Lost Boy

by Michael Montoure

Andrew ran away to The Woods to be alone, to live however he wanted. Instead, he found the brother he'd never had, which was so much better than being alone -- and so much more dangerous .... And there was so much to do, for the two of them. The Boy showed Andrew how to use the spear to fish, and to hunt rabbits and squirrels and, eventually, lions. They watched some nights, in secret and shelter, as pirate ships went down the river; ran and danced and sang in moonlight; scared off bears and coyotes with flaming torches.

The Boy told Andrew everything he knew about The Woods, and Andrew drank it all in. He started to suspect, over time, that there was more to the world than even the Boy understood, and he sometimes watched alone as slender and graceful rocketships rose into the night sky, as sunsets tinted their fuselages rose and red and imperial violet; or on other nights, as robots deuled with cannons from the decks of ironclad dirigibles.

"Peter," Andrew said. "I think I'll call you Peter. Like Peter Pan."

The Boy's face darkened. "Damn it," he whispered. He lunged across the fire to Andrew, kicking and scattering burning logs. He grabbed Andrew's shirtfront and shoved him against the cave wall. "Take it back! Why do you have to ruin everything?" he asked. "Why do you have to name everything? Decide what's real and what's -- why can't you just enjoy things? What's wrong with you? .... " This short story originally appeared in the collection "SLICES," available now.

24 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 21, 2012

About the author

An unreliable narrator, Michael Montoure is an indie writer of horror and dark urban fantasy. His obsessions include hidden truths, secret dealings, and the changing and fragile nature of our own pasts. He is known as much for his spoken-word performances of his fiction at Seattle coffeehouses and conventions as for the stories themselves. He lives alone with a gray cat by the edge of Echo Lake, Washington.