And Other Stories Read Free

They fell asleep almost
immediately.
    I lay there, watching the fire
dying and listening to Grams breathing and wondering if things
would ever get better for any of us. I was almost asleep when I
heard a clompety sound on the roof like fat eagles had landed. I
remembered that draklas and witchers could fly. That woke me up
completely. My Krizmiz stake was lying beside me, so I grabbed it
and lay there, clutching it in both hands.
    And then I felt stupid. We hadn’t
seen a drakla in two years, or a witcher in near as long. I told
myself whatever I heard couldn’t be an Oldthing. And even if it
was, all the doors and windows were bolted. Nothing was going to
get into our house. I looked at Jeffy and Jill and Grams, and I
smiled, thinking I’d have to do something nice for the twins ‘cause
their stupid garlic crucifixes must’ve taken a lot of work. And I
started to go back to sleep.
    The fire was very low, hardly more
than cinders, and my eyes were almost closed, but something made me
look around again. I prob’ly heard a change in Grams’s breathing,
but I can’t swear to that. I can swear to what happened next,
though.
    Two heavy black boots oozed out of
the fireplace.
    I don’t know why I didn’t scream.
Maybe I still didn’t believe it. Maybe the Oldthing in the chimney
had some power to make people drowzy. I think that was it. I think
if I’d been completely asleep, I wouldn’t be here to tell this
story.
    After the black boots came
blood-red trousers, and then a matching crimson coat edged with
bone-white fur, and finally a bloated, grinning Oldthing stood in
front of our fire. It was too fat to have squeezed down our
chimney—Jeffy or Jill couldn’t have squeezed down that chimney—yet
there it was. Its eyes were black beads, and its bloated cheeks
were bright red as if it’d fed on something’s blood, and in its
ash-white beard, its soft mouth twisted into a triumphant
leer.
    Grams spoke. “Sa? Tah?”
    It spun, maybe even more startled
than me, and faced her. Grams hadn’t talked in months. She sat up
in her cot and she smiled madly, and she twitched while she tried
to say something to the Oldthing or to the rest of us.
    The Oldthing brought a red-gloved
finger to its thick lips and grinned. In its other hand, it
clutched a sack that’d grown to be as large as the Oldthing itself,
maybe larger. It stepped closer toward Grams, still making the
gesture for silence. It pointed at Jeffy and Jill, sound asleep, as
if Grams should understand.
    But I understood then. It didn’t
matter whether it had something in that sack to deal with us or
whether it wanted to stuff us all into the sack to carry us off.
Grams had done all she could by speaking. It was up to me
now.
    I leaped out of bed in my
nightdress with my Krizmiz stake ready, and I yelled for all I was
worth, “Satan!”
    The Lord of Night whirled toward
me. Its eyes and its maw gaped in surprise. I plunged the stake
towards its heart as it staggered back toward the chimney. The
point grazed its chest, but I was too slow. I knew that it’d
escape, and return with its servants, and everything would be my
fault.
    Then it stumbled. Something had
struck it in the head. I glanced at the twins’s bed, and Jill
grinned back One crucifix lay on the floor at the feet of the
wounded Oldthing. The other was in Jill’s cocked hand, ready to
throw.
    A shot rang out. The Oldthing
stumbled, clutching its leg. I saw Jeffy fumbling to load another
silver bullet into his .22, but it didn’t matter. He’d given me the
time I needed. I hurled myself forward as Grams cried out
again.
    When Mother Dearest and Poppa Fred
came into the room, they saw that they’d given me a fine present.
Jill said, “C.T. killed it,” and I smiled, shy and proud all at
once. Poppa Fred nodded at me. Before he could say anything, we
heard a clattering on the roof.
    We ran into the yard, all except
Grams. A team of antlered deer were launching themselves into the
sky, dragging a