Chapter 1


“Dad, it’s getting dark, don’t you think we should go in?”  Marcus called to his father.

“You only want to get inside because you can smell dinner.”  There was a chuckle in the man’s voice.  Dark grey eyes were hard to read as he squinted, trying to see his son. “Jeez Marcus, you’re almost as tall as I am.” 

Marcus straightened his shoulders, pushing long dusty hair out of his eyes.  His full lips split into a lopsided grin, softening the straight line of an aristocratic nose. “If I stood right next to you, I bet I’d be taller.”

“Maybe, but you don’t have my muscles yet.  I’m still stronger.”  He made a fist, pumping up large biceps.

“Getting there.”  Marcus’ voice, so much like his fathers, returned the chuckle.  “Come on Dad, I really am hungry.  How do you expect me to get as strong as you if you don’t let me eat?”

“Ah, but you get strong by working, not eating.  Besides, there are only a couple more rows.”  He turned away from his son, frowning.  “Did you hear that?  Sounds like there’s a man walking in the woods.”

 “I am a man walking in the woods.”  Though softly spoken, there was menace in the voice and Marcus felt the hairs on his arms rise.

  Turning a white face that seemed to hover over a body that could not be seen, the stranger smiled. 

Marcus grabbed his spade. He knew he must get to his fathers side.  He began to run.   It was too late.

He heard his father scream, a sound he had never heard before.  He could not tell what it was he saw, but he knew there was blood, his father’s blood. 

“Dad,” his voice disappeared into the night.  He choked back a sob, swinging the spade with all the strength of a man used to hard labor. The sudden stop, like hitting a cement wall made his jaw snap shut.  There seemed to be an explosion.  Bright lights, a darkness descending. He thought he heard his mother, sister, calling, their voices frightened wails.

It was quiet, dark and so very cold.  He reached out to feel the back of his head, where the throbbing pain was coming from.  It was then he realized why he was so cold.  He was naked.  He tried to stand, but the chains were too heavy.  

 “It’s a cellar, a root cellar, maybe.”  Marcus broke the all too loud quiet.

There were sounds, someone, something was pacing on the floor above.  He shivered.  Not from the cold.  Reaching around, he realized he was not lying in mud.  It was blood.  “Dad,” he fought back the scream, reaching to where he thought his father would be.  Surely, with this much blood, he must be dead.  There was no one near him.  He felt again the wrenching pain.  It was everywhere and he knew the blood was his own.

“I thought I heard you.”  It was the man from the woods.  The bloodless face was thin, with deeply sunken cheeks. A few dark hairs crossed his large skeletal head.  Dark bushy eyebrows sat above impossibly black eyes, eyes that were cold.  

“It will be more fun now that you are awake.”

The chains rattled.

“You were so brave, running to save him when you must have seen what I was doing.  Your father did not satisfy.  Sweaty, dirty, he did not taste good.”  It grinned and the chains once again rattled.  “You, strong as you think you are, cannot break those chains.  They have held stronger men.”

White teeth showed between thin blood drained lips.  “You will see that you are not strong.  Soon you will be crying, begging me to let you die.  I will, of course.  It will be less painful if you cry sooner.”  

Gregor looked to the ceiling and Marcus could see that this time he was not talking to him. 

 “I will show you that he, that no one, is stronger than I was.  I cried, yes, they all do.”  He turned to Marcus.  “You are wondering who I am talking to.  I shall tell you.”

Marcus turned away. Feeling a slap sting his cheek, his chin cruelly grabbed, he was once again looking at his tormentor.  Something rose inside him. Grey eyes darkened to that of an ocean just below the foam.  Sitting as straight as the chains allowed, he looked directly into those soulless eyes.   “I don’t care to know.  Feel free to talk to yourself.”  He swung his head, pushing the hair out of his face as he turned away. “I will not cry for you.  Whatever you do, will not make me beg.  You cried. I won’t.  You will see who’s stronger.”

The growl filled the room. Too quickly he was at Marcus’ side.  There was pain, a searing pain.  Nails, sharp as any butcher knife, sliced the already torn skin of his back, but the chains did not rattle.

“Look at me.”

“I am.”

Stormy grey eyes met black.  A soft, unexpected caress, as the bloodied hand stroked Marcus’ thigh.  “Will it be lovemaking that makes you beg?  Beg for me to stop, or perhaps you will beg for more.”

It took every ounce of the strength gained from years of harvesting potatoes, backbreaking work he’d done since the day he first began to walk.  He sat still, willing his muscles to steady and sent his mind to a different place.  The chains didn’t rattle.


Cathy had been crying.  Marcus remembered walking over to her.  They had been so different.  No one believed they were related.  Her soft blond curls bobbed with each sob. His sandy hair hung straight over dark grey eyes.  His eyes searching her face, had tried to read the soft blue of hers.  Cathy’s face freckled and tan from working in the garden she so carefully tended, had been staring at the floor.

“What is wrong?”

“He won’t take me.”


She sat down hard, still staring at the floor.  Refusing to look into her brother’s eyes as she fought back tears. “Dad.”

“To the father, daughter dance?”

“He said there was too much to harvest.  It’s only you and him and he couldn’t take the time.”  Her voice caught, and she had to suck at the air to continue.  “Mom worked so hard.”  She looked down at the pretty pink dress, one of only three she owned.  Secretly their mother had saved every grocery penny she could, sometimes skipping meals.    She’d spent what little free time she had making the dress.

 “I’ll take you, that is if you don’t mind dancing with your brother.”

“You will?” Blue eyes swam with tears, tearing at his heart.  

“Of course.  I’ll have to steal, I mean borrow dad’s suit coat.  I’m bigger now.  It should fit well enough.”  Marcus reached out, helping her stand.  The skirt swung out around her, and she quickly twirled, delight lit her face.

“Go back to your room.  Give me ten minutes, then sneak out the back door.”

“He will be mad.”

“Not as angry as I would be, not taking you to the dance.”  He smiled, “Not getting to show off your new dress.”

Cathy giggled, then her face grew serious.  “But how will we get there, it’s at the school, takes the bus a good half hour to get there.”

“Weeeellll,” an evil grin lit up his eyes.  Narrow, slightly sunken cheeks dimpled.  “It wouldn’t take that long without all the stops and we won’t be stopping.”

“You can’t take the car.”

“We can’t walk all the way, you in that beautiful dress, me in half a suit.  I think I can drive it.  I’ve been watching.  In a few weeks I’ll be fifteen and I’ll be learning how to drive. He shouldn’t miss the car as long as it’s back by morning.  Hurry up, we don’t want to miss the first dance.”

Marcus could see his father, back bent, picking the potatoes they grew.  Dust swirled around him.  He was busy.  Only a heavy load of studying had kept Marcus out of the field.  There were not many clothes in his father’s closet and only one suit. Marcus quickly took the jacket.

They were both smiling as they drove away. Cathy, looking back, was relieved to see their father was not following.

The gym looked like something out of a fairy tale.  Lights hung from the ceiling, streamers circled the beams.  

A three-man band stood to the side, music already filling the room.  A table decorated with corsages for the girls, boutonnieres for the fathers stood by the side of the door.   Marcus carefully attached his to the jacket.  

“Got to return this in the same condition I got it.”  He whispered.  Cathy giggled.  

“You look so handsome.  I love you brother.”

