Little Emmett

  LITTLE EMMETT

  ABE MOSS

  Little Emmett Copyright © 2019 by Abe Moss. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by germancreative on fivver

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Abe Moss

  Visit my website at www.abemoss.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: Nov 2019

  ISBN-13 9781709461705

  ABE MOSS NOVELS

  THE WRITHING

  BATHWATER BLUES

  BY THE LIGHT OF HIS LANTERN

  LITTLE EMMETT

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  PROLOGUE

  Emmett Callahan pinched a popped thread in the thigh of his jeans as the car jostled and grunted its way up the dirt road, despite the nagging fear he was ruining the jeans by doing so—the fear of them being the only pair he’d own for a long, long time.

  He watched out the window, desperate for any distraction he might find. Tall forest pines framed them in like guards, directing them farther up the mountain. The ground was covered in dead needles, dark as the clouded sky overhead. Aside from that, the forest was bare. Lifeless. The only thing wandering through the trees was them, as far as he could tell—rattling along in their rust-machine which came ever closer to falling apart each mile traveled, unraveling like the thread in his jeans and everything else…

  But Emmett Callahan was seven years old, so what did he really know about everything else?

  “They’re going to tell you we’re crazy.” His mother was behind the wheel, her white-knuckled fingers clamped at twelve o’ clock. “That’s why we have to do this. I hope you know I wish it didn’t have to be like this. Emmett?”

  His desperation grew tenfold. He moved his face closer to the glass. Let there be a deer, or a bird. Anything else to focus on. Anything to distract from the face of the woman driving beside him and the terror behind her eyes.

  “They’re going to look for me. They’ll find me. And…” she paused, and it was plain to Emmett’s ears, the sound of her bottled-up emotion. “… you can’t be with me when I’m taken. They’ll take you, too.”

  He watched the road climbing ahead of them, bumpy and winding. From the corner of his eye he saw her looking at him, staring, and he wished more than anything that she’d look at the road instead.

  “And I can’t have that.” She faced forward, wiped her eyes dry. “The things they do to children in those places…”

  He wished she’d turn the car around. He wished they’d drive back home, to their tiny, two-bedroom apartment where the rest of his things still waited. They’d unpack the bags they’d brought for him—his clothes, a handful of his toys, a couple books, some other odds and ends. They’d go on living like they were supposed to, like nothing changed, like these things in his mother’s head didn’t exist. Because, well… they didn’t.

  “I’m so sorry.” His mother wept. It physically pained him to hear it. “I want so much better for you. But that’s… not the world we live in.”

  It was coming now. She always prefaced it this way, the same introduction for the same spiel. He knew well enough by now. He’d hoped, at the very least, they wouldn’t spend the last of their time together on it. She couldn’t help it, though, he understood. And as much as he thought he didn’t believe any of it, he couldn’t help being afraid all the same.

  “One day, Emmett. One day things will be right. I promise you that.” She reached toward him. He turned his head to look out his window once more as he saw her coming, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Won’t you look at me?”

  He did, and the very thing of which he was terrified happened then.

  “Oh…” she said, and her voice was gentle as warm bubble bath. “Don’t cry, sweetie. It’s okay. Everything will be okay. In time, everything will be as it should be.”

  Suddenly the car was stopped. She pulled the hand brake and shut off the engine, and all at once Emmett’s peripheral fears were replaced with more immediate ones—like the chance they wouldn’t be able to start the car again, given its track record. But that was just like him, wasn’t it? To worry? A worry-wart, his mother always said…

  She undid her seatbelt, wrapped him in her arms, and despite his scattered and misfiring emotions, she somehow always knew just how to draw the right ones out from him. He cried into her shoulder. She rubbed his back in circles, a ritual—one of the few rituals of hers which nearly always achieved its desired outcome.

  She soothed him until his tears were spent. She released him, and they both lay back in their seats quietly.

  “Are you afraid?” she asked.

  He shut his eyes and, head back against his seat, nodded shamefully.

  “I know,” she said. “And that’s okay. I hope you know that. Sometimes we’re supposed to be, because… sometimes fear is how we survive. But know this…” He opened his eyes, met her powerful, crystal-clear gaze. “You don’t need to be afraid of any of this. You’re going to be perfectly safe. Whatever happens out here, whatever happens when we’re apart, it’ll be as it’s meant to be, and you’ll make it through. I promise you that. You’ll make it through.”

  Perhaps she saw the remaining fear on his brow, burrowed too deep to touch with words alone. She reached into the backseat, and Emmett watched curiously as she unzipped his bag. She fished around inside until she found what she was looking for and returned sitting forward beside him. She offered her open palm, the item she’d retrieved resting delicately there.

