“What the devil?” John cursed. With a wicked snarl, Nana leapt up from his bed and crouched in front of the window, growling ferociously, her hair standing on end. As if pulled by an invisible hand, the curtains were yanked down from the window on their own accord, and the room filled with Wendy’s screams. She rushed back to her bed and picked up Michael, cradling him against her body. John stood paralyzed in the middle of the nursery, his body shaking as he watched the window pulse in and out again, his feet frozen to the floor. The slams continued as the glass began melting, its transparent rivulets running down from the top as if it were made of water. It puddled into a silver mess on the window seat and dripped onto the floor. The violent thudding continued, and with each crash, Michael shuddered against Wendy’s body, his face buried in her neck.
“What is it, Wendy? What is it?” She stayed silent, because not even in her wildest and most terrible imaginings could she guess at what this might be. Then, as quickly as they began, the crashes against the window stopped, and the remaining panes of glass melted to the floor. John ran for Wendy and climbed behind her on the bed, putting her body between the window and himself, his thin arms wrapped around her neck. There was a moment of silence as the Darling children waited in terror. Then an earsplitting whine filled the nursery as Michael began screaming. The pooled glass rippled and then exploded outward, a thousand tiny rounded drops falling into the room. The curtains were whisked out the open window and sent spiraling up into the night sky, where the stars were shining so brightly that Wendy could barely look at them. Chilly London air rushed into the room as the children sobbed. With a whooshing sound, a potent darkness spiraled into the nursery, and then everything was silent, even Nana.
“Wendy, are we dead?” John whispered, a sob climbing up his throat.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back, her arms still firm around a trembling Michael. The children watched in silence as a tiny shadow floated toward them, like a black feather. It lingered over the children for a minute before suddenly zipping out the window and into the starry sky, which exploded into a fragmented whirling blue and purple spiral of light. All three children were struck silent by its beauty, and for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, Wendy stopped being afraid. Nana gave a groan and lay down on the floor, rolling over to show the window her belly.
“Hold Michael,” Wendy ordered John, who, for once, didn’t argue with her. He wrapped the trembling little boy against his thin chest and pulled the blankets around them both. Wendy rose and walked toward the window.
“Be careful!” John hissed. “Wendy!”
The blue nightgown swirled around her legs as Wendy approached the window, a curious ecstasy filling her chest as she reached her fingers out to touch the turbulent light. When her fingers met the translucent rays of color, the light gave a shudder, as if she had dipped her fingers in a pond. With her touch, the spiral began closing in on itself, and as it shrunk, Wendy began seeing familiar glimpses of the London streets below. There was a musical tinkling of notes, a most enchanting melody gracing her ears, and she watched in shock as a dark shape began coming up through the light. The figure moved fluidly, as if it were swimming up toward the nursery. The shape was undoubtedly human. A tiny sliver of dread blinked in her mind as the shape grew larger, and she ran back to the boys. She had barely made it to the bed when she saw a hand emerge from the tunnel of light. Wendy let out a scream and pressed herself in front of her brothers.
The hand opened slowly, as if feeling the air around it, and then, almost pulling itself out hand over hand, the figure rose upward. Two arms followed, then the shadow of a head, then a body. It was a boy. The boy, silhouetted in black against the swirling light, rose up out of the tunnel, his feet not touching the ground. The tunnel pulsed once more, lighting the entire nursery up as if it were dawn. The rocking horse threw its shadow over the terrified children as it was rocked wildly by an unseen hand. Nana held her submissive position, looking terrified as she declined confronting the unseen force that rose up in front of the window. The boy snapped his fingers twice. The tunnel quickly faded, pulling into itself until it was only the size of an apple. It floated over to his outstretched hand. The boy hovered in front of the window, gazing at the tiny swirling light for just a moment before stuffing it into his pocket.
At that, all the lanterns in the nursery lit back up, and when Wendy raised her head, the glass and the rest of the nursery had returned to its original form, down to the small wooden soldier that stood by itself in the middle of the nursery. Nana gave a whimper and closed her eyes.
The boy turned to look at them. Closing her eyes against this terrifying creature, Wendy pressed both boys against her tight, and John repeated the Lord’s Prayer over and over again in convulsing sobs. Wendy raised her trembling voice.
“Leave us, please! Please! Go back to whatever hell you came from! Please! We are just children here!”
Through the darkness, an unexpected sound rose up, a low chuckle that grew into the laugh of a maniacal child.
“Oh, my, have I frightened you?”
CHAPTER FOUR
WENDY DIDN’T LOOK UP, afraid to see the face that possessed that voice, that voice that rang with male confidence through the nursery. She felt air push over her hands, her body, and she knew without a doubt that the boy had moved much closer to them. The boy gave a sigh.