Christopher Golden - Tears of the Furies

"You don’t think I want you at home?" she demanded.

He sighed. "You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just… with the assholes at school, and the neighbors… you know I’m better off here. It’ll be easier for both of — "

"I didn’t raise my son to become part of some freak show," she snapped, turning to face him.

Danny chuckled humorlessly and ran a hand over his deep red pate. His fingernails were black now, like the claws of an animal.

"Okay, so I don’t stay here, I come home with you, and then what?"

She didn’t have an answer, so she folded her arms defensively across her chest.

"I go back to Newton and everything’s just fine, is that what you think?" He laughed unhappily. "How long do you think it will be before the villagers are surrounding the house with torches?"

"Stop," Julia said. "Please, stop it." She closed her eyes, listening to the pounding rhythm of the blood in her temples. She was getting a headache; the kind that usually sent her straight to bed with all the lights out and the curtains drawn, not quite a migraine, but a bad, return to the womb kind of headache, as her ex-husband used to say.

"No, I won’t," he said defiantly. "Things are different now — I’m different now." He pointed to one of the room’s windows with a clawed finger. "I don’t fit out there anymore."

She still had her eyes closed, the pain in her head growing with every pulse of her heart.

"Look at me!" Danny roared, and she had no choice but to open her eyes. He stood before her, arms spread, displaying what he had become. "Look at me and tell me I’m wrong."

Julia didn’t know what to say. Deep down she knew he was right, but damn it she couldn’t bear to let him go, to release her only child into the care of Arthur Doyle, someone she barely knew — to become part of his… what did he call it? His menagerie.

"What do we actually know about this Mr. Doyle?" she blurted out. "And the people who live here with him — don’t even get me started on them. I’d just feel better if I knew…"

"He saved the world, ma," Danny interrupted. "And I helped." He touched the front of his Eminem T-shirt with a taloned hand. "I really don’t think you need anything more by way of character references."

The world was pretty much back to normal since the bizarre occurrences of almost three weeks before, when a crimson mist had blanketed the region and the dead had crawled from their graves. Julia shivered with the memory, the hair at the back of her neck prickling to attention. It was hard to believe that everything that happened was anything other than a very bad dream, but when she looked at her son, she knew it was real.

"I want to stay here," Danny said taking a step toward her. "I need to be here."

There was a desperation in his voice that made her want to cry, as if the answers to all of his problems were right here, and she was the only obstacle standing in the way of his total fulfillment.

"Danny, please." She weighed each word carefully. "Look at this from my perspective."

"This isn’t about you!" Danny bellowed, and Julia could have sworn she saw sparks of orange flame leap from his eyes. He spun away from her, bounding across the room, and brought his fist down on the mahogany dresser, obliterating the toys.

Julia was horribly torn. Motherly instincts told her to go to her son, to comfort him, but another voice inside her head, more attuned to self-preservation, whispered that it might be wiser to keep her distance. The moment was broken, however, and her quandary solved, when a spectral figure emerged from the ceiling, drifting down to float eerily in the center of the room. The temperature dropped several degrees, and she shivered.

No matter how many times Julia saw the ghost of Dr. Leonard Graves, she couldn’t get used to it.. He was a kind man, and had been a noble example of humanity while he lived, but that was the problem. Dr. Graves was dead.

"Is everything all right?" the specter asked, his gaze shifting from Julia to her son, who now knelt before his demolished dresser.

"Danny?" Graves drifted closer to the boy, and Julia noticed how much warmer it was without him near.

"I’m cool," Danny said, reaching down to touch the broken dresser. "My mom and I were just discussing how it would be best for me to go back home with her and live in the basement."

Julia sighed. "I said no such thing," she said wearily, bringing her hands to her temples in an attempt to massage away the throbbing agony in her head.

"It’s completely understandable if you don’t quite trust us yet," Graves said, turning his focus on her and drifting closer. "We are quite the unusual bunch."

"It’s not that I don’t trust you per se… damn it this hurts," she moaned, and stumbled slightly to one side, sitting down on the end of the bed.

"She called you all a freak show," Danny said with contempt.

Julia started to deny it, but gave up, the pain inside her skull taking away her strength to defend herself. She grimaced. "If you can believe it, I meant it in the nicest way possible."

Her eyes were closed, but she felt Graves approach, the temperature in the air dropping dramatically as he drew nearer to her.

"No offense taken," the ghost replied. "You have another headache, Mrs. Ferrick?"

She slitted her eyes open and saw that he was leaning forward to study her. Though a ghost, Leonard Graves was still quite handsome. He was a man out of time, a man of another age, but he had rugged, determined features that reminded her of Denzel Washington… only transparent. Julia couldn’t believe she was thinking such things about a dead man and chalked it up to insanity caused by the pain inside her head.

"It’s Julia, Doctor, and yes, I’ve got a hell of a headache."

Danny stood, holding a piece of the dresser top in his hands, and looked at her with concern. "She gets them when she’s stressed out. Mom, do you want us to pull the curtains and let you lie down for awhile?"

"No, I’ll be fine. Maybe a couple of Aleve from my purse will.. "

"Squire often gets tension headaches," Graves stated. "And I’ve developed a slightly unusual, yet effective technique that helps to diminish his pain."

She began to feel herself growing nauseous. "Does it involve sacrificing a virgin or cutting the head off a chicken?" She ventured a tremulous smile.

The ghost chuckled. "Surprisingly, it doesn’t."

"Would I be a candidate for this treatment, or does it only work on trolls?"

"Squire is a hobgoblin," Graves said. "Quite different from trolls actually, far better hygiene, and, yes, if you’re willing, you would be a candidate."

"I’m willing," she croaked, the acid in her stomach churning from the intensity of the ache in her skull.

"All right," the ghost said. "If you’d be so kind as to remain seated and lean forward."

Julia did as she was told. The headache was coming on hard and fast now, and the pain was such that if Graves had said that a very sharp axe would now be needed, she would have helped him search for it.

"Now don’t be alarmed, you’re going to feel something a little strange."

The icy sensation at the back of her neck was almost pleasant, at first numbing, but then it grew intensely warm. Five points of heat pressed on the cluster of pain inside her skull. Though her eyes were closed, Julia suddenly understood what Dr. Graves was doing to her; she could see it in her mind. He had put his hand — his ghostly fingers — inside her head and was taking her headache away.

"That should do it," the doctor said, as she slowly straightened.

Julia opened her eyes and ran a cautious hand along the back of her neck. "It’s gone," she said, not without a little surprise. "That’s incredible." She smiled. "I feel great."