The Blue Plastic Tarp

The garage smelled like old oil and wet dirt. Vern stood in the middle of the concrete floor. He looked at the wall. The big red toolbox was gone. Only a pale rectangle of clean wood showed where it used to sit. His dad’s heavy boots were gone too. The space by the door felt hollow. It was spring, but the air inside the garage felt like it was holding its breath. The light was turning that dusty gold color it gets right before it vanishes. It made the dust bunnies look like tiny planets.

Something moved under the blue plastic tarp in the corner. The tarp crinkled. It was a sharp, loud sound in the quiet. Vern froze. His heart hammered against his ribs like a bird in a cage. He grabbed a bent screwdriver from the workbench. It was the only thing left. The pegboard was almost empty. The hammers were gone. The saws were gone. Just one bent screwdriver.

"Who’s there?" Vern asked. His voice sounded small.

The tarp shifted again. A head popped out. It didn’t have hair. It looked like a stack of gray pancakes made of wet moss. It had two big, flat eyes that looked like yellow coins. The creature blinked. Its skin rippled like water in a puddle.

"Not who," the creature said. Its voice sounded like gravel rubbing together. "Silt."

Vern stepped back. His heel hit an empty bucket. It clattered. "You’re an alien."

Silt crawled out from under the tarp. He was short, maybe as tall as Vern’s waist. He didn't have bones. He moved like a slinky made of mud. "Alien is a mean word. I am a guest. Mostly."

Vern lowered the screwdriver an inch. "You’re hiding."

"The light hurts," Silt said. He pointed a wiggly finger at the window. The sun was dipping lower. Long shadows stretched across the floor like dark fingers. "Too much yellow. Too much green."

"It’s just spring," Vern said. "It happens every year."

Silt tilted his head. "Spring. Explain."

Vern looked around the empty garage. He thought about the flowers popping up in the yard. "The world wakes up. The snow melts. The dirt gets soft and things grow."

"Grow?" Silt asked. "Like a leak?"

"No," Vern said. "Like plants. They get bigger. They turn green. The trees get leaves. It gets warm."

Silt shivered. His mossy skin turned a dull shade of blue. "Warm is bad. Warm means the Fade is coming. The Fade follows the heat."

Vern felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. "What's the Fade?"

Silt pointed to the corner of the garage. The shadow there was darker than it should have been. It wasn't just a lack of light. It looked like a hole in the world. It was eating the corner of the workbench. The wood didn't break; it just stopped being there.

"That," Silt whispered.

Vern’s stomach turned over. He looked at the empty pegboard again. He realized the tools hadn't been moved. They had been erased. "Is that why my dad’s stuff is gone?"

"The Fade eats the heavy things first," Silt said. "Metal. Stone. Memories. Then it eats the soft things. Like you."

Vern gripped the screwdriver. "We have to stop it."

"Can't stop it," Silt said. "Can only run. We need the Spark-stone. It’s in the woods. Under the Big Oak."

Vern looked at the window. The green leaves on the trees outside looked bright and happy, but he knew the shadows were hiding under them. The urgency hit him like a physical weight. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck.

"Is it far?" Vern asked.

"Far enough to be scary," Silt said. "The Fade is fast when the sun goes down."

Vern looked at the shadow in the corner. It was moving. It crept across the floor toward his sneakers. It was silent. It didn't make a sound, which was the scariest part. It was just a big, cold nothing.

"Okay," Vern said. "We go now."

"Now?" Silt asked. "But the yellow light is still out there."

"It's better than the nothing in here," Vern said. He reached out a hand. Silt’s skin felt cold and damp, like a frog. Silt gripped Vern’s thumb with a wiggly hand.

They ran out the side door. The spring air hit Vern’s face. It smelled like cut grass and wet pavement. Usually, he loved that smell. Now, it just felt like a countdown. The sun was a sliver of orange on the horizon. The shadows of the trees were getting longer, reaching for them across the lawn.

"Which way?" Vern yelled. He was running toward the treeline.

"The oak with the scar!" Silt shouted. He was surprisingly fast, his body undulating across the grass like a giant caterpillar.

Vern saw the tree. It was huge. Its branches were covered in tiny, new buds. It looked so alive. But at the base of the trunk, the grass was turning gray. The Fade was already there. It was climbing the bark.

"There!" Silt pointed to a hole between the roots.

Vern dived for it. He felt the air get cold behind him. The back of his shirt felt like it was being touched by an ice cube. He didn't look back. He shoved his arm into the dark hole under the oak tree. His fingers brushed something hard and hot.

"Got it!" Vern pulled his hand back. He was holding a rock that glowed like a kitchen toaster element. It pulsed with a steady, orange light.

As soon as the light hit the shadows, they hissed. It wasn't a sound you heard with your ears. It was a sound you felt in your teeth. The grayness on the tree trunk pulled back. The cold air vanished.

Vern leaned against the tree, breathing hard. He looked at the stone. It felt warm, like a mug of cocoa. Silt huddled near the light, his skin turning back to its healthy gray-green moss color.

"We saved it?" Vern asked.

"For now," Silt said. "But this is just one stone. The Fade is everywhere. Spring makes it hungry. We need the others."

Vern looked at the woods. The sun was gone now. The stars were starting to poke through the dark blue sky. He thought about his dad’s empty toolbox and the clean spot on the floor. He wasn't just a kid in a garage anymore.

"Where are the other stones?" Vern asked.

Silt looked toward the hills. "The Stone-Talker knows. But he lives in the Sunken City."

Vern stood up. He tucked the warm Spark-stone into his pocket. It made his leg feel cozy. He looked at the screwdriver still in his other hand. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"Let's go," Vern said.

They started walking into the deep shadows of the woods, the orange glow from Vern’s pocket lighting the way through the new spring leaves.

Suddenly, a low growl vibrated through the ground, shaking the blossoms from the branches above them.