Shadows Burned In Read online

  Shadows

  Burned In

  by

  Chris Pourteau

  Text copyright (c) 2000, 2013 by James C. Pourteau. All rights reserved.

  First Kindle Edition: September 2013

  ISBN 978-0-9899813-0-9

  Thank you for purchasing this ebook. It is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover photograph copyright (c) 2013 by Valerie Yaklin-Brown. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  Cover design copyright (c) 2013 by Kim D. Miller. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  Stancliff’s Lament

  Words and Music by James McMurtry

  (c) 1997 SHORT TRIP MUSIC/Administered by BUG MUSIC, INC., A BMG CHRYSALIS COMPANY

  All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

  Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation.

  Vague Directions

  Words and Music by James McMurtry

  (c) 1992 SHORT TRIP MUSIC/Administered by BUG MUSIC, INC., A BMG CHRYSALIS COMPANY

  All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

  Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation.

  I’m Not From Here

  Words and Music by James McMurtry

  (c) 1989 SHORT TRIP MUSIC/Administered by BUG MUSIC, INC., A BMG CHRYSALIS COMPANY

  All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

  Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Part 2

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Part 3

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For Alison

  My soft, cool breeze on a hot, Texas day

  My best friend

  Shadows

  Burned In

  Part 1

  (15 years from now)

  I’m not from here, I just live here,

  Grew up somewhere far away.

  Came here thinkin’ I’d never stay long,

  I’d be goin’ back soon someday.

  —James McMurtry

  “I’m Not from Here”

  Chapter 1

  “Do you think it’s haunted?”

  The girl whispered the question, half hoping the boy beside her hadn’t heard, half hoping he would answer yes. She stared open-mouthed at the old place, wondering if it stared back at her. Or if it could reach out this far, snatch her up, and carry her inside.

  “Of course it’s haunted,” the boy answered. His tone said her question had been stupid in the first place. “It’s Old Suzie’s house. Everybody knows it’s haunted.”

  The girl closed her mouth. The grass where she lay wasn’t so cool anymore. The ditch they were in didn’t feel so deep. She felt exposed, staring up through the Spanish moss hanging from the large oak trees surrounding the old house, guarding it from the sun. Wind breathed through the moss, making it sway.

  “Haunted by what, do you think?”

  The boy made a disgusted sound. “Spirits, dummy. What else?”

  The girl fixed her eyes on the second-floor windows, ignoring his insult. Cracked by rocks thrown by brave children, they reminded her of jack-o’-lanterns on Halloween, hastily cut and cruel. She remembered something her mother told her more than once about how dangerous broken glass was, then heard herself saying to the boy, “Well, I thought maybe monsters or something.”

  The boy rolled his eyes. “Oh man, how old are you again? Everybody knows there’s no such thing as monsters.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Come on. Let’s get closer.”

  Her heart skipped. His hand was on her elbow, urging her toward the broken glass and past the bushy beards in the trees.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Mom says to be home before sundown.”

  She could almost hear the boy rolling his eyes this time. “Mom says? Come on, you’re in the seventh grade now. You still do everything your mom says?”

  Embarrassed, she merely shook her head.

  “Then come on. Don’t be such a baby. You said you wanted me to show you around, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, giving in, still staring at the broken windows. The house seemed even more like a giant Halloween pumpkin now, its smile wrapped crookedly around razor-sharp teeth.

  The boy moved up, hunched over and running like a commando. He reached the outermost oak tree and threw himself back first against it. The girl ran up next to him. She crouched down but felt even more exposed now. The tree wasn’t quite wide enough to hide them both.

  Screwing up her courage, she peered around the tree. The porch’s railings were warped, and the slight smell of mold reached her as the wind blew through the old house. A limp screen hung, waving, and it seemed to carry a moan from inside the place. The girl thought she heard it inviting her in. But that was silly. Just wind through the broken windows, she told herself.

  “Come on,” the boy said and was off again, moving closer. She followed because she was more scared not to. She wiped her palms on her jeans as she caught up to him, and they hunkered down beside the porch.

  “Damn, this place is old,” the boy said. He hoped his cursing impressed her.

  But the girl’s whole attention focused on the house. Brown leaves and broken sticks littered the cracked wood of the porch, blown there by last night’s storm. As she looked at the house, she thought she could see eaves that once had been painted baby blue and white. Now, after years of rain and wind and no upkeep, they’d faded to a pollen-pale green. Closer up, the empty windows seemed less like teeth now and more like sockets with their eyes plucked out. Somehow that made them scarier. A skull of a house, staring at her with empty eyes.

  Scratches came from inside.

