Does a Snowflake Make a Sound? by Izaic Yorks

Author:Izaic Yorks [Izaic Yorks]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Izaic Yorks
Published: 2023-10-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8: Danger's Dream

December 23rd

Danger begrudgingly went to sleep. Clutching his baseball, he sullenly snuggled into his bed—a hamper hanging on the wall by a hook.

"He's a drunk," Danger said, mocking the tone his mother had used. "Stay away from him."

"Go to sleep, Danger," rebuked his brother, Bilgerat. His sibling lay sprawled out below Danger's nest, preferring the cold hardstone to his bed. His saucer-sized eyes looked up at Danger, glowing in the dark.

"Just cause he gave your ball back doesn't mean much. It was yours after all," Bilgerat said. Danger stuck out his tongue. He didn't expect his brother to understand. Bilgerat hadn't seen just how sad Old Man Withers had been. Before this evening, Danger had never seen an adult cry. He didn't like it. Danger knew what cheered him up when he was sad. Paper airplanes made by friends. Chocolate cake from Mr. Dungbeetle's bakeshop. Someone to give me a hug. Rolling in his dirty hamper, he nuzzled into the fetid sheets. A fly buzzed about. Catching it with a flick of the tongue, he chewed the treat thoughtfully. What can I do? But Danger was just a boy, and his mother would skin him alive if she caught him over there. She'd done that once to Kitty, whose skin had never quite grown back right.

But there was nothing to be done, and so he went to sleep.

Danger blinked. He was in a dream (not that he realized). Looking around he thought himself to be lost in the woods, but then he realized he was in Old Man Withers's backyard. The sound of a spade striking soil and rock caught the goblins' attention.

"What are you doing?" Danger asked. But Old Man Withers ignored him, seemingly unable to see him. The centaur worked to dig a hole. His movements were strangely lethargic, and upon smelling the brandy, Danger knew he was drunk.

"No hope, none whatsoever," Old Man Withers slurred. Pulling something from his jacket, the centaur dropped it into the hole. As Old Man Withers filled the hole, Danger walked about, trying to get a better look at what it was. A bottle with a little letter stuffed inside. Then, it was covered by a shovel full of dirt. Then another. And another, until only a gentle mound remained.

"There," Old Man Withers said, wavering back and forth. "Ain’t never gonna be a Christmas where I get what I want." Tossing the shovel into an overgrown bush, the centaur wiped his eyes. "Miracles done be for the dead."

Then walking back into the warmth of his abode, he slammed the door shut behind him.

Danger scratched his head.

"So that's it? Santa ain't just for kids! Don't worry Old Man Withers!" And like that, Danger awoke, remembering everything he'd seen—except the bear, who'd watched everything unfold to her design.

Bilgerat snored like a chainsaw, rattling Danger's sleepies away. He felt inspired. More than ever, Danger knew he needed to help Old Man Withers. I gotta go find out what's got Old Man Withers in knots.

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