“Welcome students and guests.”  A voice rang out.  The band began to play Benny Goodman’s Symphony.

 “Will the fathers escort their daughters to the floor.”

“Ready.”  He grinned.  “I don’t know much about dancing.  I’ll do my best.”

They were twirling around the floor, Marcus careful not to flatten his sister’s toes when a knock on his shoulder surprised him.  His father’s face surprised him more.

“I think I need my jacket.”

“Yes, sir.”  He stepped to the side, biting his lip.  

“I will dance with my daughter.”

 Cathy smiled then hung her head, knowing what this would mean to her brother.

“It is okay,” Marcus whispered, hoping his father would not hear.  “You baby girl, are worth it.”

Turning around, the older man looked into the grey eyes of his son, seeing that he was not sorry he’d taken Cathy to the dance.  “It’s a bit of a walk, but I expect you to be home when we get back.”  He turned to Cathy, tilting her head towards his.  “We are staying for the dance.”

Marcus watched her, seeing her glance his way wearing a smile that was both happy and sad and then they were dancing.  Her skirt swirled around her.  She was beautiful.

The night was cold, but Marcus, with thoughts of future punishment did not notice.  He did not go into the house.  He didn’t want to hear his mother.  She would be sympathetic, but mostly she would be angry.  Enough anger was coming his way.

Leaning against the barn, he stuffed his hands into his pockets.  Hearing them tear, he pulled his hands out.  “She will be mad enough without having to fix them.”  He looked to the house.  The windows, glowing, told him his mother was waiting.

Marcus did not know how long he stood staring down the driveway, but it seemed like a year passed before he saw the car approaching.  Cathy was walked into the house.  

He saw his father come out, looking around. Standing straighter, he waited. 

“I am disappointed.”  The man, looking very much like his son, cocked his head appraisingly.  Two pairs of nearly identical grey eyes locked.  Only shallow lines blooming from the corners of his eyes, and the deep parenthesis circling his mouth told that this was a father and son, not brothers.  His full lips drawn taunt began to curl at the corners.

Hanging his head, Marcus remained silent, eyes staring at the ground not knowing what to say.

“Disappointed with myself.”

He looked up, a question in his eyes.  “I don’t understand, Sir.” 

“You were right to take Cathy to the dance.  There will be many harvests but very few father-daughter dances.  You looked good dancing with your sister, not many brothers would have done that.  I am proud of you.”

“Proud, I thought..?”

“I know you did, but yes,” he grinned. “I am proud you showed so much strength, such good judgment.  You are a man now. You showed me that tonight.  And you did not crash the car.  I guess that means we will have to get one for you.”

Finally Marcus smiled.

“That does not mean there will be no punishment.”

“Yes sir.”  Marcus could not stop smiling.  Being called a man by his father was worth any punishment.

“Tomorrow, I expect you to wash the car and do a good job of it.”  The grin had been followed by a slap on the back.  “Let’s go inside.  It’s cold.”

Section 3

It was cold, but it was the waking that made him shiver.  He was alone.  He could hear it pacing above him, angrier than it had been before.  

“I did not cry.”  Marcus whispered to the rat that came to see if he was food.  Marcus swatted it away.  “I am not food yet.”

         The door closed above and Marcus wondered what the monster would do when it returned.  He’d never felt so dirty.  He hurt.  At least he had a blanket.  The last thing he remembered hearing was it telling Chernobog, the God it always spoke to, that it didn’t want his newest toy to die too soon.

“I won’t die too soon.”  Marcus looked at the rat sitting back on his haunches; whiskers twitching as his beady eyes looked over what he hoped would be a meal, one that would last for some time.

“I think we could both use some food.  I also think I have a better chance of eating you.”

The rat ran off, disappearing into some dark hole Marcus could not see.  Soon the darkness was complete.  Shifting uncomfortably on the hard ground he pulled himself up as far as the chains allowed.  He felt around, finally finding his clothes.  They were stiff with dried blood. Quietly he gathered what he guessed were loose floorboards and other pieces of rotting wood.  

“For a fire, maybe.”  Leaning against the wall, he used his clothes as a pillow and pulled the blanket close around him.  When he opened his eyes, it was there.

 “You slept.”  It seemed surprised.

Marcus remained silent.  Gregor stared into his eyes. “I have never had one like you.  You did not beg me to stop.  Would you have been so strong if had I taken you?”

Marcus let a small smile curl his lips.  The effect was what he had hoped it would be. 

Gregor turned away a growl escaping.  “That day will come, but I do not sleep with the dead.  I am your father now, but once I was Gregor Fideyvich. A very long time ago, I sat in my blood while my mother laughed. My father,” his voice fell, “he had my mother for some of his needs.  For others he had me.  He liked to cut.”   He looked at his blade like fingernails.  “He had enjoyed himself greatly.  I could not sleep.”  Behind the hatred, Marcus saw just a hint of what once must have been a boy betrayed by those who should have cared for him.  The look did not linger, and Marcus was not certain it had ever been there. “I brought you food.”

Against his will, Marcus reached out to take the offered sandwich, eating greedily.

“I do not want you to starve.  We may have months together.  I do not like sickly, skinny toys.”  He reached out, patting the strong biceps, the rings of muscles in his thighs.  Marcus forced himself to sit motionless.  

 “You are stronger than I expected.”  A canteen, filled with sweet, cold water was put in his hands.

“Won’t you speak to me, you must have questions?”

The silence stretched between them.  “I will wait.  I am patient.” 

Marcus finished; carefully placing the other half of the sandwich high in the wall, hoping it would be there when he needed it.

Fingers ran up his spine.  Once again the chains lay still.  There were many places to go. 


Sarah had looked across the classroom, head tilting.  She’d worn a teasing look.  Marcus remembered her ruby red lips smiling crookedly, dimpling in her full cheeks.  Her eyes had called to him, telling him to meet her outside.

She looked at the muscles straining against the shirt and he found himself making a fist.  Eyes dancing, he told her he would be there.

 “Class dismissed.”  The voice was almost as heavy as the woman herself.  

Sarah walked slowly and Marcus, moving quickly, was soon by her side. 

“I cannot take you home.  Your father does not like farmers.  I cannot afford the pretty things you wear.”  He boldly ran his hand across the ruffles decorating the bosom of her dress.  She giggled behind the hand she pressed against her lips.

“There is much you can give me, I think.”  Her hand crept up his arm as she turned to face to him. “Why don’t we walk to your house?”  

“There are blankets in the barn.  The hay is soft.  Will you come with me?”

“I’d go anywhere with you.”

Marcus did not know then that they were watched.  

The hay was soft.  Sarah lay, pulling him down with her.  The kiss was tender.  She pulled his shirt free, running her hands across the muscled lines of his chest, caressing his nipples.  His hands made their way under her skirt. Her fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt. 

“Sarah.”  It was a command.


“Get up, fix your dress and go home.  Your mother’s waiting.

Marcus stood buttoning his shirt, unwilling to meet the older mans eyes.

“Do you think a dirt poor farm boy is good enough for my daughter?”

Marcus lifted his head, more angry than ashamed.  “I, my family are good enough for anyone.”

He spit on the ground, sneering.  “Think pretty highly of yourself.  We’re going to your father.  When I get back to the bank tomorrow, I’m going to make sure his loans are up to date.”

Marcus’ jaw clenched.  “I do not believe you own the bank, Sir.  I’m not afraid.”

