The Children of Fear

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The Dark Cellar

  Cold. Icy needles that pierced to the bone.

  Racked with chills, the young man huddled over the solitary candle. He stretched his frozen hands to the flickering orange light. Then pushed his fingers even closer to the flame.

  He smelled the skin on his fingertips burn. But felt nothing.

  Totally numb.

  Cold death is coming, he thought.

  And soon. Too soon.

  He shuddered. The wavering flame glowed dimly. And beyond the pale yellow glow, the darkness shifted and coiled.

  For in the darkness, they waited.

  Waiting only for the flame to sputter out and die, he knew. Then they’ll come for me. I won’t escape. This dank cellar will be my coffin.

  His weary, burning eyes closed. His chin dropped heavily to his chest.

  Outside the stone walls, he heard the raging storm claw at the night. Icy rain pelted the tiny window; a freezing wind rattled the glass.

  He lifted his head and stared at the window. If only I were a little boy again … if only my shoulders weren’t so broad … my legs so long … I could break that glass and squeeze out through the window.

  But there’s no way out for me now. The window is too small. And the oak door is too thick. I could never break it down.

  Luke stared back at the candle and listened to water dripping along the stone walls. A steady rhythm that beat out the words… .

  No way out. No way out.

  Lightning flashed.

  His eyes flew open.

  In the blink of an eye, he saw them.

  Their thick, scaly bodies coiled and slithered across the stone floor. His breath caught in his throat as he heard a low hiss. Their lifeless black eyes fixed on him … waiting … waiting for the flame to die.

  The darkness closed in around him again. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The flame sputtered. Grew smaller.

  “Not yet!” his mind screamed. “You can’t go out yet. You have hours left to burn. Hours!”

  The flame flickered and nearly went out. He gasped.

  Then the yellow light flared up again, burning low. He watched large drops of molten wax slide down the side of the thick candle and pool on the cold floor. Like bits of sand in an hourglass. Each drop marking another moment of his life, gone.

  Someone will find me someday, he thought. They’ll find my bare white bones scattered over this filthy floor. I want them to know how I died. I want them to know why I died!

  He cupped his hand around the flickering flame and lifted the candle off the floor. He took a step back.

  A loud hiss rose from the shadows. He heard a swish—cold scales slithering over stone.

  He held his breath and took another cautious step back.

  He heard another swish. Faster than before. A rattle, as though a baby played in the corner with a wooden toy.

  But he knew there was no baby in the cellar.

  No wooden toys. Only death.

  Another hiss echoed around him. His head spun to the other side and he peered into the pitch-black darkness. He couldn’t see them. They could be anywhere.

  His knees felt rubbery as he took another slow step backward.

  Swish. Hiss. Rattle.

  He swallowed hard. His hand trembled and the candle nearly went out.

  He took a deep breath.

  Stepped back.

  Hiss. Swish. Rattle.

  He took another step back, and then another, until he finally felt the damp stone wall against his shoulders.

  He waited.

  The hissing rose and rose. Louder and louder. Until the very air vibrated with the sound. Vibrated right through him. Then it grew softer, fading into a low whisper.

  He slowly released his breath.

  They won’t come as long as the candle burns, he realized.

  The candle looked a few inches longer than his index finger. If he handled it carefully and the flame didn’t go out, he guessed that it might burn for a few hours more.

  Maybe, just long enough. Enough time to tell my story.

  He crouched and placed the candle on the floor. The flame danced. His shadow floated over the wall.

  What can I use? he wondered. What can I use to tell my story?

  He searched the small surrounding circle of light on the floor and walls. Reaching down, he picked up a nail. Bent, crooked, rusty.

  He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Then fiercely stabbed the nail into his palm. He gasped with the pain and stared down at the blood pooling in his hand. He watched as the red drops splattered on the floor.

  So warm, he thought. At last my fingers will be warm.

  The candlelight shimmered off his bright red blood. He dipped his fingers into the glistening pool, giving them a moment to thaw.

  Then he stood. He coated the nail with his blood and began to write on the stone wall:

  If only I had known the horrors that my silence would bring… .

  Chapter

  1

  Western Pennsylvania, 1876

  Luke Fier slapped the heavy reins over the mule’s backside.

  “Get on there,” he ordered, pushing hard on the plow. He felt his anger rising as the mule slowly turned its big head to stare back at him.

  “Go on now! Pull!” Luke urged with another slap of the reins. The mule took a slow step forward. Then another.

  Luke plodded behind the slow mule. His arms ached from pushing the plow. He felt the sun high over his shoulder and knew that the morning was almost half over. He had been at work since sunrise and had only two long furrows to show for his efforts.

  We’ll lose the farm at this rate, he thought wearily. I was born on this farm. So was my father and his father before him. I’ve lived here for sixteen years. I don’t want to live anywhere else.

  He felt the sweat slide down his back and wiped his shirtsleeve across his sweat-covered brow. He imagined a cool drink of water or lemonade sliding down his parched throat.

