by LynnS13

"If you're ever alone and hear whistling, you should run."

-Famous proverb from people with common sense. However, this story happens...

Somewhere in the South, during the 90s

Sweets to last a couple of hours and dollar store trinkets, that's all a little boy needs to know the day would go wonderful, and he had both. Mrs. Stevens had brought them Halloween candy earlier in the day. Hand-painted sugar skulls and waxy corn mixed with Jordan almonds, all nested in a plastic pumpkin. It was not the most delicious offering, God knows chocolate would've sent him spinning, but those sweets he held on to guarantee the school day moved fast enough.

A couple of hours of detention, which had been properly rechristened as "required tutorials," and Ciaran's debt to society had been paid. He was eager to get in trouble somewhere else, but in trouble, he'd get.

The sun was just beginning to set. Although, in a town like Grafton, especially during the fall, it was difficult to determine the exact moment when light disappeared over the horizon. The mountain range to the north of the town bathed the valley in a bluish mist that began to spread, albeit thinly, around midafternoon, and didn't disperse until the rise of morning.

Ciaran didn't know why the mountains behind him and the mist around his ankles looked like a soft, blue haze. After all, he was just a third-grader. They'd leave him in the dark for a little longer, allowing him to fancy everything as a work of magic. Middle school was meant to burst that particular bubble. There, he'd learn that the forests, considered woodland reserves, have a considerable density and the trees release enough isoprene to alter the atmosphere.

To internalize something like that at nine years old, would be a crime.

It could be said that the day had perfect circumstances. While in other places winter temperatures began to hit in late October, in Grafton the breeze was chilly, but gentle.

Ciaran thought about stopping by Lena's. They had seen each other at school that morning and the girl seemed a little distracted. The reason was common knowledge. Lena's father got a job in Maryland. It wasn't exactly a great job, but the pay was substantial enough to make him consider leaving their tiny Georgia-Tennessee border town. Ciaran's mother, who was both a hairdresser and a frustrated poet, told her son that truckers were destined to roll, and eventually, the Harringtons were going to have to leave. They were birds of passage.

Birds of passage in a town like Grafton can be considered three generations or fewer living on that soil. In the tiny mountain county, only a handful over a thousand inhabitants, at least four families, including the Sutherlands, could say they arrived in the vicinity just after the Battle of Culloden broke up the Scottish rebellion of 1746.

Ciaran understood little about Scotland, much less cared. The truth was, their lives had nothing to do with lochs or castles, let alone kilts. They were barely five steps over dirt when it came to being poor. The Sutherland boy's saving grace was that his father was a mechanic and his mother a hairdresser. If his interest in school remained as lackluster as ever, he would become his father's apprentice, given he'd not be lucky enough to receive a football scholarship...

But the time to think about staying or leaving Grafton was years away. This night, there was no better place to be, to dream of an eternity of childhood games to play, in a world painted in shades of blue.

He stopped by the back wall of Lena's house, right under her bedroom window. Taking a smooth stone, he put it in his pocket when crossing the stream, the boy hit right on the metal sheet that reinforced the old, wooden frame. It didn't take long for the girl to appear. He gave her his widest smile, motioning for her to come down.

"What's in that head of yours, Key? Where you fixing to drag me?" It was Lena's style. She'd argue her way into saying yes to their little adventures because somehow she needed to remind her that she was one month older, and therefore, "maturitier." But there was a slight curl on her lips and if he only found it within himself to press a bit more, without being denounced as a pest, it'd be a done deal.

Ciaran opened his backpack and showed him a glass jar with some moss scattered at the bottom.

"To hunt lightning bugs. I bet it didn't cross your mind that those plastic pumpkins Mrs. Stevens gave us today look like glass a bit, and if you put a little moss in the bottom and some cheese cloth on top... them will light up as candles, but better!" He was quick to seal the deal with an extra promise. "I swear, no critter will die."

Lena was in the worst of moods.

"Stop lying, Key. The fireflies come out in summer and at this time there are not even mosquitoes left. Don't make it about me. You want to run to them woods to kick cans or whatever. I'm not going. If momma is in a mood, she'd fix my mermaid crown for tomorrow's Halloween at the square. And, even if she's not in the mood and I go an' get sick, she'll kill me. We are about to move, remember?"

