The Keeper of the Veil

a/n: I thought it only appropriate for my second night owl challenge entry to connect to the first in some way. That being said, I still wanted it to be able to stand on its own. So, while this story acts as an extended prequel of sorts to the much shorter The Places No One Comes Back From , and it might be fun to read both- in any order- for a little added perspective, it's absolutely not necessary. Enjoy :)

--

Daniel knew someone was watching him.

It was a knowledge he’d carried for days. He sensed it in the vague prickling on the back of his neck when he walked home from school. In the way he’d wake with his window cracked when he knew he’d left it closed.

He knew someone was watching him. What he didn’t know was why.

Most children would be frightened by such a thing, perhaps, but Daniel was not most children. He was reminded of this on a daily basis, both by his teachers and the other kids in his class.

Daniel is staring at me, make him stop!

Creepy Daniel, go back to your trailer with the rest of the trash.

Hello Mrs. Rivera, I am calling to see if there’s a good time we can discuss your son Daniel. He seems to be having some trouble in his relations with the other children and I think it would be a very good idea for us to talk.

This last was from a message on his mother’s voicemail earlier in the year. He usually wrote them down for her but this one he discarded. His teacher, an overly earnest curly-headed woman fresh out of college, had left a couple other messages since then: letting his mother know she’d missed parents’ night, inquiring again about when they could get together to discuss her promising but troubled son. Daniel deleted them all. His mother worked two jobs and it was best she didn’t know about things like parent-teacher night. If she did know, she’d try and rearrange her whole schedule, and then her bosses would be angry and she wouldn’t be able to pay the mortgage. She might even lose one of her jobs, like she had in the summer. He did not want to spend three months eating butter and crackers for dinner just so Ms. Worbley could sit down for an hour with his mother in his fifth grade classroom and worry together about his perceived lack of social skills.

Daniel knew he wasn’t like the other children. He didn’t want to be like them. Most kids his age were stupid and smelly and loud. Daniel was eleven years old but he often felt older than that. He knew the value of being quiet, of being still, of listening and watching. And, perhaps because of this, he knew when someone else was watching him.

--

When Daniel left the school on Thursday, he kept to his normal route- across the soccer field and into the woods. He stopped only to deposit the large amount of dirt Billy Buskins had left in his lunchbox on the forest floor before continuing to step carefully and silently through the trees. Daniel was in a good mood, despite the dirt. Tomorrow was Friday, and after that he had the whole weekend to himself. He could sit on the pile of cinderblocks near the far window, where Gamma could call if she needed him, and he could read his books. There, with his back to the peeling white paint of the house, he could also focus entirely on watching, and listening for the person- or the something, in any case- he knew was there.

Even now, as Daniel walked, he listened. At first there was nothing, and then- something changed just slightly. An extra rustling to each step, a presence at his back, clinging to him as though he’d just walked through a spider’s web. Practically undetectable. Whoever this was, they were good. Daniel was sure if they’d tried following any other kid, they’d be invisible.

Daniel gave no sign that he could sense his stalker, keeping his eyes forward and his steps and breath light, hands shoved in his pockets. The fingers of his right were closed loosely around the cold metal of the utility knife he’d taken from his mother’s top drawer, playing with the heft of it.

The presence behind him drew closer as he saw the back of his house emerge through the trees, crawling up his neck until it must surely be upon him. Despite himself, Daniel’s heart quickened a little and he sped up just the slightest bit. No sooner had he crossed onto the yellowed grass than the feeling subsided, as though whoever was following couldn’t pass beyond the boundary. Daniel mounted the back steps, skipping the rotting stair in the middle, and fit his key in the lock, kicking the door where it stuck at the bottom. It was only once he’d stepped over the threshold that he turned, once, to regard the tree line behind him.

Nothing (though for a brief instant, he thought he saw a thin branch bob up and down, as though something had just left its perch there, or had been holding it down, and let go).

“Daniel, is that you?”

Daniel shut the door immediately, and for extra measure, turned the lock.

“Yes, Gamma.”

“Come here where I can see you.”

There was a flickering yellow light on above the little entryway where Daniel discarded his backpack, hanging it neatly on the wall, but shadows clung to the room beyond like it was dusk rather than two in the afternoon.

As his eyes adjusted, he made out the shape of the spacious hospital bed pushed up against the far wall, and then the small woman lying there, her body a small bump in the sheets, her head propped on a couple of pillows.

