Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

around us so quickly I couldn't see Gavin's eyes. Jefferson squeezed my hand as if holding on for dear life.
    "I wanna go home," he moaned.
    "I hope someone's still living up there," Gavin whispered and suddenly I thought, what if they weren't? Something might have happened and they might have moved away. "It could be a long walk in the dark for nothing," Gavin warned.
    "It won't be for nothing, Gavin," I promised.
    "Uh huh," he said, but not with a great deal of that confidence I had been relying on so heavily before. He took my other hand and the three of us began our journey up the dark, gravel drive that was filled with potholes and bumps.
    "I don't blame the driver for not wanting to take his cab up this road," Gavin said. From the deep woods to our right, something made a weird noise. I jumped and spun around to see what it was.
    "It's only an owl," Gavin assured me, "telling us we're in his territory. At least that's what my daddy would say."
    As my eyes grew more and more accustomed to the darkness, the tops of trees and small bushes became clearer. They looked like sentinels of the night guarding against unwanted intruders.
    "I'm cold," Jefferson complained. I knew he just wanted me to draw him closer. Now that the owl had stopped complaining, the only sounds we heard were our own footsteps over the loose gravel.
    "I don't see any lights yet," Gavin said ominously. Then we made a small turn and the tips of the brick chimneys and the long, gabled roof of the plantation house came into view, a dark silhouette against an even darker sky. It loomed ahead and above us like some giant sullen monster who had suddenly risen from the pool of darkness below.
    "I don't like it here," Jefferson protested.
    "It will all look prettier in the morning," I promised. It was a promise I made to myself as well as to him.
    "There's some light," Gavin said with relief. Through the windows on the first floor, we could see the dim, flickering illumination. "Looks like they use candles or oil lamps," he muttered.
    "Maybe the electricity is off because of a storm," I suggested.
    "Doesn't look like it rained here recently," Gavin replied. Without realizing we were doing it, we were both whispering.
    As we drew closer to the front of the house, we could more clearly make out the full-facade porch. Over the great round columns ran thick vines that looked more like the tentacles of some terrifying creature who had the great house in its grip. We found the walkway between full hedges. It was chipped and cracked. We paused a moment and contemplated the murky front porch.
    "Have you thought what you're going to tell them?" Gavin asked. But before I could reply, a dark shadow to our right suddenly took the shape of a man and stepped out at us. He was holding a shotgun.
    "Stop right there," he commanded, "or I'll scatter you into the wind." Jefferson practically leaped into my arms. I gasped and Gavin drew me closer. "Who are you?" he demanded. "You kids come up here to bother us again?"
    "No sir," Gavin said quickly.
    "I'm here to see my Aunt Charlotte," I added quickly.
    "Aunt Charlotte?" He stepped out farther until the faint light from the windows made his skin shine and his eyes glow. I could see that he was a tall, lean man. "Who are you?"
    "My name is Christie. I'm Dawn's daughter," I explained quickly. "And this is my little brother Jefferson and my daddy's brother Gavin."
    "Dawn's daughter?" He lowered his shotgun. "You come here all the way from the ocean?" he asked incredulously.
    "Yes sir. Are you Luther?"
    "Yes I am. Well, I'll be. I'll be. Ain't this some-thing? How'd you git here? Where's your ma and pa?" he asked quickly.
    "They're dead," I told him. "Killed in a terrible fire at the hotel."
    "What's that? Killed?"
    "Can we go inside, Luther?" I asked. "We've been traveling all day and night."
    "Oh sure, sure. Go on. Watch yourselves on the steps," he added. "Killed," he muttered behind us.
    The three of us hurried up the shattered front steps to the enormous entrance. Our shoes clacked over the loose slats of the porch floor and what looked like bats flew out from under the eaves and roof. Luther moved up ahead of us and opened the door. The additional light illuminated his face and I saw that he had dark brown hair streaked with gray, all the strands going this way and that over his deeply creased forehead. He had a long, drooping nose and deep-set brown eyes with a sharp web of wrinkles at each corner. His rough, gray