  Fingernails. Bones scraping on rotting wood, she thought.

  Inching closer.

  “Come on,” he whispered. He was on the porch now, and with a crack, he fell over.

  She started at the sound, almost screamed as she saw his leg was missing below the shin.

  “Damned old wood,” the boy said. With a grunt he pulled his leg out of the hole, careful to avoid the splintering edges. He needn’t have worried. The planks were more rotten than dangerous. More careful this time, he approached the front room window.

  The smell of old wood, wet blankets, and mildew flew up her nose. The girl almost gagged. This is probably what Mom thinks my room smells like, she thought.

  “Well? Are you coming?”

  She got onto the porch and looked at the hole his foot had made. She felt a bit of vertigo, as if she were looking over the edge of a cliff. The porch wood creaked under her steps, and she thought that whatever had made

  (was making)

  the scratching sounds inside would hear her feet, reach out with bony fingers through the window

  (or up from the hole)

  and drag her inside.

  The girl stepped over
the hole to the other side. Her heart beat quickly, and only through a force of will was she able to look back at the hole. She saw only the broken wood and empty gloom beneath.

  “Boo!”

  She screamed, then lost her breath in the muteness of terror.

  The boy laughed. “Come on, baby,” he said. “Let’s go in.”

  But the girl didn’t like this game anymore. She could hear the house talking to her, like in a fairy tale.

  (come into my parlor, dear)

  Talking inside her head.

  “Hey!” he yell-whispered. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  She stared at the shady doorway that held no door. She listened to the murmuring blackness inside but could only make out sounds, not words.

  (I spy something)

  “The scratches,” she said, amazed her voice still existed at all.

  “It’s only rats,” the boy said.

  (with my missing eyes)

  The girl shook her head.

  “Hey, don’t be a baby! C’mon! You said you wanted me to show you around.”

  (I spy something small)

  He walked back across the porch, commando-hunched, snagging her by the arm. “What’re you, scared?”

  (I spy something new)

  His grip on her arm brought her back. “Do you want to go in or not?”

  She twisted to get away from him, her eyes still on the windows.

  (nice to have a visitor, so lonely here)

  “Hey!”

  (won’t you come in for tea)

  She felt the pinching of his hand, then nothing as she wrenched her arm free.

  (I have sweets)

  “Hey!”

  (and sweetmeats)

  Before she knew it, the girl was running back across the tall grass and vaulting over the ditch. She knew the boy would give her a hard time, knew the other kids would too, as if being new here wasn’t bad enough already. But right now she didn’t care. She only had to get away from that house, from the old voice and its moldy breath, from the mossy beards and shattered all-seeing eyes, from the smell of old women and their parlors.

  Chapter 2

  “Where’s the fire?”

  The girl walked quickly by, out of breath, not keen to stop and answer. Her mother looked after her, right index finger poised to begin cooking dinner.

  “Elizabeth?”

  She finally stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “What’s so pressing that you can’t even say hello to your mother?”

  Forgetting for the moment her terror of Old Suzie’s house, Elizabeth rolled her eyes. The habits of home kicked in quickly, and she made a deal with herself that it was okay, she just had to say a few words to her mother and then she could retreat to her room in peace. She turned around to begin.

  “Nothing, Mom. I just want to go watch some—”

  “Have you finished your homework?”

  It’s okay, the girl thought. We’re almost finished with this for today.

  “It’s not posted yet, Mom,” she lied. She knew the assignments would’ve been available for download since noon for her morning classes and since four for the ones in the afternoon.

  “Your monitor called today,” her mother said. “He said your output is down. He said it happens often with new transfers, but still.”

  Oh no. This will make us talk longer. I’m going to have to talk to her longer. “Mom, I got the message from him already. I’ll work faster, I promise.”

  Susan Jackson briefly contemplated her next comment. If pressed, her daughter would only shut down. “Elizabeth is at that awkward stage,” she had told her sister on Skype the previous evening. “Somewhere between having tea parties and hosting them. And with the move and losing her friends, we’ve been pretty forgiving of her lately. It’s just a stage.”

  Remembering that conversation, Susan pushed the button and dinner began cooking. “All right, but you’ve been online with this webschool for almost a month. You did so well on the other, and when we moved and changed providers, I’d hoped—”

  “Okay, Mom, I get it.” Elizabeth immediately regretted her comeback. If her mother had had a bad day, the tone might set her off.

  Susan exhaled slowly. “Patience,” her sister had said. “When she begins to fit in socially there, she’ll be back to normal.” She began to smell dinner as its molecules danced. “All right, then. Go on to your room.”

  Elizabeth nearly leapt from the kitchen.

