Hi! It's me with a new chapter (yay)
I hope you like it and please please review- I know it seems kind of pointless every chapter but it means so much to me and motivates me to post more.
So thank you to everyone who has already (you're all superstars) and thank you to those who favourited and followed too.
Anyway, heres the chapter!
Enoch avoided Horace for the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, hiding away in the basement. He would have stayed there all day if Bronwyn hadn't marched in and pulled him out by his collar.
"What the hell?! Let go of me you oaf!" He flailed against her.
"You're going to apologise to Olive for calling her a brat." Bronwyn insisted, dragging him into the living room where the other peculiars were sitting. They made loud, false conversation or held up books, pretending not to listen, but were all secretly watching the Enoch-Bronwyn showdown that was unfolding. Olive stood in the centre of the room, her arms crossed and her mouth in an exaggerated pout. Bronwyn released Enoch but blocked his path when he tried to run away.
"Right. Now, apologise." Bronwyn said, nodding towards Olive.
"No." Enoch said flatly. "Now, would you please move so I can go back to my solitude?"
"Absolutely." Bronwyn replied. "Once you apologise."
Enoch sighed.
"Fine. I'm sorry." He said, and Bronwyn smiled. "I'm sorry you're a little tattletale!"
Bronwyn's smiled died.
"Now you're apologising for two things." She said, grabbing him as he tried to make another run for it. The peculiars were openly watching now, sniggering. "Quickly please!" Bronwyn raised an eyebrow expectantly. Enoch let out a loud, long-suffering groan.
"Fine! Olive I'm sorry I called you a brat and a tattletale. Happy?"
The peculiars broke into mock-applause and Hugh cheered him. Enoch scowled.
"I hate you all!" He whined, marching off.
…
As soon as dinner was over, Enoch headed straight for his room, collapsing into his bed.
"Please please please." He muttered to his brain. "Would you just sleep?"
He could practically hear it laughing at him.
He lay with his eyes closed for the next few hours, drifting off, then waking up again every five minutes. He wanted to cry.
Someone else began to do it for him.
Enoch recognised the start of one Horace's nightmares immediately. He could hear the quiet crying and mumbling through the wall already, and he opened his eyes.
Waking up Horace seemed like a better use of Enoch's time than battling his sleep-deprived brain, so he climbed from the bed and padded over to the other boy's door. Horace had just begun to writhe and cry out when he reached him. Enoch sat on his bed without hesitation this time and shook him gently as Horace began to yell and sob. He clawed at the air, grabbing at Enoch's arms.
"Hey, hey stop. Wake up." Enoch was surprised by the gentleness in his voice. Hot shame built up in his throat, and he had the urge to shake Horace harder and yell at him to make up for it, but he didn't. Instead, he kept talking gently until Horace's eyes opened and he sat up, tears streaming down his pale face. Enoch hesitated slightly, then wrapped the boy in a hug as he sobbed against him, and Enoch was beginning to like the adrenaline rush it gave him. He was almost disappointed when Horace pulled away, sniffing and wiping at tears and streaming snot with his hands. His hair fell into his face in a ruffled mess. Against his better judgement, Enoch reached forward and pulled out a strand that had stuck to Horace's quivering lips, then got up from the bed and passed him a handful of tissues. Once he'd cleaned himself up, Horace watched him with a strange but unreadable expression that made Enoch feel like he could see right through him. He shifted uncomfortably.
"So.. um.." Enoch didn't know how to continue. Then a realisation struck him. "What do you dream about?" He blurted. Horace looked at him with surprise. "I mean, the future can't be that horrible, can it? 'Cause if it is then you can count me out."
Horace laughed, but then his face grew sad.
"I rarely see my future or the future of any of the other peculiars in this loop, because they're too close to me. It's like my peculiarity blocks it. But I usually see the future of unknown peculiars and normals. But only if it's an awful future it seems." He sighed.
"But what do you care about the future of some normals or some random peculiar somewhere?" Enoch scoffed.
Horace shot him a surprisingly angry look.
