He was very tired, now, and very cold. He was also hungry. He tried to think about where he was and what had happened. "M-Ma?" he said, though his voice sounded small and thin. She leaned closer. Her face was white with exhaustion. "Shhh," she said. "There's a blanket in my bag. Try to get some sleep. We'll talk more when you wake up." Tom blinked. He knew he was going to dream, but right then he didn't care. He closed his eyes again. # Chapter 2 THE dream, when it came, was a welcome one. Tom felt a hand on his head, which made him turn over. Ma was still kneeling beside him, and her hand had moved down to cradle his neck and shoulder. She smelled very good, of soap and a sharp, clean wind. He was suddenly warm, and he did not feel the cold at all. "What happened?" he said, even though he knew the answer, or thought he did. "That thing," said Ma. "Whatever it was. It gave you a fright, I'm sure, but it was just a bad dream." The word _just_ reminded him of Rook, and the dream he'd had the night before. But he was too tired to worry about it now. He was tired and warm and happy, and he wanted to stay that way for a long, long time. He settled back and, as he did so, fell asleep. After a while, though, his dreams began to shift. They grew darker and more ominous. He felt a deep shuddering inside him, like something was stirring. He got up on one elbow and saw what was happening. The moon was gone. The sky had changed again. It was not day but night, and the darkness seemed to be swirling around him. But it wasn't the darkness that was troubling him. It was something else, something he had forgotten. It took him a moment to place it. He remembered it now. It was fear. And fear wasn't anything he liked. "What's wrong?" asked Ma. She was still sitting by his side, but there were tears in her eyes. Tom sat up, or tried to. The ground shifted under him as he moved, and he was pitched forward, nearly falling over. "G-get out," he stuttered. "Run! Get out of here!" Ma was staring at him. "You're frightening me," she said. "What's wrong?" Tom got to his feet, clutching her hand. "The dark," he said. "I'm not afraid of the dark anymore. Now I'm afraid of something else." He tried to turn away, but his head was spinning and his legs were weak. "I'm not sure I'll make it," he said. "Get out of here. If anything tries to hurt you . . ." He didn't finish the sentence, because it was clear that he wouldn't be able to, even if there was anything around that could do such a thing. Ma followed him down the street. She had her bag strapped to her back, and when she leaned down to help him up, Tom could feel her arm shaking. She would have walked faster, too, but he was too weak to keep up. He started to slow down, so she stopped, and he sank down against a wall. His head was heavy. His hands felt wet. He was bleeding. The ground was covered in blood. Not his own, but _someone else's_ , and it felt hot and wet. And sticky. "Mama, look at this," he said. "Look at all this blood." Ma crouched beside him. "What is it?" she said. "What are you talking about?" He lifted his arm. "See," he said, and he pointed to the blood. "See this? I guess it's not mine, huh?" He tried to stand but he felt woozy. His legs were no longer under his control. They kept buckling, and they kept wanting to drop him again. Ma was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. "What's wrong with you? What are you talking about?" He sat back down on the ground. "Don't worry about me," he said. "I'll be fine." He hoped it would be true. "Tell me what's happening!" she said. "Please tell me!" "I don't know how," he said, and then he gave up, because it was clear that whatever was wrong, he was doing his best to fix it himself, and that meant he was powerless. "I can't." Ma got to her feet and stared at him, confused. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Are you—" She cut the question off abruptly, and Tom understood why as the first of the things that looked like trees appeared around them, as if they'd sprouted out of the dirt. They were not like the ones he'd seen before. There were two of them, two of the huge, misshapen trees that loomed over him. They towered over him as if they meant to crush him, and then they split in two, both trunks splitting apart, and Tom saw movement on the other side, black, spidery creatures that looked like they'd been pulled out of his worst nightmares. They were huge, maybe even bigger than him, and they had wings as well as legs, and Tom realized with a sickening shock that he was looking at demons. Ma's scream split the night and caused a shiver to travel down Tom's back. But the demons didn't look at her. They just stared at him, or his blood, perhaps, because they immediately started licking it, and it seemed to Tom that they would never stop. "Go!" he said, to Ma. "Get out of here!" But she was frozen in place. He could feel her, out there in the street, frozen in place and terrified, even though he could not hear her screams any longer. She was too scared. She didn't want to move. "Run!" he shouted, and he pointed to himself. "They won't hurt you if you run away from them. Please go!" She hesitated, and the demons turned their attention from Tom to her. They were _looking_ at her. They were looking for something that might be inside her. They opened their mouths wide, baring needlelike teeth. Their hands started to extend. Tom couldn't watch any more. He closed his eyes, but he could see it in his mind. The demons, the spiders, the blood, the terror. He screamed. It woke him, and he saw stars in a night sky that was not entirely dark, because there were still a few twinkling stars, and a moon that hung in the sky like a cold orange lantern. But it was not a clear night, and the stars were not bright. The moon didn't burn at all. And there were no stars in the sky overhead. There was no clear sky at all. There was only darkness and clouds, and where the clouds were the moon was completely gone. "Tom!" said a voice, and Tom was almost too frightened to open his eyes. "Ma!" he said, relief coursing through him like water. "I'm okay. The dream . . . it's gone." "You were screaming," said Ma. "Gods, your skin was covered in blood." She reached out and brushed a hand over his forehead, which was slick with sweat. She touched his nose with her fingertips. "You don't have a scratch on you. No blood." She made a choking sound. "Are you okay? Is this another one of your fits?" Tom was silent, but he was more afraid than he had been even in his dream. "I don't know," he said, staring at the horizon. "I don't think so. Maybe it was just something I ate. I don't feel well." "Yeah," said Ma. "I noticed." He squinted. "What's wrong?" he said. "Why are you sad?" "I'm not sad," said Ma. "I'm worried. I'm not sure I understand what happened." "I'm not surprised," said Tom, but he wasn't sure he was right about that. Something had happened, something terrible. She looked at him, her eyes wide with worry. "What was that thing?" she said. Tom frowned. "I don't know," he said. "I'm not sure I want to. But I've never seen it before." "But . . ." Ma hesitated. "You said it was a thing. Someone built it. It's . . . it's something that was made." "It's _someone_ ," Tom said. "I don't know who." "Can you tell me about it?" said Ma. "Did you see any . . . any marks on it?" Tom shook his head. "I couldn't make out any scars," he said, then he remembered, "or any clothes, for that matter. But it's bigger than me. I could tell." He had not thought about that before