Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie

VIRKELOT VILLAGE

AND

THE DEAD FENCE

HEKSWOOD FOREST SURROUNDED each side of the Dead Fence, and both the woods and the wall encircled the entire perimeter of Virkelot Island. The odor of stagnant mud and skunk cabbage filled Cyrus’ nostrils as he sped along the trail. He was careful not to snag his denim sleeves on the coils of prickle bushes that crawled like barbed serpents through the thickets. The thorns looked of polished, black steel and their points dripped with yellow poison.

Shining eyes began to emerge out of the shadows as Cyrus delved deeper into Hekswood. Overhead, crooked dunkel trees wove their limbs together like so many lies, with only the finest of sunbeams able to penetrate their depths. At his feet, a thin layer of fog blanketed a skin of dead leaves.

The forest came to an abrupt stop several feet from a ten-foot-high wall. The ground began to wilt and crack as it neared its thick pickets. Over the generations, the Dead Fence had become less wood and more like stone, its red paint blistered and faded.

With a running jump, Cyrus began to clamber over the top. He kicked and pulled against gravity. The fence felt rigid and frozen to the touch. He attempted to swing his right leg up over the wall. His foot caught; then slipped from the edge. He tried a second time. His shoe snagged on the pickets and fell to the other side. On his third attempt, he drew a deep inhale and kicked with all his might. The muscles in his side cramped. Straining, he pulled himself atop the fence. Then, catching his breath, he slid down the wall’s interior and dropped to the ground. The earth cracked around his feet, exposing a network of decayed roots just beneath the soil. Cyrus collected his shoe and fit it to his foot.

Within the walled perimeter, Hekswood continued its advance. There, Cyrus penetrated the forest’s inner circle and carried on towards the Virkelot Ring Road.

Like the Dead Fence, the Ring Road rimmed the entire circumference of Virkelot, acting as a boundary line between the forest and Cyrus’ village. All streets and alleyways ended on that round road.

Cyrus peeked out from the underwood. There was no one in sight. Good, he thought. He would make it home in time for dinner. But he still needed that key…

He scrambled out onto the street. Potholes dented the gravel lane and several homes slouched along its inner edge. The cottages’ blue and grey exteriors had faded. Their grass roofs sagged overhead.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

A wiry hand clutched Cyrus by the neck. He could feel sharp nails stab into his flesh.

“Mom?”

Cyrus tried to look back. The grip was tight, the nails drawing blood.

“Just like your father, aren’t you, always sneaking about like a little rat.”

She twisted him around to face her.

Cyrus’ stepmother, Llysa, was slender compared to most villagers, a little taller than Cyrus, with skin as pale as teeth. White strands of coarse hair slashed her death black mane.

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Cyrus said, his body flushing hot.

He heard his voice and hated how weak and pathetic he sounded.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from that demon’s shrub, you little, ungrateful bastard?” Llysa said, her thin lips tightening in anger, “If you want to ignore village law and get yourself killed, that’s one thing, but you will not endanger or embarrass your half-brother and me as well.”

Cyrus had always thought she might have been beautiful at one time, but years of fear and hatred had sharpened her features into a soulless, lined mask.

“There’s no law that says you can’t go into Hekswood,” Cyrus said, regretting the words the second they left his lips.

WHACK!

Llysa slapped him hard across the jaw. His vision flashed white, and his blackened eye felt bruised to the bone. He began to taste blood.

“Don’t talk back,” she snarled, “You live under my roof, eat my food, you will do what I say. I didn’t ask to be burdened with an orphan, but I’ve done my duty. I’ve done what your tramp of a mother couldn’t, and what your cheating father wouldn’t. You’d best remember that.”

Furious, she began to drag Cyrus down the tree-lined road and towards the town square. He heard the large key ring jangle in the pocket of her grey, ankle-length dress. He needed that shed key if he was going to escape…

When they arrived at the village main street, Llysa dragged him past stout, grey-haired adults and round, white-haired children. All watched them out of the corners of their eyes. The smell of mud and animals filled the crisp, fall air.

“There goes Gunnar’s bastard,” said one young girl, from the balcony of a two-story shop.

Cyrus looked up and noticed that the girl was not alone. Beside her was Sarah Heiler. Sarah was not like the rest. She seemed thoughtful and kind. She was one of the few kids in the village who did not pick on Cyrus. She peered into his eyes, then quickly looked away.

“It ain’t right, him being pointy-eared and skinny,” said an old woman.

She sat in a rocking chair beside the two girls, smoking a pipe.

“Where do you reckon he got those odd, blue eyes and yellow hair?” the first girl asked.

“His mother was a witch,” the old woman cackled.

Sarah’s face flushed red. Cyrus looked to the ground. His skin prickled and burned with humiliation.

His stepmother yanked him stumbling into a crowd and through a long lineup at the Virkelot Work Office.

“Back of the line,” shouted one man.

“You have plenty of work on your own farm,” shouted another.

“Mind your business, you greedy gluttons,” Llysa yelled back.

