he felt sick to his stomach, but he knew it was better to go back to sleep. He knew he had to sleep because he must be sleeping already, and what he saw wasn�t real. Nightmares came to him too often to be real.

* * * *
��������Fall had settled upon Riddleton Wisconsin with subtlety, little by little. Vibrant leaves of yellow, orange, and red had not only filled the trees, but were now covering the once green fields of grass. Streets and sidewalks were littered with them, and yards were dotted with raked up piles.
��������The town seemed to thrive in this season. The temperature outside was comfortable, and the colors brought out artists with cameras and canvas. People gathered in the park and around the pond, some flying kites, others fishing for bass. Main street had been decorated with black and orange banners, and store owners stacked pumpkins outside their doors, with posters celebrating the season.
��������The high school didn�t need decorations to share in the spirit of the season. Constructed in great square sections of medieval brown brick, the dark brooding building seemed more like a fortress as one passed it in the night. It�s cold, unassailable walls rose higher than any other structure, having no peaks or decorations but simply a flat cement roof. It�s only charming feature was a statue of a howling wolf, constructed from solid stainless steel. The Riddleton Wolf.
��������Both hallways and both stairwells fed into the cafeteria like the long slick throats of a hydra. Students bustled back and forth from the lunch line and to their chosen tables. A smaller boy struggled past a group with his tray, careful not to spill, searching for a place to sit. He looked over to the farthest edge of the cafeteria nearest the double doors leading into the main office and waved, heading towards two of his friends.


���������Well my brother�s overseas right now, and he says it�s still pretty rough.� Patrick said as he laid a card down on the table.
���������Yea, but we�re still kicking the crap outta them.� Greg said, laying his card on the table with a hard slap. �What�d you think, Mark?�
��������Mark finished his chocolate milk and stared over at the clock for a moment. Lunch hour was nearly over, and he had fourth hour Applied English with Mr. Winters, a grizzled old Vet that reminded him of Clint Eastwood. He glanced back down at the card game in progress, Magic the Gathering.
���������I don�t know. The days of conventional warfare are pretty much over. It�s all politics these days.�
���������I just can�t wait till my brother comes home.�
���������You�ll have to tell us when it is, so we can all come over and see him.� Greg added.
���������Yea, I will.�
���������Your brother�s a tough guy, Pat. He�ll be home before you know��
��������Mark stopped as someone slapped him in the back of his head. He heard a few chuckles and turned to see Sunny Meyer and his patsy, Lucas Woods passing them by. Sunny flipped him the bird, grinning from ear to ear while Lucas chuckled nervously.
���������When are you going to do something about those a******s?� Greg whispered harshly.
���������He just messing around.�
���������Bullshit! Everyone sees that s**t! I�ll bet if you stood up just once and laid him out, everyone would leave you alone.�
���������But my powers must only be used for good.� Mark gave Greg a serious look.
���������You can�t f*****g ignore him all year man!�
���������Hey, come on guys!� Patrick hissed, covering his ears.
���������Sorry Pat. I just mean that Sunny isn�t going to learn his lesson unless you shove it down his throat.�
��������Patrick nodded, looking through his cards.
���������I don�t want to make trouble.�
���������What you�ve got is trouble! I mean look at us! Me and Pat are on the lowest social level here, and even we don�t get slapped in the face every five minutes!�
���������Maybe I should just talk to them.�
���������You�ve tried that! Don�t you remember? They just humiliated you by punctuating every word you said with a slap on your cheek! The expression turn the other cheek wasn�t meant to have you spinning around in circles!�
���������Could you keep it down?� Mark tensed, looking over at the table where Sunny and his friends were now sitting.
���������Heads up!� Sunny shouted, tossing an apple their way.
��������Mark caught it in midair, and felt a cold splash on his face. He set the apple on the table and calmly wiped the ketchup off his cheek with a napkin. Greg looked over his shoulder at the pack of hyenas three tables over and scowled.
���������Clever.� Mark noted as he regarded the ketchup covered apple on the table.
���������That�s what I�m talking about! If they tossed that anywhere else in this cafeteria, they would have a brawl on their hands! But you, you just take it!�
���������And what are you doing?� Mark shot back suddenly.
��������Greg flinched, then was silent, looking back over his shoulder. Mark opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped.
���������Hey, come on guys!� Patrick stepped in, �It�s not that serious! Let�s just forget about it, ok?�
���������Fine.� Greg said, turning back to his cards.
���������Greg, just let me deal with it on my own terms, alright? It�s not your problem anyways.�
��������Greg shook his head. �We�re friends right? Huh?�
���������Yea.�
���������Well that makes it all of our problem. And I can�t just keep watching this.�
���������Alright, alright, I�ll do something. But give me some time, ok? I�ll have to set the explosives and gather my army of ninjas.�
���������Fine. But when you do decide to stand up for yourself, be sure you let us in on it huh?�
���������Oh, and Greg, you�re dead.� Patrick grinned, laying down a card with a gigantic fireball on it.
��������
��������If Mark had any friends at all, they would have been Patrick Brenner and Greg Miller. It had started simply enough. Mark had no place to sit at lunch, or rather, no place where anyone would easily allow him to sit his freshman year, so he went naturally to the farthest table from the center, and there they were, playing at cards. He�d sat down, ate, and the rest was history.
��������Patrick was shorter than Mark by a few inches, making him the smallest boy in the class if not the entire high school. He spiked his black hair, and usually wore a black leather jacket with silver buttons. His eyes were piercingly blue, almost too large for his narrow white face, making him look rather like a deep ocean fish.
��������Greg was a behemoth for a sophomore at six foot six and two hundred eighty pounds. True, Greg wasn�t very solid, but he wore a heavy black trench coat most of the time that concealed his imperfections. He wasn�t a handsome boy either, having a large round nose and beady brown eyes. His greasy hair went where it wished, usually to either side down to his ears, terminating in a pair of bad sideburns and a scraggly goatee.
��������As for Mark, he fit somewhere in between the odd pair. He stood five feet six inches, had dark brown eyes, dark brown hair, and hard edged features for a boy. He had a solid build to him, and his clothes were usually better suited for his work on the farm than for school. To some, Mark might be considered handsome, but he was quiet when not in the company of friends or family, and knew very few people in Riddleton.