"Because they're people too! And I care especially when I dream as them. Well, not quite as them.." He frowned. "It depends. Sometimes I just get flashes of images and feelings that make no sense, but other times I see people's whole lives. I see them like I'm separate to them, like I'm watching from above, but I feel like I'm them. I feel their pain, their sadness, their fear." He looked at Enoch. "You'd scream too if you could see what I have to see every time I close my eyes."
Chastened, Enoch wouldn't meet Horace's eyes.
"Fine." He said. "Tell me what you saw tonight then."
Horace winced, then, with some difficulty, said,
"85 years ago, a little girl called Amelia discovered that she had the ability to heal people with a touch of her hand. At eight years old, she was brought into a loop, where she's been living ever since." He swallowed. "Sometime in the future, the loop will be raided by Wights. The loop's ymbryne, in selfish terror, will abandon her wards, leaving Amelia to watch as the Wight's brutally murder all of her friends as she hides. When the Wights find her, they will torture her for three days straight to find the whereabouts of her ymbryne, using her own healing hands to keep her alive and stop her aging forward. She knows nothing, and will eventually be tortured to insanity, whereupon they will leave her to rot."
Horace said it matter-of-factly, as if he was reading a script, but his voice was shaking and he quickly looked down to hide his face. Enoch stared at him for a moment. Normally, he would laugh- he loved gruesome stories- but this wasn't some old story from the past; this was a living, breathing peculiar who didn't even know what horrendous things lay in wait for her.
"That's… that's horrible." He admitted. Horace nodded glumly. Then Enoch's face lit up. "But hang on, this is the future we're talking about here. We can do something about it! We can stop it from happening!"
Horace just sighed.
"Enoch, I have no idea when this is going to happen- it could be in a few days or a few decades. I have no idea whose loop she lives in, including when or where. I don't even know the girl's last name, for Bird's sake! Believe me, I've confronted Miss Peregrine about things like this many times, but the Wights are a known threat to all ymbrynes, and without further information she doesn't even know who to send a warning to."
He met Enoch's eyes. "There's nothing we can do. That's the worst thing about my peculiarity- most of the time it just shows me horrible, pointless, terrifying futures I can't do anything about."
Enoch stared at him for a second, trying to think of something clever to say to make Horace feel better.
"That sucks." Was all he could come up with. Horace laughed.
"It sure does." He sighed. Then he glanced at Enoch, a confused smile on his face. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Enoch quickly looked away, face hot. He hadn't realised he'd been staring.
"I-I… um."
Horace raised an eyebrow.
"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you actually cared about my feelings."
Enoch grinned.
"Don't get your hopes up."
He stood up to go, but Horace suddenly grabbed his sleeve.
"Enoch-" Horace started, then suddenly looked embarrassed. He let go. "Actually don't… don't worry about it."
Enoch raised an eyebrow.
"You want me to stay or something?"
"I…" His eyes flicked over Enoch's quickly. "You don't have to if you don't want to…"
Enoch hesitated. Technically he didn't want to. He was unbelievably tired, and he wanted nothing but to collapse onto his bed and sleep. But part of him, probably the weaker part of him, figured he'd be a jerk if he walked out on Horace now. Enoch rolled his eyes, sitting next to him, and Horace glanced at him gratefully
They stayed there for the rest of the night, Horace trying valiantly to stay awake but managing somehow to fall asleep sitting up, something Enoch found both impressive and annoying. Enoch himself sat dejectedly wide awake no matter what position he was in, but finally drifted to sleep as the sun came up.
…
When Enoch woke up, he felt like he hadn't slept at all, and his neck and back ached from sleeping sitting up.
Huh, he thought. Turns out he could manage it too. Then Enoch glanced at Horace and realised the boy was slumped with his head on Enoch's shoulder.
Enoch's face went red and he stood up quickly. Horace lost his balance and almost fell onto the floor.
"Hey!" Horace cried indignantly.
"Bye." Enoch grinned as he walked out.
…
Enoch felt like he'd entered a whole new world of exhausted. Four days straight of almost no sleep had left him feeling empty and dazed, rather than just his usual grumpiness. He could barely think straight, could barely keep track of the chatter around him at breakfast. Glancing at Horace next to him, Enoch could see the boy looked as bad as Enoch felt. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles like bruises under them. His face was pale and haggard, and his eyes flicked over the peculiars' faces emotionlessly.