The slap did not land.

Marcus’ father was waiting by the door, which opened before he had a chance to knock.

 “Is there a problem?” The door closed slowly.  “Has my son done something wrong?”

“I…”  Three sets of stormy eyes told him to remain quiet.

“Your son was… well he was attacking my daughter.”

“I am sure,” the words were clipped, deliberately spoken, “he was not attacking her, that she was willing.”

“Father,” angry eyes turned to his son, who quickly looked away.  “He said he will be checking your loans at the bank tomorrow.”

“Did you really.”  Eyes narrowed and the square jaw set more squarely.  He turned to the man, whose face began to redden.

Sarah’s father, chin sinking into his chest, puffed up much like an overstuffed balloon. The smile died when he saw the look in the other man’s eyes.  “I did and they had better be in order.” 

A hand quickly shot out, grabbing the banker’s elbow.  Quietly, the door opened behind him. Marcus had not seen his mother, hands stiffly holding onto her apron, standing by the door. 

“Get out of my house.”  Unlike her husband’s stormy eyes, hers shot fire, her voice a quiet bellow. “If your daughter is anything like her father, I would say it is she who attacked my son.”

The door closed so loudly that Cathy came out of the kitchen where she had been helping with dinner.


“Cathy, there is more to do in the kitchen.  Come with me.”

Alone, Father looked to son.  “Did you attack her?”

 “No Sir, she was willing.  It was her idea.”  He couldn’t fight the grin.  “I was willing.”

“Don’t be too proud of yourself.  He could make trouble, but don’t worry too much.  Our finances are in order.  And,” he’d looked towards the kitchen, making sure his wife would not hear, “next time pick a more secluded spot.”


 “I am not willing.”  The words seemed to ring in the empty room.  Tucking his knees against his chest, Marcus pulled the blanket over his nakedness.  “My father did not raise a coward.”  He whispered to the monster that once again paced above him.  “I will always be dead to you.  You will not hear my words again.”  For nine years he remained silent.

Chapter 2

Next Section

he chains rattled on the floor, stretching as far as they could.  This room was far different from many of the others he’d slept in.  The debris strew interior gave him certain opportunities and the rock was heavy.  It was the execution that worried him.  

“I think,” he told the rat roasting on the fire, “I should do the right hand first.  It may still be strong enough to do the left.”  Smashing the rock down on his thumb was painful, but over the years he’d learned how not to feel.  The thumb broke.  Folding it into his palm, he was able to pull his hand out of the bracelet.

“Ah,” finally a little less jewelry.”  It was harder to grip the stone, but he was able to pick it up high enough to break the thumb of his left hand.  He was free.  Marcus rose stiffly.  They had been here a couple of weeks, so he knew they must be near a city.  Cities were good feeding grounds and Gregor had been leaving him alone more often.  He turned away, shame reddening his checks.  That he had prayed for Gregor’s success, prayed that he would be left alone, shamed him.  Grabbing the rat, he quickly ate the little meat to be found on its bones. He ran to where the bulkhead must once have been.  It did not take long to get past the old wooden door.  The air was fresher than he remembered. 

It had been a long time since he’d been outside in daylight.  He had to squint, to see the break in the tree line.

Barefoot, he ran across the woods ignoring the stones and brambles he stepped on.   There was a road, the pavement winding much like a snake.  In the distance he could see the beginnings of a cityscape and he began to run. 

 “You okay?”  The car pulled over to the side, a man leaning across the passenger seat.  

“I need to get to the city.”  The voice sounded strange to his ears.  He had not heard it in a long time.  It did not sound like the one he heard in his mind.  That voice was strong. He watched the man looking at his tattered clothes.  He’d grown out of them some time ago.  Gregor had not felt the need to replace them.  

“You really look like you could use a ride, a bath too.  Doors unlocked, hop in.”

It was a momentary hesitation, but the night was coming and the air was growing cold.  The car was warm.

“Where you taking me?”

“First to my house.  It’s right outside the city.  You can borrow my son’s clothes,” he chuckled,  “that is after you shower.  Then I’ll take you to the hospital.  Does that sound good?”

“Sounds very good.”

 “Something wrong with your voice?  Have a cold or something?”

“No, just thirsty.”

“Water bottles in the console.  Help yourself.”  


Once again the man smiled. “There.”

Marcus took the water bottle, forcing himself to drink slowly.  He watched the man watching him, trying to look into his eyes.  They caught for a moment and Marcus did not like what he saw, but the miles were passing.

It was a small bungalow, well maintained.  It looked more welcoming than the man opening the door.  “By the way, I’m Howard Graves

“Marcus.”  He frowned; trying to remember his surname but that was all that came to mind.

“Follow me.”  He threw some clothes on the bed, and pointed to the bath.  “Soap, shampoo, towels, everything you need is in there.”

Marcus examined the shower.  Finally Howard pushed him aside, turning on the water.  He tried to hide his impatience, walking briskly away.

The water was warm, so were the arms encircling his waist.   “A little skinny, but still a good looking boy.”

Marcus turned and all color drained from the man’s face. “I am not a boy.”

It was then Howard noticed the scars from years of wearing chains, the broken thumbs and he smiled.  “I’m pretty sure I can take you.”

 “You can’t.”  The kick was not strong, too many missed meals, too little exercise, but surprise gave him an advantage.  Marcus pushed him out of the shower.  Drying himself as quickly as his mangled hands could, he dressed in the clothes left on the bed.  The kitchen was well stocked, he ate what he could and took what he could carry.

Gregor was waiting just outside the door.  “Did you think I would not find you?”

Food fell from Marcus’ hands.

“I must say you look better.  I should have let you wash a while ago.  The clothes, you don’t need them.  I think,” he grinned and Marcus shivered.  “You will be less willing to run without them.  I see you have found out that I am not the only monster.  And what have you done to the owner of the house?”

Howard Graves stumbled out the door, a trickle of blood smeared across his forehead.  “I’ll

Looking up, he saw Gregor and whatever he was going to say curdled in his mouth.

Gregor smiled and the man ran back inside.  He looked at Marcus.  “You were marinating him for me.  Get in the car.  Don’t run.  It is too late for that.  You know this.”

The doors were jammed into their frames.  They would not open.  Marcus heard the man’s screams, ashamed of himself when he realized he was not unhappy.


The secretary had called his dad, face beaming.  Marcus had listened to the one sided conversation, he’d heard the pride in her voice, pride he did not deserve.

He’d shifted, uncomfortable in the seat, waiting, knowing he would not lie to his father.  

He did not have long to wait.  

“Congratulations, Mr. Rollins. Good boy you raised there.”  They shook hands. Marcus hung his head.  “I think he would have had a long hospital stay if your son hadn’t stopped those boys.”

“He’s a good boy.”  He looked at his son, suddenly frowning.  “Ready to go home?”

“Yes sir.”

They sat in the car a few minutes before he turned to his son.  “So why don’t you tell me what really happened.  Principal Tanner told me you saw those boys picking on Bobby, tried to stop them, punched the bigger one.  I can see he hit back.  Gonna have a nice big shiner by tomorrow.  You got Bobby to the nurse, half carrying him.

“I believe that, but I can tell you have something else to say.  Let’s hear it before we get home.”

