The Watcher - Chapter I

Maisie stared at Paul, as he slept on a steep lump of hay beneath his unfurled jacket.

She watched his chest rise and fall, the way his nostrils flared slightly with each breath, eyes roaming under their delicate lids.

She saw how her brother's hands gripped the cloth even in deep slumber, white-knuckled against faded cotton. His forearms were wiry and long, their honey skin taut over its frames like the bark of a young tree.

She liked trees. They were big and strong, and sometimes fun to climb.

Huffing quietly, she teetered up from her hands and knees, patting the front of her dress. Anxiously checking it for dirt like Mama had taught her, she nodded her approval and then looked around.

Crooked planks bristled from every side, warping the weathered walls of a small barn. Sunlit gnats danced in the rafters like gold dust, crowding the only light she could see.

Maisie checked each corner above and below for the glint of a bucket, or even a dishpan. Nothing.

She plopped back down on her hams, defeated. It made sense there was no drink anywhere; no animals seemed to be living in the barn, anyhow.

Good thing too though, or else where would they have spent the night instead? It wasn't like those people in the house would've let them in.

They didn't seem too friendly yesterday.

Nervous, she glanced back over at Paul. He was still fast asleep, motionless beneath his cover.

She vividly remembered his warning from the night before, the way he'd wagged his finger at her as always, eyebrows scrunched up like Papa's: "Don't try anything without me. You get caught, they'll run us both out of town. Worse yet, they might take you away from me. Is that what you want, Maisie?"

She'd shaken her head fiercely at his lecture, teary-eyed. Even now her heart jumped in her throat recalling how serious he'd been, how flat all of his pockets looked. Food wasn't too hard for either of them to find, but water was a whole different matter.

... and she was getting awful thirsty.

Sighing, she lowered her eyes to her lap. Her hands still looked all stinky from running through the forest yesterday, but it couldn't be helped. Besides, Papa always said that honest people were raised upon the earth.

Maybe now was a good time to try practicing her lessons again.

Concentrating, she held a hand up to her face, its pudgy flesh shining with sweat. The pinky came first, wiggling out like a worm.

One.

The ring was next, then her other two.

Four. Four, and ...

She frowned at the offending thumb dozing lazily in her palm. Only four, that was it.

She repeated the greeting in her head, the way Mama had taught her: Good day, I'm Maisie and I am four.

But four wasn't many. Sometimes she wished she were big and strong, too. Maybe then she wouldn't always need Paul's help with everything.

She watched her brother, then locked eyes on the far wall. She still remembered how he'd barred the side door earlier; it didn't seem too heavy.

Easing to her feet, she started rocking on each leg in worry. Paul had been adamant on her staying close, but he'd never mentioned anything about getting thirsty.

She didn't want to wake him now either, especially since he looked so cozy. He'd carried her a long way yesterday, after she stumbled to her knees and started crying at how far the town still was.

Paul never got tired.

Plus she might need to piddle, too. Maisie knew how much Paul hated whenever she wet their bed back home.

Paul didn't like bad smells.

Making up her mind, she crept towards the door. Glancing back one last time, she braced her short arms under the crossbar and heaved slowly. The wood gave almost immediately, sliding against its bracket without a sound.

She leaned the bar gently against the wall, then held a clump of hay against the squeaky hinge and pushed.

Cold sunlight flooded her vision, stabbing at her mind like needles. She squinted hard and closed the door, careful not to bang it against the frame.

Crouching low, she pulled some mud off the ground and patted it into her wild hair, masking the bright auburn curls. Once they found a knife, she'd make sure to ask Paul to shave her bald.

Her hair always brought attention.

Skirting behind the barn, she scanned the windows of the big farmhouse on the other side. It looked different in the daytime. Not as scary.

She remembered the family who lived there: two old people and their skinny son. The boy with the ugly haircut.

Last night, she'd spotted all three through the window having dinner, when Paul was still searching the barn for an entrance. None of them joked at the table while eating, like Mama and Papa did.

They didn't even smile.

Turning now toward the surrounding forest, Maisie stopped for a moment, uncertain. It felt like she was forgetting something, but she wasn't sure what.

She stood somberly awhile, waiting for the memory, but none came.

Unsettled, she hurried past the barn and into the woods beyond, glancing back over her shoulder once more before pressing on.

As the treeline laced closer together, a slim trail still meandered between, littered with damp autumn leaves. She moved carefully, watching for any stones hidden beneath the strewn vegetation.

Soon the path widened into a broad clearing, encircling a thick green hand-pump. Maisie dashed eagerly to the water well, taking care not to scrape her knees against its squat pedestal.

