Simon Says: Demon Hunter Book 1 by Adam Dark & Matthew Thrush

Author:Adam Dark & Matthew Thrush [Dark, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thrush Productions, LLC.
Published: 2018-08-12T22:00:00+00:00

11

Simon came back for me later that day and took me outside. The sun was out. It was warmer than it had been the previous week. What little snow remained the past three days had melted into puddles. The yard was covered in brown mud and tiny pools of water. It was pitted with footprints from wild animals and the occasional boot.

The other boys were already in the yard. They all glanced up from their work as I exited the back door. The screen door slammed against the house with a loud bang. It made me jump. The voices from the Black Room had quieted but they still lingered. I stood on the edge of the porch as Simon joined the boys in the yard.

He grabbed a rake from number six and smacked him on the leg with it. Apparently, number six wasn't raking the proper way. Simon demonstrated the proper way then shoved the rake back in number six's hands. Each of the other boys stole glances my way and then would quickly return to their work as Simon went from station-to-station, evaluating their progress. No matter how frequently we worked in the yard, it always seemed like the yard was never short of trash.

It was almost as if Oakwood Valley's garbage was transported to the orphanage and dumped in the backyard and in the surrounding trees. I knew this wasn't true but it was shocking the amount of trash and debris that somehow swept down from the mountain into the valley. Sometimes we found cool gadgets. But mostly it was just a bunch of old newspapers, cans, broken pieces of toys, and any number of miscellaneous items that somehow washed down the mountain with each rain.

It was as if Oakwood Valley Home for Boys was a drainage ditch for the whole valley. One good thing that came from the garbage in our weekly purging of the backyard were some of the tools and toys we used. Of course Simon took these from us the moment he knew we had them. But sometimes we managed to commandeer some of the treasures from the mud and tall weeds and keep them for a few days.

Even now, I had an old magazine stuffed underneath my bed. Sometimes, when I couldn't sleep at night, I would pull it out and flip through the pages. I never bothered reading the text. I just imagined my own story as I looked through the pictures. They usually consisted of a hero fighting against the dark enemy who was stronger than him. And yet, he always seemed to find a way to prevail against all odds.

I once read in a book somewhere—probably one of my father's in his large built-in library in his study before the police took me away—that this was a self-defense mechanism to suppress the trauma I had experienced in my life. The author of the book said anyone who witnessed a death, especially the death of a parent by a child, had severe pain locked away.

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