Sammy

A Story by Sydorax_Squid

Sammy is a boy with red-orange wings, but he doesn’t let that slow him down.

Sammy sat at the edge of the yard, staring out at the vast forest below. He felt the breeze on his skin, in his wavy auburn hair. He took a deep breath, inhaling all the secrets carried on the wind. He listened as well, heard the whispers of the land, the stories they held in their fibers were carried by the messenger wind.
“Hello, Wind,” Sammy said quietly, greeting his old friend. The wind was warm this morning, sweet and inviting. He flexed his shoulders, his large, leathery wings yearned to be used for their purpose and not simply as a barrier against the cold.
“Samson!”
Mama’s voice echoed in Sammy’s head. He sighed. They had need of him again. But for nothing important. It was never important.
“Samson!”
“I’m coming.” Sammy stood, unfurling his huge, red-orange wings. Sammy himself was a slender lad, typical of his particular breed. His body was light and near-weightless, though delicate and breakable. He was built to fly, built for speed and maneuverability and distance.
He heard Mama call for him once again. Sighing, Samson curled his wings back, the strong little clawed fingers at the top of the hand-like appendages hooked together, giving his wings the look and use of a fabulous leather cloak. He turned and ran back to the house; it wasn’t far enough to bother flying. It would only make him yearn to travel more.
Sammy entered the brightly-lit house full of life. His little siblings were gallivanting around the bottom floor, the triplets barked and yipped and nipped at each other’s tails. Sammy stepped over them, heading for the magnetic center that was his Mother.
“Samson!” she declared, turning to him. “We just got a letter; your Uncle Timothy and Aunt Hilda will be here in a few days!”
“Okay?” His disinterest was thick.
“We’ve got to make sure that they have a place to stay while they do their business, dear,” Mama informed him, sifting through the loose-leaf papers on her desk. “They’ll be staying for about a week, can you go tell your brothers that they need to get some extra blood?”
“Why can’t Sarah tell them?” Sammy complained. He hated having to go into town. The people there always stared at him. “I thought she could project halfway around the world now.”
“She’s busy, darling,” Mama said dismissively, quickly scribbling something down on a piece of paper. “We also need some things from Dale and Gaylord.”
Sammy snickered.
Mama glared at him.
“Gaylord is an old and respectable name,” she began. Sammy nodded his head back and forth with mild disdain. He’d heard this lecture before.
“Okay, anything else?” Sammy asked, taking the paper. Mama tilted her head at her son, seeing his secret displeasures.
“Samson. You're not upset about what Grandma Tildy said, are you?”
“…No.”
“Honey, don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not upset. Do you want anything else?”
“No. But go ask your father. Make sure he doesn’t need anything himself.”
“Okay.”
Sammy left the study, went downstairs to the Coffin Hold. He turned quickly, tracing his way through the darkness with familiarity. His red-orange wings emitted a soft glow, which helped his lackluster night-sight. Unlike his fellow winged cousins, Sammy wasn’t gifted with echolocation or a strong night-sight. He was cursed.
Sam stopped at his father’s large mahogany box. He knocked gently on the lid.
“What?” came the muffled, irritable voice.
“Mama wants to know if you want anything from town.”
“Other than blood?”
“Yes, of course,” Sammy sighed. There was a pause as his father thought.
“I suppose virgins are out of the question?”
“Dad.”
“Just kidding, lighten up. Um, oh, we need some more wood polish. Get the lemon-scented one, that’s my favorite.”
“Got it.”
“And some chocolates. Your sister’s birthday is coming up.”
“Edie’s?”
“No, Sarah.”
“Oh.” Sammy made a note to get the cheapest, grossest chocolates he could find. Maybe they’d let him have the expired ones. He smirked to himself. “Okay, I’ll be back.”
“Mmm.”
Sammy went back upstairs, nearly bumping into Edie on his way outside.
“Oh, sorry,” Edie murmured, hurrying on her way. So secretive, Sammy thought wistfully. She was probably keeping a blood pet someplace. Everyone has that phase, the “Old World’s Way” phase. Part of growing up.

