as she made her preparations for war. The deer were brought to her. She whispered in their ears. They moved back into the Mission Street Woods. Back to their positions.
Waiting for the mirror between the worlds to shatter.
Christopher crawled through the mud to get closer to her. He was only invisible in the daylight. This was his best chance. He had to get that key buried in flesh around her neck.
He took the dull, silver blade out of the leather sheath.
“What was that sound?” a voice hissed nearby.
Christopher held his breath. He watched the mailbox people cuddle next to the hissing lady like kittens on a leg. The people were all shapes and sizes. All ages and genders and colors. Her soldiers. Christopher wondered who they were before they stood in this clearing, letting the hissing lady unzip their eyelids and kiss their eyes.
“Chrissstopher,” the voices said. “Are you there?”
Mailbox people and deer converged on the area around him, sniffing and circling. Poking the ground. Christopher made his body as small as he could. They walked closer. He raised the silver blade. The deer came right up to Christopher’s face and looked through him. Nose-to-nose. One more step, and they would know he was there.
Suddenly, a great scream rose from the camp. They turned to see where the commotion was coming from.
It was the nice man.
He was bleeding. Running for his life. Fighting off the deer. One by one. Until finally an 8-point buck drove its antlers into the nice man’s hands and feet and broke them off. Leaving the sharpest for his chest. The deer dragged the nice man in front of the hissing lady and left his body like a mouse offered by a cat to its master.
“NO!” the nice man screamed.
The scream was a little too loud. Christopher understood that this was the nice man’s diversion. This was his sacrifice. The hissing lady left her perch and approached the nice man. Christopher crawled at them. The mailbox people stood the nice man up. The hissing lady grabbed one of the antlers broken off in his body. She ripped it out of the nice man’s flesh.
“WHERE IS HE?!” the hissing lady screamed.
The nice man was silent. His arms spread. The deer bit his feet. The mailbox people clawed him, moaning. Christopher watched as the nice man smiled and took his punishment, knowing that Christopher was there, safe and invisible, hunting her. The hissing lady took the antler sticking out of his chest. She ripped it out violently and threw it on the ground. The nice man doubled over in pain. Christopher kept crawling. The blade in his hand. Get the key. Save the nice man. Save his mother. Save the world.
“WHERE IS THE BOY?!” she hissed again.
“You can make me scream, but you will never make me talk,” the nice man said.
The hissing lady did not respond. She only smiled. Twisted. Cruel. And evil. She raised her arms and the entire camp opened their mouths. A tremendous scream ripped through the sky. The sound was unbearable. Christopher dropped the blade and covered his ears as the hissing lady made a slight motion with her head, and the entire camp picked up and started marching.
Deeper into the Mission Street Woods.
Christopher picked up the blade and followed behind the procession as it moved down a wide path. A mailbox person stood at every tree. The deer nipped at their ankles to keep them in place. Marking the route like guardrails down a highway. Christopher looked up through the trees into the sky. He had maybe three minutes of daylight left. He would be visible. He needed to get the key. Now.
Christopher looked up ahead. The nice man struggled to walk. His flesh was pierced. Blood poured from his wounds. He stumbled and fell. The deer bit him to keep him moving.
The army marched down a long, winding path that Christopher had never seen before. Or had he? He wasn’t sure. The feeling reminded him of the dreams his mother used to have when there were suddenly three more rooms to their apartment that she had never noticed. She was there with him. Somewhere. Somehow.
The group walked toward the coal mine tunnel, which opened like a giant cave mouth. Its wooden jaws clicking. Click click click. The hooves of the deer. Click click click. Christopher followed closely. Or was he being led? He didn’t know anymore. It could be a trap, but he had nowhere else to go. The procession left