  Susan called after her, “But I want to review your work tonight before you submit it!”

  “Yes, Mom,” Elizabeth said behind her. A few more steps and she’d be home free, just get past the living room . . .

  “Elizabeth.”

  A familiar mixture of dread, frustration, and subdued love seeped into her stomach. “Hi, Dad.” She tried to sound upbeat. If you’re in a good mood, maybe he will be too, she thought.

  “How were classes today?” he asked. David Jackson glanced backward over the arm of the isometric recliner he called “my chair.” His back didn’t seem to be bothering him today, she noticed. That was always a good sign.

  “Fine.”

  He half smiled. “Did you have any trouble getting online?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Mmmm. Your mother says your monitor called today.” He sounded impatient, like he was making more conversation than he wanted to take the time for.

  “I know. Mom told me.”

  “Mmmm. Did she also tell you that your output is slipping?”

  God let me out of here before he—

  “We’ve been here a month, Elizabeth. You should be adjusted by now.”

  She felt her hands beginning to sweat. The mixture in her stomach became thicker, colder.

  “Come around here where I can see you,” he said.

  Elizabeth walked around the recliner, her knees feeling a little weak.

  “You should be adjusted by now,” he repeated.

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Mmmm,” he said, nodding. “You’ve been hanging around with the Miller boy lately, haven’t you? Michael?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  He patted his hand on the chair. Now he seemed anxious to get on with the conversation. Never a good sign, thought Elizabeth.

  “Ken says Michael’s pretty good in math and earth science. Maybe he could help you with the independent exercises.”

  She brightened at that. Despite the boy’s chiding, she liked Michael, even after he’d scared her at Old Suzie’s house. He was the only real almost-friend she’d made in this little town of 3,000 people. It was hard enough making friends at school without being new too.

  “He’s in my classes,” she said. “I’ll ask him if we can work the indies together if you want.”

  Her father nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.”

  “Okay,” she said cheerily and turned to go.

  He exhaled loudly. A disgusted sound, as if he were mustering all the goodwill and courage within himself to give her one more chance to earn a place in Heaven.

  The feeling in her gut turned over like slow taffy, sweet and disgusting. But Elizabeth knew her father well enough to know the end of the conversation was coming soon. He wasn’t in a bad mood tonight. She just had to wait it out. One more minute and you’ll be in your room, she promised herself.

  “You know, Elizabeth, if you don’t apply yourself, you’ll never—”

  amount to anything, she supplied in her head

  “and you’ll end up—”

  serving drinks somewhere

  “in some cyberbar.” He sounded concerned, contemptuous, and put out all at once.

  “Even he’s getting bored with saying this over and over again,” she said, smirking to herself. The voice in her head—her “3V voice,” as she called it, because it always urged her to play 3V games and hated when the real world intruded—always had som
ething smarmy to say.

  Shhhh.

  “Are you listening to me, girl?” His tone wasn’t nonchalant anymore.

  She shut up her 3V voice and focused on his face. “Yes, sir,” she breathed.

  “You’d better be. Because if you’re not careful, that’s just exactly what will happen.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mmmm.” He seemed to relax as the conversation reached a familiar end. “Now I want you to go to your room and work on your homework. I’m going to call your monitor next week and see how you’re progressing. If I don’t hear from him you’re improving, we’re going to do more than talk about it.”

  Yes!

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you understand, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay then.” He turned away from her and focused on the 3V screen in front of him. She took that as her cue to leave and barely managed to walk without running to her room.

  Shutting the door behind her, Elizabeth closed her eyes and opened her hands once, letting the air hit the sweat and chill it first, then dry it off. She let out one long breath, and the 3V voice in her head said, “He’ll probably forget to call.”

  But Elizabeth ignored it, saying, “Web on.”

  She crawled onto her bed and turned over on her back, spreading out and letting herself sink into the soft blankets, palms down. She lay there with her eyes closed, glad both her parents had been in a good mood tonight. She listened to the familiar and comforting hum of the system as it booted. In a few seconds it said, “Ready.”

  She took a breath. So many choices. What was tonight?

  “Wednesday. Good interactive programs on Wednesdays,” her 3V voice supplied.

  Elizabeth shut her eyes tight, balling the blankets into her fists. What if her father didn’t forget? What if he called and she was still doing badly in school? Then her 3V voice spoke again.

  “Michael will help. Let’s forget about it for now.”

  Better not.

  “Select School,” she said.

  A few breaths, during which her other self tried again.

  “You won’t do any better, you know. Not without Michael’s help. So why not—”

  “Please identify yourself,” the computer said.