Free The Devouring by Simon Holt

Behind it stood a tall glass-fronted cabinet, filled with ancient-looking books. An orange cat with one pronounced fang stalked in the hall beyond. This was Eben’s apartment above the bookstore.
    “No broken bones, but you’ll have some bruises,” Eben said.
    Aaron leaned in.
    “Merry Christmas, huh?” He smiled and stroked her hair. “I didn’t think you’d want to deal with my mother asking why your nose looks like a plum, so I came here.”
    Reggie nodded. She tried to sit up, but dizziness forced her back down on the couch. Eben put a hand on her shoulder.
    “Easy does it. We don’t want the bleeding to start up again.”
    “Where’s Henry?” Reggie ran her tongue along her teeth and tasted the rusty, dried blood. Blurred images floated around in her brain. She turned to Aaron and saw the faint blue marks Henry’s little hands had left on his neck. “Oh, God. Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine.” Aaron’s hand reflexively went to his throat. He nodded. “I guess Henry’s still at home,” he said.
    “Alone?”
    “For now.”
    “I have to go. My dad —” Reggie staggered to her feet. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I left Henry home alone, especially on Christmas Eve.”
    “Sit down, Regina,” said Eben.
    Reggie sank back down on the couch.
    “Henry killed General Squeak,” said Aaron.
    “I know.” Reggie swallowed hard. Her throat burned. “I think I knew it before you did.”
    “He needs to see someone, Reggie,” Eben said. “I’m not trying to butt into your family’s life, but if he’s hurting people now . . .” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth. “You don’t want this to escalate.”
    “I know. He needs to see a shrink,” Reggie said.
    “Henry needs more than a shrink.” Aaron picked up a glass of water from the coffee table, and the ice cubes clinked from the shaking of his hand. “I think something happened to Henry after we read from that book the other night.”
    “
The Devouring
? I read him a story from it. I’ve been thinking maybe that triggered bad memories.”
    “No, Reg. Not memories.”
    “Then what?”
    “He’s different now.” Aaron looked her straight in the eyes. “I don’t think he’s your brother anymore. I don’t think he’s Henry.”
    Reggie choked out a laugh.
    “Oh, yeah? Then who is he? Elvis?”
    Aaron didn’t smile.
    “Wait. You’re seriously thinking —? That’s freaking great, Aaron. Thanks for that terrific rational approach. Now we’re really getting somewhere.”
    “I did the rational, and none of the answers make sense.”
    “Slow down,” said Eben. “Aaron, what are you saying?”
    Reggie jabbed a finger at Aaron’s chest.
    “
The Devouring
is just a stupid book! A fairy tale, Aaron. Words, nothing more.”
    “Words are written down for a reason. Was there a real Cyclops? No — but could there have been some big, ugly mother of a mutation with one eye? Yes.” He looked to Eben. “You’ve read every book ever written. Do you understand what I mean?”
    Eben considered Aaron’s words.
    “Are there nuggets of truth to incredible tales? Sure. But it’s quite a leap to say that just because this book exists, there are creatures from another dimension who steal children’s souls. I don’t think an inquisition is the next logical step here.”
    “Just hear me out,” said Aaron. “Henry’s a kid who freaks out easy. If Vours
do
exist, if they attack those most afraid on Sorry Night,
Henry
would be the perfect victim, right?”
    “I hate to say it, Aaron, but
you
weren’t exactly a portrait of courage the other night,” Reggie answered. “Why didn’t they get you?”
    “Because I wasn’t alone — and I didn’t really believe in the Vours. Think about how they came for Jeremiah in the book. Jeremiah’s sister ran away and left him all alone in the field. This was just a game to us,” Aaron said. “But to Henry, it was real.”
    “So if I go home and chant ‘Bloody Mary’