Her face saddened. She was not half as happy as her mother made her out to be about moving, but there was no use, she had no say in the matter. Still, rolling her eyes and dismissing the little boy was better than saying she really wanted to go.

"Of course, I know about your silly mermaid dress. Your mom convinced my mom to dress me up as a fish, so we could match. A fish, of all things! I get it, Olena. You don't want to go. I'm better off by myself." Calling his best friend by her given name was a low blow. He knew better than anybody that she hated it.

"You are rotten, Key! Hope someone opens a can of whoop ass for ya!"

She was sorry to say it as soon as the words came out of her mouth. However, the boy had made up his mind, and kept on his way, without saying goodbye.

Ciaran spent a couple of hours trying to find fireflies. If only to shut Lena's big mouth.

"Stupid girl. She's so mean. I even asked Miss Stevens for an extra pumpkin, just for her. I even tied those unicorn ribbons that she likes to the black straps." The boy unzipped his backpack, looking at the surprise he was so eager to share with disappointment. "Fixed it just for her. And what I get? She goes on, shushing me like a squirrel."

While walking along the path to the lake, kicking every stone he found along the way, his curiosity kicked into high gear. He had heard there was a lot of interesting stuff to uncover by the lake paths. And that was one place he had never visited on his own.

It's not that he was a gossip, but he couldn't help but listen to Jimmy, one of the older kids at school, talk about the amount of junk that was abandoned in those narrow paths. More than once the sixth grader came boasting about some treasure found in those parts, and, although his mother warned him that the idiot was surely lying, Key couldn't help but think that it was his lucky day.

The path he chose was broad and no matter how far he went in, the lake was visible through the trees. There was no way he'd get lost. He could even see the houses north side of the lake, and most importantly, the light posts.

"Well, that's some treasure!" He was thrilled to have uncovered a dilapidated Chevy near a forest clearing, a hunk of a rust that used to be a K series in its prime. Hopping on it, he searched between the seats and in the glove compartment. Save from a couple of ginormous water bugs, he didn't find anything interesting. He was about to give up and go back, when he noticed some loquat trees just behind the first line of pines.

That was a delicious, rare, almost out of season find, if there was any.

Jackpot.

The fruit was a little bruised by the lower temperatures, but still luscious, golden and sweet. His mom had warned him about eating too much of anything. Key, being Key, split the small plum, smearing his fingers in the sweet pulp, to throw away the seeds before taking a bite. Juice ran down his chin. Too sweet, syrupy, even. He ate enough to feel the numbing effect of a thimble of whiskey. Soon, he was dozing, using his backpack as a pillow...

"Key... Key..."

His eyes opened to stars sprinkled in the dark. How long had he been asleep? As the boy remembered where he was, his heart raced. The ever present mist seemed to distort along with his hurried breaths. He felt around, forgetting that the backpack under his head was what was causing that strange tingling at the base of his neck, scraping against his skin.

"Lena?" It took him a couple of seconds to recognize his friend's voice. Yet, as soon as Key called out to her, something felt wrong.

"K...K...Key..."

It was more than an effort in her voice. There was something sinister about the way she stopped before blurting out his name. Sharp, like the crack of a whip against the bark of trees. As he jumped to his feet, the voice carried echo upon echo, coming from more than one starting point. Key turned on his heels, ready to follow his instinct and run, but then he saw her, off the corner of his eye.

Her blonde hair peeked out of the pine line behind the fruit trees, a thin arm held on to the trunk of the tree, trying to maintain balance, so as not to put weight on an obvious injury. The length of her leg was open, with a deep gash, which, in the moonlight, showed specks of tissue, yellowish fat, and exposed bone.

Half digested sweets, now turned bitter, pushed up his throat. He fought the need to puke, anchoring his feet and taking a deep breath through his nose.

"Lena, you just passed me by and didn't wake me up? Everybody and their mamma knows that there are bear traps after the second line of pines. Hold still! I'll go look for your daddy. That iron is too heavy for me, and you are messed up as it is."

