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Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap-
Edgar squeezed his eyes shut, drew the covers up even higher. The tip of his nose was cold and he kicked his feet to try and fend off the numbing chill that seemed to find him even bundled up under his duvet.
It snowed the first day of September at St. Churnley’s and hadn’t stopped since. Edgar was normally alright with the cold but this- this felt like something else. Something stronger. Meaner. As though it was out to get him.
Tap, tap, tap-
“Nevermore!”
Edgar’s eyes snapped open at last and he shot Poe as firm a look as he could muster. The crow flapped about, took flight and glided from the windowsill to the wooden bedframe of Edgar’s bed. He squawked loudly again.
“Nevermore!”
“Poe, please, you need to be quiet!” Edgar bolted upright, made to grab for the bird but Poe pecked at his hand, floundered in the air until he struck Edgar with his talons. He gasped, sucked in a lungful of freezing air to keep from crying out. The stinging would stop soon. It was only a scratch after all and Edgar was used to tussling with Poe. He’d had a close call some time ago when Poe had dove through the air and nearly took out his eye at a quaint little market in Burscough.
Poe cried out again in protest. Or spite. It was hard to tell.
Edgar whipped his head about to see Monty stirring slightly in his sleep. He let out a quiet little huff and rolled over, kicked off the duvet as he did so.
“Shh!” Edgar huffed and his breath came out in a cloud of white air. He buried his hands back under the duvet. It was cold during the day but never as bad as this. “Poe, you can’t keep doing this, we have a roommate now and I don’t care about you waking me up but it isn’t fair to disturb his sleep as well.”
Monty was a restless sleeper. He tossed and turned all night, let out deep sighs and clawed at the bedsheets with blunt fingernails. He slept most of the night as far as Edgar could tell, but sleep never came easy and was an uphill battle for Monty. The boy never spoke about it in the morning and Edgar didn’t ask. It had stayed that way since they had started rooming together. Still, Edgar could tell that nighttime wasn’t easy for Monty and the last thing he wanted to do was make it even more difficult for him by letting his curse rob his new friend of any more rest.
“Never- nevermore!”
Monty flinched in his sleep and Edgar decided that enough was enough.
“Right. If you want to make noise, you can do it where you aren’t going to disturb anyone but me.”
Edgar swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Even through the two pairs of socks he’d put on, it felt as though Edgar had stepped out onto a frozen lake in his bare feet. He took a second to collect himself, then snatched the book on his bedside table and tiptoed across the dormitory. As soon as he got the door open Poe flew through it and settled somewhere in the common room. Edgar spared one last look at Monty – frowning in his sleep – before shutting the door slowly and quietly behind him.
Edgar didn’t look for Poe as he padded across the common room, tried to ignore how big those shadows made the whole room seem, how small it made Edgar feel in turn. He pushed the oak door aside and shuffled into the hallway. Poe flew over his head, the only sound from him now came in the way his wings cut through the air, beat once and twice before he was off and soaring again.
Poe knew where he was heading and didn’t wait for Edgar. It didn’t matter. Edgar had the St. Churnley’s blueprints memorised since Poe had first turned up – since he had turned 10 and the family curse came for him as well. The winding corridors looked different in the dark from what Edgar was used to but he closed his eyes, counted his steps aloud instead, knew where to turn without even needing to see where he was going. He knew this route by heart. Knew most of them by now but this led to his favourite place in all of St. Chrunley’s.
Edgar opened his eyes, was greeted with the familiar sight of the St. Churnley’s library. Rows and rows of bookcases crossed the room. They towered over Edgar as he weaved around them. Each free-standing bookcase had a rolling ladder on a rail for access to the higher levels. The corner of the room had a spiral staircase leading to sections on history and non-fiction titles and there was a level higher than that which had a variety of texts in languages Edgar had yet to decipher. He breathed in, adored the smell of books and old wood and the lingering scent of a fire that had long-since gone out. The staff were trying to keep the place warm, which Edgar appreciated, but he was almost constantly cold and dreaded making a fuss over his own discomfort to the point where he chose to stomp his feet a little harder and rub his hands together and just walk on rather than turn back now. He would be fine. He had been fine before and this was only for a short while – just long enough for Poe to settle – and then he’d head back to bed again.
