The Turtle Boy: Peregrine's Tale Read Online Free PDF

world, a world he had stepped out of as simply as stepping
over a crack in the pavement. It had tried to hold onto him, the
thick air rushing into his lungs, the lazy amorphous light
scrabbling at his back, but then he was free and gasping for breath
while his father looked on. Now that world stood before him, framed
by the trees, and it would only take a step to be immersed in its
darkness once more. It was incredible. He had ventured into these
woods hundreds of times, to play, or read, or play Robin Hood, and
not once had he sensed anything amiss about it. The trees were just
trees, the air sweet and clear. How could he have known that it was
a fragile picture, pasted over something terrible? How could he
ever have believed there was another world, another plane, waiting
for him to see it?
    "Peregrine."
    He turned to face his father, who
nodded pointedly at the house. "She's inside."
    The boy looked at the house.
He had been born and raised here. The cedar walls glistened from
the recent rain. The lace curtains gave the windows a tired look.
As he watched, a squirrel ran across the roof, walnut in mouth, and
vanished behind the house. To anyone else, it would look like a
quiet, peaceful place, as it had been for many years. But now it
was a place of corruption, a poisoned, evil thing that had spat him
out as soon as it was done with him. As soon as she was done with him.
    "She's sleeping," his father
said.
    "What do I do?"
    He watched an unconvincing smile
quarter his father's cloven mouth as he dropped to his haunches and
retrieved something long and black from where it had been hidden
among the leaves. He turned and held it out to
Peregrine.
    The poker.
    "Bring her into our world," he
said.
     
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    Let him run let him go let
him get away…
    Debilitating pain brought Peregrine to
his knees, hands clutched to the sides of his head as if they might
keep it from shattering. His vision jolted and he shut his eyes.
The images came without warning, a stuttering film pulled through
his head almost too fast to see, but figures lingered and rose like
ghosts in his mind.
    The boy again, and a railroad. It was
clearer this time than it had been in the dream. A blond-haired
boy, about Peregrine's age, running…
    Not yours to keep we need
him let him go…
    There was a dead man chasing
him.
    And the whisper—
    Don't touch him he's ours
leave him alone…
    It's my voice ,
Peregrine realized, his confusion deepening. I'm telling him to leave the boy alone. But who is
he?
    A moment later, there was nothing but
darkness and the muttered jumble of his own thoughts. Gradually,
the pain began to ebb away, until only the discomfort from his head
wound remained. He opened his eyes, felt the weight of the poker in
his clammy hand.
     
    "Do it." His father stood close by,
head bowed as if in prayer. "You won't be killing her, so quit
thinking that. You'll be releasing her, freeing her."
    As angry as he was,
Peregrine didn't think he could do it. The mere thought of it
appalled him. And what if he went inside and she wasn't sleeping?
What if his father was wrong and she was waiting behind the door
with an ax in her hand? What if The Man— John —was there? Then it would all be
over.
    Listen to
yourself , said a voice he wasn't sure was
his own. You're afraid of harming her but
you're worried she might kill you first. Sounds to me like you
already know what has to be done.
    He gave a slight shake of his head.
"Why?" he moaned aloud, and his father was suddenly right there,
gruesomely bisected face shoved into Peregrine's own.
    "Because she murdered me, you little
prick, and whether you like it or not, executing murderers is your
job now. Hers is only the first of many lives whose fate you'll
have to decide, and you'll get to like it, because you'll have to."
With a snarl, he grabbed Peregrine by the collar of his shirt and
flung him toward the door. "Now get to work. We have more visits to
make after this one."
    Peregrine