He'd rather not confess it, but the thought of blood spreading out made his stomach turn. He had barely survived his first deer hunting party, a couple of weeks back. Not only that, but he hated the idea of a creature meeting with a bullet out of sport. But Lena was more than a fawn, he couldn't just leave her there. He needed to touch her hand at least, to make her feel everything would be all right.

"Key."

The girl moved her head from side to side, as if playing hide and seek. Her broken body didn't react as in pain, it was simply a grotesque spectacle. When Key tried to approach her, she came out to meet him, taking unsteady steps. Her legs were bent at an impossible angle. With her arms still clutching the tree, she gave a hop to the left, and something ripped and unlocked, with a popping sound.

To Key's horror, what he initially thought was a broken limb was a flap of flesh that moved on its own, following tendrils of muscle to cover a bare bone that broke from a thick, tubular body. A mass of flesh, dividing to mimic a bipedal creature.

"Kiiiiiii. Kiiiiiiiiiiiii."

The creature who had once successfully mimicked Lena no longer needed to do so.

A slippery, lean, muscled body broke out of the girl's skin, leaving even the illusion of clothes behind it. Pieces of bleeding skin clung to the lower branches of the loquat trees. The creature, white as opal veins, used its long limbs to propel itself over the tree line, letting out an infernal screech that silenced the life of the forest and made the boy lose all sense of direction.

The deafening screech rung in Key's ear as the lake shore, which was visible beyond the forest pass under the moonlight, disappeared from his field of vision. The more he ran, the deeper he got into the grove. A loose stone, hidden by a grassy patch, made him stumble and fall. Oddly enough, the pain in his scratched palms helped him focus. Key thought, controlling his nerves, he might be able to move in stealth, covered by the thick bank of fog that rose about a foot from the ground.

He began to crawl, biting his lower lip to keep from sobbing, flaring his nose, not allowing himself to breathe heavily, begging to catch the musty smell with a hint of sulfur that emanated from the lake. It felt like a sure bet, to dive into those depths at night. He was a better swimmer than he'd ever be a hunter.

And still, there was a lesson learned from the latter that unnerved him. Many times, his father told him that when there was impenetrable silence in nature, something was up. For a maddening moment, he wondered if the tear rolling down his cheek would make a sound. That's how damned quiet it all turned.

Key managed to crawl a meter covered under the fog and then, he heard a whistle. It came from the left, a little behind him. There was a second whistle, longer, shattering into a hundred echoes. Just like the creature has done before, calling out his name. But he was sure about what he heard initially. It was behind him, still far from the lakeshore.

Instinctively, the boy stood up and ran away from the tree line into the lake path, without looking back. Far in the distance, the houses north of the lake had their lights on, drawing white strings of silver over dark waters...

***

"Open the door, Lena!"

Her father used to call her mother Mouse, because of her quiet demeanor. Lena had never seen her agitated, let alone screaming while banging at her door.

Lena thought she'd never be as scared as she was at that moment, waking from the deepest sleep.

She was mistaken.

The girl opened the door as soon as she jumped out of bed, without even asking. Mrs. Sutherland peeked behind her mother, visibly upset. That was unexpected. For a moment, Lena thought she had overslept. The small alarm clock next to her bed showed it was a little over 2:00 A.M.

Mrs. Sutherland didn't explain her presence, but rather stepped in front of her mother to grill the perplexed little girl.

"Did you see Ciaran today? Did you talk to my son, Olena? He told me he'd come to see you. I came to the shop to pick up some colored ribbons and then... then..."

It felt improper to think about it, but Lena couldn't help fixing her eyes on Mrs. Sutherland. Their small town was modest, to use a kind word, but one thing was as certain as law: that woman never sported a single hair out of place, nor was there ever a stain on her clothes. Some fifteen years back, she had been the town's undisputed Homecoming Queen, and she conducted herself accordingly.

That night, the woman looked a mess. Her worn down sweatpants and oversized T-Shirt had seen better days. She hardly cared for appearances. It was odd, especially when visiting someone else's house.