��������
��������Mr. Ivan, the Art teacher, was six foot five, and built like a basketball player. In fact he was the coach at Riddleton High. He was handsome, tanned, and kept his blonde hair and goatee neatly trimmed. Some thought it strange that he taught Art of all things, but then, he was no stranger than the retired soldier that taught fourth hour Applied English.��������
��������As usual, Mark came through the door first, and found himself his usual spot in the back corner at what he loosely considered to be his private table. At least those in the art room had a little respect for him.
���������How�s it goin Mr. Ivan?�
���������Fine. I was just looking at some of your work. I�d like you pick between these two for state.�
��������Mark paused to regard his two best works. One was a complicated battle scene between medieval knights in broken armor. He�d done it in black and white with ebony pencils, and tried to blur all but a few characters to draw attention to the more detailed areas. The other was an oil painting of a mountain lion sitting on a cliff top howling like a wolf at a purple moon in a red, star filled sky. Mark grinned pointing to the latter, and Mr. Ivan nodded.
���������I�d hoped you�d pick that one. You want me to put the other in the display case?�
���������Yes, thank you.�
��������Mark went to his seat and opened his book to a sketch he�d started that weekend, then started working while his classmates began to filter in from the hallway. Aaron Milton was the next one through the doors.
��������Aaron Milton, the captain of the football, basketball, and soccer teams. Aaron Milton, who was able to start and finish one painting every day. Mark despised him, although Aaron had never done anything to directly insult him. Aaron�s work was quick, but lacked depth, detail, and anything that might be considered real artistic skill.
��������He was the only person that Mark felt bad for not liking. He was the most popular boy in school, and for good reason. He was upbeat, charismatic, and had boyish good looks atop his lean six foot frame. He was a fair quarterback, a decent forward, and a good goalie, but Mark never understood how he could do all these things at the same time.
��������It wasn�t really that Mark hated Aaron for his success. Aaron stood for everything he couldn�t do. Aaron dated the prettiest girls in school. He had rich parents, and enjoyed a relaxed lifestyle. He had friends, and connections, and a bright future in whatever he wished when he left high school. As far as Mark was concerned, Aaron had everything.