 “I’m sorry dad.  I really am.  I didn’t mean for him to get hurt like that.”  He looked into his father’s questioning eyes.  “Bobby, I told you about him once.  He’s the kid who says stupid farm boys don’t belong in school.  I came out of class and those kids were having at him.  I just sorta shrugged.  I heard him call out, asked me to help and I started to walk away.  I’m not sure why I turned around but by then he was a mess.  That’s when I stopped it. I thought he deserved a beating, but not like that. I’m not proud of what I did.”

“Shouldn’t be.  Cowardly thing to do, to just walk away, but I’m glad you went back.”  Marcus had opened his mouth to speak but a wave of his father’s hand told him to keep quiet.  “I don’t care what that boy called you.  That sin is on his heart. It’s what you do that matters.  It won’t be the first time you’ll be hurt.  There are lots of mean people, but what you don’t know is where they come from.   Bobby’s father is a drunk, works sometimes, not much. Kids just trying to prove he’s better than someone.  I’m not saying you should just sit there and take a beating, by words or fists, just don’t be the one watching the execution, cheering the executioner on. Sometimes a little kindness works better that a fist.  If that doesn’t work, then take care of yourself.  However, there’s no sin in not knowing what to do.  We spend our whole lives learning that.  You told me the truth.  We’ll tell your ma and that will be that.” 


Marcus, waiting in the car, forced a blank look on his face.  The night grew quiet.  

With little effort it tore the door off, dropping it onto the driveway. 

“Come out.” Climbing out of the car, Marcus turned to face Gregor. He found himself looking into eyes that had never looked so angry. It had been a small victory and he couldn’t stop from wondering what price he would pay.  Still, it was a victory and Marcus held onto that thought.

 “You wasted my night.  I’ve had no time to hunt.”  It grinned.  “I have been hunting you.  You did not get far.  You will pay.”

The blow, not unexpected, snapped his jaw shut.  He felt the journey, held tightly in unyielding arms.  The miles passed too quickly.

Once again looking into those angry eyes, Marcus thought it might be for the last last time.  

It was the third kick that brought him to his knees.  The world began to grow quiet, darkness slowly blocking out the morning light.  Cutting through the fog that was consuming him, Marcus heard it howl.   

He woke to bright sunlight and a man’s kindly face looking down at him.  

“I’m Dr. Leonard Abram.  I’m going to fix you up.”


“I’ll do what I can.  First I’m setting that broken leg of yours.”  He frowned, looking down at the misshapen thumbs.  “I’ll wrap them too.  It’ll hurt, getting them straight, I mean. First I have to re-break them.  I’ll strap up the ribs, I think you have at least two broken ones.

 “How did you…” speaking hurt, so he turned away.

“Your father came to me this morning.  Said his son got beat up by some gang and he was afraid to move you.  Said he’d pay me whatever it cost to fix you up enough to get you to the hospital.”

 “Can’t.  He’s not my father.”

“I know.”  He pointedly looked to the chains barely hidden on the floor.  “Backs cut up.  Looks like it’s been hurt a lot.”


“Do you know how many?”

Marcus struggled with the sleeve of his shirt, pulling it up over the bruises covering his right arm. The lines were jagged but straighter than the other wounds.  “One each year.”

“Jesus, there’s got to be at least five of them?  How old were you when he took you?”  There were tears in his eyes as he bound the wounds, set the leg.  

“One week before my fifteenth birthday.  Getting a dog, I think.”  He quickly swallowed his tears.  “Don’t cry, not ever.”

“Let me help you turn over, I’ll take a look at that back.”

 “No.  Sun’s going down.  You gotta go.  He gets up at night.  He will kill you.”

“I’ll help you, we can walk to town together.  I know a shortcut.  I used to hunt here with my dad.”

“I’ll go too slow.”  With every ounce of strength he could gather, Marcus grabbed the doctor’s arm.  “You must go.  He will kill you.  It won’t get any better for me.  You got anything for pain, leave it and run.”

The look on his face told the doctor he had to run.  A bottle of painkillers was put in Marcus’ hand and the doctor hurried out the door.  

Marcus could only hope the man made it into the light.  He had kind eyes, eyes that made him feel it was worth living; there were people he could save.  He hid the pills under the bandages hoping Gregor, who hardly ever looked at him, wouldn’t notice.  His last escape had brought about the beating.  He could still hear Gregor’s rage when he realized he’d almost killed him.  Marcus wouldn’t have minded, until he heard his words.

“I didn’t break you.  Can’t let you die.  But…” the growl filled the room, “then I would then be free to replace you.  Perhaps a younger, no I need another strong like you.  The Gods will accept no other.”

His teeth ground together and wordlessly Marcus determined that there would be no others.

He would live.  He would be strong enough to hold back his cries.  He had not seen a future beyond watching Gregor die and now, after seeing the kindness in the Doctor’s eyes, he knew there were others, other reasons to live. 

It seemed to be only minutes after the doctor left, when Gregor joined him.  

“We’re going.  I know you can’t walk.”  His grin was mirthless.  “I will carry you.”

Marcus lay still in his arms, pain pills held tightly against his chest. Gregor’s feet pounded out a rhythm and Marcus found himself back in school.


 “Today I’m going to teach you how to dance.”  The gym teacher had called to them over the music.

He remembered the girls lining up against the wall, beginning to giggle.  The boys, facing them, were grimacing.  Marcus had smiled, once again looking at the banker’s daughter.  She had switched places so that she stood opposite him; a blush crept up her cheeks.

“She still digs you?” Hatchet tugged at Marcus’ arm.  “You get anywhere with her?”

“Yes she still digs me.” Marcus tried not to laugh, “but her father seems to be everywhere and that shit head, Roland, reports everything to him, even my helping her when she dropped her books.”

His grin grew, “though she did drop them on purpose.  It’s not gonna work though.  He was right.  I really don’t have anything to give her.”

 “I think she wouldn’t mind at least one night in your bed.”

“I think she deserves more.  I know her father’s an ass, always acting like he owns the world.  He does own quite a bit of the town but she’s a good person, not like him.  Must be like her mother.  Sarah collects money for the shelter, spends afternoons cooking for those living there.  She’s kind to them and she means it too.  I like her.  All I could give her is that one night.  So I guess I’m just gonna have to keep dreaming.”

“I do more than dream.”

“Please tell me no more.  That’s a picture I don’t want to see.  Look likes your gonna dance with Laura.”

“She’d be okay if she just shut her mouth once in a while.  Big white teeth always sticking out.”

 “Least she has teeth.  Look at Roberta, just got five left.”

“That’s her old man’s fault.  You see Bobby, got the shit kicked out of him when he stopped his old man.  I heard the old man was after Roberta, you know what I mean.  Bobby’s a weird kid, but he takes care of her and his ma.”

Marcus turned away, his voice a guilty whisper.  “Last year, I let the Hanratty boys beat the shit out of him.  Felt bad about it ever since.”

“At least you stopped them before they killed him.”

“Should have….”

“Everyone move forward.  Put your hand on your partner’s waist like this.”

“We could go across town, to the old mill.”  Sarah whispered as soon as she was in his arms.

“I think you deserve better than me.”

“No one’s better than you.  I want you.”

Marcus fought not to blush.  Her words affected him more than she realized.  “Let’s wait a bit.  Finish High School. Then I’ll walk right up to your old man and tell him you’re mine.”

“That’s an awfully long time to wait.  And what if I go to college, what about you?”