"Lena, it's no time to keep things to yourself, child." Her mother intervened. There were several men downstairs, talking. Lena heard her dad's voice, as well as Mr. Sutherland's.

The girl shook her head vigorously in the affirmative, and then blurted out:

"I saw him this afternoon, after school. He came to invite me to catch lightning bugs, but I didn't want to. I was tired, and a little mad at him, for pushing." She remembered her words and a deep fear took over. "Key is fine, right?"

Mrs. Sutherland did not answer, she ran down the stairs shouting that they should go to the nearby woods.

"There's a party going over there, I'll lead that one," her husband answered. "Stay here, Lydia. You are in no condition..."

"Don't y'all worry about her. We'll hold. I'll make some tea." Mrs. Harrington led Lydia Sutherland into the kitchen as she nodded goodbye to her husband, moving her lips just enough to form the words "take care." It was not the time to show affection. The men set out within a search group, armed with rifles and carrying flashlights. A second rifle was left for the women's protection. There was no way to know what or who caused the boy's disappearance...

Dawn broke, and the women were still nursing a cup of tea, waiting on news.

Lena came downstairs, rubbing her eyes. When she saw the two women sitting at the table, her eyebrows knitted, curious. She was about to open her mouth, when a look from her mother, told her to keep the questions for another time.

Mrs. Sutherland excused herself to go out into the yard. As distressed as she was, she'd rather not impose on mother - daughter time.

"I'm sorry breakfast isn't ready, sweetheart." Ivy Harrington got up to look for a plate to serve some cereal.

"What's Mrs. Sutherland doing here?" Lena questioned. "You'd say she might have went back home with Key. Though if she's still mad at him, then she's better here."

"What are you talking about, Lena?"

The girl answered with a wide grin.

"Mommy, Key came home last night. He even stopped here, before he went on."

Her mother froze on the spot, she didn't even bother to pick a box from the pantry.

"What do you mean, Olena? That's not the kind of shenanigans to pull at a time like this. If you dreamt it, wake up. It has been a long night and Lydia has done nothing but worry about her son."

"It's no joke, mommy. I heard him whistle. He is like that. Sometimes he throws stones, sometimes he whistles, when he wants to get my attention. I looked out the window, and I saw him. Just for a bit, under the lamplight. He was hiding behind it, white as a ghost. He was afraid to go back home. That's why he wanted me to go with him."

Her green eyes were glazed over, muddled with gray. For a moment, she looked beyond her mother, out the window, and squinted hard, as if her eyes hurt.

Mrs. Sutherland's piercing scream sent mother and daughter running outside. Key's mother was kneeling in the backyard, huddled over her stomach, clutching on to something. A little further down, there were the shredded remains of a green backpack.

Lena tried to run, and her mother stopped her, kneeling similarly to the woman a few meters in front of her, she hugged her daughter. Her body didn't stop shaking. She kissed the top of Lena's head and then asked softly in her ear:

"It is extremely important that you answer me truthfully, Lena. When you heard Key whistle for you, did you answer? Tell me, did you whistle back?" Her mother shifted, and shook her violently, repeating what she had just said. The girl was at a loss for words.

In one painful heartbeat, her mother's words, Mrs. Sutherland's screams, and the voices of the men returning from the failed rescue party became a buzzing sound in her head.

Before fainting, Lena saw what Mrs. Sutherland had been holding: a clear Halloween pumpkin, with a moss filled bottom. The lid of the jar was covered in cheesecloth, painted in soft shades of pink, lilac, white and blue, tied with ribbons along the handle. The playfulness of the color pattern was flecked with thick drops of blood. Inside, rested a handful of dead fireflies.

***

Un silbido en la oscuridad 

«Si alguna vez estás solo y escuchas un silbido, debes correr».

—Dicho famoso entre gente con sentido común en todas partes. Sin embargo, esta historia sucede...

En algún lugar del sur de los Estados Unidos, durante los años 90... 