From there she pulled him along a small wooded trail and across ChickenLop Lane. When they reached the family farm, she hauled him through a shriveled apple orchard, past a burnt down barn and towards the family home.

The house was old, squeaky, and like most others in the village, painted pale blue. Thick tor grass grew from its sagging roof. A grey roof goat chewed at its bowed ridge.

Llysa pulled out the ring of keys to open the kitchen door. Cyrus focused on the shed’s skeleton key. The kitchen door was already open.

“Niels, how many times do I have to tell you to keep the doors locked?” Llysa yelled, “You never know who might try to break in.”

“Did you find him? Is he okay?” Cyrus’ half-brother replied.

His voice came from the pantry.

“He was right where I said I’d find the little sneak,” Llysa said, locking the door behind them, “hiding from his chores as usual. Just like his father, can’t pull his own weight.”

To Llysa, pulling your own weight seemed to mean moving piles of bricks from one spot; then moving them back. Or digging deep holes in the earth, only to fill them in again.

Cyrus’ half-brother Niels walked into the kitchen with a plate of steaks in his hands. He gave Cyrus a sorry smile.

Niels was taller than both his half-brother and mother, with broad, brick-like shoulders and a square jaw to match. He was a year and a half older than Cyrus and had graduated school one year earlier. He kept his thick, grey hair short and neat.

“Grab a seat and dig in,” he said.

The table was spread with baked potatoes, roasted vegetables, fresh bread and a dish of warm, creamy butter.

Llysa shoved Cyrus into a seat, then sat down herself. The keys jingled in her pocket, seeming to taunt Cyrus.

“It looks amazing, Niels,” she said, “You’re such a hard worker. Why don’t you say grace?”

“Sure,” Niels said, smiling awkwardly.

He took a seat, clasped together his thick fingers, and said, “Oh Angel King, we thank you for the bountiful work you have provided for us, and for the Dead Fence which protects us. Please, bless our family and keep us safe, and pray that we always respect the boundaries that you have set forth for us. Thank work.”

“Thank work,” echoed Cyrus and his stepmother.

“So, how was work today, son?”

Llysa’s face seemed almost kind when she looked at Niels.

“Worked in the orchard all day,” he said, “Those trees aren’t what they once were, but they’ll live.”

“Such a hard-working boy,” Llysa said, “You take such good care of your mother. You’re nothing like your drunk of a father was.”

“What did you learn in school today, Cyrus?” Niels asked, changing the subject.

“The usual,” Cyrus said, “Work harder, not smarter, or the Sea Zombie will get you.”

He and Niels chuckled at the familiar joke.

“Smart ass, eh?” Llysa said, “He wasn’t at school today. The little rat was playing hooky all day in the forest.”

She whispered the last part as if someone might hear.

“I didn’t,” Cyrus lied, “I was coming home from school, I swear.”

“Liar!”

His stepmother grabbed the plate of steaming vegetables and heaved it into his face.

“Mom, no!” Niels shouted.

The cauliflower and broccoli seared Cyrus’ chin and neck. He fell out of his chair trying to brush the burning vegetables off and broke a cup.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Llysa growled, “Go to your room and get out of my sight.”

Cyrus sat on the floor, covered in soggy greens. He stared up at his stepmother and half-brother. Niels looked as shocked and scared as Cyrus felt.

“Get to your room, now!” Llysa repeated, “And don’t worry about cutting school tomorrow, cause tomorrow you’re going to work with your brother.”

“No,” Cyrus gasped.

But he knew it was useless to argue. He picked himself up off the floor and retreated to his bedroom, alone, hungry and afraid.

***

AT AROUND NINE O’CLOCK, Cyrus heard a knock.

“You awake?” asked the large, square silhouette opening the bedroom door.

“Niels? Everything okay?” Cyrus asked.

“Shhh, Mom’s sleeping.”

Niels walked over to the bedside and handed him a plate of meat and a glass of milk.

“I thought I’d bring you some dinner. Tomorrow you’re going to need your strength.”

“Thanks,” Cyrus said, stabbing at the steak.

Niels reached out and touched Cyrus’ cheek. He looked at his blackened eye and frowned.

“I know Mom’s hard on you,” he said, “but it’s tough for her with Dad gone. I don’t think she’d be so angry and bitter if…”

“If Dad hadn’t found me on the doorstep?” Cyrus finished.

“If Dad hadn’t died,” Niels said.

Cyrus nodded, unsure of what else to say.

“Tomorrow will be good, you’ll see,” Niels said, smiling, “We’ll get lots of work done. It’ll be fun.”

Then he said goodnight and retired to his own bedroom for the evening.

***

SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT, a shuddering jolt shook Cyrus awake. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he peered around the darkened bedroom. Everything seemed just as he had left it. He thought maybe the sensation had been part of a strange dream. Then he noticed the glass of milk on his bedside table sloshing about. Earthquake, Cyrus thought. Even though he had heard of them, he had never actually felt one on the island before.