��������Class started much like every other day. A few people passed him on their way to the shelves where they kept their work and some paused to see what he was drawing, but none said a word, that was until she came along.
��������On a scale of one to ten, one being a slight pause, and ten being all out, jaw dropping shock, this was about a ten. A young woman stopped behind him for a moment, watching him draw, and suddenly the pressure of her stare caused him to pause and turn slightly, putting her at the edge of his peripheral vision.
��������She was a little taller than him, which didn�t take much. She was likely five feet seven inches if he had to guess, slender, and very beautiful. Her eyes were dark brown like his, but larger, and wider. Her skin was pale, but rich like cream. Her hair was black, and so perfectly straight and smooth that it seemed to shimmer even when she stood still. Her curvy red lips glistened like dew kissed rose pedals. In fewer words, she was just�perfect.
��������She dressed modestly, wearing a white sweater with a folded over turtle neck, a pair of faded blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. Mark took another moment before he realized he was staring, and turned back to his sketch book, his cheeks growing warm.
��������Had it been another few seconds, and he might have thought it odd that she didn�t speak, but when she did, her voice was as smooth and even as a well played violin.
���������So, you�re Mark Kane right?�
��������He turned around, hoping the color had drained from his cheeks.
���������Yea, that�s me.�
���������Good.� She said moving to the other side of his table and pulling up a chair. �I hope I�m not interrupting your work.�
��������Mark looked down at the sketch he�d been working on. It was a medieval knight in a very complicated suit of armor made of both chain and scale mail. He�d taken most of it from a book in the library, but mixed together the different pieces that he liked the best. The sword that the knight held, which next to a man would have been six feet high, was a claymore, but with a half moon crescent for the cross guard.
���������No, it�s fine, this doesn�t really matter.� he started, then amended, �I mean, it�s not an assignment.�
���������Right, well I�m only bothering you because I�m new here and I asked Mr. Ivan if I could get some help with my first assignment. He said I should talk to you because you�re apparently the art guru here.�
���������He did?�
��������Mark�s tongue caught in his throat. It wasn�t even that this previously unimaginable girl was talking to him, her dazzling eyes staring right into his, but she was coming to him for help? What was Mr. Ivan thinking? Everyone knew what a loser he was! Even the teachers! Why did he do this? To humiliate him?
��������Mark was just about to tell her that she�d be better off asking Aaron for help, when he caught Mr. Ivan peeking out from his office door. They caught eyes, and Mr. Ivan grinned, then went back to his computer.
��������No! Aaron couldn�t help her! He sucked! The reason Mr. Ivan had sent her over was because he knew who the best artist in the school was, and he trusted Mark to help her out.
���������Yea, he did.� She almost laughed, obviously trying to read Mark�s expression of puzzlement and awe.
���������Well, what did he give you�to do?�
���������He wants me to do a still life. I was thinking some fruit or something. That�s still life right?�
���������Well, that�s a little common. You know, anything inanimate would be considered still life. Could be flowers, or trees, or something man-made, or�you know, anything that doesn�t move.�
���������So what would you suggest?�
���������Well it depends on your skill level.� Mark tried not to sound condescending, �I mean�I would have to see some of your work.�
���������Well, I�m not as good as you...Wow�� she said, looking at his sketch, ��but I�m not that bad. I could probably do a tree or something.�
���������Well then all you need is a picture to work from.�
���������My name�s Tala by the way. Tala Black.� she said, offering her hand.
��������He took it shakily, the softness of her skin contrasting her firm grip.
���������Well, you know my name.� He paused, �It�s Mark.�
���������Yea, I know.� she smiled.
��������The two talked for a while longer, trying to find the appropriate picture amongst the magazines that Mr. Ivan kept stacked near the door. She settled on a picture from a used calendar instead, depicting a withered old tree, down to it�s last few leaves. As they worked Mark couldn�t help but notice the stares coming from around the room. He knew what they were thinking. She shouldn�t be talking to him. He was a loser. Well they can just go f**k themselves, he thought.
��������
��������He met his brother and sister out at the front of the school, just as the old number 322 came rolling up. The whole bus ride home, all Mark could do was stare out the window in silence, imagining her reflection next to his. He hardly noticed when Sunny violently kicked the back of his seat, trying to get his attention. Fortunately the bus stopped at the Meyer�s just a minute later, and Sunny was foiled for the time being, though he did take a light swipe at Mark�s head as he left.