Dulces como para entretenerse un par de horas y chucherías de la tienda de a dólar; eso es todo lo que un niño necesita para saber que el día será maravilloso, y Ciaran contaba con ambos. La señora Stevens le regaló a la clase dulce por motivo del Día de Brujas, a pesar de que la fecha caía durante el fin de semana. Puso en sus manos unas calaveritas de azúcar, bombones de pacana, almendras jordanas y un chocolate, todo apretujado en una calabaza de plástico. No fue lo que se dice la ofrenda más deliciosa. El chocolate era de tercera, pero al menos, los bombones cumplieron con su función. Uno tras otro, garantizaron que las horas en el aula pasaran volando.

Un par de horas de detención, apropiadamente bautizadas como "tutoriales obligatorios", y la deuda de Ciaran con la sociedad quedó saldada. Estaba ansioso por meterse en problemas en un lugar que ofreciera algo más que cuatro paredes.

El sol apenas comenzaba a caer, aunque, en un pueblo como Grafton, especialmente en otoño, era difícil determinar el momento exacto en que la luz desaparecía en el horizonte. La cadena de montañas al norte de la población bañaban el valle en una neblina azulada que comenzaba a aparecer justo después del medio día y no se retiraba hasta la llegada de un nuevo amanecer.

Ciaran desconocía el porqué las montañas a su espalda y la bruma que envolvía sus tobillos destellaban azul. En la escuela se encargarían de aleccionarlo sobre el asunto: los bosques, considerados reservas forestales, tienen una densidad considerable y los árboles liberan suficiente isopreno como para alterar la atmósfera.

Pero, para un niño que acababa de cumplir nueve años, ciertas cosas solo podían considerarse mágicas.

Se podía decir que el día contaba con circunstancias perfectas. Mientras que en otros lugares temperaturas casi invernales comenzaban a azotar desde finales de octubre, en Grafton la brisa era fría, pero gentil.

Ciaran pensó en pasar por Lena. Se habían visto en la escuela esa mañana y la niña parecía algo distraída. La razón era conocida por todos. El padre de Lena consiguió un trabajo en Maryland. No era lo que se decía un empleo grandioso, pero la remuneración fue lo suficientemente sustancial para hacerle considerar abandonar el pueblo fronterizo entre Georgia y Tennessee. La madre de Ciaran, quien era tanto peluquera como poeta frustrada, le dijo a su hijo que el destino de los camioneros era rodar, y eventualmente, los Harrington iban a tener que marcharse. Eran aves de paso.

Aves de paso en un pueblo como Grafton pueden considerarse tres generaciones o menos viviendo en ese suelo. En el diminuto pueblo montañoso de un puñado sobre los mil habitantes, al menos cuatro familias, entre las cuales se encontraban los Sutherland, podían decir que llegaron a las inmediaciones justo después de que la batalla de Culloden disolviera la rebelión escocesa de 1746 .

Ciaran poco entendía de Escocia, y mucho menos le importaba. Su padre era mecánico y su madre peluquera, en poco, si su interés en la escuela continuaba tan desganado como siempre, se convertiría en aprendiz de su padre, si no es que le llegaba la suerte de una beca de football.

Se detuvo frente a la pared trasera de la casa de Lena, justo bajo la ventana de su habitación. Tomó una piedra lisa que había metido en su bolsillo al cruzar el arroyo y la lanzó con precisión para dar justo en la hoja de metal que reforzaba el marco. La niña no tardó en asomarse y él le regalo una sonrisa mientras le hacía señales para que bajara.

—¿Qué traes entre manos, Key? ¿A dónde piensas arrastrarme? —Era el estilo de Lena. Siempre con una objeción a sus planes, aun cuando terminara diciendo que sí. Era su forma de imponerse, desde que una vez escuchó a su madre decir que las niñas maduraban antes que los niños, se autoimpuso ser la conciencia de todo y todos. Pero Key la conocía como sus manos. La obvia protesta iba acompañada de una ligera curvatura en sus labios. Era cuestión de hacerse rogar solo un poco.

Ciaran abrió su mochila, pero vaciló en mostrar el contenido, solo se limitó a responder.

—A cazar luciérnagas. Apuesto a que no se te pasó por la cabeza, que esas calabazas de plástico que nos regaló hoy la señora Stevens parecen como de vidrio, y si les pones un poco de musgo en el fondo y una gasa encima... los bichitos de luz harían de vela, pero ¡mejor! —Se apresuró a cerrar la propuesta con una promesa adicional. —Lo juro, ninguna luciérnaga saldrá lastimada.