“Why are you in the dark, Gamma?” he asked, already making his way to her bedside and the standing lamp there.

“Your mother forgot,” she said. “She came home late and in a hurry for her next shift. On the phone with someone the whole time.”

Daniel turned on the light and its soft glow coated the two of them in a small, bright corona.

“I think she’s seeing someone,” Gamma said. Her dark eyes connected with Daniel’s, which were of an identical color, pupils almost blending with the black irises.

Daniel stiffened, then turned away, adjusting her pillows and cracking a window. He took the dirty dishes from beside her bed, noticing as he did that over half the broth was still left in her bowl, forming a crusted halo along its surface.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “More soup? Did you get your painkillers?”

Gamma sighed, shaking her head and settling back into the pillows. Her eyes never left his.

“My time is almost here,” she said, just as Daniel was about to turn for the kitchen. He stopped.

“Gamma…”

“I hear them now, outside. They’re watching. Waiting.” The space between her eyes creased in confusion and worry. “They’ve been waiting too long.”

Gamma was what Daniel’s mother referred to as superstitious, though never to her face. It was a point of contention between mother and daughter. Their family had been on the land since the beginning of remembered time, the way Gamma told it, and she believed in honoring all the spirits of the natural world, of whom there were apparently many, meshing the air between them all, facilitating the arrival of life and the departure of death. Daniel’s mother referred to it as a ‘load of bunk’. Daniel wasn’t sure himself what he thought, but for that the safest course was to respect the unknown.

As the days drew shorter and colder and Gamma, brought into hospice four months back, got smaller and sicker, the cancer eating her up inside, she’d begun to bring up a mysterious ‘they’ more and more often. Sometimes her eyes would glaze over when she spoke and she’d stare at an empty corner of the room, a distant window, like she was seeing something no one else knew was there. Morphine hallucinations, his mother said, though it was clear this more prominent behavior made her uncomfortable.

“Too long,” Gamma repeated now, looking down at her wasted hands and frowning. “If they came only to take me, they would have already. I’m afraid- afraid they want something else.”

Her eyes drifted off of him, widening a little as though in fear. He followed her gaze but didn’t see anything. Watching… he didn’t feel scrutinized now, but he remembered the feeling on his back, his neck, that had plagued him for days.

“Who, Gamma?” he asked, going deeper than he’d gone before. “Who is watching? What do they want?”

His words caused Gamma to break out of her reverie.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said suddenly, holding out her arms to him. Daniel moved stiffly to her side, let her clasp his face between her cool hands. “Listen to me talk. I don’t mean to trouble you. All that’s really important to me is that you’re happy, that you’re doing well. Are you okay, Daniel?”

Daniel was shocked to feel a burning sensation behind his eyes; how long had it been? He pushed it down and swallowed the knot forming in his throat. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yes, Gamma,” he replied.

She fixed him with her keen dark eyes again and held his face a moment longer before letting go, her hands falling back to her sides.

“That’s good then,” she said. “That’s…”

Her head tipped to one side, Gamma lapsed into the slow, long breath of sleep, the only sound left in the room that of her oxygen tank purring and hissing in peaceful spurts. Daniel continued into the dark kitchen, did the dishes silently in the dark before turning off the light by Gamma’s bed. He stood in the pitch black for a moment, waiting for his vision to resolve like a dark film developing. There was something about the cover of complete darkness that made him feel safe, a strange kind of powerful. He padded to the door of his room, only stopping to turn the lock on his window before sliding into bed.

--

Daniel woke to a cold breeze on his cheek and turned over in bed, sitting up. He opened his eyes, but this time they took longer to register the room around him- his desk, his bookshelves, the old rocking chair- it all seemed to be coated in an extra layer of dark, a sensation that did not diminish the longer he looked. On the rocking chair, a deeper darkness shifted just slightly- even if he hadn’t seen it he would have known. Daniel was not alone. Something, someone was with him here, watching. He watched it back. The breath grew tight in his throat, his body stiffening as he focused on that deepest darkness, watching its form rise and fall slightly in a rhythm that mimicked breath. Steeling himself, Daniel reached for the lamp by his bed in one fluid movement, flicking it on. The room exploded in light and-

The loud blaring of his alarm tore Daniel awake to the chill dawn light spreading over his bed. He got up, shivering in the cold air coming from his open window. Gone was the dark thing from the chair at the end of his bed, but Daniel did not tell himself it was a dream; he never dreamed. Instead, he went across the cold wood floor to shut the window. On the way, he stepped on something soft. When Daniel bent to pick it up and hold it to the light, he found himself looking at a long, broad feather, white on one half and brown and striped on the other.