��������When he got home, Mark immediately went to feed the calves. Most of them drank quickly from their buckets, and the newborns were thirsty as well, save for one small red and white. She wobbled clumsily on her knobby legs, stumbling back from him as he approached with a bottle of warm colostrum milk.
��������Mark knelt next to her and got his arm around her head, lifting her towards the bottle, and pinching either side of her long jaw with one hand to force her mouth open. She wiggled around for a bit before taking the bottle and beginning to drink. She was about halfway done when he saw Tyler in the 8210, coming up the driveway with the manure spreader in tow. The tractor�s huge tires left impressed chunks of dirt and manure on the gravel as it passed on it�s way to the back of the barn.
��������Mark waved to his brother, and Tyler waved back, a smile on his face. He was in his element behind the wheel of a tractor, or any sort of heavy equipment really. He could drive anything with four wheels, not to mention take apart, weld together, and fix anything on the farm. He was handy, which was more than could be said for Mark, who was better with a pencil than a hammer or wrench .
��������After his chores, and with some difficulty, Mark finished his Pre-Algebra worksheet. Mathematics had never been his strong suit. He then sat down upon the couch in the living room, and opened up his book for a quick chapter. He was interrupted as Tyler came in the house looking for him.
���������Hey bro, could you help me out for a minute?� He asked in his way that usually meant, he needed assistance with a few hours worth of manual labor.
��������Mark looked up from his reading with weary eyes, �What�s up?�
���������Well, daddio said we�re supposed to get a butt load a� rain tonight and I wanted to get all that wood into the heifer shed so it won�t get soaked.�
���������Sure, no problem.�
��������Mark never really minded helping his brother around the farm. In fact, helping Tyler work was about the only way to get a cheerful conversation out of him. The two went outside after Mark grabbed a pair of heavy gloves, then hooked up the small flatbed, laden down with long planks of freshly hewn lumber to the old F-250. Tyler slowly backed it towards the shed with Mark standing on the rear of the flatbed, guiding him in. He didn�t really need the help. Sometimes Mark thought his brother was better at driving backwards than forwards. At least driving backwards he was careful.
���������So how was school?� Tyler asked, sliding up four ten foot planks for Mark to grab.
���������It was alright.� Mark replied taking the planks and carrying them to the end of the walkway between the new stalls his father and brother had put in the past week.��������
��������He took care to clear the hay from the cement with his shoes so the planks would lay perfectly flat, and dry without any warping.
���������Anything cool going on?�
���������Well,� Mark began thoughtfully, �I did meet this really beautiful girl today.�
���������Uh-huh, so�d you ask her out?�
���������Nah, she�s way out of my league.�
���������Well you talked to her didn�t you?� Tyler asked, sliding another few boards down.
���������Yea,� Mark grunted, taking them in his arms.
���������Did she talk back?�
���������Yea.�
���������Well then how do ya figure she�s outta your league?�
��������Mark paused as he laid his hands on the next boards. Why did he figure that? After all, she had approached him, talked to him for the entire hour, and taken his advice on her project. Why was she out of his league? Simply because she was beautiful? Sometimes the simplicity of Tyler�s wisdom struck him right upside the head.
���������I guess, maybe she�s not.�

��������The two came back in around six o�clock to find their mother already starting hamburger gravy for dinner. It was a simple concoction of mashed potatoes, and a thick gravy made from hamburger, flour, water, and seasoned salt. It also happened to be a family favorite. Laura was helping with the potato peeling in the kitchen sink, while Mike was sitting on the couch watching TV. Alice turned as she heard her boys coming up from the basement.
���������Hi boys, how was your day?� she asked in a cheerful tone.
���������Sally had a girl. Another red and white.� Tyler said as he plopped down on the couch in the living room next to Mike, who immediately scooted over.
���������Well that�s good. How about you Mark?�
���������He�s got a girlfriend.� Mike cut in before he could open his mouth.
���������Really Mark? Who is she?� Alice brightened.
���������She�s not my girlfriend.� Mark quickly stopped her. �I just met her today, and helped her with an art project. And how the heck did you know about her?� He shot at Mike.
���������Sounds like a girlfriend to me.� Laura�s high pitched voice chimed in as she grabbed another potato.
���������I�m sorry, I meant, he wishes she was his girlfriend.� Mike said loudly.
���������Have you asked her out?� Laura asked.
���������No.�
���������Well you should. Girls don�t like to wait too long. She�ll probably think you�re not interested and go out with some other boy.�
���������She�s right.� Tyler chimed from the living room.
���������Is she pretty?� his mother asked.
���������Of course she is. Look, could you guys just leave it be?�
���������I�m sorry.� his mother laughed.
���������You should ask her out tomorrow.� Laura added, �Don�t make her wait.�
��������Mark sighed and bumped his sister intentionally as he grabbed a few potatoes and a knife, then started peeling.
���������I wouldn�t even know how to do it.� he mumbled.
���������Just find out if she�s busy this weekend and have her come over. You said you were helping her with a project. Find some way to tie it in.�
���������That seems a little underhanded.�
��������Alice laughed as she stirred the hamburger in the frying pan over the burner. Mark shot her a sarcastic glare, but it went unnoticed.
���������If she likes you, it won�t matter how you ask her out.�
���������And if she doesn�t.�
���������Then she�ll probably make up an excuse so it won�t hurt your feelings.� Laura shrugged.
���������I don�t know, she�s probably just really friendly. I wouldn�t want to mistake that and make her uncomfortable around me.�
���������Why would she feel uncomfortable?�
���������You know�knowing that I�m attracted to her would make it awkward.�
��������Laura and Alice laughed simultaneously.
���������Trust me,� Laura said, �She knows if you�re attracted to her.�
���������Oh, I suppose she�s psychic.�
���������No. It�s just not that hard to tell with most guys.�
���������Well then how can you tell if a girl�s attracted to you?�
���������Simple.� Laura said, rinsing another potato under the sink, �You ask her.�

