The Violet Hour: A Novel by Katherine Hill

stopped swaying and came to a sudden stop. “They say don’t get too close, but then you go the other way, and they say don’t go too far.”
    Howard’s chest fluttered at the ominous mention of they .
    “Who’s saying that?”
    “They say stay away from the monster on the rock, and stay away from the water that swirls. Nowhere to go but down the middle. Straight down the middle the only where to go.” Joseph’s pimpled face looked as tangled as his grammar.
    “Shh,” Howard said, looking around, not wanting to attract any attention. “No they don’t. No one’s saying anything. You’re safe.”
    “She will devour you, she will eat you whole, she will swallow you and spit you back up.”
    “Shh, shh, no she won’t. She won’t hurt you at all.”
    “She bashes like rocks, she burns like pox, she screams and sings like cocks. Iraq.”
    Howard had never heard anything crazier in his life. He ducked down under a rafter and came into a squat on the side nearest the boy.
    “Where’s your mother?” he asked, gripping the edge.
    It appeared this was a good question to ask. Joseph had been standing rigidly with his fingers spread wide by his sides. But now he blinked several times and resumed his bizarre habit of scratching his head against his hand, which after the outburst looked almost like an act of tenderness from a pet. “She’s at work,” Joseph said.
    “Will she be home soon?”
    “Yeah, soon.” A look of relief rolled over his face. “She doesn’t like me taking walks. But I can’t stay inside all day. The television watches me.”
    “Not to worry,” Howard said, exhaling partially. “I won’t tell.”
    “I gotta do my summer reading.”
    So he was still in school—that was something. “Sounds good,” Howard said.
    Joseph’s face drained. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
    “Not to worry,” Howard repeated, wanting to reassure him as much as he could.
    “That was Scylla and Charybdis. They’re just in the book.”
    “That’s right,” Howard said, only vaguely recognizing the names.
    Joseph flapped his hand good-bye and Howard began to straighten himself back up. But as the boy made his way along the perimeter of the yard, his toe caught an invisible mound of earth, and he tottered a bit, reaching out to the nearest bush for support. With a great clatter of wings, several small gray birds flew out from its branches, gurgling, heading straight for the poor kid’s face. He closed his eyes and didn’t make a sound, but held up his arms in an X to protect himself. Diverted, the birds flew on.
    Suddenly, they were in front of Howard, nearly blocking Joseph from his sight: pigeons beating their wings uselessly, trying to reachthe safety of a wooden beam. Seeing Howard hunched there in his hothouse steeple frightened most of them back, and within a few moments all had returned to the bush save one. It was sick, or old, or otherwise unfit for pigeon life, its tongue bulging outward like a cyst. Howard swatted at it, but the bird surged forward again, grasping for a perch with its scaly, purple claws.
    “Damn it!” Howard muttered. The desperate pigeon opened its mouth wider, emitting a throaty, ghoulish grunt. Cringing, he turned and swatted at it again, whacking his head on a rafter. The bird’s wings made an even more ferocious ruckus than before and all of a sudden he felt himself losing his balance. With ringing ears, Howard pitched forward, saw luscious green grass below, and felt his head, shoulders, and chest pass over the edge of the frame. His stomach vanished and he closed his eyes, releasing himself to the inevitability of the fall. How unlucky, he thought, as he tumbled freely through space. If I’d been just an inch farther back.
    The ground hit him with a snap, and a light warmth spread loosely through his body. Not so bad, he thought, could have been worse . He had flipped over somehow, and was now looking up backward at the sky. He could see that the old pigeon had