His visitor had left a calling card after all. Daniel smiled in the peculiar way he had, a way that the other kids drew back from because it did not quite touch his eyes. He slipped the feather into his coat when he got ready for school and was out the door in a matter of minutes.

--

The woods were bathed in normalcy on Daniel’s way to school. Squirrels chased one another through the leaves and a bunch of magpies made a racket, alighting in the branches above. In class, the hours crawled. Ms. Worbley’s words fell around him as meaningless sounds and during recess, he sat on the old tire swing no one used and watched the distant trees, the arc of birds flying through the air. Daniel took the feather from his pocket and ran his fingers over its length.

“What’s that?” a loud voice asked, crashing in on his reverie. Daniel turned to see Billy Buskins watching him a few feet away, a wicked light in his eyes. A couple of his friends stood behind him, laughing quietly to one another. Daniel slipped his treasure away and got to his feet.

“Nothing,” he said coldly.

“Yes, it was too, freakazoid,” Billy crowed, “You had a big feather. Where’d you get a feather like that? I want to see it.”

Daniel turned away from the other boys and made to go back towards the school. There was a cry of excitement from one of the boys and Daniel heard Billy lunge for him, felt his jacket tear in the other boy’s grasp.

“Give it to me, I want to see!”

“Billy!” the teachers’ voice echoed over to them, a warning, and the pressure released. The bell rang in the chill air as she ushered them inside again, a stern look on her face. Through the remainder of the day, Daniel felt Billy’s accusing glare on his back, which he ignored with a faint sense of satisfaction. Finally, the final bell rang and the children crowded for the door and the weekend. Daniel took his time, trailing behind, then struck out for the woods with a mounting sense of anticipation that wasn’t for the weekend alone.

--

It was only a minute or two into his walk home that he began to feel it: that crawling and now familiar sensation of being watched. This time it was different somehow, though. It felt like something was on the verge of happening, that something would be revealed. A little further and he began to hear it, the footsteps creeping behind him like a taunting echo. Daniel stopped, but he did not look back. Instead, he stared up into the trees. In the dusty afternoon light, he thought he saw something flicker, a hushed sudden movement, and he found himself looking straight into a pair of large golden eyes.

The impact happened all at once, knocking the air out of him. A series of rushed footsteps behind him and Daniel fell to the ground, going down hard on one shoulder. Pain flashed through him and he tasted the mineral tang of dirt as he struggled to face his attacker.

Billy Buskins’s face came into view above him, his blond hair askew, piggish face scrunched up in fiendish glee, before a knee rammed into his stomach, causing everything to go dark again for a split second. A split second in which, nonetheless, Daniel’s hand searched his pocket and found what he was looking for.

“Teacher’s not here now, you fucking creep,” Billy hissed, taking Daniel’s arm and pinning it to the ground. He went to grab the other and Daniel moved, fast as a snake in the leaves, whipping his hand from his pocket and striking up and out.

There was a fleshy, wet sound and Billy uttered a strangled scream, letting go of Daniel like he was hot to the touch. Suddenly, the same dark filter from his bedroom the night before dropped over everything like a shuddering static screen. Daniel felt like the ground was tilting beneath him as he rose to his hands and knees.

Billy gurgled like he was trying to speak, his fingers groping at the utility knife buried deep in his throat. Blood poured from the wound, slicking the ground between the two boys, steaming in the winter air. His eyes fixed on some point beyond Daniel, widening.

The sound of a footfall, quiet as a breeze, whispered behind him and Daniel rose slowly to his feet, turning to face his stalker.

--

The man was tall- if it was a man at all. There was something about him. Human, but not in the ways that counted. He was dressed entirely in black, with the wide-brimmed hat tilted over his head hiding his eyes. A cloak of sorts was thrown across his shoulder, and his mouth, a thin gash in his hollow face, tightened as he looked at the boy standing boldly in front of him, the other bleeding out at his feet. That curious gray veil still hung over everything, dulling the light from the sun.

“He’s not going to make it.” The voice was soft and sinuous, wrapping itself around him, demanding his attention. There was a quality to it that was almost otherworldly, and it took Daniel a moment to even understand what the man was talking about, but then he turned to look at Billy, silent now, chest barely rising and falling. As he and the strange man watched, he breathed in once more, and then- nothing. His eyes went blank and empty like those of a stuffed animal, fixed on the trees above. In that final moment, there was a silence so deep it felt like white noise.