  No time to stop. Keep going, he pushed himself. He looked ahead to the end of the row, trying not to think about water.

  The mule stopped, refusing to pull anymore. Luke dropped his chin to his chest. I might as well pull the plow myself.

  He swept his battered brown hat from his head and tossed it to the ground. The warm breeze whipped his black hair across his face. He stood straight up and pressed his fists against the small of his back. He felt a fierce burning ache. It felt worse every day. He straightened and heaved a deep sigh.

  “Pa, could you talk to Henrietta—”

  The words clogged his throat. He still couldn’t believe that his father was dead.

  “You could always make Henrietta obey,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t have your skill. Or your gift.”

  Luke looked toward the house. His gaze fell to the huge white stone that stood beneath the towering oak tree. The smooth marble bore his mother’s and his father’s names. A chill swept t
hrough him.

  “How could you die and leave me alone?” he asked in a raw voice. “How could you?”

  He closed his eyes against the pain and the bitterness.

  I know I’m not alone. I have Corey and Leah. And the farm.

  But you should be here to take care of them. To take care of me.

  He could see so clearly the afternoon his parents had died. Gray clouds massed in the sky. A cool wind carried the scent of rain.

  Luke stood on the front porch of their two-story clapboard house. He watched as his father helped his mother into the wagon. They were going to the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia.

  His mother straightened the bow on her best bonnet. She glanced at Luke. “Promise me you’ll take good care of your sister and brother, Luke,” she asked him. Luke nodded in answer.

  Then she turned to Leah and Corey. “And you two must obey your brother. Or there’ll be no presents when we return. Do you understand?”

  Leah nodded sulkily at her mother and Corey said nothing. He frowned and twisted a rag toy in his small, soft fist. “We want to go with you, Mama. Please?” he asked one more time in his lispy voice.

  “Corey, you know you must stay here with Luke and Leah,” she reminded him. “Be good children and we’ll bring each of you a present,” their mother promised.

  “I don’t want a stupid present,” Leah whined. “I want to go too.”

  “Shush up,” Luke scolded. He glared at her. He hoped his parents hadn’t heard Leah’s complaining. They’d already heard enough of it.

  Earlier that morning, Corey had cried and tugged on his mother’s skirt. Leah hadn’t shed tears. But she’d been sulking for days. Both were unhappy because their parents were leaving them behind. Leah was thirteen. Corey was six. They were huddled so close together on the porch steps that they reminded Luke of a pair of Siamese twins he’d seen at the circus the year before.

  They both had black hair. Their green eyes glittered with angry tears.

  “They’ll do their chores and go to bed early every night,” Luke promised.

  From the corner of his eye, Luke saw Leah stick her tongue out at him. Luke laughed.

  I’ll be in charge, he thought as he watched his father climb onto the bench seat and release the brake. I can take care of them and the farm too. My folks will be surprised when they get back and see how well I’ve run everything here.

  “Take care now, children,” Luke’s father called out. “We’ll be back next Saturday.”

  Luke admired the easy way his father snapped the reins and set the four horses into motion.

  Luke’s mother turned on the bench and began to wave.

  Luke waved back. “Wave good-bye,” Luke instructed his sister and brother.

  “No,” Leah said, crossing her arms over her chest. She pushed out her lower lip in a pout.

  “No,” Corey said, imitating his sister’s actions.

  “We wanted to go with them,” Leah whined. Luke jumped at the sharp sound as she angrily stamped her foot on the porch step.

  Corey jumped up and did the same. Luke began to scold him.

  Suddenly, lightning streaked across the sky. Thunder rumbled and Luke felt the earth beneath his feet shake. A fierce blast of wind sent a frigid chill slicing down his back.

  Then Luke heard the hysterical scream of the horses harnessed to the wagon. He watched in horror as they reared up and clawed the air. Then began a wild gallop.

  He saw his father working desperately on the reins and heard him calling out to calm the terrified animals.

  Luke shot off the porch and raced after the wagon.

  “Stop!” he yelled. “Stop!” But his voice drifted on the wind. Not strong enough to stop the stampeding horses.

  The horses raced on toward a deep ravine, dragging the wagon behind them. He saw his father flung backward into the box, slamming headfirst into a wooden barrel.

  Clinging to the side of the wagon, his mother looked back at him. The wind had torn off her bonnet and her hair whipped wildly around her head.

  Snorting with rage, their lips curled back against their teeth, the horses galloped madly along the ravine. The wagon teetered on the edge… .

  Then it rolled over.

  Chapter

  2

  Luke shuddered with the memory. Ten months later he still didn’t understand why the horses had bolted.

  Was it the lightning? The thunder? he wondered for the hundredth time. He’d never known his father to lose control of any animal. No matter what. His father had a gift when it came to handling animals. A gift he had passed on to Leah.

  If only I had the gift too. Maybe then we’d have a chance. Maybe then I could at least get this stupid mule to pull this plow.

  He stared at the unplowed fields surrounding him. Doubts and worries swarmed within his head.