��������As always, Tyler went out to help their father milk the cows, and when they were finished, they came in and the family had dinner together. It was already dark out, the hour nine o�clock, and Alice had lit candles at the center of the table for no other reason than she wanted to have a candlelit dinner.
��������Hank showered and changed then came to sit at the head of the table like always, Alice at his right, Tyler to his left, and Mike and Laura farther down to the right and left respectively. Mark sat opposite his father. As they all bowed their heads, Alice began with the simple prayer they said before every meal, and the family followed in unison.
���������Come Lord Jesus. Be our guest. Let this food, to us be blessed. Amen.�
��������The food was passed along in a circular fashion, starting with Hank, who always took the largest helping, however left behind plenty for everyone as Alice always cooked enough to make leftovers. Mark plopped a large pile of mashed potatoes on his plate and made a dip in the middle with the flat of the spoon before piling the hamburger gravy on top.
���������So you guys got the wood balls in the shed, Big Butt?� Hank asked Tyler as he poured himself a glass of milk.
���������Yea, me and Mark did it a while ago.�
���������How was your day, Middle Butt?�
���������He met a girl�� Mike started.
���������Don�t start again.� Mark pointed at his brother. �I had a good day, and yea, I met a girl, but that�s all I did was meet her. The only reason I even brought it up was because she happened to be very beautiful, and I met her in art class.�
���������Oh really? Is she an artist too?� Alice�s eyes lit up at the mention of art.
���������I don�t know. I was just helping her pick out a still life to do. I haven�t seen any of her work.�
���������I�d bet she�d be impressed with yours. Did you show her some of your drawings?�
���������She saw one, and she liked it.� Mark shrugged.
���������You know what you should do. You should draw her a portrait. She�d love that!�
���������Mom! Are you serious? She�d think I was a stalker or something!�
��������Mike laughed, almost choking on his food.
���������Not if you asked her.� Laura started in, �Just tell her, you want to capture her beauty on paper. She�d be flattered.�
���������I can�t just do it like that. This isn�t the eighteenth century.�
���������Or maybe you could do it from a picture, or from memory, and send it to her without a name on it. Like a secret admirer. She�d figure out it was you, and you�d be set.�
���������Or, I could just go to school tomorrow and act perfectly normal, and see what happens.� Mark closed the subject.
���������How bout you, Little Butt?� Hank started again to Mike. �How was your day?�

