Herold remembered the times when his sister, Razell, would tell him monster stories. “They’re everywhere,” she had said, warning him. “Watching us.” Sitting on his bedside, Herold could only imagine the horrible creatures. He had never seen one before. “Don’t look at them,” Razell said. Together they would adventure through corridors of the mansion. They would be chasing the creatures, or more often, being chased by them, though they never saw them.
“Why can’t we look at them?” Asked Herold, sliding across the marble flooring. Razell grabbed him by the arm so his face wouldn’t hit the floor. It was a question he asked many times. Their voices echoed in the hall. The morning sunlight beamed through the windows.
“They’re ugly,” his sister would say. “They don’t want to be seen.”
Herold remembered that day like a painting he crafted himself. That evening, their home was broken into. It was loud, lots of men had come in. Herold and Razell were in a safe room when it all happened, and later found by their gardener. At the time, Herold could barely read, but he remembered the date on the newspaper the next day. Razell told him their parents were in it. April 24, 1964. “Baledrake family mansion defaced, parents and all fortunes: missing or dead.”
Their old home, once standing in white and gold, was no longer theirs. It barely stood anymore, half torn apart, and all retaken by the city. At first it was for the investigation, but it was never given back. That was five years ago. Now they lived with Mrs. Green and several children at Wallace Merlot’s Orphanage.
It was times like this where Herold missed his old home. Here he stood, in the kitchen, under the glare of a real monster. Herold looked at himself. He was covered in soup, so was the floor, so was the table. Mrs. Green had steam shooting from her ears, teeth chattering and nearly spitting. Herold looked to his sister, who he could see in the next room from where he stood in the wide entranceway. He knew she had noted the clash of soup pots, but she put her nose back in the book she was reading.
Mrs. Green normally spoke in a soft, gross voice. It was only when she was extraordinarily upset that she would growl. Lot’s of fighting and misbehavior had erupted earlier in the day. At this particular moment, Herold knew she was on her last straw. In a fiery tone with steam rolling from her nostrils, she leaned towards Herold and said, “Get out.”
Maybe getting out of the house would be a good idea. He walked passed Mrs. Green through the entranceway, towards the living room. He glanced at his sister reading her book, something about plants. She looked up from her book to see Herold. Neither one of them spoke, but Razell shrugged. They could both hear Mrs. Green back in the kitchen growling under her breath.
A cat leapt onto the couch, curled up, and rested her head next to Razell. “Oh, hi Patches,” she said. Patches was somewhere close to 20 years old, a legend to the orphanage. Perhaps she was the only one calm today. There was shouting coming from the second floor now. They heard one of the kitchen cupboards slam, and Mrs. Green stormed into the living room. She marched through the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. Razell looked back at Herold. “They’re all going to get in trouble.”
“I’m going outside,” said Herold.
“You can’t be gone long,” his sister noted, nose back in the book, “it’s almost six.”
It was a sunny day, which was unusual for the town, often backgrounded with low sweeping clouds of gray. Beyond the yard of the orphanage, the forest stood, casting shadows over the edges of the town. The forest would have been the last place to play on any ordinary day. Today, Herold wasn’t feeling ordinary.
Stepping onto the wooden deck out the back door warmed Herold’s bare feet. He had the need for adventure; not socks nor shoes. The deck’s white paint was wearing away, exposing slivers throughout. This sort of thing used to caution Herold, instead his choice was forward. The looming forest seemed to call to him. He hadn’t gone very deep into it before. He bolted off the deck and across the yard.
The forest was wild; wilder than the most adventurous places the town had to offer. It was often dismissed as a place of ghost stories or despair, but Herold didn’t have any perspective on it. He ran and he ran, faster and farther, he decided he would run until he reached exhaustion.
A noise. He stopped. A moving thing, just ahead. Herold was astray, balanced on his heels, buried in the dirt. His toes were sunk, twigs tangled between them, damp and cool. Ahead, the moving thing made a noise. It wasn’t loud, but it was in Herold’s direction, that he could tell. It came from beyond a pair of twin trees, out of view.
Another noise; Herold decided to move. He crouched beside a fallen tree to his left. He hadn’t noticed any serious weather until now, where a light gust of wind blew over the tree, grasping at his hair. He crawled along the side of the tree. He paused, but only for a moment; his curiosity was driving him further. He raised his head above the tree, peering forward. The moving thing had taken shape, a living animal in his sight. It stood now in front of the trees it hid behind before, much closer and staring down at Herold, still as a statue.
Its face was somewhere between a bird and a lizard, its eyes a bright orange. The neck was long and slender, shaping into a thicker upper torso which got slimmer down the back. The tail was long, nearly another body length, and wisped around with great control. The creature stood not much taller than himself, maybe five feet tall. It’s back feet, short and clawed, supported most of the body. Its front were not feet, but wings that grew from four lengthy fingers, like that of a bat, rested in front of it. Most shocking of all was the hide. The snout and neck had scales, but gradually down the length of the body, feathers appeared. Some feathers were long, like on its wings, and others were small enough to be mistaken for patches of fur. The coloration of the creature was unlike anything Herold had seen. The scaly parts were mixed hues of blue, green, and yellow, while the feathers ranged from an angelic white, to brown, to deep blues and a sharp reddish color.
“I don’t think you’re ugly,” said Herold. He watched the animal, watching him. They stared at each other, without motion. He heard his sister’s voice now. Not in his head, but somewhere in the forest. Had she followed him?
“Herold!” she called.
She was looking for him, Nan and the others probably were, too. But he didn’t want to move from where he stood. He heard a little thumping of feet that he recognized. Razell stopped when she reached Herold, who raised his hand and said, “Slow down!” She slowed, the short thump of her footsteps ceased, and she saw the animal.
“Oh my,” said Razell.
“Be careful,” said Herold, “I don’t want us to startle it.” He slowly began to stand up from his place behind the tree. He turned to Razell, she was as still as the creature. Herold could tell she was looking right at the animal, even though her glasses glared from the sun. Herold leaned towards her to say something, but his foot landed on a large branch, which snapped. The snapping sound was followed by a noise of movement from behind him.
The creature reeled back, and in one fast, clumsy motion it had disappeared through a wall of trees. “Oh no,” said Herold, his feet launching towards the animal, “come back!”
“Herold, wait!” Razell shouted, but her brother was already gone. She began to run after him. Herold loved to run, and he did often. He was always the fastest when all the kids at the orphanage played tag on Sundays. He ran and leapt over logs and around twisted bends in the path between trees, chasing this animal. He could see it coming in and out of view, not too far ahead. Its movements were awkward, but somehow graceful. The bright colors of its skin and feathers disappeared into the environment.
Herold’s legs began to ache, and he began to slow down. The animal was no longer in sight. He bent himself, gripping his sides and catching his breath. When he had caught it, Herold began to noticed how still the forest was. He stood up straight, and remained still. In the small clearing he had run into, standing over him was a tree. There were lots of trees in the forest, but this one was different.
FULL BOOK COMING SOON.
follow 