“I don’t want to be a farmer.  I’m gonna improve my grades.  Maybe I’ll get a scholarship.  I’m good with numbers, like science.  But even if I don’t, I can support us, owning the farm.”

 “I don’t want to wait.”

“You’re worth the wait.  It’s worth the wait and if we still feel the same, I’ll find you.”

Teary eyed, she agreed, but he’d seen that she was already searching the faces of the other boys, looking for the ones who wanted to be with the banker’s daughter, and his shoulders had slumped.


It was Gregor’s shoulders he lay against and the bile rose in his throat.  It burned, but Marcus was good at ignoring discomfort.  He knew he weighed far less than a man his age.  He was careful not to eat all the meager supply of food Gregor brought him.  After a while he didn’t notice the gnawing hunger.

Gregor, sensing he was awake, stepped away from him, carefully chaining him to the wall.  “I’ll be back.  I may be gone awhile.  There is food and water.”

With those few words he was gone.  The chains slipped from his slight form.  Marcus knew where Gregor would go.  The path was obvious, even in the dark.  

The camper was the only light in an otherwise empty night.  The family was noisy, having fun. There was a child’s laughter and a baby’s cry.  The father, playing the guitar began to sing and the baby stopped crying.  Marcus could see the little girl beginning to dance and a pain blossomed in his chest.  It was familiar, the scene, but he did not know why.  He saw Gregor silently stalking, circling behind the camper where it was dark.  Soon mother and child would be within reach.

It was the girl’s eye Marcus caught.  His grey eyes glowed in the moonlight.  

Looking over her shoulder, she could see her family, no one looking her way. Slowly she began to back away.

 “Please, I won’t hurt you.”  Marcus held his hands before him.  

“Don’t come any closer.” Her voice shook. 

She was close enough to hear him. 

 “You must get into the camper, get your family safe.  He is coming. Light all the lights.  Hide in the brightness.”

Shivering, she ran to her father, and began to scream.

“There’s a man in the woods.  He said to light all the lights.”  She pulled the spotlight from where it hung on the awning, swinging it towards her mother.

Marcus roared, running towards Gregor as he reached out to the baby.  The tackle pushed Gregor away. The light came towards them and it screamed.  Its attention was drawn from the family who ran into the camper, staying within the glow of the light the little girl held firmly in her hands.


“Get inside.  Stay with your mother.  I’ll be there in a minute.”  He grabbed the baseball bat that had been leaning against the camper, turning back to where the two men struggled.  “I’ll help.”

“You can’t.  Go to your family.  You must get them to safety.  I can only hold him so long.  Keep to the light.”

For a moment there was silence.  Then the camper, still brightly lit, roared.  It sprang forward leaving a trail of family treasures behind and Marcus was once again alone with the monster.  Clamping his jaw shut; he turned away, heading back to where he had come.  

Gregor followed.

 “I do not want you with me.  I am tired of your silence. You grow ugly.  Do not think I don’t know that you haven’t been eating.”

Marcus felt the hand caress his face, ignoring this as he ignored everything else.

 “I have a place for you.  You will like it.  There is a farm.  There are plenty of boys for you to play with.”  The grin was unanswered and it quickly faded.  “Their Master owes me.  You will work in the field and have plenty of food.  He will not touch you.  When you are healthy again, I will come for you.  Do not think to run; you know you can’t run fast enough.  Shall I carry you?”

Marcus stood.  Putting the choker chain around his neck, he waited for Gregor to grab the leash.  

Gregor looked down at the chain, frowning. Once again he looked at the face staring back at him with the usual blank expression.  “I would think you have given up, that I have finally broken you but I can see that you still have spirit, that you have your victories and I have won nothing.  I must consider what I should do.  I’ll have time while you are away.”

Marcus turned, hiding his smile.  “This will be a mistake.”

Chapter 3


The farm was beautiful, with rich fragrant earth and rows of vegetables, large and ripe.  Marcus found his stomach yearning for one of the tomatoes.  He could smell its tender meat.  The peppers were ready for picking, their spicy fragrance made his mouth water.  It would be impossible to starve here.  

The boys were well fed.  Dark brown, half naked bodies worked the land.  Marcus watched as the older ones showed the youngsters what to do.  There were no happy faces.  The young looked scared, the old tired and resigned.  

A man approached, noting that Marcus stood alone, but did not try to run.

“Your father came to me last night.  I have been given your services for a few weeks.  He said you were once a farmer and would need little training.  I hope that’s true.”

He waited, eyeing Marcus appraisingly. “Don’t know what he sees in you?”

Marcus pushed his jaw out stubbornly.

A bark escaped him.  “Well since it is not your good looks, it must be that look you just gave me.  Do you want to know what we do here?”

Marcus stood hands casually resting on his hips.  The man noticed the boys watching, the guards also staring. 

 “Get them back to work.”  The snap of whips, shouts followed.  “He also said you don’t talk much.  I didn’t think he meant not at all.  Well,” one hand cupped his overflowing chin.  Large jowls swung with every turn of his head.  His dark brown eyes looked through Marcus, trying to read what was hidden in those eyes.  Finally he turned away, long brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail, nearly whipping Marcus’ forehead.  

Looking around, he made sure everyone was working.  “I’ll tell you this, your father”—he nearly spat out the word—“is a sick prick. I do not beat my slaves.”  The sound of a crackling whip told Marcus he was lying.    “I’m a businessman. I like my girls.”  The pout made his overlarge wet lips grow larger, saliva gathering in the corners.  “I got to keep the prettiest ones pure, such a shame.  The ugly ones go to the men.” He watched Marcus trying to read his reaction.  “Grade B meat, well they are for sport.”  

Marcus did not move.

“No wonder he sent you here.  At least my slaves are alive.” 

  He stretched out his hand as if to strike him, but Marcus only looked into his eyes.  “Not worth it. I am not supposed to touch you, the payment is to be good and I expect the work to be better.  You will live there.”

The bunkhouse was larger than expected. Marcus could see beds stacked high behind large windows.

 “If you ever talk to me, you will address me as Master.”  

Marcus remained silent.

Soft chuckles could be heard and, unable to disguise his anger, the Master turned to see if the boys were working. Once again the field grew quiet, only the soft sound of shifting soil could be heard.  

“Jason, take our new charge to the bunkhouse.  Show Marcus where to get cleaned up and give him some fresh clothes.  He stinks.”

A young man, tall and well built, muscles bulging in deeply tanned arms, ran over.  Hair grew on a square chin, sitting below prominent check bones.  His dark blue eyes seemed to look inside him, and Marcus found himself looking away.  Without speaking, he nodded for Marcus to follow.

When they were almost to the building he paused. He looked him over, frowning.  “You’re too old.  I’m seventeen next week and then the Master will send me home.”  He grinned. It was a shroud.  “We say that so we don’t scare the younger kids, but we older guys know when he says we get to go home, he means home as in the dirt we came from.  One kid goes another comes.  But you, you’re a man.”

Marcus chuffed.  “Not much of one, but yes.”  He looked at the wounds on his forearm, counting. “I am twenty one if I haven’t skipped any years.  I count them by the harvest moon.” 

 “What the hell are you doing here?”

 “My monster”—he spat out the word—“wants me to get healthy.  That is so he can very slowly make me sick again.”