Daniel turned back to the stranger. “It was an accident,” he said, because the quiet demanded he say something.

The man took two steps toward him; he didn’t move. He was afraid, a little, but he also felt a strange kind of excitement rising in him. That thin mouth twisted in a frown. Behind the hat, he could feel the eyes burning into him, the same eyes that had haunted his steps the past few days. He had the sense that he was being searched for something, but he didn’t know what.

“The taking of a life is no small thing,” the man finally said. “It will stay with you.”

The way he said it made it sound like a command, like in place of the ‘will’ there was a silent ‘should.’

“Will I go to jail?” Daniel asked.

The man continued to study him, that frown growing deeper. “You’re young. Back when I began, they put eleven year olds in jail but it’s not so common now. But there are other ways a choice can haunt you-”

He stopped, wincing suddenly, and a shiver went through his body; for one, small second, Daniel thought he could see the forest through the tall man like he was nothing but a mirage.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” he said, seemingly to himself. “Decisions have been made and I will have to make my peace with it.”

“Sir…” Daniel said, unable to keep it inside any longer. “Who are you and why were you watching me?”

The man ran a finger along the brim of his hat. “Who am I?” he mused. “I… am an usher of sorts. A middleman, a reaper. I travel between the realms of the seen and unseen. I am the keeper of the veil between this life and others. I was half born and half made. There are precious few like me. And… I am dying.”

“Dying, sir?”

As if on cue, the figure of the man flickered again, like a light about to go out.

“Yes,” he answered. “I’m no immortal. I’m not even sure such a thing exists. We keepers live long, long lives, but yes- we die like anyone else. But before we do, we must find a successor to take on our sacred duty. And that, Daniel Rivera, is why I have been studying you.”

‘You have been a most interesting subject. You’re quiet where others rush to speak. You’re observant, conscientious. There is a certain sensitivity about you, but there is also a… darkness. You walk among the others but apart from them, much like I always did in the before days.”

‘That is why I have decided I would like you to take my place- if you will accept that is.”

Daniel, incapable of words for a moment, only nodded.

“Don’t agree too quickly,” the keeper told him with a sigh. He pushed the hat back on his head, lifting the brim, and Daniel saw his eyes for the first time. He drew in a breath: sharp, golden irises, shot through with black and amber flecks, regarded him like twin flames from the shadowed face.

“Great power is also great responsibility. It is a sacred duty, and must not be abused. Power of this nature- it can also be incredibly isolating. You will never be the same again; people will avoid you though they won’t know why. Many will not be kind.”

Daniel shrugged one shoulder. That at least was nothing he wasn’t used to already.

“I don’t need other people,” he said.

The man’s golden eyes softened; for a moment he almost looked sad.

“It’s your choice, Daniel.”

Daniel studied him for a moment. “What is beyond this veil?” he asked.

At this the tall man went to crouch by Billy’s body, placing a hand tenderly on the dead boy’s shoulder almost as though he was trying to wake him. He held out his other hand to Daniel.

“Come with us,” he said, “And I can show you.”

--

It was under cover of night that Daniel came back home. Crossing the withered grass, up the back steps, his breath pluming out in cold bursts in front of him, he opened the door. He didn’t bother with the key; he didn’t need to.

Gamma was sleeping but her light was still on, as if she’d tried to stay up. Waiting. At the sound of his step by her bed, she woke, eyes fluttering open.

“It’s you,” she breathed in a drowsy kind of wonder. Then, “Is it time, then?”

He nodded, extending his hand. “Can you walk?”

She threaded her fingers through his and her grip became strong, willful. She sat up, letting the blankets fall back, and nodded, unhooking the oxygen from beneath her nose.

“Now I can.”

They made it to the doorstep with her leaning on his arm before she asked how far it was. Outside, the moon had departed through a thin veil of clouds, but Daniel could see as if it were day. In the tallest tree at the edge of the woods, he saw them: two, four, now several pairs of golden eyes, gleaming at him out of the darkness.

The owls mark the way, he heard the old keeper’s last words in his mind. They will come to you; they will be your eyes and ears as they were for me. They know where the fabric is thin, and together you can open the way to the places no one comes back from.

No one, that is, except for you.

“Just a little bit further now,” he assured her. “We’re almost there.”

.