El muchachito no contaba con que Lena estuviera del peor humor.

—Déjate de mentiras Key. Las luciérnagas salen en verano y a estas horas ya no quedan ni mosquitos. A mí no me pongas de excusa si quieres irte a meter en problemas. Total, no voy. Mama me prometió que esta noche iba a hacer los ajustes a mi corona para la fiesta de Día de Brujas el domingo. ¡Seré una sirena! Es la última actividad a la que vamos a asistir en el pueblo, y todo tiene que quedar perfecto.

Su rostro volvió a entristecerse, la idea de hacerle la vida fácil a sus padres durante la mudanza no le era atractiva, pero no tenía voto en el asunto.

—Por supuesto que sé el cuento de tu bendito disfraz. A mi madre se le ocurrió la idea de vestirme de pescado para hacer el favor. ¡Bah! A mi real compañía no le hace falta tu miseria, Olena —Key conectó un golpe bajo. Llamarla por su nombre era tan hiriente como mentarle la madre—. Mejor solo, pues. Pero no digas que no pensé en ti.

—¡Púdrete, Key!

La maldición salió tan rápida de su boca que se asustó ante las palabras; sin embargo, el chico tenía la mente echa y siguió su camino, sin decir adiós...

Ciaran pasó gran parte de la tarde tratando de encontrar luciérnagas con las cuales callarle la boca a Lena. Ni soñar con perdonarle lo mal agradecida.

—Estúpida y pesada. Hasta le pedí a la señorita Stevens una calabaza extra, solo para ella. Incluso até esas cintas de unicornio que a ella le gustan a las correas negras, para que se viera más festiva y todo eso. —El niño abrió la cremallera de su mochila, mirando con desilusión la sorpresa que tantas ganas tenía de compartir—. Lo hice solo para ella. ¿Y qué me gano? Que me espante del patio como si fuera una ardilla...

Mientras caminaba por el sendero al lago, pateando cuanta piedra encontraba en el camino, se le despertó la curiosidad por explorar uno de los caminos aledaños al cuerpo de agua.

No es que fuera chismoso, pero no pudo evitar escuchar a Jimmy, uno de los chicos colgados en la escuela, hablar de la cantidad de cachivaches que se abandonaban en esos senderos estrechos. Más de una vez el mayor llegó presumiendo de algún tesoro encontrado en esos lares, y, aunque su madre le advirtió que el idiota con toda seguridad mentía, no pudo evitar pensar que era su día de suerte.

El paso que escogió era bastante ancho y por más que se adentraba en el camino, el lago era visible entre la arboleda.

—¡Pues sí que hay un tesoro! —exclamó al ver una camioneta destartalada cercana a un claro en el bosque. Subió al vehículo y rebuscó los asientos y la guantera. Fuera de un par de cucarachas, no dio con nada interesante. Estaba a punto de darse por vencido y volver, cuando notó unos árboles de níspero justo tras la primera línea de pino.

No le fue difícil alcanzar los frutos. En poco sus dedos estaban embarrados en la pulpa suave, arenosa y dulce que también se escurría por su mentón con cada mordida. Deliciosos, pero algo pasados de tiempo, los nísperos estaban saturados de un almíbar tan espeso que le causó el mismo efecto que un dedal de whiskey. Sin caer en cuenta, se quedó dormido, utilizando su mochila como almohada...

—Key... Key...

Los ojos del chico se abrieron a un espacio colmado de estrellas. ¿Cuánto tiempo había permanecido dormido? La bruma espesa pareció distorsionarse ante su agitado despertar. Tanteó a su alrededor, olvidando que la mochila bajo su cabeza era lo que le estaba provocando ese hormigueo extraño en la base del cuello, al raspar contra su piel.

—K... K... Key...