“He is not here.”  He looked around.  The place was surprisingly clean.  “What does this place do?” 

“With us?”

Marcus nodded.  

“Besides sapping the life out of us,” Jason glanced around making sure no one was listening. The hatred on his face was scalding.  “It’s a working farm.  He sells the food to the poor, I think.  The produce is cheap.”  He snorted. “Well the labor is free.  He collects runaways like me, kids looking for a better world. This is what I got.”

“Your Master, what does he do with the girls?”

 “He sells them, at least some of them, the pretty ones.  I don’t know what he does to them while they’re here. We know what he does to the girls that aren’t so pretty. The ones sent to the men’s barracks,” he turned away.  “We can hear them.” 

“Are they young?”

“Yeah and just like us, when they get too old they go home.”

 “Where are they kept?”

“On the other side of the guards barracks.  You can’t see their bunkhouse from here. Some of them get taken to the big house. I know what he does to them, but sometimes….” His voice died.

 “Sometimes”—Marcus continued for him—“he takes the boys.” He looked up to the wood beam ceiling.  “All monsters do.  It is power.   We must be made powerless.  This I have learned, but we are not powerless, there are things they cannot touch.”

For the first time since Marcus arrived, Jason smiled.  “Think I’m gonna be glad you came.”

“Yeah, me too.  I’m hungry.”

 “Eat later.”  Jason pointed to a cot.  “That’s your bed.  Kid went home just the other day.  Don’t worry about it though.  Everything’s fresh.   Seems the bedding goes home too.”  He turned to the room’s only closet.  “Here are your clothes.  Pretty aren’t they?”

Marcus looked at the dark blue jeans, heavy grey tee shirt.  He sniffed them.  “They smell better than I do.”

“Won’t stay that way.  You get clean ones every week.  Master’s got a thing about diseases. He pointed to a small room.  “Over there, behind the sink there’s a shower.  And believe me you should take your time.”

“I haven’t been able to wash in a very long time.”

 “I can tell.”

Marcus, walking to the sink, splashed water over his neck, face filled with pleasure.  

“You know you gotta take a shower.”

“Couldn’t wait.”  

Jason shook his head.  “That face you’re making makes me appreciate what we have.”

Marcus pointedly looked at the only bunk besides his own that seemed freshly dressed.

Jason nodded.  “We should be getting at least one other Newbie. Master likes to keep the work force full.”


“Newbies are what we call each other when we get here.  If you make it past the first few days we use first names.  Easier to say goodbye that way.”  His face grew dark.  “A lot of the new ones don’t make it past the first night. “  Once again he turned away.  “Newbies always spend their first night at the big house. We all hate seeing a new kid arrive.  Over there,” he pointed to the bunkhouse sitting beside the field. “That’s where the guards sleep.  They don’t touch us, other than a beating or two.  You’re not allowed to rest unless you’re told to.  They give us water when it’s hot. Otherwise you work until they tell you to stop.  They don’t like it if you trip or fall.  If you get sick, well as you can probably guess, you go home. There’s supposed to be a bone yard out behind the big house, but I really don’t know if it’s true. I’ve never seen it.  You only get to see it once.”

“The kid that taught me, before he went home, used to tell scary stories, always talking about the bone yard.  Said it was haunted.  Guess it could be. Terrified the younger kids.  Used to piss me off.”  He turned away, eyes drifting to the ceiling.  “Gonna find out soon enough.  Now me, I don’t tell stories.  There’s enough things to be scared of here, don’t need to add to it and they don’t need to know.  Course we all figure it out.”

“You are the leader?”

“Kind of.  The oldest kids help the younger ones work.  We help the Newbies adjust.  I’m the oldest of the old.  Unofficial leader.”

“You”—Marcus smiled—“are not an older kid.  You are a man.  A good man.”

Quiet descended and Jason seemed unable to frame a response, finally saying, “I try.”

“The big house,” Marcus couldn’t help but stare at the over elaborate southern colonial, it’s large carved columns standing tall.  A portico shaded the front steps, its beauty broken by the guard.  Above the door was an arched window and Marcus was sure he saw eyes staring at the fields below.  “It is pretty, but I see it is also ugly.”

“Very poetic.”

Marcus looked to see if he was being teased.  “I haven’t spoken to anyone in a long time, I…”

“Hey, it’s okay.  I liked it.  How long has it been?  Your voice does sound a bit rusty.”

“Six years.  I think I can still do the math, but I wouldn’t”—he grinned—“bet the farm on it.”

When Jason stopped laughing he continued the tour.  “Like I said you can’t see the girl’s bunkhouse, but sometimes, at night you can hear their cries.  Place used to be a plantation.  I bet there was always misery here. Maybe it really is haunted.  Well the tour is over. Welcome to hell.”


“Should I go to the field?”

 “Not today.  He’ll want you clean.  You’re a Newbie, tonight’s your big night.”

“No.  Not me.”  Marcus smiled and Jason shivered.  “My Father, that is what he calls himself, does not play well with others.  He will not share.  He wants to fatten up his toy.  That is all. But his time is almost done.”  He once again turned away.  “I am going to get strong.”

 “Jason.”  The voice was cruel.  “Get back out now.”

 “You got what you need.  See you at chow time.”

The boys returned to the barracks, followed by steaming plates of hot food.  Mashed potatoes, grilled chicken, broccoli and hot buns with real butter, was laid on the table. No one spoke and Marcus looked from face to face, surprised by the quiet.

Finally Jason began speaking.  “This is Marcus.  I can introduce him because he is a guest and will only stay here until he is fat.”

This was greeted by a few chuckles.  He turned to Marcus.  “As I told you we don’t use last names here.”

“That is good.”  Marcus stared at his already empty plate.  “I do not remember mine.”

“We don’t explain how we got here either, well most of us don’t.  I know a few stories.” Jason walked over to a large floorboard, removing it.  “All our names are listed here.  You can add yours if you’d like. We hope someday someone will find it and they’ll know, I mean our parents will know that we were here.  These monsters can’t live forever.”

Marcus swallowed the comment that almost fell from his lips, ‘Some can.’  They did not need to hear that.

Two of the older boys holding plastic knives, were waving them at each other.

To the questioning look on Marcus’ face, Jason explained.  “They’ll be going home not long after me.  Keep thinking they’ll fight their way out.”

“We might if we can use both hands.”  He pushed his dark unruly hair out of his eyes, glaring at Jason.  “At least we’re gonna try.”  He turned to Marcus.  “They always come in pairs.  If I had real knives, not these stupid things, maybe I could get them both.”

“May I see the knives?”

“Sure,” he threw them over.  “I’ll get another set tomorrow.”

Hard labor meant tired boys.  Marcus waited until they were sleeping.  He did not have long to wait. In the half-light he rose, a knife in each hand.  On the fifth attempt he was able to throw with both hands. 

“You could do it, I think, with more practice.” Jason fought back a chuckle when Marcus jumped.

 “Not at the same time.  I would not be fast enough to stop the second guard.”

 “You’d better get some sleep. You’re working tomorrow.” 

Morning came quickly and Marcus found the farming exhilarating, using muscles he had not used in years.  He worked hard, remembering the biceps his Father showed him.  The week passed faster than many of the past years.  His back felt broader, the shirt straining.  The chains placed around a fifteen year olds wrists would no longer hold him.