Enoch had a strange, sudden urge to nudge him with his shoulder. Why? He didn't know. Maybe to annoy him. Maybe to stop him looking so depressed. Or maybe he just wanted his attention. For some reason, Enoch liked the way that Horace looked at him.
That's weird. He told himself. That's weird and stupid.
He stabbed his food with his fork instead.
…
After breakfast, the peculiars all trudged reluctantly to the library for one of Miss Peregrine's weekly peculiar history lessons. All except Millard, who was practically skipping with excitement, Bronwyn laughing and shaking her head at him.
Enoch and Horace were the last two in- both too tired to bother keeping up with the others- so by the time they went to find somewhere to sit among the arm chairs and couches, the only thing left was a tiny two-person couch at the back. They stared at each other warily across it, neither one wanting to sit first.
"Mr O'Connor, Mr Somnusson!" Miss Peregrine called across the room from the front. "Contrary to popular belief, you won't get diseases from simply sharing a couch!"
The boys flushed, aware of the eyes of the others on them now, and quickly sat as Miss Peregrine began her lesson.
Enoch was barely paying attention- he hated peculiar history lessons on a good day, but today he was exhausted. He started nodding off, Miss Peregrine's monotonous voice and the warm library lulling him to sleep, when he felt a sharp elbow jab him in the ribs.
"Ow!" He said a little too loudly. Miss Peregrine stopped and gave him a stern glare. Enoch slid down in his seat. When she turned back to the blackboard, Enoch scowled at Horace.
"What the Bird was that for?" He hissed.
"I was just waking you up." Horace whispered back defensively. "If the Bird catches you sleeping during her lesson you'll never hear the end of it."
"Whatever." Enoch grunted.
He turned back to the board and realised they were learning about the normals' treatment of peculiars in the dark ages, hanging them and burning them as witches and such. Enoch sat up in his seat, suddenly interested. He loved gory stuff. Horace, however, looked a bit sick, as did the other peculiars. Enoch grinned.
His interest soon dissolved however. Miss Peregrine somehow managed to make even the exciting bits boring as sin, and he was back to staring numbly at the headmistress, barely taking notes, when he heard soft breathing to his left.
Horace was passed out next to him, head resting on the arm of the couch, an uncharacteristically peaceful look on his face. Enoch was about to jab him in the ribs as revenge for earlier, but something stopped him. He sat back and let the other boy sleep. If Horace was finally catching some sleep free of his nightmares, then Enoch wasn't about to take that away from him. Instead, he paid extra attention to Miss Peregrine and tried to ignore the strange, fluttery feeling in his chest whenever he glanced at the other boy.
Miss Peregrine was still droning on about some influential peculiar or other, when she noticed Horace sleeping. She rapped her pipe against the board until he flinched and startled awake. Enoch couldn't help the hot spike of anger that shot through him at Miss Peregrine. Could she not tell Horace was exhausted? Did she not care?
"Mr Somnusson! Polite persons do not sleep during lessons." She scolded. Horace looked at her, bleary-eyed and confused.
"Oh... um no, I wasn't asleep Miss Peregrine." He said quickly.
"Well then you'll have no problem reminding everyone what I was just talking about." She looked at him pointedly.
"I.. uhh…" Horace glanced at the board, but couldn't make sense of it without context. There were a few sniggers from the other peculiars. Feeling strangely defensive of Horace, Enoch nudged his leg and passed him a note.
"Uh, um you were talking about Sir Lemolus the Strange, t-the peculiar who started the first syndrigast revolt in London." Horace read. Miss Peregrine pursed her lips. She could tell he hadn't come up with the answer himself, but then her eyes flicked between Horace and Enoch, who was staring her down, and her expression softened.
"Correct. I'm glad you were paying attention Mr Somnusson." She said with a faint smile. Then she turned back to the board and continued her lesson.
"Thanks, Enoch." Horace whispered sincerely. "You just saved me a three-hour lecture."
"No problem." Enoch muttered. He realised his and Horace's legs were still touching, and he quickly pulled away.
Hope you enjoyed!
