Free Rich Shapero by Too Far

And then he saw in that cavern of light that hung between the
perpetrator and the victim, a mind that knew what the giants were doing, and
why. Robbie recognized its glimmer—the hints of life within. And from the
depths of dream, an indelible voice reached him: "Look into my eye."
    They faced the viburnum slope and started
up it. By the time they reached the top, they were breathing hard. They didn't
stop again till they reached the Two-Tree. They circled it once, then turned to
look back.
    The Pool was clearly visible, but the
giants had vanished. The sky was cloudless, leaden gray around the bowl of sun.
    They regarded each other, wondering.
    "Maybe it just happened in our
minds," Fristeen said.
    But they knew it was real.
    "What was wrong with his head?"
Robbie gave her a disbelieving look.
    "I feel sorry for her," Fristeen
said.
    "He killed her."
    Fristeen nodded. "That's what she
wanted."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Didn't you hear? The last time she
screamed?"
    Robbie could hardly forget. But—
    Fristeen shook her head. "That's what
she wanted. I'm pretty sure."
    Full of foreboding, Robbie's gaze returned
to the black trees.
    "The strangest place," Fristeen
muttered.
    Robbie nodded. "Too Far."
    "Remember what He Knows said,"
Fristeen reminded him.
    The oracle had warned them not to stay
late, and it would be evening soon. There was no time to waste.
    They descended to Used-to-Be, traversed the
Great Place, crossed Trickle and passed beneath the Jigglies. It was there that
they felt the first icy drafts. They shivered and traded dark looks, and the
looks grew still darker when they reached the Needle Patch. A thin mist was
drifting over the Perfect Place. They squirmed through the tunnel, and when they
emerged on the far side, they let the scratches go untended and hurried across
the meadow. But the mist was thick around the Dot Trees, and Robbie couldn't
find the sock.
    The chill cut through them. Fristeen's
hands began to shake. They were feeling through the branches, looking for the
marker. Through an aperture between two alder clumps, Shivers' milky eye
appeared, glazed and bulging.
    "Where are the birds?" Shivers
whispered. He wheezed over them, giant brow curdling, cheeks sagging behind.
"And the bugs? There's not a click or a buzz—" He spoke as if to
himself. "Is it Shivers they fear?"
    Robbie held his breath. Fristeen stood
motionless beside him. Shivers seemed not to see them. Then the dripping nose
shifted, the bulging eyes fixed on them, bloated lips leering.
    "Is it Shivers ?" he
hissed. And then he was tittering.
    Robbie felt the cold spittle prickling his
face.
    "Your marker is lost," Shivers
observed. "What now?"
    Robbie didn't reply.
    "You could close your eyes and climb
into the fog." Shivers' stringy chin coiled around a Dot Tree.
    Robbie remained mute.
    "Or you could wait for—conditions to
improve?" Shivers sniggered. His chin snaked through the leaves, circling
Fristeen.
    Robbie's chest spasmed with chills.
Fristeen's lips were turning blue.
    "Poor children." A greasy tongue
wagged out of the reeking maw.
    "Poor you," Fristeen barked at
him.
    Shivers' sigh was like a freezer door
opening. "I have no tears, so . . . rain must do."
    Gray billows were sliding down the slopes
toward them. You could hear the drops rattling the leaves. The billows rolled
over them, and the rain came pelting down.
    "There," Robbie cried. Through
the battered alders was a flapping sock.
    They scrambled amid the downpour, clinging
to the Dot Tree branches, sliding on the wet slope, instantly drenched. A stiff
wind blasted over them, numbing them both, but the wind cleared the mist, and
again Robbie cried out.
    "The ridge—" He clambered up on
hands and knees, and Fristeen did the same. They got their feet beneath them and
burrowed through the branches, threading up the incline toward Where You Can
See. The crest was swimming in fog.
    "Robbie, Robbie—"
    He yelped, and their desperation turned
into breakneck abandon. Wailing