The days grew warm, the nights warmer.  Each night, Marcus practiced.  Sometimes hearing Jason’s quiet cheers as he improved. 

 “You got it.”  Jason patted him on the back.  “Funny how you cross them.”

“It seems I must throw them that way.  It is the only way I can control them.”

 “You threw that last one hard enough to make a mark on the wall.  If it was a real knife…”

“But it’s not.  I do not believe they will give us real knives.  It has been for nothing, this practice.”

“Not for nothing.  I think you will have a use for this skill, maybe with your monster.”

A small smile crossed Marcus’ face.  “I hope you are right.  We have talked long enough.  We’ll be tired tomorrow.”

They had just fallen asleep when the labored sound of breathing woke them.  A newbie, cold, wet and gasping for breath was being led to the empty bunk.  His eyes were full of terror and once again it was Jason who welcomed him.

The boy continued to wheeze, even as he fell to sleep.

“I don’t know why they took him.  One night in the Master’s bed will kill him.  Hell, he won’t last a week in the field.  He’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“We cannot let him die.”  Marcus looked at Jason, who only shrugged.

“What can we do?  Couldn’t even protect myself.”

“You were young.”

“Not that young.”

“I was fifteen.  I thought as you do.” Marcus saw the shame in the other man’s eyes.  “It is not the age.  He was, is very strong.  When I escaped, he’d bring me back.  But I saved others.  It is not enough but it’s what I hold onto, what keeps me human.”

Jason looked into Marcus’ stormy grey eyes, his changing.  “If he makes it through the night, I’ll do what I can.”

“What you will feel when Newbie lives is worth fighting for.”

 Jason leaned over, listening more closely to the boy’s wheezes.  “I don’t think he’ll be called tonight, not tomorrow night either, sickly as he is. In the fields, when they’re not watching, I’ll do his work. I have nothing to lose.  Almost seventeen.”

“I can do that too.  We’ll stay at his side.”  

Newbie surprised them all.  Between wheezes he worked hard.  His small frame was not as weak as they expected.

Each night they waited but Newbie was not taken to the big house.  Exhausted, he slept as soon as he lay on the cot, wheezes slowly fading away.  

A hand tentatively poked Marcus’ shoulder.  Instantly awake, he turned to see Newbie standing by his bed.

“The boy”—he looked at the now empty bunk, his pale face, almost white in the dark as he sucked the air—“he was taken to the big house.  I heard he went in my place.”  He hung his head.  “The Master… I don’t want to say it.  Makes it too real.”

“Yes, it is what you think.”  Newbie’s already pale face, lost its remaining color.  “It was not you, your choice.  It was the Masters.  He is the only one to blame.” 

“You don’t have to help me. I’m stronger than I look.” He looked away, but Marcus could see the wounded pride he was trying to hide.  “Kids always teased me.”  He looked at Marcus’ muscles, pouting.  “You wouldn’t understand.  Can’t breathe real well but I can do the work.”

 “Actually,” Marcus smiled.  “I think I do understand the teasing.  Poor farm boy.  Last picked for the baseball team.  Who wants to hang out with the poor kid?  Couldn’t afford a uniform.”

“At least you could beat em up for it.”

“No way.  Get my ass kicked.  Dad had a strong sense of what’s right and wrong.”  He looked away for a moment, voice sinking with his heart.  “Saw him die.”


“Long time ago now.  Jason and I, we just thought.  We were wrong.  Signal one of us if you need help, we all do sometimes.  If I see you fall I’ll help.  The lash really hurts and the guards, well, they like to use them. That okay with you?”

 “Okay.  They don’t whip you.”

 “I am a paying guest.”  The boy seemed confused.

 “My time here is short.  They are fattening me up.”  The grin he wore was wicked.  “Perhaps they have not realized that they are also making me stronger.  I am…”

“Dangerous.”  The boy supplied the word.

“Not to you.”

“I’d better get to sleep.  I’m gonna be working harder now.”

Marcus buried his head in the cot, once again wondering what it felt like to have a pillow.  “I think you should know. I think someday you will understand.  Helping you, it helps us too.”

Morning always came too quickly, and Marcus was loath to leave the dream, though he was not sure who he had been dreaming about.

Summer was coming.  It wasn’t yet noon and already the temperature was over eighty.  Sweat poured down Marcus’ chest.  Glancing around, he could see the heat was taking a toll on all the boys.  Newbie was wheezing.  He saw the whip, and moved quickly to Newbie’s side.

“Get working.”  It snapped, but landed on the wrong back and Marcus turned, growling.

The guard backed up as the foreman came running over.  “There’ll be hell to pay, if he gets hurt.  Leave him alone.”

 “I wasn’t trying to hit him.  Wheezy here was going a bit too slow.”

“Whipping him won’t make him go faster.”  Marcus growled.  “We need water.”

Looking surprised, the foreman turned to Marcus. “Fuck this.  Don’t talk to anyone for a month, and now you start by complaining.”  

He grabbed the whip.  It crackled as he sent the sharp edge towards Marcus.  Catching it, Marcus pulled it from the man’s hands. 

Quickly heading over from the big house, the Master stopped in front of the foreman, back turned to the boys.

“What’s gonna happen now?”  A boy whispered.

“I don’t know, don’t talk.”  Jason picked up his spade.

“What do you think he’ll do to us?”

 “Whatever it is, will only be made worse if we don’t get back to work, even worse if he hears us talking.  We can’t help Marcus.”

“Newbie, it’s not your fault.”  He looked at the boy still wheezing.  “Marcus knows what happens around here.  It won’t help him if you get yourself whipped now.”

Soon the sounds of spades once again digging in the dirt could be heard.  From the corner of his eye, Marcus could see them watching.  The air was heavy with fear and Marcus could also feel their growing anger.  

“I believe you lashed our”—he practically spat out the word—“guest.”   The Master stood looking down at his foreman, but Marcus saw that he was also being watched. 

“Was going to hit Wheezy, he stepped in the way, protecting him.” 

“Am I to understand that you were protecting this boy?”  He turned to Marcus.

“You understand nothing.”

“It speaks.”

Marcus turned away, hiding his smile.  “I was not protecting the boy.   I was coming over to ask for water.”  The lie fell easily from his lips.  “Don’t you usually give us water when it’s this hot.”

He could hear the gasps behind him.

“No one talks to the Master like that.” 

“Shit. He’s asking for a world of trouble.”

“I don’t think he cares.”

Finally Jason’s voice could be heard.  “Let’s try to at least look like we’re working.”

Marcus ignored the voices behind him, continuing to address the Master, daring the foreman to disagree.  “Who will harvest your crops if we die of thirst.” 

Squaring his shoulders, Marcus looked down at the foreman, a dangerous look in his eyes.

 “Little boss man was going to use that on me.  I couldn’t let him, so I took it.” He stepped out of the field, holding out the whip, handing it back.

He held up his hand, the palm bleeding.  “This may go unnoticed, but lash marks on my back would not.  My father would not like that.” He raised one eyebrow.  “I am to be made pretty again.”

“Interesting that you talk to me.”

“You are not my Master.”  

Cold eyes grew colder.  “Here, I am.”

“We really could use some water.”  Marcus turned back to the field, picking up his spade. 

Only the scratching earth could be heard as Marcus and the others began tilling the soil. 

The Master’s voice cut through the quiet and once again the work stopped.  Only Marcus continued working.  