Sammy, spreading his wings wide, jumped off the roof of the house, flapping wildly as he spiraled high into the air. Samson stopped, hovering above the world, looking down at all the little houses with their little occupants and all the rest that dwells beyond the horizons. But he had a task to fulfill. Sammy tilted his magnificent appendages, shifting his body downward. He floated gently down, as if a lost kite on the friendly wind, traversing the 30 or so miles to town in a matter of a few minutes. He circled overhead, taking advantage of the bright summer day to obscure his visage from those beneath. Sammy glided down, down, down towards the edge of town, towards his favorite place; Patches’ place.
Sammy tilted his wings back, catching the air to slow his descent as he approached Patches’ house.
“Patches!” he called out, his wings silent but for the sound of dancing wind. “Patches!”
The door to the little house opened to reveal a girl, around Sammy’s age, her face was dirty and her hair messy, she wore simple clothes covered in patches. Hence the name she was given.
“Again?” Patches asked, seeming a bit irritated. “What do you want?”
“Can’t I just come by to say hello?”
“You did that yesterday and the day before,” Patches commented. “What, are you lonely or something?”
“Maybe I just like you,” Sammy teased, leaning forward, sneering playfully. Patches’ face flushed red as she looked at the handsome boy with the bright red-orange wings. “You’re cute.”
“I got work to do,” Patches said, looking over her shoulder. “Pa will be back soon. He needs his boots shiny for the interview.”
Sammy took her hands.
“Come into town with me,” he told her. “I’ll buy your Pa new boots!”
“I can’t, I’m busy!” Patches exclaimed anxiously, her heart wanting nothing more than to accompany the young man.
“Oh, alright,” Sammy said, sullenly. “You talked me into it. I’ll help you shine your pa’s boots.”
“You don’t�"”
“It’ll be done quicker, then you can come to town with me! Please?”
Patches, eager and willing to spend time with her only friend, agreed. Sammy, who had much experience with polishing the coffins in the Hold, applied the same level of skill to this task, resulting in a very handsome shoe. Patches didn't do hers nearly as well, so Sam offered to show her how, repeating the process on the second boot. After about ten minutes, the boots were shined good and proper and Patches was free to go to town with Sammy.
“I’ll walk with you,” Sammy declared, hooking the thumbs of his wings together, issuing the look of an ancient gentleman with a fine leather cloak, but with a boyish face and gait.
The pair went into town, garnering some quizzical and unsettled looks from the residents, though many knew of the oddities of the Old Family On The Hill and simply ignored the boy.
“So what’re we doing?” Patches asked, skipping along barefoot beside Sam. Sam, usually a sullen and unhappy child, skipped unevenly beside her.
“I gotta tell Leon and Byron to bring home more… food tonight. We have some relatives coming over in a few days so we gotta prepare.”
“Why don’t your parents come and get it?”
“Leon and Byron have the car.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” Patches nodded, slowing to a walk. She peered into a store. “Look at that lady with the funny hat!”
Samson went to join her at the window.
“She looks like my Cousin Gertrude.” He squinted against the glare of the sun on glass. “Not hairy enough.”
Patches laughed.
They continued on towards the Mortuary.
Samson stopped at the rainbow colored candy store. He pulled out the coin purse Mama had given him. He counted the money inside. He turned and grinned at Patches.
“You want a lollipop?”
Patches gasped.
“But it’s not my birthday.”
“Who cares?” Sammy laughed, grabbing Patches by the hand and dragging her into the store. They looked at all the magical candies, the lollipops, the rock candy, the chocolate bars, the candied nuts, the sugar wafers, the cookies and caramels, the gummies, the licorices, the ribbon candy in all it’s different shapes and colors and patterns, the peppermint puffs and the exotic sweets with the names no child could pronounce. Sam picked a delightfully-decorated box of chocolates with a “CLEARANCE” sticker on it for cruel Sarah and let Patches choose her own treat. She got a spiral lollipop, pink, red, and yellow swirling on a stick. Sammy got a little baggy of mixed hard candy for cheap. He let Patches try some of his but refused to try hers. It was a gift, after all, for her.
The two children left the candy store as happy as children can be after a visit to the best place in town. They skipped and laughed and ran to the Mortuary to complete their quest.
Patches stopped at the door, the smell of ash and formaldehyde and the heavy make-up and wax to fix the dead-struck faces flooded her nose. She felt very uncomfortable. Sammy took her hand, lending his strength, his courage to his dearest friend. She tried to smile away the unease she felt, forcing her feet to drag warily, sticky with doubt, into the forbidding building.
“Leon!” Sammy shouted as they entered, irreverently of the family gathered for a wake. “Byron! Mama’s got a message for you!”
“Ah, the young Mr Aldritch,” Mr Beanuit said, rushing past the confused mourners to meet the auburn-headed youth. “And friend.” He motioned in acknowledgement to Patches. “How can I help you two?”
“I’m lookin’ for my brothers, Mr Beanut,” Sammy declared, mispronouncing Mr Beanuit’s name on purpose because he knew it irritated the old mortician. It was French, anyway. Hard to figure, the French. What with their… vowels.
“It’s ‘Beenwah’,” Mr Beanuit corrected in vain. He sighed. “Your brothers are in the back, as you are well aware.”
“They won’t open the door for me,” Sammy said simply. It was the truth, his big brothers ignored him. They believed him useless, just like the rest of the Family. “Had to come in the front.”
“I’ll be having a talk with them about that,” Mr Beanuit said in his gentle, whispery voice, though his tone was firm with resolve. He guided the pair into the back of the smelly building, through the lavishly decorated and furnished viewing rooms and visiting areas. Patches tracked mud in with her, while Sammy took every opportunity to stray and look at some decorative vase or excessive oil painting.
Eventually, thankfully, Mr Beanuit got them in the back. Patches held tight to Samson’s hand as they entered the more gruesome area of the Mortuary. Leon and Byron were standing together at an occupied table, performing some sort of macabre ritual on the former Mrs Watts.
“Samson,” Leon muttered, setting down his tools. Byron did the same. “What do you want?”
“Uncle Timothy and Aunt Hilda are coming for a visit,” he reported. “Mama wants you to procure some more food for the family. She also wants these things from Dale and, heh, Gaylord.”
Patches snickered along with Sammy at the silly name.
Leon sighed, taking the list from his brother’s hand. He glanced at it before tucking it in his breast pocket.
“Okay, we’ll get to work on it. Now get lost, we’re busy.” Leon took up his tools once again and Byron did the same. They ignored the huffing of their younger brother and went about their grim work.
“C’mon,” Sammy whispered to Patches. “We can go to the Drop.”

