The Boy and the Window.
419 Words
The cobblestones glistened with last night’s rain as Lucas made his way down the crooked lane. He had almost reached the churchyard when he saw him—the boy from the station, the one who had warned him, wide-eyed and trembling.
The child was crouched by the old well, tossing pebbles into its black mouth. When he noticed Lucas, he froze, his small hands clenched into fists.
“You came back,” the boy said. Not with relief, but with disbelief.
Lucas lit a cigarette, letting the match flare in the damp air. “Not much choice, kid.” He exhaled smoke. “What’s your name?”
“Thomas.”
“Thomas,” Lucas repeated, his voice low, steady. “Last time you told me no one comes back from Ravenwood. How do you know?”
Thomas’s eyes darted around, checking the shadows, as though the mist itself might be listening. Then he leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper.
“Because I’ve seen them.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Seen who?”
Thomas swallowed hard. His lips trembled, but he forced the words out.
“The ones who went in. The ones the palace kept.” He hesitated, shivering. “They come to my window at night. Faces at the glass. Pale. Burned. They whisper my name.”
The boy’s small hands shook, fingernails digging into his palms. “I don’t open the shutters. I never open them. But one night…” His voice cracked. “…one night I saw a girl. She looked like me. Same eyes. Same hair. She begged me to let her in.”
Lucas crouched, leveling his gaze with Thomas’s. “Did you?”
Thomas shook his head violently, tears welling. “I knew it wasn’t her. I knew. Because when she smiled… her teeth were wrong.”
The words hung heavy between them, colder than the mist. Lucas placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder—awkward, brief, but enough.
“You’re braver than most grown men in this village, Thomas. Don’t forget that.”
The boy nodded, but his eyes were still wide, haunted. “She knows you’re here,” he whispered. “The woman in the palace. She’s waiting for you.”
Lucas stood, exhaling smoke, his jaw set. “Good,” he said quietly. “I’m waiting for her too.”
He turned and walked on, the boy’s whispers following him through the morning mist. Above them both, Ravenwood loomed, its broken windows glinting faintly like watchful eyes.
- Writer