��������Mark didn�t talk much the rest of the evening. He ate his dinner, cleaned his plate in the sink and put it in the dish washer before going back to his place in the living room and finally opening his book again. He was interrupted by his father, who turned on the TV to watch the evening news, so he put the book down and took in what little news there was.
��������The rain started around eleven o�clock, just as he was getting into bed. His room was in the basement, and the largest bedroom in the household, though the floor was bare painted concrete. It had been a tradeoff, but he liked the privacy it gave him unlike the smaller rooms upstairs belonging to his brothers and sister.
��������It was about ten by fifteen, with one window at about chest height, peeking out at ground level. During the spring, there would be flowers just outside it, but in the latter months after fall, it was just cold empty dirt. His bed was in the far right corner near the window, across from his dressers on the far left. There was a closet just to the left of the door as he came in. The sliding door of the closet was broken, so he�d hung a bed sheet in front with some yarn across the top.
��������Along the walls, Mark had tacked sketches, perhaps thirty five in all. Most of them were of knights and strange looking warriors with swords and guns, but about a dozen of them were simply monsters he�d imagined. The spider lady was now his favorite, suspended just next to the window over his bed.
��������The light switch wasn�t in the room, but at the foot of the stairs in the connecting room between his and the other side of the basement where the dog slept. Chubby, their border collie, slept soundly under the water heater on a small rug, just within the immediate area of the wood furnace, hardly looking up when Mark peeked inside to check that his dish had food and water.
��������He changed into a pair of shorts and an A-shirt as the rain began to patter against his tiny window, then plugged his night light into the center outlet in the room before going to turn out the lights. The darkness was absolute in the connecting room, so Mark took hurried steps as he passed through his door and closed it fast behind him.
��������Just as he got into bed he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
���������May I come in?� His mother asked softly.
���������It�s your house.� Mark replied.
���������Are you feeling all right honey?� She asked, cracking open the door.
��������Mark sat up, �I�m fine, what�s wrong?�
���������You seem a little agitated.�
���������It�s just school mom. You know how it is.�
���������No, I don�t.� She stepped into his room, staring for a moment at the window, �I think that�s the problem Mark.�
���������What do you mean?�
���������I mean, I haven�t been paying close enough attention to you. I suppose it�s because I�ve been so busy.� Alice smiled as she looked at his walls, �You really take after your grandfather you know.�
���������Which one?�
���������James, my father. He loved fantasy too. Did I ever tell you he wrote a book?�
���������Really?� Mark asked, genuinely interested.
���������I forget what it was called. It didn�t do very well. He�died shortly after it was published.�
���������What was it about?� Mark asked.
���������I don�t know. You might be able to find it in the library, or at least you could order a copy. Mark is something wrong? Are you feeling depressed?�
���������What? No. I�m not depressed, I�m just�nervous right now. I�m okay though mom.�
���������Is it about this girl?�
���������I just don�t think I�m good enough for her. I mean, what would she want with me anyways?�
��������Alice smiled, �I�m sure she sees something special in you honey. She�d have to be blind to miss it.�
���������Mom�s have to say that kind of crap.� Mark said.
���������Mom�s have to tell the truth.� She replied, �You are special honey.�
��������Mark sighed in resignation, nodding and giving his mother a hug.
���������Goodnight mom.�
��������

��������The alarm clock started it�s grating tune at five. Mark sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, heart thumping as it always did when he was startled into wakefulness. He slid his feet into his oversized polar bear feet slippers and went to his drawer to throw some work clothes on.
��������As he went outside into the cold morning air, his dream world flitted in and out of his mind. The sky was dark, clouds still fighting the dawn, and sprinkles of rain kissed his cheeks on his way to the milk house.
��������Two of the barn cats, one smoky grey, the other yellow with orange stripes, beset him as he entered the heavy, counterweighted door. A few minutes later he came back outside with a five gallon bucket of soured milk and poured it into a makeshift dish made from the bottom of a barrel. Then he raised his hands to his mouth and called out,
���������Heeeeeere kitty, kitty, kitty!�
��������Within moments the first few regulars came along. They varied in color and size, but most were friendly. The shy ones would wait until Mark was gone, then creep out and drink what was left.

