Eerie, Indiana fic: Pay Attention
Aug. 30th, 2015 01:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
froodleWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yarol_2075 for Better Weird than Dead: An Eerie, Indiana Fic Fest
The prompt was:
My name is Harley Holmes. Ten years ago my big brother Simon and his friend Marshall Teller disappeared. The only person who has any answers is a guy with gray hair that the Mayor is keeping prisoner. Tonight I'm breaking him out and then I'm going to find my brother and bring him home.
And nobody is going to stop me.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
Once, when Harley was five and it wasn't his birthday, Simon had come home with his backpack full of brand-new books just for him. There were fairy tales, and nursery rhymes, and adventure stories, and there were pictures, huge and brightly coloured and not scribbled on by anyone but Harley. Simon had sat on Harley's small bed, back against the wall, and Harley had leant against his brother's chest, basking in the new-book smell while Simon read to him, Simon's chin resting on top of Harley's head, the index finger of his right hand tracing the words while his left turned the pages. The only sound in the world was Simon's voice, and the thick, clean noise of the heavy pages being turned over.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
When Harley was six, the boy next door had almost tricked him into eating a lizard. Simon had stopped him in time, and somehow the lizard had ended up in the pants of the boy who lived next door. He had screamed and rolled around and taken off his pants, and Harley and Simon had laughed and laughed. Later, when Simon tucked him into bed, he had asked what a lizard felt like.
"Like.... this!" Simon had cried, and tickled Harley mercilessly, until he squirmed and shrieked with delight, finally wriggling free to throw his arms around Simon's neck and shouting that he loved him best, best of all, more than even all the lizards in the world.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
When Harley was seven, his brother took him trick or treating. A lawn decoration shaped like a mummy had terrified him for reasons he couldn't explain, and he had clung to Simon, sobbing and gasping that the bandaged figure wanted to take his place, that he was sorry, that he wanted to come home. Simon held him, and kissed his tear-stained cheek, and took him home, and that night told him a story about a very cross and bumbling mummy who ate something he shouldn't have and now spent eternity slowly shuffling in search of a bathroom.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
When Harley was eight, his brother and the boy next door walked out into the night, and never came back. Then the police came, and the grown-ups from next door, their eyes red from weeping, and the people with video cameras and microphones, and all of them asked the same questions, over and over and over again:
Where were they? What had happened to them? Why didn't they come back?
Harley had retreated to his bedroom and sat on the stained, worn carpet, staring at his bookshelves. He didn't need to ask any questions; he already knew the answers. Like two children in a fairy tale, Simon and the boy next door had lost their way in the dark, strayed from the path, and the darkness had eaten them up.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
Harley pondered his precious books. They were older now, well-loved in the way of a small child, and the new-book smell was long gone. Their pages were crumpled, and some of them were sticky with spilled grape juice, and there were tears in the dust jackets that Simon had repaired with sticking tape. But inside, the stories were still the same. Inside, there were monsters; cruel witches, vicious wolves, hungry ghosts. Inside, there were victims; lost children and little old ladies and helpless princesses who rotted away in glass coffins for want of a prince. And inside, there were heroes; bold knights and friendly dragons and kindly wizards.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
Harley plucks anxiously at his fingers, knuckles his suddenly stinging eyes. Simon, he thinks helplessly. I'm not smart like you, and I'm only eight; how am I supposed to know if the books are a warning to stay clear, or a map to bring you home?
yarol_2075 for Better Weird than Dead: An Eerie, Indiana Fic FestThe prompt was:
My name is Harley Holmes. Ten years ago my big brother Simon and his friend Marshall Teller disappeared. The only person who has any answers is a guy with gray hair that the Mayor is keeping prisoner. Tonight I'm breaking him out and then I'm going to find my brother and bring him home.
And nobody is going to stop me.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
Once, when Harley was five and it wasn't his birthday, Simon had come home with his backpack full of brand-new books just for him. There were fairy tales, and nursery rhymes, and adventure stories, and there were pictures, huge and brightly coloured and not scribbled on by anyone but Harley. Simon had sat on Harley's small bed, back against the wall, and Harley had leant against his brother's chest, basking in the new-book smell while Simon read to him, Simon's chin resting on top of Harley's head, the index finger of his right hand tracing the words while his left turned the pages. The only sound in the world was Simon's voice, and the thick, clean noise of the heavy pages being turned over.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
When Harley was six, the boy next door had almost tricked him into eating a lizard. Simon had stopped him in time, and somehow the lizard had ended up in the pants of the boy who lived next door. He had screamed and rolled around and taken off his pants, and Harley and Simon had laughed and laughed. Later, when Simon tucked him into bed, he had asked what a lizard felt like.
"Like.... this!" Simon had cried, and tickled Harley mercilessly, until he squirmed and shrieked with delight, finally wriggling free to throw his arms around Simon's neck and shouting that he loved him best, best of all, more than even all the lizards in the world.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
When Harley was seven, his brother took him trick or treating. A lawn decoration shaped like a mummy had terrified him for reasons he couldn't explain, and he had clung to Simon, sobbing and gasping that the bandaged figure wanted to take his place, that he was sorry, that he wanted to come home. Simon held him, and kissed his tear-stained cheek, and took him home, and that night told him a story about a very cross and bumbling mummy who ate something he shouldn't have and now spent eternity slowly shuffling in search of a bathroom.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
When Harley was eight, his brother and the boy next door walked out into the night, and never came back. Then the police came, and the grown-ups from next door, their eyes red from weeping, and the people with video cameras and microphones, and all of them asked the same questions, over and over and over again:
Where were they? What had happened to them? Why didn't they come back?
Harley had retreated to his bedroom and sat on the stained, worn carpet, staring at his bookshelves. He didn't need to ask any questions; he already knew the answers. Like two children in a fairy tale, Simon and the boy next door had lost their way in the dark, strayed from the path, and the darkness had eaten them up.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
Harley pondered his precious books. They were older now, well-loved in the way of a small child, and the new-book smell was long gone. Their pages were crumpled, and some of them were sticky with spilled grape juice, and there were tears in the dust jackets that Simon had repaired with sticking tape. But inside, the stories were still the same. Inside, there were monsters; cruel witches, vicious wolves, hungry ghosts. Inside, there were victims; lost children and little old ladies and helpless princesses who rotted away in glass coffins for want of a prince. And inside, there were heroes; bold knights and friendly dragons and kindly wizards.
"Pay attention, Harley; you could learn something."
Harley plucks anxiously at his fingers, knuckles his suddenly stinging eyes. Simon, he thinks helplessly. I'm not smart like you, and I'm only eight; how am I supposed to know if the books are a warning to stay clear, or a map to bring you home?
