This will be my first American gods story, and my longest story yet on this forum. Please comment! English is not my first language, so excuse the mishaps
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Shadow stopped the car outside a 'children's correctional home.' At least thats what the sign read. It advertised as a home for those who weren't quite convicts but weren't quite good enough to be left alone with normal society. He pitied the human who found out that perhaps their society wasnt quite as normal as they thought it was, as he had the day Wednesday decided to give him a job.
Speaking of the old man. Shadow turned to ask him what the hell they were doing there, just to find that he was already gone, his car door shut and the seat unrumpled as if no one had ever been there. Shadow cursed, got out of the car himself, and headed up the path to where he could just see Wednesday's coat flapping in the autumn breeze. He didnt ask how the older man had gotten out of the car, knowing he wouldn't get a straight answer. Wednesday seemed mildly amused, wether at Shadows annoyance or at the four boys tumbling around each other in the yard like monkeys in a jungle. It was a rough form of wrestling, but then again, Shadow thought, all wrestling was rough.
"What are we doing here?" He asked, hands in his pockets. Damn, it was cold. The kind of cold that pierced through your coat like you were wearing a thin t shirt and grabbed hold of your soul and froze it. This was Canada kind of cold- Siberia kind of cold. It had no place in Memphis, Tennessee. This place didnt get this cold during the winter, much less the middle of fall.
Wednesday seemed unaffected by the weather. "We're here to pick up a colleague of mine," the old man said simply. "This is where he last was."
"In a correctional home?" Shadow asked incredulously. Wednesday shrugged. He said no more. Shadow didnt either.
The door opened, and they were greeted by a mildly frantic looking woman who must've been in her late sixties. She wore bright yellow gloves that reminded Shadow of someone, and a long dress and apron like you would see in one of those old dishwashing commercials. In fact, she looked like she had stepped right out of a commercial herself. Too perfect looking, for someone her age. But Shadow was used to the little oddities like this by now.
"-ou must be Mrs. Harris. Ive heard so many things about you from young Fenny." Shadow was brought back from his thoughts by Wednesdays sickeningly sweet voice, the kind he only used when he wanted someone to leave. He wondered who Fenny was.
Mrs. Harris laughed, a grandmotherly laugh. Shadow found himself beginning to like her. "Oh my. Where are my manners? Do come in. Ill have Fenny come right on down." She opened the door for them before stepping outside herself, bustling down the steps and towards the yard where the boys wrestled. Or where they were wrestling. The moment they saw Mrs. Harris they straightened themselves out quick. Shadow didnt stay outside long enough to see what else happened, following Mr. Wednesday inside gratefully.
The home smelled like stale cookies and sweaty socks and little things that no one would ever be able to identify though all houses smelled like them. It was a good smell, one of a home that was lived in and kept up. It reminded Shadow of his friends houses, the ones he would visit after school. Though this house was much more crowded and much more.. lived in. He wondered how many boys and girls had lived here before this current generations. Hundreds? Thousands?
His inner musings was interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Harris, who had sent the group of boys upstairs with stern instructions to 'Send Fenny down, clean themselves up, and stay out of trouble.' Having once been a teenage boy himself, Shadow doubted that the latter two would happen. Mrs. Harris set a cups of coffee in front of the two men, before hurrying out an apology and going to check on the rest of the wards. Wednesday didnt seem inclined to answer, so Shadow nodded, picking up his coffee and sipping it. Mr. Nancy, he realized. That's who those gloves reminded him of. The old spider and his yellow gloves.
"So," he asked, "Who's Fenny?"
His question was answered not by Wednesday, but by a boy who had come down the stairwell without Shadow noticing. He held his body in a way Shadow had always associated with wolves, but had never seen on a human.
"I'm 'Fenny'," he said, mouthing the word like it tasted sour "And you, old man, have no right to be here." The boy leveled a shadowy gaze at Wednesday, his meaning more than clear. Leave, his body language said. Leave and never come back, because you make me scared and I don't like being scared.
Wednesday just smiled.
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Thoughts? Opinions? Who do you think Fenny is?