Sammy and Patches raced each other out to the Drop, their second favorite place in town, behind the candy store, of course. Patches won the footrace, as usual, and she demanded to see Sammy do loop-the-loops as her prize for winning. The young man smiled, she always loved to see him do aerial tricks. And he always loved showing off. A natural-born performer, he was, especially before Patches.
With a great leaping bound, Samson went careening off the tall cliff, unfurling his great red-orange wings and letting the air currents take him up, up, up into the sky! He whooped and howled with laughter as he hurtled through the skies, his eyes thick with a protective layer against the harshness of the speeding wind. Samson performed first a loop-the-loop, then a horizontal spin that turned to a vertical pirouette that ended in a death-defying fall. He pulled up just barely before he hit the craggy ground, his feet grazing the sharp, murderous rocks. The thrill of near-death was exhilarating, he adored this feeling; it was the feeling of life! Pure, unfiltered, raw; true living.
Samson came back around to the clapping Patches, landing gracefully at her side, his wings spread wide open with exuberance. He bowed, accepting her praise.
“You were wonderful!” she declared. “I wish I could fly; you're so lucky, Sammy. You can just fly away whenever you want. Nothing keeps you tethered, not even gravity!”
“I wish I could fly away whenever I wanted,” Sammy said, sitting on the soft grass. Patches joined him there, her face clouded with confusion.
“Why can’t you?” she asked. “What’s to stop you?”
“People,” Samson sighed. “I’m supposed to fly at night so people can’t see me, but I can’t see so well in the dark. And my wings, they glow! Like embers in a scorched fireplace. I stand out too much when I fly. If people see me, they’ll get scared, they’ll come after me. And my Family, they’ll be mad, they’ll punish me if I get seen by people. There’s nowhere in the world my Family can’t reach. Especially Sarah. She can travel without moving. I hate her. I hate her freedom. She can go and do whatever she wants, but me? Nah, I’m stuck here. Useless red-headed flyboy. A freak, a failure.” Sammy shook his head. “You don’t wanna be like me, Patches.”
“But, I am like you,” Patches said. “I’m stuck here because of my family, I stand out because of my appearance, and my grandparents call me a failure every time they visit. Pa tries to tell them how much he needs me, how helpful I am, but they’ll never hear it. And that’s why I can’t leave, Sam. I can’t leave my Pa, he needs me.”
“Oh, Patches.” Samson said, his view of her growing muddy and wet. “You’re better than me. You stay for your Pa, for love. I stay for cowardice. I’m scared of people and my Family. You're reasons are better than mine.”
“Reasons are reasons, none are really better than the other, not if you look at it from above, see things in perspective. We’re both staying for reasons we’re not happy with. Isn’t that what matters?”
Samson flopped back onto the grass, staring up into the sky. He mulled over her words.
“Y’know what I think matters?” Sammy asked. “I think it matters that we’re stuck here together. If we weren’t, you and me probably wouldn't have been friends.”
Patches fell back upon the grass to join Sammy in cloud-watching.
“That’s a pleasant way to see things.” She mused, tapping her foot against nothing. “A good reason to stay, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She turned to look at him. “For each other.”

END