  “When we’re away from each other, even if you can’t see me, I’ll always be right here. So long as you carry this, we’ll be together, and I’ll be watching over you, keeping you safe.”

  It was an ordinary-enough-looking trinket. A black, stone pendant, the size of a quarter, with a pearl-white ball in the very center—perhaps it was a pearl—hanging from a black chain. He’d seen it many times before. Usually his mother wore it. He was surprised now he hadn’t noticed its absence around her neck the whole ride so far. He hadn’t seen her place it in his bag as she packed…

  “Your father gave this to me, and I’m giving it to you. Promise you’ll keep this with you wherever you go,” she said. “Don’t lose it. All right? Can you promise me that?”

  He only nodded again, but that was enough. She returned the pendant to his bag. She started the car—it sputtered to life after a few dry attempts—and they resumed their journey up the mountain. Still the woods were empty and the sky was grim. He knew the topic was not finished, however, and that his mother’s thoughts were brushing their croo
ked wings against each other inside her head. She was always thinking… planning… worrying…

  “One day we’ll be together again,” she said abruptly. He turned to see her, and held his breath at the sight of her playful, knowing grin. “Don’t ever doubt yourself, Emmett. Don’t let anyone instill doubt in you, either. You’re the last person in this wretched world who should ever doubt themselves. You have all the world’s knowledge inside you. You just don’t know it yet. So much knowledge…” She shook her head, apparently unable to fathom her own words. “And the history running through your veins… anyone would be envious to be known by you.”

  He was destined for incredible things, she said. He was one of a kind, she said. She was beyond blessed to be his mother, she said, to have brought him into the world. She’d said all this before, time and time again. She wanted him to believe, too. It was odd, really, that he didn’t think much of it. Some children would trust such things, if their parents hammered it into them all their lives. But there was something about his mother. He imagined she wasn’t like most others. Despite having little other influence, he’d somehow managed not to see everything as she saw it. He only saw with his eyes, while she saw with much more than that. And while he felt guilty for it at times, he was grateful that her oddities were not his.

  “Follow your instincts,” she was still saying, “and know that no matter the choice, you’ll always choose the right one. You and I decide our own destinies. Not everyone can say the same.”

  It was about that time, as the passing trees were simply a blur across his glazed eyes, that he finally noticed something else within them. He straightened in his seat as he tried to get a better look. The road was bending toward it, bringing them closer and closer—high and dark and angular through the trees—until they straightened out and it lay directly ahead of their rusted hood.

  “That’s it…” his mother said. Her voice was less hopeful now, low and distant. “This is the place.”

  The house grew steadily larger, until they leaned toward the windshield to see its high, narrow rooftop jutting into the sky like the knobby branches surrounding it. A white pickup truck was parked at the side. They slowed, lurched to a stop in the wide, dirt clearing. They sat for a full minute, not moving, not unbuckling, not saying a word to one another as they both stared emptily at the large double-door entrance to the estate. It wasn’t until one of those two doors opened and a body emerged that either of them acknowledged it was time to get out.

  Another woman, tall and narrow as a fencepost. With her hands clasped regally beneath her breast, this woman approached the edge of the porch steps to observe them, her thin face not unkind but also not altogether welcoming. Finally, his mother climbed out of the car to greet the woman. Only then did she give the most cordial of smiles.

  His mother leaned into the car. “It’s time to get out, sweetie.”

  He stepped out of the car and stood awkwardly beside it as his mother dug through his bag one last time. She popped the trunk and brought out the second bag. As she did all of this, the woman from the porch swept gracefully down to them, approaching them and then suddenly next to them in what Emmett perceived as the blink of an eye.

  “I trust you’ve brought all his essentials?”

  “I think so,” his mother said, rummaging hastily through the second bag. “This is all his… seasonal wear… boots… his coat… and… and his…”

  She was crying into his things as she searched. The tall, slender woman placed a hand on her back.

  “Anything you might have missed… I’ll see to it he’s taken care of, I assure you.”

  “Thank you so much,” his mother blurted. “I can’t thank you enough. I really… I really can’t.”

  “That’s all right.”

  Emmett watched with mounting terror. The moment he’d struggled to imagine, the possibility which had seemed so impossible and far away—it was unfolding before his very eyes, and he felt that it meant nothing. This place had no meaning. The bags with his things in them held no meaning. His mother’s tears drying beneath her chin—it was like only he realized that nothing was changing, after all. What was change, anyway? He’d only known one way of life for, well… all his life, so how could there possibly be anything else? Sure, his mother said they wouldn’t be together any longer. She said he would be staying someplace safe, far away from home. But those were only words. And now… her words, they were… they were… taking shape, and…

  “Here,” the tall woman said, “if you’ll take that heavy one, I’ll take this other bag inside, and…”

  Emmett faced the house again, its frame high and narrow just like the woman who lived inside it—the long, ghoulish windows casting their hollow gaze on them like a terrible spell. The doorway was left open, dim and mysterious, and in the gloom Emmett saw many other faces gathered at the edges watching, observing, waiting.

