Climbing over the gate at the end of their lane, Corvan spied his dad’s rusty pickup slouched on its broken springs in front of the house. His heart dropped. Now his parents would ask why he was late. There was nothing worse than getting in trouble at school and then again at home when his mom found out. If she grounded him, he wouldn’t get the chance to see if Kate would still show up at Castle Rock as her note suggested.

  He veered to the left side of the house so he could sneak around to the back porch, climb the maple tree to his room, and pretend he had been napping. He was almost into the shadows of the row of trees when the front screen door squeaked open, his mother stepped out and caught his eye. Here was living proof that opposites attract: unlike his father, she was tall, and her skin remained pale no matter how much time she spent outdoors.

  “About time you got home,” she said wearily. “You can help me carry the cider jars back to the pantry. I only sold three and traded a two more for some baking supplies.” Opening the tailgate, she slung a half empty crate of jars at him with an ease that denied its weight. Grasping the wooden box, Corvan barely managed to stumble his way through the front door. If he had his mother’s strength, he could knock Billy Fry clean across the school yard. The metal image of Billy flying over the picket fence brought a satisfied grin to his face, but it faded as he entered the kitchen. His father stood at the sink, staring out over their field, his sunglasses hanging limply from his hand. Deeply lined eyes scanned the horizon, a furrow across his brow.

  As Corvan scraped the crate onto the table, his father jammed his sunglasses on his head, then went out the back door without saying a word.

  Corvan desperately wanted to run after him and ask what was going on, but he knew it was no use. His father had become increasingly reclusive the past year. Corvan knew he missed his job at the mine and detested farming. The summer heat sapped his energy, even though he covered up, wore a wide brimmed hat, and kept his sunglasses on whenever he was outside.

  Corvan gazed helplessly at the hunched figure walking out of the backyard. He missed happier times, days when his dad would come home from the mine and play games with him after supper. Since the mine closed, his dad spent most of his days and also his nights down in the cellar, pounding away on his metalwork projects. He was thankful his father wasn’t nasty to others like Billy Fry’s dad, but withdrawing to the cellar didn’t seem like a great way to deal with problems, either.

  Corvan’s mother entered, slid two full crates onto the kitchen table then watched as her husband disappeared behind the rock. “I’ve no time to make supper tonight,” she said quietly to Corvan. “Grab yourself some jerky and a piece of bread. I’ll dig you some carrots before I weed the garden.”

  His mother’s response to problems was to spend more time in her garden. Since she didn’t eat meat, her gardening was vital to her. Corvan not only enjoyed the fruit of her labors but her obsession with gardening usually meant he would be left alone to pursue his own interests.

  He didn’t bother slicing the bread and stuffed three strips of dried beef from the stoneware crock into his pocket. Slipping onto the screened back porch, he found his mother already on her knees out in the garden, the dilapidated scarecrow watching silently over her. A bunch of carrots lay next to the water pump. Picking them up, he worked the long iron handle until the dry squeaks gave way to gushes of water.

  As he rinsed off the carrots, his mother stretched her back and looked up at the sky. He waited as the water ebbed to a trickle, hoping she wouldn’t notice him and ask him to help her weed. He on only hated that chore, but right now he needed to get out to the rock to meet Kate. As his mother returned to her weeding, he crept from the back yard, and headed to the eastern side of Castle Rock.

  It was a steeper climb up the side of the rock behind the outhouse, but Corvan knew every small foothold like it was the creaky stairs to his bedroom. Reaching the top, he entered the southern gap between the stone crenelations and leaned back against one of the boulders, like a king surveying his domain. Being the king of the world was one of his favorite daydreams, a place where he was admired by his subjects and always won the heart of the princess.

  Their home was one of two farms that lay outside the streets of their small town. Theirs was directly north of town, behind a closed gate at the end of a long, tree-lined lane. The other, much larger farm on the northeast side belonged to Mr. Fry. His gate was broken and propped open, but a large hand painted sign declaring that trespassers would be shot on sight was equally effective.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Corvan’s yard was bounded by twin rows of trees, a line of tall aspens and a shorter screen of spruce. In the center of this living wall of green was their home—the Guard Tower, as his grandfather had named it. It was a fitting name, for the house was a tall square structure, with a pointed roof over Corvan’s attic bedroom. It was the only home in town made of large stone blocks, having been built long before the surrounding area was settled. A history professor from the city college once asked to see inside, but his dad wouldn’t let him past the gate.

