Tucker's Story

Tucker's Story Excerpt 1

By Adam Gentry

This is an excerpt from a story that I haven't really titled yet, so I call it Tucker's Story after the main character.

His eyes popped open; staring blindly at the white ceiling as headlights shifted over his bed. He wasn’t looking, he was thinking. Something had woken him up. Not the slow grumbling that came from sleeping too long; or the lightning fast fear that came with a sudden loud noise. No, this was the instant clap of alertness that came from some deep knowledge that it was time to wake up, but why?
The wind blew through the trees, but it sounded wrong. In the wind…there was a faint sound…like snarling. Tucker turned to look out his window, the snarling grew firmer, stronger. The branches parted and gnashed like thick lips curling back over fangs. Peering closer as the wind roared, branches smashed against the screen, wooden tips curling around the wires like claws. Then they were gone. Tuck tried not to gasp for air as he told himself it didn’t happen.
Just as his head drooped, and he felt himself drifting off, a slow cold breeze slid down the windowsill and crept up his arm. “Come out,” it whispered in his ear. Slowly he made his way downstairs. “Come out!” The windows thrummed with that shouting whisper. “Come out and play.” His hand turned the doorknob. Brown leaves crumbled under his toes. The lamppost at the corner of the street looked so inviting; Tucker ran and wrapped his arms around the thin riveted pipe, pressing his cheek against the cold black metal.
“Are you really that afraid of the dark?” Tucker looked up and saw a gray face peering down at him from above the lamp post.
“Who are you?”
“Me?” his right hand fanned against his chest, “Well I guess I’m…me.”
“You’re me?”
“Well, that’s one way of putting it. And who might you be?” He leaned down and Tucker saw his hair was in thick coils with long pieces of shiny metal on the tips. They looked a great deal like whistles actually.
“I’m Tucker.”
“Ah, so you’re the one upsetting the tiger tonight.”
“What?” He leaned down very close, one arm resting on Tuck’s shoulder while the other pointed.
“The old oak. Tonight he thinks he’s a tiger, but none of his branches are low enough to pounce. So it has to make do with snarling and slashing at air.”
“That’s my window.”
“Naturally. It’s been watching you all night. Little bite sized morsel like you would be quite a treat.” Tucker turned to respond and realized this “man” was leaning down from ten feet up, with no sign of his legs.
“How are you doing that?”
“I could try to explain it, but that would take all night. I might just as well ask you why you’re not.”
“I-”
“But conversations like these are best on the move. After all, I’ve got so much to do and only one night. Just like Santa Clause,” he said with a wink, “and not nearly as appreciated. Well there’s no helping it. Come on then.” He crept back up, above the lamppost, as he spoke, waiving a hand for Tuck to follow.
“I can’t climb up there.”
“Of course not. You walk your road and I’ll stick to mine.” His hand reached out and panned across the dark streets. Tuck shook his head. The man scoffed at Tucker. “Are you still afraid of the dark? Where do you think I live?”
“Is there anything else?”
“No. No. Nothing that can cross over. I was the first to figure out how and no one else has since.” Tucker was still reluctant. “Oh all right,” he said as he crept back into the shadows above the lamppost. From deep within there came a crisp pair of claps. They echoed down the streets, growing fainter. Then a loud crack, and a piece of black metal fell from the lamppost. Cracks climbed up and around the lamppost, and as pieces fell like broken eggshells, it grew.
The pillar stretched and swelled as the glass casing shattered. Five bulbs rose like buds, arcing out in four directions while the fifth never bent. Glass panes slid out from under black stems to wrap around the brightly shining lights with a satisfying click.
“Now can we go?” his voice called from somewhere ahead. New lampposts sprouted along both sides of the street as Tucker marveled, barely feeling the gritty pavement under his bare feet.