Simon Holt - The Devouring

Copyright 2008 by Star Farm Productions LLC

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Little, Brown and Company

Hachette Book Group USA

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Visit our Web site at www.lb-teens.com

First eBook Edition: September 2008

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-316-03996-3

To cary, cathy, connie, and alvina

On Sorry Night, just a few days before Christmas, you have to snuff the lamps, douse the flames in the fireplace, and spend the night in the cold and dark. If you dont, the Vours will get you.

Theyre the monsters you cant see, the ones that crave the heat and light. The ones that feed on your fear and then swallow you whole. I should know. When I was a child, I saw it happen, and Ive lived with that fear ever since.

That night, Jeremiah and I came in the back door just after sunset, chased by a cold December wind. Pa stood at the window with his back to us, clenching his mug and gazing out into the snowy night. I knew we were in trouble when I saw the whiskey bottle on the kitchen table.

You remember to bring them cows in?

Pa was a giant in thick boots and faded overalls. I shivered as he turned to face us. His eyes were empty and cold like the winter fields outside, and just as dead. He got like that when he drank. I think that after Ma died, some part of him did, too.

I saw the color run right out of Jeremiahs cheeks. Oh, I I forgot, Pa.

He smiled at me, but I knew he was afraid. It was my fault. Id begged for a piggyback ride before the sun went down, and before the chores were done. That was why hed forgotten to put the cows in the barn.

You got straw for brains?

No, Pa.

I think maybe you do. I think we best find a job a boy with straw for brains can do.

Pa slammed his mug down so hard the whiskey splashed out of it. He dragged Jeremiah out the door by the arm, grabbing a rope and lantern from a hook outside as they headed for the cornfield. I followed, running and slipping on icy mud in the dark.

Pa strode up to the old scarecrow that loomed on its cross over the field. With one yank, he ripped it from its nails. Then he tore off the head and threw the body to the ground. Pa looked like some kind of fairy-book monster, holding up that burlap head in his giant fist. He threw it at Jeremiahs feet.

See there? Straw for brains, just like you. Now get up on that post, boy youre gonna do yourself some scarecrowing.

Jeremiahs breath came in sharp bursts of steam.

But but Pa, there aint no corn. Its the winter.

No corn, no crows. So itll be an easy job, wont it?

Pa thrust Jeremiah up against the post. Then he snatched one of my brothers wrists and lashed it to the crossbeam with the rope. Tears streaked down Jeremiahs face as Pa tied down the other one.

I cried for my brother, too. Even though he was ten years old, four years older than me, he was still scared of the dark. He said he could feel monsters in the night, waiting in the shadows to come and get him. He called them the Vours, evil things that come for children on the longest, darkest night of the year.

Pa lit the lantern and put it down beside the post.

Pa, please. My brothers voice shuddered and his body shook. Not tonight. Any night but tonight.

How long does Jeremiah have to stay out here? I asked.

Til its done.

And then my father made me leave my brother tied up in the freezing black air. I looked back over my shoulder at Jeremiah. His coat had fallen open by his throat, and the St. Giles medal he always wore gleamed in the lantern light. I silently prayed for St. Giles to protect Jeremiahs soul from the Vours.

Pa sent me to bed, but I wouldnt sleep, and after a while I sneaked back into the kitchen. Pa was passed out, facedown at the table, the empty whiskey bottle turned on its side. I threw on my coat over my nightgown, pulled on my big boots, and ran to the cornfield.

The lantern cast a flickering circle of light at Jeremiahs feet. It reflected on his St. Giles medal, which shone like a heart on fire at the center of a dark cross. I dashed up to him and threw my arms around his neck, my tears wetting his frozen skin. His teeth chattered behind his lips, and ice frosted his eyelashes.

Its coming.

Im here, I said, struggling to untie the knots around his wrist. But the rope was so tight, and my fingers were numb.

Can you see it? The shadow moving! Coming for me!

I looked around, but all I could see was the flickering lantern, the black shapes of the barn and the house, and endless fields of white. The wind moaned.

Its just me, Jeremiah. Ill get you down. I pleaded with him, but he kept screaming.

Get it away!

Suddenly the lantern flared up, white-hot, and the glass shattered. I cried out and covered my head as kerosene spattered over the snow, flames snapping up at the air around us. The headless scarecrow on the ground caught fire and crackled as it burned. A billowing pillar of smoke rose up like a giant black snake, coiling around my brother up on the cross.

God forgive me, I ran. I ran as fast as I could, the cold burning in my lungs, Jeremiahs screams burning in my ears. I didnt save him. I didnt bring him back.

This isnt how the horror ended for us this is how it began.

As I ran, the screaming suddenly stopped, and I heard something much worse. It was Jeremiahs voice, but different, lower, resonating across the field like a demons olden chant:

When dark creeps in and eats the light,

Bury your fears on Sorry Night.

For in the winters blackest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours.

No one can see it, the life they stole,

Your bodys here but not your soul....

Stop, Reggie! Henry barked from beneath his quilt. Dont read anymore!

Regina Halloway shut the book.

Since Mom had left them without so much as a goodbye kiss almost a year ago, taking only a packed suitcase and a photo album, Reggie had been forced to assume a number of extra duties around the house. With school, friends, and a job to worry about, a large portion of those duties laundry, vacuuming, dishes went undone for extended periods until Dad cracked the whip. Bedtime-story duty, however, was never overlooked.

But shed quickly grown tired of the usual kiddie fare and had decided to introduce Henry to some juicier stuff. And to Reggie, juicier meant scary.

You said you werent going to get scared.

The lump beside her shuddered.

Did the Vours really get Jeremiah? it whispered.

Of course not. Its just a story, Henry.

But tomorrow is December twenty-second, Reggie. Tomorrow night is Sorry Night!

Reggie pulled the covers down to reveal a wide-eyed eight-year-old boy with wild curls, clutching a stuffed koala bear.

I knew you wouldnt be able to handle it. She tried to stand up but he clutched her arm. Go to sleep, Hen.

Wait! Henry scrunched his skinny body against her. Dont leave.

He reminded Reggie of a newborn in an Animal Planet documentary, burrowing into its mother for warmth. The two of them had been close, even with the seven-year age gap, but things were different now. Now he reached for her hand more often, leaned against her on the couch watching TV, and wandered into her room after dinner with nothing more to say than Hi. He wasnt growing up; he was reverting to a small, frightened child. And his clinginess was suffocating her.