She gripped the handle in both tiny fists, then flinched away from the cold metal, warming her fingers with small, steamy breaths.

Impatiently, she reached up to try again.

Hello there.

Maisie dropped to all fours, huddling against the base of the pump. Chest pounding like a drum, she searched frantically for the voice she'd just heard, behind and around each shadowed tree.

An unnatural quiet fell in that space, the air muffling like a warm pillow against her ears. A sharp wind kicked up leaves from the ground, tossing them about, but she couldn't hear them scratch against each other.

She couldn't hear anything.

Behind you, darling.

Maisie wheeled around, back toward the path she had just taken. She froze.

A rider sat on the trail, astride a tall horse. The man was dressed all in black, swathed by a thick cloak. Underneath his hat, framed by twin spills of long jet hair, a white skull gazed blankly back at her.

Maisie screamed as loud as she could, the shrill sound echoing against the dense treeline. She scrambled behind the water-pump in terror, her heart rattling as she stared over the stranger's shoulder.

Paul was too far away.

Maisie watched through blurry tears as the rider dismounted, tying his horse to a tree. The steed was similarly fleshless, and it set about grazing without protest, pulling up great dark clods of dirt which fell back through its hollow jaws onto the ground.

As the figure approached, Maisie wailed aloud. Her companion paused, planting both hands on his hips.

Well that's not so kind of you, is it? One might say you look just as strange to me, but I'm not the one hollering.

Maisie sniffed wetly, scanning the stranger's belt. He didn't carry any guns.

They're of no use to me. Oh, I do apologize ...

The death's-head seemed to smile.

I should leave your thoughts to yourself. How rude I can be.

The rider adjusted his hat, embarrassed. Looking closely, Maisie recognized the Stetson. She'd been jealous of one before, months ago when she saw a young woman wearing it on a stagecoach.

I'll tell you what, darling ...

The stranger stretched one thin arm toward the ground and sat down heavily, crossing his legs.

How about I ... only sit here for a while? If I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it already, wouldn't you say?

He shifted his weight with care, resting both elbows atop his knees.

I'll just sit here and do nothing and say nothing, as long as it takes for you to trust me. Promise.

Maisie stared warily with wet eyes. The stranger made good on his word, planted like a boulder against the earth.

Her breathing calmed as minutes passed, and she felt her spirits gain strength.

This stranger was already a lot nicer than most. He was just ugly.

Now then miss, maybe we can start with ... could you tell me your name?

She responded in short blubbers, her breath still hitching unevenly.

"My M-Mama told me n-never to, not to s-speak to struh-strangers."

Hissing laughter blossomed in Maisie's mind, her companion’s dry teeth clicking with delight.

You're very clever for your age, little miss. I hope your parents are proud of that.

He slowly tilted his head.

Well ... privacy is something to respect, but I'm not sure how two strangers could converse without sharing names eventually.

The rider scratched the crown of his hat, deep in thought.

The silence lingered. As the stranger remained still, Maisie began to regret being so rude, but then he snapped his fingers, the bony clack resounding through the small clearing.

Ah! Do you ... would you happen to have a nickname?

Maisie nodded eagerly, hair bouncing as her heart soared.

"Punkin!"

The rider held his chin with one hand, black sockets gleaming.

Ahhh ... now that's a very nice nickname, Pumpkin. I'll be sure to remember it.

He paused for a moment, then got up delicately and reached for his hat again.

You see, sadly ... I would have liked to share my name too, but I'm a very shy person to begin with, and ... well, my father forbade me from even speaking it aloud.

Removing the Stetson, he held it to his chest and bowed deeply. As his long hair whipped gently around his head, Maisie spied a white dome flashing beneath the roots.

But far be it from me to rebuff a young lady, so I guess you can call me ... Watcher.

He stood up straight, fastening his hat securely. Turning to his horse, he stroked the creature's neck, looking back at Maisie.

I would have told you this fellow's name as well, but that's a privilege reserved for the folks who ride him one day and, well ...

Watcher patted his mount's shoulder.

I'd say you won't be riding him for a while yet, Pumpkin. Not for a very long time.

Maisie felt disappointed. She had been scared of the horse before, but it didn't seem so nasty now. All it did was eat and stand, just like any other horse.

She shouldn't have been so mean to either of them.

The rider gently unhitched his steed and creaked back onto the saddle, tipping his hat at her. She waved back.

I think that's enough for one day, miss. You've been through plenty already. And I'd best get going, before we have company.

"MAISIE?!"

Paul's distant voice rang with panic, somewhere to her right.

She turned toward the welcome sound, then glanced back at the rider.

She was alone.