  The rest of the town was clustered along three gravel roads running parallel to the railway tracks. All in all, they had one grain elevator, one corner gas station, two vacant lots, and 76 houses of various sizes. The total population was 257 residents, most of whom either worked in the city of Fenwood, fifteen miles past the railway crossing, or in the river valley at the coal mine.

  Crunching the last bite of carrot, Corvan tossed the top over the side of the hill. He should help his mother in the garden instead of imagining himself as the king of the world, but Kate might be coming soon. He eased his guilt by walking around to the north side of the ring of rocks and looking over the fields instead.

  His father, now a stick figure in the distance, disappeared into the tangle of brush-filled coulees that marked the edge of their property. Beyond that boundary, the land dropped off steeply to the river and the caves that laced the sides of the deep valley. His father loved to explore the caverns and could be underground for days at a time.

  Corvan turned away and stepped into the shallow depression in the middle of the ring of rocks crowning the hill. The boulder that used to occupy the southern gap facing his house was now in the very center of that circle. At some point in the distant past, it had been broken off and relocated.

  Off to the side of the ring, he and Kate had built a fort with scrap lumber taken from an abandoned farmyard. It wasn’t much to look at, but it provided a bit of shade and protection from the prevailing winds. From there, they had explored the surrounding area all the way out to the largest cave at the river’s edge. That particular adventure hadn’t ended well and now he was banned from exploring any more caves.

  The area between the boulder in the center of the ring and the door to the fort was often a muddy pond. Occasionally, if it rained hard or long, the water would overflow into a channel cut into the western slope and rush into the field. The past summer, however, had been far too hot and dry. The pond water had long since evaporated, leaving salt-crusted shards of mud behind.

  There was another gap in the circle of rocks on the western side facing the setting sun. This one appeared to be man-made, with no indication a rock had ever occupied this spot. Passing through he sat and took in the view. The slope was gentler here, and the dry water channel was a comfortable resting spot. From this vantage point, he would have a clear view of Kate coming up the back alley from behind her house.

  A smile spread across his face. It had been good to find out it wasn’t Kate’s idea to stop hanging out with him. Billy’s father was a mean-tempered man; well known for pushing people around to get his way. He was likely just embarrassed that a young girl had put his son in his place, and more than once.

  As the sun sank toward the horizon, Corvan’s hopes faltered. Kate usually followed through on her plans, but if her mother returned from work in a bad mood, she would refuse to let Kate come over after supper.

  The cradle of rock beneath him radiated its stored heat into his body. Laying back, he closed his eyes to block out the setting sun.

  The bell on the back porch startled him and he sat up to find the last sliver of sunlight shooting out like a searchlight below a band of cloud on the horizon. The day was over, and Kate had not come to find him.

  Reluctantly he headed down the water channel, then turned for home. After a quick stop in the outhouse, he returned to the kitchen.

  His mother was drying the dishes and stacking them on the cupboard. A bowl with a few small strawberries was waiting on the table.

  “There’s not many left at this time of year, and they likely aren’t the sweetest, but I thought you might enjoy them.” She moved to one side of the sink. “You need to wash your hands first. I saw you come out of the outhouse.”

  Corvan stepped beside her, dipped his hands in the warm water, and looked out the window. “Is Dad coming back tonight?” he asked and instantly regretted the question. His mother had enough worries. He tried looking intently at the suds and pretending he had not spoken.

  She looked over at him and softly shook her head. “Your father needs some time to think things through, but don’t let all this worry you.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been through tough times before, and we’ll make it through this one too.”

  Corvan wiped his hands on the towel that hung next to the sink, sat at the table, and finished the berries.

  His mother retrieved the empty bowl and pushed it into the soapy water. “It’s been a long day, and I’ll be going to bed soon. You should do the same and get some rest.” She smiled at him over her shoulder, but the lines about her eyes remained sad and drawn. “I hope you have better dreams and don’t wake me up in the night.”

  He gave her a quick hug. “Goodnight, Mom.”

  As he climbed the stairs, he muttered to himself, “I won’t have a good night if that stupid nightmare comes back.”