The Child Thief

NICK STUMBLED TO his knees and planted both hands on the wet
beach, clutching the sand to steady himself. He took in a deep gulp of air,
like a surfacing swimmer, and tried not to scream, tried not to think about
them. What the hell had that been? He clenched his eyes shut but there was
no hiding from what he’d seen. “What was that?” Nick said in a harsh
whisper and looked up at Peter.
Peter wore a grin from ear to ear. “You did great!”
Nick glared at Peter. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”
“The Mist,” Peter said, as though nothing could be more obvious or
natural.
Nick waited for more, but Peter just stood there wearing that stupid
grin.
Nick glanced over his shoulder, back into the swirling mist, wondering
if it would follow, would come after him. “Those things. What were those
things? What were those fucking things out there?”
“Mist spirits.”
“Mist spirits?”
“Yep, the Sluagh.”
Nick realized this was going nowhere. He pushed to his feet and
clenched his fist. He wanted to punch the pointy-eared kid, wanted to beat
that smug little smile into his face, had never wanted to hit someone more
in his life.
Peter took a step back, looking perplexed.
“YOU TRICKED ME!” Nick shouted. “You jerk-ass! You knew about
that crap and didn’t tell me.”
“Not true,” Peter stated like a trial lawyer. “I specifically asked if you
were ready to enter the Mist. And you said—” Peter mimicked Nick’s voice
—“ I go willingly.’”
Nick glared at Peter. “You know what I mean. You didn’t tell me about
all that crap out there. About those things!”
“And what, spoil the surprise?”
“Stop being a fucking wiseass!” Nick cried. “I saw a dead boy out
there. Why are there dead people out there?”
Peter’s face clouded and he looked away.

---

“If I’d fallen behind, would I still be out there? Wandering around,
screaming your name until I died?”
“Yes.”
Nick stared at Peter, stunned, a forgotten word still on his lips. He
turned his back on the boy, eyeing the mist, watching it the way you’d
watch a dog you know will bite.
“I had to stay the course,” Peter said. “I did what I could for you. But if
I’d wavered, if I’d hesitated, or strayed from the path…all would’ve been
lost.
“And Nick, you really did do well. The Mist isn’t an easy path to walk.”
Nick whirled. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “It’s a good idea to keep your voice down or the
Flesh-eaters will hear.” He peered intently down the shoreline.
Nick followed Peter’s gaze. Flesh-eaters? He studied the jagged
shadows and twisted terrain lining the beach. It didn’t look like anyplace
he’d ever seen. He shuddered; just why had the pointy-eared boy brought
him here? “Peter, where are we? Really?”
Peter’s playful smile returned, and his voice fairly danced with
mischief. “Oh, there’s lots to see. Lots to do. Adventure awaits. Follow me
and I’ll show you.”
Nick shook his head. “No, Peter, I’m not about—”
“Shhh!” Peter jabbed a finger to his lips, his face suddenly hard,
squinting into the dark. “The Flesh-eaters, they’re coming. Time to go.”
Nick crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Peter shrugged, turned, and headed quickly up the beach toward the
woods.
Nick stood alone, staring down the dark shore. “Bullshit,” he whispered.
“It’s all bull—” He caught movement far down the beach, several hunched
shapes picking their way toward him. “Oh shit.” He glanced at the mist, at
its swirling tendrils. “Fuck.” He kicked the sand and, to his horror, found
himself hustling up the beach after the pointy-eared boy.