  I don’t know what to do, he realized. I don’t know how to keep the farm.

  He thought about his visitor the day before—Mr. Stone, the president of the bank.

  He felt hot anger mingle with his fears. Mr. Stone had threatened to take the farm away if Luke didn’t make a payment on the land soon. What would happen to Leah and Corey then?

  I’m sixteen, old enough to take care of myself, but Leah and Corey are both too young to be left alone. They need me to be strong. Who would take care of them if I didn’t?

  With determination, Luke slapped the reins. “Come on, you stubborn mule. We’ll stay in these fields all day and all night if we have to.” The mule brayed and took a step forward.

  “That’s a start,” Luke said as the strap from the plow dug into his shoulders. He tightened his grip on the handles and pushed the plow, turning the black dirt. Every muscle in his body strained with his efforts.

  We won’t lose the farm, he vowed. I’ll do whatever I have to do to stay on the land.

  He turned at the sound of someone yelling his name. Leah raced across the field, tugging Corey along behind her. Her black braids flapped wildly against her shoulders.

  “Luke!” she screamed.

  Luke’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. Something’s happened, he thought. Something horrible has happened again.

  He began running as fast as he could toward his sister and brother. “What is it?” he yelled. “What’s wrong?”

  Leah stopped and began to laugh. “Don’t worry, Luke. Everything is fine.”

  Luke stumbled to a halt, breathing heavily. “Why are you yelling for me?”

  Her green eyes sparkled. “You promised to take us into town for the centennial celebration. Don’t you remember?”

  The centennial celebration. He’d forgotten all about it. Stormy Ridge was having its own centennial celebration. It would be nothing like the exposition his parents had planned to attend in Philadelphia, but it would be exciting.

  “Leah, I’m sorry, but I can’t take you to town today. I have too much work to do.” He waved toward the unplowed fields.

  Her green eyes darkened. Her mouth turned down into a frown. “But you promised!”

  “I know I did, but—”

  He felt a hard tug on his trousers. He looked at his brother. Tears welled up in Corey’s green eyes.

  Luke knelt in the brown soil. Corey’s and Leah’s green eyes were like their father’s, a strange sort of green that would be light one moment, dark the next.

  “Do you want to go to town, Corey?”

  Corey nodded, his eerie silence raising the hair on Luke’s neck. His brother had not spoken a word since the day their parents were killed.

  Luke brushed the dark hair off Corey’s brow. It fell back into place as though it had a will of its own.

  Why won’t you speak? Luke wondered. Why can’t you say a simple yes?

  He flicked a ladybug off Corey’s bare foot. Corey’s overalls were getting too short. Luke glanced at Leah. Her blue calico dress looked worn and faded. Until the crops came in, none of them would have new clothes.

  “I know you
want to go, but if I don’t get the field plowed, we won’t have a crop. Without a crop, we’ll lose the farm,” he explained.

  “But, Luke.” Leah dropped beside him. She dug her fingers into his arm, her green eyes flashing excitedly. “There’s a horse race. The winner gets fifty dollars! And I know I can win!”

  “Fifty dollars?” Luke echoed. Fifty dollars would surely be enough to keep them on the farm until the crop came in. Could Leah possibly win it for them?

  Luke scoffed at the idea. He felt silly and childish for thinking for one moment that she could really win all that money.

  “Leah, I know Pa taught you well about horses,” he told her. “But they’ll be a lot of people competing for that much money. And a lot of horses that are even faster than Phantom.”

  Leah crossed her arms over her chest and angrily glared up at him.

  “I can win it. I know I can,” she insisted. “And if you don’t take us to town, I’ll just go by myself.”

  Luke knew that look. Short of locking her in the house for the rest of the day, he knew his sister would make good on her promise. He sighed and bent down to pick his dusty hat up from the ground.

  “All right.” He nodded. “We’ll go.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  With Corey perched on his shoulders, Luke trudged down the dirt road toward town. Leah walked beside him, leading her black horse, Phantom. She wouldn’t let them ride the horse to town because she didn’t want it worn out before the race.

  Luke felt she could never win the race. But he forced himself not to say anything more about it.

  When we get to town, Leah will see for herself that winning this race is just a dream, Luke thought.

  They neared the town and heard the crowds and the sound of a brass band. As they turned up the crossroads and walked down Main Street, Luke saw banners strung up from one side of the road to the other and people milling about everywhere. He’d never seen so many people in the small town. Most of the clapboard stores had signs hanging in the windows or on the doors that said CLOSED FOR THE BIG RACE.

  He spotted some signs that said the horse race would take place on Main Street at one o’clock. He guessed by the sun that it was nearly that time already.

  “Isn’t it exciting?” Leah said. “It looks like everyone is here to watch the race.” Standing on tiptoe, she pointed to the town hall. A group of men—laughing and talking—stood on the porch and front steps in front of the building. Beside them, another man stood on a barrel. He held a wooden sign over his head that read SIGN UP FOR THE RACE HERE.