��������After coming in that morning, Mark had himself three bowls of Bran Flakes cereal, four eggs, and a glass of chocolate milk before going back downstairs and changing into a nice pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a cross and a dove on the front with wording below New Life for a New Millennium. He thought Patrick would appreciate the message, although it had been two years since everyone realized the whole Y2K thing was just �a big crock� as his father had put it..
��������
��������He finished a chapter in his book before it was time for the bus to come around, seeing Tyler heading towards the barn as he walked out through the garage with the twins. Tyler waved, and shouted to him as he left.
���������Don�t forget to ask her out bro!�
��������Mark waved back, but rolled his eyes. What did Tyler know about romance? Then again, what did HE know about romance? The only things he did know were from reading books, fantasy books. He was pretty sure he wasn�t going to impress Tala by taking an axe to Sunny�s head, or electrocuting the principal with his fingertips.
��������The bus rolled around at seven fifteen like always. Old Bill Tonner always started back in the boonies. The Kane�s were the first on the bus today. The Green�s children must have been sick, Mark thought. He always figured the bus route was fixed to shaft all the kids in the country. They were always the first ones picked up, and the last ones dropped off, therefore giving them the longest possible stretch of each school day. The only alternative was buying a car, and, without a paying job, that wasn�t going to happen.
��������
��������First hour was Mark�s study hall. Usually, he would get a pass from the teacher and go down to the art room, but today he decided to head up to the library and do some light research. He didn�t know why, but he felt it might relax him and take his mind off of her.
��������After searching the archives all morning he finally broke down to using google.com. The results led to several dead ends, two of them being authors of the same name. Mark decided to broaden his search to Wisconsin writers. This proved to be a dead end as well.
��������Just as Mark was about to give up and head back to his study hall, Patrick appeared behind one of the nearby bookshelves, searching for something.
���������Hey Mark. What you up to?� he asked.
���������I�m looking for a book online. My mom told me my grandfather had something published. I wanted to see it, but I can�t find it.�
���������Well what did you search?�
���������I searched his name on the archives, then google.com, then Wisconsin writers. You got any suggestions?�
��������Patrick thought a moment, �Did your grandfather have a middle name?�
���������Sure, I think it was�you know what? I think it was Mark.� He grinned at himself.
���������Try searching his initials.�
��������Mark typed in J.M. Kane and got several hits.
���������Okay, lets see what this is.� he clicked on the first link.
���������There you go.� Patrick smiled.
��������Mark read the brief description of the author before looking at the title of the book.
���������Surviving Hell, by J.M. Kane.� He read aloud, �Lets see if I can order it.�
��������Mark filled in the information, pulling out his bank card and hoping it would work. He sighed audibly when the completed transaction page came up, then clicked finished and was recycled back to the main page.
���������It�s gonna be a few days at least I think.� Mark said.
���������Well, you don�t need it for anything do you?� Patrick asked.
���������No, I guess not. It�s just I have a feeling you know? It feels like I should have read this already, being that it�s part of my grandfather�s life.�
���������You wanna hit the theatre with me and Greg to kick off the weekend?�
���������Nah, I�ve got some stuff I need to take care of at home.� Mark replied, �Besides I didn�t see anything good was in.�
���������all right man, suit yourself.�

��������As second hour Pre Algebra dragged on, he barely heard a word Mrs. Seed said. A mixture of the discovery of his grandfather�s work and the intoxicating beauty of the girl he�d just met overwhelmed him. By the time he received his assignment, he had made up his mind. He would ask her out, go for the gold, and for once in his life, stop being such a wimp. His determination held through the next hour in Choir. In fact, after singing a rousing rendition of The Little Mermaid�s �Kiss the Girl�, he felt even better.
��������Lunch hour found him at the same table with Greg and Patrick. He hadn�t intended to tell them until he had actually asked her out, and she�d said yes, but he�d never been good at keeping secrets.
���������You serious?� Greg asked, �She�s only been here one day, and I�ve already heard of her!�
���������I say go for it.� Patrick remarked, laying down a card as he sipped his chocolate milk.
���������Well, yea go for it, but�� Greg paused, trying to remember what he was going to say.
���������I don�t really expect her to say yes.� Mark finished his thought for him. �So I won�t be heartbroken if she doesn�t.�
���������Yea. Well, you know, pretty girls aren�t always all they�re cracked up to be.�
���������I guess. But I don�t know, this one seems different. She seems, nice.�
���������They�re all nice.� Patrick remarked, �You just have to find the one that�s compatible with you. You have to share a common interest. Do you think she enjoys fantasy?�
���������I�m gonna find out.�

Reviews

[Hawksmoor]

I've just read this agin, before the combat session bit I read a few minutes ago. I read this for the first time months and months ago, but I must saw, It's just as interesting today as it was the first time I read it. I can also see from this just how far you've come with your passion and talent. Not that this aint good, which it is, but the things I've been reading of yours over thelast two days are super-TIGHT, no words at all that don't serve a specific purpose in there.

You're done with the book?

Hawksmoor...From The Bleed.

[Raya Avans]

Astounding imagery, I could see it all in my head as it played out. You kept me engaged with the diction and detail the whole way through, which I find myself often losing interest and moving on to something new. Not this. Very interesting. Well done, I admire your talent.

~ rae