—¿Lena? —le tomó un par de segundos reconocer la voz de su amiga. El esfuerzo por pronunciar la K era lo que hacía que la voz de Lana se sintiera separada de la realidad. Era más bien un chasquido, como el crujir de un látigo contra la corteza de los árboles. Su corazón se aceleró ante la certeza de que la voz, tan familiar y al mismo tiempo desconocida, parecía tener más de un punto de partida. Volvió sobre sus talones, listo para seguir su instinto y correr, pero entonces la vio.

Su cabellera rubia se asomaba entre la línea de pino detrás de los árboles frutales, un brazo delgado se sostenía al tronco del árbol, tratando de mantener el equilibrio, para no poner peso sobre una herida evidente. El largo de su pierna estaba abierto, con una cortadura profunda, la cual, bajo la luz de la luna, mostraba pizcas de tejido y grasa amarillenta, en el camino de un hueso expuesto.

—Oh, Lena. ¿Cómo me pasaste por el lado y no me despertaste? Hay trampas de oso en todas partes después de la segunda línea de pinos, todo el mundo sabe eso. ¿Estás bien? Voy a buscar a tu daddy. Ese hierro es muy pesado para mí.

No quería confesarlo, pero la idea de sangre en grandes cantidades me revolvía el estómago. Apenas si había sobrevivido su primera temporada de caza de venados hacía unos meses. Se le hizo cruel en lugar de deportivo, y había jurado no volver. Pero Lena era más que un cervatillo, así que dio un paso adelante antes de voltear.

—Key.

El tono de la voz se volvió monótono y grave. La niña movía su cabeza de lado a lado, como jugando a escondidas. Su cuerpo quebrantado no reaccionaba al dolor, era simplemente un espectáculo grotesco. Cuando Ciaran trató de acercarse, ella salió a su encuentro, dando pasos inseguros. Sus piernas estaban separadas en un ángulo que era imposible mantener con las rodillas unidas.

Ciaran ajustó la vista, para descubrir que no estaba uniendo sus rodillas, más bien que la protuberancia de hueso, que en un principio pensó era una pierna rota, se estaba separando de una masa de carne sólida en el esfuerzo de imitar una criatura bípeda.

Eso no era su amiga.

—Kiiiiiii. Kiiiiiiiiiiiii

La criatura que en un momento pretendió ser Lena ya no necesitaba disimular. Su cuerpo se solidificó una vez abandonó la apariencia de niña, dejando incluso la ilusión de sus ropas atrás. Pedazos de piel sangrante quedaron colgados de las ramas bajas de los nísperos cuando la criatura, tan blanca como venas de ópalo, utilizó sus largas extremidades para impulsarse sobre la línea de la arboleda, dejando escapar un chillido infernal que acalló la vida del bosque e hizo que el chico perdiera el sentido de la dirección.

La orilla del lago, la cual era visible más allá del paso de bosque bajo la luz de la luna, desapareció de su campo de visión. Mientras más corría, más parecía adentrarse en la arboleda. Una piedra suelta le hizo trastabillar y por un momento, al tocar tierra, Key pensó que de poder controlar sus nervios, tal vez lograría quedar cubierto por el espeso banco de niebla que se elevaba unos 30 centímetros del suelo.

Comenzó a arrastrarse, luchando por evitar que se le escapara un sollozo, ensanchando la nariz sin permitirse un respirar agitado, rogando captar el olor a humedad con un toque de azufre del lago.

Arriesgarse a lanzarse a la profundidad señalaba la medida perfecta de su desesperación.

Sus ojos estaban cuajados de lágrimas ante la seguridad de que el silencio impenetrable a su alrededor garantizaba que la criatura estaba cerca...

Uno, había logrado arrastrarse un metro cubierto bajo la niebla y entonces, escuchó a su izquierda, tras de sí y de frente al claro del lago, un silbido. Al igual que la voz, parecía llegar de todas partes, excepto del camino principal. Instintivamente, se levantó y corrió hacia el sendero, sin mirar atrás.

***

—Lena, ¡abre la puerta! —Su madre solía ser más callada que un ratón de casa, escuchar su voz desgarrada y el desesperado toque a la puerta, asustó a Lena más que cualquier otra cosa, hasta ese momento. Tanto así que abrió la puerta tan pronto como saltó de la cama, sin siquiera preguntar. La señora Sutherland se asomó detrás de su madre, visiblemente afectada. La niña miró el reloj despertador junto a su cama. Eran casi las dos de la mañana.

