Becoming P.T. Lyfantod - 15
A serial fantasy novel
What follows is Part 15 of Becoming P.T. Lyfantod
If you missed Part 1, start there:
Chapter Five:
Lost Things
I stayed up later than I’d have liked, finishing that report. But by the time I flicked off the light and slid bleary-eyed and ink-stained into my bed, I’d cobbled together something tragic enough to move Mrs. Williams to tears. Or at least passing marks. The moment my head hit the pillow, I sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.
My eyes fluttered open.
It was dark, and I hardly knew who or where I was. Turning my head, I found a clock staring back at me. Glowing red numbers read 3:06. I was me, in bed, and it was the middle of the night. I groaned and rolled away, curling into a ball and dragging blankets up over my head.
Sleep had nearly taken me when—
Thunk.
I sat up, listening. What was that? All I heard was the heavy soughing of a blustery wind, the creaking of woody limbs, and the rustling of—
Tha-kunk.
All traces of sleep vanished. It was coming from downstairs.
I threw back the covers. The air was frigid, a sure sign something was wrong. Like everyone her age, mam-gu kept the house stiflingly warm. That heat usually lasted well into the night, but I found myself shivering as I climbed out of bed. I tiptoed towards my closet, and after some rummaging I unearthed an old cricket bat.
Thunk.
It was even colder and darker outside my room. Mam-gu’s door at the end of the hall was shut. She must’ve still been asleep. Part of me wanted to run and wake her, but another part said that was childish. I was fifteen. And I had my bat. Whatever it was, I would handle it. There were no phones upstairs, so calling the police and hiding was out of the question. There was only one thing for me to do. I swallowed and tightened my grip on the bat’s handle.
Thunk.
I kept low as I stole towards the banister, peering down onto the first floor. As I scoured the shadows, the room below lightened then darkened again.
Thunk.
The noise that had woken me was the front door, banging in its frame. I remembered suddenly what mam-gu had said about tornados in the living room. But that ridiculous thought quickly gave way to another, far more distressing one. If it was the door making the noise, someone must have opened it. The blood chilled in my veins.
The man in green…
Blood pounding in my ears, teeth gritted, I peered over my shoulder, sure I’d find him looming there with murder in his eyes. The hallway was empty. My heart tremored.
That was when I remembered the Book, sitting vulnerable and unprotected on my desk. I wanted to go back and hide it, but if the man in green really could travel between worlds, he might be anywhere. Watching. Waiting for me to lead him to it.
Bat in hand, heart in my throat, I turned toward the stairs instead, though every instinct told me to run the other way.
The living room was a mass of impenetrable shadows, growing and shrinking with the swinging of the door. I aimed my cudgel at one after another, but no one emerged to ambush me. I drew back the kitchen door as quietly as I could and found it empty. I approached the front door, banging in its frame. I couldn’t believe mam-gu was sleeping through this noise. I stuck my head outside. The street was still in the way it only ever is in the small hours of the night, the only sounds, the only movement the swaying of plants and trees and the moaning of the wind.
I’d begun withdrawing my head when a flash of white out in the yard caught my eye. I slammed the door shut. A ghost!
Or—
I yanked it open again. “Mam-gu!”
She was shuffling across the lawn in her nightgown, blown about wildly in the gale. Pale as she was, it was no wonder I’d mistaken her for a ghost. She didn’t seem to hear me. I tossed away the cricket bat and leapt across the porch. The wind cut through my nightclothes like an icy knife. The dewy grass clung to my bare feet as I ran towards her. I reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Mam-gu, what are you—”
She turned towards my touch, but when I saw her face, I hardly recognized her. And she didn’t recognize me either. Her eyes were wide and searching, her face drawn and thin.
“Rhodri…?” Her voice was frail and thin.
“No, mam-gu. It’s me. P.T.”
“P…”
She began to shuffle away, but I got ahold of her and guided her towards the house. She came, unresisting, thank God. Her skin was oddly warm to the touch, and I worried she might have a fever.
“C’mon mam-gu, we’ve gotta get inside,” I murmured, helping her onto the porch. The hem of her nightgown left a wet streak along the ground. I got her inside and shut the door. “Wait here.” Unsure whether she actually would, I ran into the kitchen.
When I returned with a dish towel, she hadn’t moved an inch. She ignored me as I knelt, grimacing, to wipe her feet as best I could. “Okay.” I took her hand. “Let’s go upstairs to bed.” She nodded dreamily and turned towards the stairs. She climbed slowly but under her own power, for which I was infinitely grateful. Once in her room, I sat her down on her bed then went to go dig about in her dresser for something dry.
“Lovely party…” she murmured. “I do love to dance.”
I pretended not to hear. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. Our house was free of otherworldly intruders, but these episodes of mam-gu’s made me uneasy. I would find her wandering late at night or in the early morning with no idea where she was or what she was doing, making not a whit of sense.
Dancing was a common theme. Balls and waltzes. Lords and ladies in fine clothing. I’d ask her about it sometimes, afterwards, if she’d been a dancer when she was young. But she never had any idea what I was talking about. And frogs. Llyffantod—that was the word for them in Welsh. That was the oddest bit.
“That sounds like your name, except for that weird thhhh at the beginning.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Is that your name, then? P.T. Frogs?”
“No. Lyfantod doesn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe it used to be frogs and they changed it.”
“Why are you so interested in my name all of a sudden?”
“Cause it’s weird, and it seems too close to be a coincidence.”
“There’s people who have animal names. Wolf and Bear and Wolff with two f’s.”
“And Angus, like the steak.”
“That last one went the other way around, I think. It was a person before it was beef. As for the others, that might be a valid point, except that nobody is called Wolves or Bears. Or Wolffs. Following your example, I should be called Llyffant, not Lyfantod. In any case, you’re getting ahead. Don’t worry about my name for now.”
“For now?”
“It becomes relevant later. But we must get to things in the proper order.”
“If you say so. So what about your gran? Does she have dementia? My mum’s mum had that. She used to forget our names or think we were somebody else. Other times she’d go on about how the Unionists were ruining the country. Nobody had any idea what she meant.”
“I certainly thought so then. Now, I’m not so sure.”
I found her another nightgown and left her to put it on. I could manage drying her feet, but at fifteen, changing my grandmother’s clothes was beyond me. Finally back in bed, I was exhausted. I listened a while for sounds of mam-gu in the hall, but before long sleep overtook me once more. When my alarm went off a few hours later, it was far, far too soon.