  “Emmett,” his mother said, heaving the bag strap over her shoulder. “Get the trunk, would you?”

  He spun in place, and their eyes met as she waddled toward him with the heavier bag, and without a voice he pleaded desperately for her to stop. He opened his mouth and nothing followed. His lips trembled.

  “Please, Emmett…”

  His feet carried him to the rear of the car, his hands softly pulled the trunk shut, and there he remained, lost in the sky’s reflection on the trunk’s dented surface. His head turned empty. He stood there until his mother returned, still panting from her efforts.

  “It’s time, sweetie.” When he didn’t react, she knelt beside him, took his small hand inside both of hers. “Hey. This isn’t forever, you know.”

  “I don’t want to go.” His voice was soft and bright, even as his spirit was bleak. He couldn’t bring himself to see her, so he merely observed her warped shape on the back of the trunk. “I want to go home.”

  “Home isn’t home anymore. It isn’t safe. But here, you will be.”

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  Her thumbs massaged the back of his hand. “I wish it wasn’t necessary. But it’s not so bad. This very kind and generous woman here will look after you while I’m away. Her name is Mrs. Holmes. She looks after other children, too. You’ll meet them. You’ll have friends here. And some day—”

  “Why can’t you stay?” He looked at her now, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You’ll be safe here, too.”

  “It’s not safe for you to be with me. They will find me, and it’s important you’re long gone by then. It’s going to be okay. We’ll be together again, all right? And in the meantime… remember the pendant I gave you—”

  “It’s just a necklace. It’s not you. You’re leaving me. You’re leaving me alone here.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone here. I…” She hesitated, searching for patience. “I am not leaving you here. And it isn’t just a necklace. It’s got my love inside it, always. And your father’s, too…” She reflected on something then, thinking back. “One day… one day we’ll all be together. That’s why I need you to take good care of that necklace for me. All right? Promise me that. You’ll give it back to me when I see you again. Promise me, Emmett.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, okay.” He couldn’t hide his grimace.

  “This isn’t forever,” she repeated. She pulled him tight against herself. “Everything will be as it should be one day. The world will be so different, it would be unrecognizable to us now… And guess what?”

  Gripping his shoulders, she pushed him gently away from herself, leveling her eyes with his—that twinkle there, sly and full of hidden humor. She wanted him to say ‘what’, he knew, but he didn’t need to play along. He didn’t need to ask. Once more, it was all something he’d heard before.

  She pulled him close a final time. Her warm lips tickled his ear with their secrets, a soothing whisper.

  “It’ll all be thanks to you.”

  PART ONE

  THE HOLMES HOUSE

  CHAPTER ONE

  THIS I
S WHERE YOU LIVE NOW

  Emmett watched with a sinking stomach as the car disappeared around the bend and down the mountain, out of sight.

  “Come, Emmett. Let’s go inside.”

  Mrs. Holmes stood in the doorway, gesturing for him to come. She towered over him, at least a foot taller than his mother. He dared peer up at her as he passed, craned his head all the way back to do so, and was startled to see her tracking him with her squinted eyes. She smiled then, faint and modest.

  The foyer was spacious and clean. The walls and floor alike were a dark cherry wood, with similarly rich rugs drawing the eye from one corner to the next. The dining area was visible from the front door, through a large archway, and there Emmett saw the other children again, slightly better now than before. They were seated at the dining table.

  “The others are having a snack. Would you care to join them?”

  Emmett didn’t think twice before shaking his head.

  “Not hungry? All right. Let’s take your things upstairs to your bed, then, shall we?”

  She directed him to carry the smaller bag, his personal items, and decided she’d leave the bigger bag downstairs for the time being. He lugged the bag over his shoulder. The strap was so long on his small frame, the bag bounced and banged against his knee as he wobbled after Mrs. Holmes toward the stairs.

  “Think you can manage?” she asked.

  He nodded. She seemed to agree, and together they climbed. She pretended not to notice as he swayed dangerously from side to side on his way up, and once or twice he nearly dropped the bag—or rather, the bag nearly pulled him down with it. He thought she might’ve smiled to herself, privately, as he wrestled with the bag, but perhaps that was only his own embarrassment making him paranoid.

  There were two hallways at the top of the stairs: one continuing straight, and one to the left following the balcony railing which overlooked the foyer below.