—¿Viste a Key hoy? ¿Hablaste con mi hijo?

La madre de su amigo no parecía para nada la mujer orgullosa y bien cuidada que ostentaba ser la belleza indiscutible del pueblo. Estaba vistiendo unos pantalones de ejercicio y una remera que seguro había visto mejores días. En la planta baja se escuchaban varios hombres, los cuales daban detalle al padre de Lena de lo sucedido.

La niña movió su cabeza con fuerza en una afirmativa, para luego soltar:

—Lo vi esta tarde, después de la escuela. Vino a buscarme para ir al lago, pero yo no quise. Creo que se enojó conmigo —recordó sus palabras y un temor profundo se apoderó de su ser—. Key está bien, ¿verdad?

La señora Sutherland no contestó, corrió escaleras abajo gritando que debían ir a las inmediaciones del lago.

—Debemos son muchos —contestó su esposo—. Quédate aquí, Lidia. No estás en condiciones.

—No hay problema, voy a hacer algo de té. —La señora Harrington llevó a su amiga hasta la cocina y se despidió de su esposo con una señal de cabeza, moviendo sus labios lo suficiente como para formar la palabra "cuídate". No era el momento de mostrar afectos. Su esposo partió junto al grupo de búsqueda, armado de un rifle y cargando una linterna de baterías. Un segundo rifle quedó disponible para su esposa, de ser necesario. No había manera de saber qué o quién provocó la desaparición del chiquillo...

La luz del sol sorprendió a las mujeres sin haber terminado su taza de té, esperando noticias de los hombres.

Lena bajó las escaleras y solo le bastó ver la cara de su madre para no hacer preguntas. La señora Sutherland se excusó para salir al patio. Era una mujer educada y no quería imponer sobre el tiempo entre madre e hija.

—Disculpa que el desayuno no esté listo. —Ivy Harrington se levantó a buscar un plato para servir el cereal.

—Mommy, creo que Key vino anoche a verme.

La mujer pareció quedar paralizada, con el brazo extendido a la alacena.

—¿A qué te refieres, Olena? Ese no es el tipo de broma que se gasta en un momento como este. Si es que lo soñaste, despabílate. Ha sido una noche larga y Lidia no ha hecho más que preocuparse por su hijo.

—En serio, mommy. Lo oí silbar. Él es así, a veces tira piedras, a veces silba, cuando quiere llamar mi atención. Me asomé a la ventana, pero no vi nada. A lo mejor estaba escondido detrás de la cerca. Tal vez tiene miedo y no quiere aparecer hasta que sus padres le aseguren que no le van a pegar.

El grito desgarrador de la señora Sutherland hizo que madre e hija corrieran hacia fuera. La madre de Key estaba arrodillada en el patio trasero, abrazando lo que parecía ser un frasco de cristal. Un poco más abajo podían verse los restos de una mochila verde.

Lena intentó correr y su madre la detuvo, arrodillándose en una manera similar a la mujer que tenían unos metros enfrente, abrazó a su hija. Su cuerpo no paraba de temblar. Besó la coronilla de Lena y luego preguntó suavemente a su oído:

—Es extremadamente importante que me contestes con la verdad, Lena. Cuando escuchaste que Key te llamó con un silbido, ¿contestaste? Dime, ¿silbaste de vuelta?

En un momento confuso, las palabras de su madre, los gritos de la señora Sutherland y las voces de los hombres que volvían de la fallida partida de rescate se hicieron un zumbido en su cabeza.

Antes de desmayarse, Lena vio lo que la señora Sutherland había estado sosteniendo: una pequeña calabaza transparente, con el fondo lleno de musgo. La tapa del frasco estaba cubierta con una gasa, pintada en suaves tonos de rosa, lila, blanco y azul, atada con cintillas. La alegría del patrón de colores estaba salpicada de espesas gotas de sangre. En el interior, descansaba un puñado de luciérnagas muertas.