“From what I saw, our guest told the truth.   Where is the water?”  He paused, but there was no reply.  

A flick of his finger and two of the largest men Marcus had ever seen walked over. “I think I need a new guard and a new foreman.  Take them.”  He turned back to the boys.  “I have plenty of guards so don’t get any dangerous ideas. I will have water for you.  Take your fill but work all the harder or you will all be punished.”

He turned to Marcus.  “Your palm, I will tend to it.” 

 “You do not tend to theirs.” 

“Do not think your father gives you protection from such insolence.  I will…”

Marcus boldly interrupted.  “But it does.  You do not want to see the full extent of what he can do.  I have, it is not pretty.”

“Why don’t you escape?”

“Because I cannot get away.”  He turned his back to the man, who, watching, noticed the many scars the shirt had hidden.

The field was filled with the foreman’s cries, eerily floating over from where he had been taken.  The boys were quiet, though there were a few smiles and a whispered, “Got what he deserved,” carried across the field.

Newbie’s wheezes finally quieted.  Afraid to say anything directly, each boy drank the water, giving Marcus a nod of thanks.

“It is not needed.”

Newbie, waiting until the guards were busy drinking, walked over.  “You deserve the credit.”

There were more nods as the boys began to work. 

Heading to the table, the unremarkable meal was treated like a feast, the usual quiet broken by many voices.

“Weren’t you scared?”  Marcus looked down the table, it was asked by an older boy. One who would soon take Jason’s place.

“I was told once, that fear tells you to be careful, to run from danger, but if you cannot get away, fear turns to anger.  Anger so you can fight if you have to.  I have not been able to get away for a long time.  No, I am no longer afraid.”

  Marcus looked from face to face and saw the change his defiance had brought about.  They, a group of boys with only their bondage in common were now brothers.  It would not be easy to take any more from them.  Even Newbie, who had yet to tell them his name, was talking.  No one laughed when his breath whistled.

That night the guards came for him.

 Jason looked at Marcus who was also awake.  “We’ll be burying him tomorrow.”

“No.”  Marcus shook his head, taking off his nightshirt.  “I will offer myself.  Off limits I may be, but he will want me all the more.  I have learned much about these things.”

“You think he’ll want you now, even after today?”

“Especially after today.”  

 “You’d do that?”  He looked over to the house, the bedroom windows brightly lit.

 “It’s time to end this.  You do not realize how strong you are, how complacent are the guards.”  Marcus looked over to their bunkhouse.  “There are no lights, no one paces by our home.”  He snorted.  “The others will fight if you will.  When Newbie returns, take some to the guardhouse.  The spade will keep the doors from opening.  Others should go to the look out towers.  I am sure they will find the men sleeping.  I would also send some to the girl’s camp.  I think those with clear minds will help.  Bring them back here and prepare to run.  Food trucks come often so the town cannot be far.  If no one follows you, it shouldn’t take too long.  Go to a hospital.  Find a man with kind eyes.  Look deeply into the eyes.  You have looked into the eyes of these men; you’ll recognize the monster.  If anyone remembers their phone number, call.  Help will come.  I’ll handle the Master.”  He spread the lotion used to keep hands and feet free of open sores over his broad chest.  “I am pretty, am I not?”

“Not to me but yeah, to him you’ll be irresistible.”

Marcus rushed to the door.  “Wake them now.”

The manor was dark except for the upstairs room.  Marcus could hear wheezing.  The guard was listening to the boy, not watching the door and one punch sent him sprawling. 

Barging into the bedroom, its lavish proportions and garish colors nearly blinded him.  Marcus thought of Sarah, and cocked his head to one side.  “Don’t you want me?”  It was a seductive voice, not one to be ignored.  “I have been here a long time, I’ve been waiting for your call.”  He smiled Sarah’s smile.  “Gregor taught me well.”  

“Your Father told me not to touch you.”

“How would he know?”  Another of Sarah’s smiles and he took one step forward.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I prepared.”

Newbie was pushed to the floor, his clothes tangled but still worn.  He did not need to be told.  Before the Master could rise he was running from the room.


Marcus walked to the bed, the smile changing.  Too late the Master called for help.  There was no one coming.  

“I want Gregor to find you.  He will be most unhappy that you called for me.”

He could not escape the ties Marcus used to secure him to the bed.

Angry noises greeted Marcus when he walked into the yard.  One of the boys had set fire to the barracks and the guards were screaming unable to open the blocked doors.  Girls were running over, some yelling war cries, others carrying those who could not walk. 

“Leave the big house.  There is another fate waiting for him.”  They listened.  Marcus sat in the drive.  “I have to wait for my father.  He is coming.”

“Come on,” Jason tried to pull him up.  “Let’s go. I, we don’t want to leave you.”

 “He will find me. He cannot do so when I’m with you, he’ll kill you all.  Believe me, I know.  Run now. He will be busy”—he looked over his shoulder to where the Master lay—“for a while. ”

Jason turned, his face burning and began to run.  The others followed.

Marcus was grateful he could no longer hear their footsteps when Gregor arrived.  Standing before Marcus, he quietly waited.  The barracks, still burning, were quiet.

Marcus looked at his naked chest an evil grin crossing his face. He turned to the big house then hung his head. 

 “Did he touch you?”

Marcus did not reply 

“And that wonderful aroma?”  Gregor looked up to the barracks.  “The boys must have had enough. They are gone.  I would say that it is too bad, but I have a more pressing appointment.”  He looked down at Marcus, who stared boldly back.  “You are not afraid?”  He waited.  “You still don’t speak to me.  I am beginning to wonder who is toying with whom.”

Once again there was no reply.  Alone Marcus smiled.  Another success.  He was counting. Marcus saw his long legs extending far beyond the table. More people had joined the others.  They sat around a table, empty cups steaming with invisible tea.  Cathy poured fresh tea, passing out plates with invisible cookies. She was smiling, always smiling. He looked at the faces pretending to eat and once again smiled. 

“This”—his whisper cut through the darkness—“is worth the punishment.”

 He looked at the empty road, holding onto the feelings he experienced when he watched the boys and girls run free.  He wondered how they would fare, Newbie and Jason foremost on his mind.  He whispered to the dark, drowning out the Master’s entreaties that turned rapidly into screams.  “Jason, he would have chosen someone like you.  I am here so you will not.  It is the honorable thing to do.”

Darkness and Light

Darkness and Light is now two books

Darkness and Light, the Hunter

Darkness and Light, Vampires

My beta reader said she was not able to do her work, she had to continue reading the first book. Unique, my books remain in the horror genre but to better explain them, the sub-genre it is Psychological Horror. Marcus continues but if you compare real life with a supernatural existence, real life is always more difficult. As with all my books, I am consulting experts in the areas I am unfamiliar with and have much to thank them for. I will be selling books in Westerly at the Armory and hope to participate in the Loof festival in North Providence. Feel free to contact me about signed copies. You can purchase them directly from me the payments will be handled through PayPal.

I have a question for those who’ve read my books. Which character is modeled after me, meaning If I were a character which one would I be? Please don’t go for the easy and obvious. To the first person who correctly answers the question, I will forward a published book of your choosing. Send the answer to my author e-mail. Be patient, but know I will check.

I will also begin working on a compilation of short stories/poems. The one my sister read, frightened that it might be true, will be my first selection and yes, in the darkest moments of my life I had wished it were true.