SLEEP CAME EASILY FOR THE boy this time. He was so tired, his eyes closed as soon as the sun said good-bye. He snuggled into sleep’s welcoming arms and was hugged close, until his fears took hold.
Water haunted his dreams again. Thick, oppressive water that slipped around him and held him prisoner. It pulled at his ankles, his knees, his chest. He tried to breathe, to call for help. But he was sucked—
down,
down,
down.
The water swallowed his scream.
The boy’s eyes jerked open as he sat up, hitting his head on a branch.
“A dream,” he whispered. “Just a dream.”
His hand shook against his thigh, and he held it still.
The boy was still sitting in the tree, but now he was surrounded by a black ink sky, with not even the moon or stars visible. Thick, dark clouds crowded overhead, blocking out anything friendly.
The night brought new sounds: buzzing, chirping, croaking. “Just insects and frogs,” the boy told the blanket. But he couldn’t ignore the snapping of twigs below. Something was moving down there, and he hoped he was wrong about what it was.
He wanted to go back to sleep, to escape the scary darkness. But sleep wouldn’t come now. Every time he closed his eyes, his ears picked up some far-off noise. Monsters searching for him, he was sure. The giant Wolf with its scar and sharp teeth, or maybe the creeping ocean, just like in his dreams.
Even up here, high in the tree, he didn’t feel safe. Not really. He had his blanket, but if they looked up, any monsters could see him sitting on this branch. He hoped they couldn’t get this high.
The clouds snuck in lower, and the wind started to whistle in the trees.
The boy crept farther under his blanket. Were those scratches he could hear below? Sloshing waves? He tried to look, but when he bent over, the height made his stomach turn.
“Don’t do that. Are you dense or something? Forget it; I already know.”
The boy breathed deeply, trying to steady his shaking hand.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“You were the one who thought it was a good idea to leave the beach.”
“I mean I shouldn’t be here,” the boy said, “in this place, wherever it is. I should be at the Umbrella Beach, with my parents and . . . whoever else is looking for me. I should be drinking soda and eating cake and pizza, and having fun. Not here, in this tree, with you.”
He kicked the trunk so hard, it rocked the branch he was sitting on. His heart leaped as he held on tight, trying not to topple down to the ground. The wind picked up and the clouds closed in tighter.
“How do you know your parents are even there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have any proof?”
“I saw the light, dummy. I found this blanket.”
“I mean real proof.”
The boy didn’t respond. The blanket and the light were good enough for him.
Except that he hadn’t seen the light for a while. Not since last night, when he was still on the beach. Maybe . . .
“They’re not looking for you.”
No.
But maybe . . .
“You’re even more lost now.”
No!
But maybe . . .
“They’ve gone home.”
“NOOOOOOO!”
CLAP!
Thunder cracked over the boy’s head. Lightning streaked out of the clouds above.
The branches shook. The boy’s eyes shot open as he grabbed the tree’s trunk.
“What was that?”
The wind answered, battering the leaves and howling through the forest.
The boy trembled. He did what his stomach told him not to—he looked down. And immediately wished he hadn’t. He was so high up, and the ground was so far away. He was in the middle of the sky.
He hoped the sky wasn’t falling.
“Mom,” he whispered, but she didn’t reply. He wished her words would come back, the ones in the air. So he wasn’t . . .
“Alone.
“With me.
“And all the monsters.”
The boy cowered.
Water splattered his cheek. Squeezing the trunk with one arm, he wiped his face. Was it the ocean? Could it reach him up here?
Water splashed on the blanket. His arms. His legs.
He turned his eyes up. Each raindrop looked like a tiny bullet coming straight for him.
“Better run.”
It was still dark, and the boy could barely see. He couldn’t climb back down to the ground. The Wolf might be there, waiting for him. No, he’d be safe in the tree. He hoped he’d be safe in the tree.
“I’m staying here.” The boy curled up tight against the trunk, burying his head beneath the blanket. But it couldn’t keep out the rain or the noise of the storm.
CRACK!
A flash of light pierced the dark. But it wasn’t his parents’ light. Their light was warm and welcoming. This light was cold. Very cold.
Thunder rocked the tree.
“You wanna run now, don’t you?”
The boy dug his chin deeper into his chest. His branch was sturdy, but not so thick that he couldn’t be thrown off. And what if that lightning got closer? What if it scorched the tree—and everything on it? His heart quaked with terrible possibilities. He shouldn’t stay, but he was frozen.
Wind whipped past his face, slapping his head against the trunk. He held on tighter.
CRACK! BOOM!
Each burst of lightning lit up the branches around him. Like fingers pointing, eyes staring, teeth glinting—ready to dig into the boy. They disappeared into the black night. Reappeared with every crack.
The boy held his breath, letting it out in each brief reprieve. When the thunder was gone, he could hear only the rain. The birds and insects and frogs in the forest were all silent now, hiding safely in nooks and crannies.
“Hooo.”
Except one.
The boy peered around the edge of the blanket. At the end of his branch sat a small owl, a baby. Its eyes were wide open, its ears pricked up. Its whole body trembled.
The boy stared at it.
“What are you doing? Fly away. Hide.”
The owl stared back. Rain pelted its feathers. Wind shoved it along the branch.
“Get somewhere safe,” the boy shouted. But the owl didn’t move.
The boy buried his head again, water streaming down his face. He closed his eyes, wishing for his mother. She’d know what to do; she’d know how to help the owl. She’d help them both. He pictured his mother the way he had just seen her, surrounded by fireflies and reading The Little Prince. He wished he were the Little Prince; the prince had protected the rose, put a glass cover over her to keep her safe from the wind. But the boy . . .
He peered out of the blanket again.
“Hooo.”
The wind was so strong, the owl was barely holding on to the branch. It shivered against the gale rushing past. The boy shivered too. Fear grew in the owl’s big round eyes. A mirror of his own.
They needed protection, a roof, four walls. Shelter.
CRACK! BOOM!
Lightning flashed, and something caught the boy’s eye a few trees away. Wood, but not round branches. Wooden planks laid out like a floor, covered by a thick layer of leaves for a roof and sides.
A tree house.