AUDIOBOOK
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Hide and Go Seek
It wasn't supposed to end the way it did.
Life. It wasn't supposed to end like that. But it did.
Kids. What can we really say? They have their imaginations-something we seem to lose as soon as we hit that tender age where sex becomes the only thing on the mind. But I'll never get to that age now, will I?
The abrupt jangle of the house phone makes me jump; tearing me away from the gripping clutches of the book of dark tales I hold tightly gripped in my hands. The story I am immersed in is a tale of two horrors, woven with strands of malevolence that grips a poor soul. The unfortunate protagonist is a mere teenager, just two years my senior.
"Holy effin' shit," I say through a tight grin, my spirit dropping just like the book I had in my hands, the thump on my leg giving me another jolt as I sit like a toddler aboard my grandparents' brand-new sofa. "Who the hell's calling me at this damn moment?" I glance at the clock and then wriggle from my comfy, balled-up posture and push aside my lucky blanket, eager to see who is calling me on this Friday night. Stepmom and dad are away at bingo for at least another three hours. I may be only 12, but I would still prefer to have a social life of some sort.
The caller ID announces back to me: R. Rain Family. I know exactly who it is. Brady. My new best friend, slash cousin in-law. Also, my best new hockey and football teammate. Chance just had it that we are the exact same age too. A lucky draw of cards when I thought I would be a new and unwanted nuisance in a new land. Cree land. My new location has come as a result of my dad winning custody of me in the divorce.
"Brooo," I belt into the phone receiver, waiting in guaranteed anticipation for my new cousin to give me some good news.
"Sleepover," Brady asserts, his tone carrying a command that I'm reluctantly at ease with. "My dad said we can come pick you up if you want. There's lots of food left over, too. Indian tacos, bro."
My mouth goes into an automatic surge of watering, my taste buds already detecting the secret spice my aunty Lorna adds to her taco seasoning. Aunt Lorna also isn't from this part of the world. She's Navajo. The originators of the famous Indian Taco.
"Hell yeah, bro. You know I'm always down for that," I say in a childish voice that sounds more ecstatic than it should be.
"Want us to come get you?" Brady asks.
Cordless phone in hand, I glide over the linoleum floor to the kitchen's enormous picture window. It's a window to the world of the night, looking out to the sprawling expanse of Brady's family abode, nestled amidst the fields where the horses graze. It's just a stone's throw away, less than a mile, or so. The only big house in sight for miles on end surrounded by area's the thick foliage. The house stands out beneath the blanket of night like a mirage in the desert. One flickering lamppost dimly lights up the twisting driveway, while the numerous windows projecting inside lighting gives off that spaceship feel to Brady's massive, country-style dwelling.
A dash across the hilly, horse trampled grassland seems like nothing to me. Three minutes tops if I can keep my championship 150-metre dash momentum up. But I suddenly heed Kokum Nadine's warning. Never to cross that stretch of land, or to be playing outside, at night. And alone at that. Age-old mythical warnings stemming from the Mosoms and Kokums of long ago.
I disregard Kokum Nadine's warning. "No, man," I tell Brady. "I can walk. Save the gas." I say, a slight tremor of fear caressing me as I seem to notice a darkness darker than the black surrounding my usual prairie home floats in. I wouldn't mind being picked up but at the same time I don't want to look like a wimp to my new family.
• • • •
With flashlight in one hand and an overnight backpack in the other, I gently shut the worn wooden d
It wasn't supposed to end the way it did.
Life. It wasn't supposed to end like that. But it did.
Kids. What can we really say? They have their imaginations-something we seem to lose as soon as we hit that tender age where sex becomes the only thing on the mind. But I'll never get to that age now, will I?
The abrupt jangle of the house phone makes me jump; tearing me away from the gripping clutches of the book of dark tales I hold tightly gripped in my hands. The story I am immersed in is a tale of two horrors, woven with strands of malevolence that grips a poor soul. The unfortunate protagonist is a mere teenager, just two years my senior.
"Holy effin' shit," I say through a tight grin, my spirit dropping just like the book I had in my hands, the thump on my leg giving me another jolt as I sit like a toddler aboard my grandparents' brand-new sofa. "Who the hell's calling me at this damn moment?" I glance at the clock and then wriggle from my comfy, balled-up posture and push aside my lucky blanket, eager to see who is calling me on this Friday night. Stepmom and dad are away at bingo for at least another three hours. I may be only 12, but I would still prefer to have a social life of some sort.
The caller ID announces back to me: R. Rain Family. I know exactly who it is. Brady. My new best friend, slash cousin in-law. Also, my best new hockey and football teammate. Chance just had it that we are the exact same age too. A lucky draw of cards when I thought I would be a new and unwanted nuisance in a new land. Cree land. My new location has come as a result of my dad winning custody of me in the divorce.
"Brooo," I belt into the phone receiver, waiting in guaranteed anticipation for my new cousin to give me some good news.
"Sleepover," Brady asserts, his tone carrying a command that I'm reluctantly at ease with. "My dad said we can come pick you up if you want. There's lots of food left over, too. Indian tacos, bro."
My mouth goes into an automatic surge of watering, my taste buds already detecting the secret spice my aunty Lorna adds to her taco seasoning. Aunt Lorna also isn't from this part of the world. She's Navajo. The originators of the famous Indian Taco.
"Hell yeah, bro. You know I'm always down for that," I say in a childish voice that sounds more ecstatic than it should be.
"Want us to come get you?" Brady asks.
Cordless phone in hand, I glide over the linoleum floor to the kitchen's enormous picture window. It's a window to the world of the night, looking out to the sprawling expanse of Brady's family abode, nestled amidst the fields where the horses graze. It's just a stone's throw away, less than a mile, or so. The only big house in sight for miles on end surrounded by area's the thick foliage. The house stands out beneath the blanket of night like a mirage in the desert. One flickering lamppost dimly lights up the twisting driveway, while the numerous windows projecting inside lighting gives off that spaceship feel to Brady's massive, country-style dwelling.
A dash across the hilly, horse trampled grassland seems like nothing to me. Three minutes tops if I can keep my championship 150-metre dash momentum up. But I suddenly heed Kokum Nadine's warning. Never to cross that stretch of land, or to be playing outside, at night. And alone at that. Age-old mythical warnings stemming from the Mosoms and Kokums of long ago.
I disregard Kokum Nadine's warning. "No, man," I tell Brady. "I can walk. Save the gas." I say, a slight tremor of fear caressing me as I seem to notice a darkness darker than the black surrounding my usual prairie home floats in. I wouldn't mind being picked up but at the same time I don't want to look like a wimp to my new family.
• • • •
With flashlight in one hand and an overnight backpack in the other, I gently shut the worn wooden d
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- SeriesDark Tales