Edgar moved to the far end of the library, relished in the variety of colours and fonts on the spines of books, navigated his way by glimpsing the little white band that was secured over each title. The combination of letters and numbers would mean very little to some but Edgar knew the Dewey Decimal System before he knew his 8 times tables. He tucked himself away at the back of the library, near a window where he could turn his head and watch the snow continue to fall outside as the wind found its way through the tiny gaps in the building’s foundation and whistled overhead. It wasn’t a bother. Edgar was able to open a book and read under any condition but he enjoyed it all the more when it came with a tranquil – and somewhat sombre – view.
Edgar perched on one of the leather couches, heard it squeak as he shuffled further back so that he could draw his feet up and sit hugging his legs to his chest. Without looking at the cover, Edgar opened his collection of short horror stories. The spine had broken under the weight of the book’s own pages the moment Edgar had first picked it up but he wasn’t exactly precious about the condition of his books. As long as he could understand the text inside them, he didn’t much mind how they looked stacked high on any available surface of his room or the floor when he ran out of space on his shelf.
Poe squawked again. Edgar could hear the beating of his wings a little way away, saw him perch at last a top of a bookcase and burrow his beak between his feathers to preen himself.
With a sigh, Edgar returned his attention to his book.
~*~
Edgar had no idea how long he had sat there reading. He couldn’t feel his hands or feet anymore. He was shaking so badly that trying to read the words only made him feel ill. The book slipped from his grasp, fell to the floor and landed on its front. Edgar reached for it, couldn’t get his fingers to curl around its side. After a few futile seconds of trying to snatch it up, Edgar gave up, pulled his hands back to tuck them under his armpits and try to warm up somewhat.
He should head back. Poe had been quiet for a while now and Edgar was struggling to think straight. He couldn’t remember what had happened in the last story he’d read, not even the names of the characters or who had written it. He was usually sharper than this. He’d be alarmed if his whole body didn’t feel so numb, so tired and frozen from the inside out that thinking was too much of an effort to even worry about now.
Edgar slumped over, was too cold to uncurl for even a moment to get up and drag his quivering body back to bed. He’d just lay there a little longer, just until his hands warmed up somewhat and the thought of pushing himself off of the couch didn’t seem like an impossible feat.
~*~
Edgar jolted awake at a series of sharp jabs at his face. He groaned, brought a hand up to try and swat Poe away but his arm moved slowly, felt as though it were made of lead and Poe dodged easily. The crow squawked; cried out again and again as he shuffled on Edgar’s chest, took Egar’s thin pyjama top in his beak and tugged hard.
“…Stop.” Edgar huffed half-heartedly, didn’t have the energy to fight back. He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep but didn’t feel at all rested as he tried to blink himself awake.
Poe cawed more urgently but Edgar didn’t respond. He let his head fall back against the arm of the couch and his eyes slide shut once more. He felt like he was drifting, carried away in some cold stream, far from St. Churnley’s and Poe and his friends, where nobody would be able to reach him again.
~*~
“Is that you there, Edgar?”
Edgar recognised his name. Heard a familiar voice but it sounded distant, too far to reach him. He let slip a little noise of acknowledgement but didn’t open his eyes.
Poe started up again, was crying out over and over again and walking over Edgar’s chest.
There were footsteps, they landed heavy on the wooden floor that creaked beneath their weight. Edgar tried to count each footfall but couldn’t manage it, felt as though his head was stuffed full of cotton, made thinking so much harder than it usually was. Normally Edgar couldn’t stop thoughts from whirling around his head but in that moment it was like his mind went blank. He’d probably feel more alarmed by that if he was more awake.
“Edgar.” The voice came again. Closer now. Much closer. He recognised it – knew this one. Of course he did. Edgar knew what his friends sounded like.
“Monty?”
Edgar opened his eyes after a long moment. He wasn’t shivering anymore but talking was a great effort.
“What are you doing here?” Monty asked after a moment. He paused, frowned a little bit, seemed upset though Edgar couldn’t place why. “Did I do something to make you want to leave?”
“No.” Edgar tried to sit up, tried to shake his head. He couldn’t manage either. “N- no. I- it- it was P- Poe.”
Monty took a step forward, reached out and then pulled his hand away and clutched it to his chest as though he had taken a swing at Edgar.
“What? Why are you talking like that? What did Poe do?”
It was too many questions. They made Edgar’s head spin. He couldn’t think, couldn’t get his words out right either.
“S- sorry. I’m sor- sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“J- just am.” Edgar paused, felt like he was missing something. “S- sorry.” Better.
Monty took a large step closer. He hesitated, then upon seeing Edgar lay there, not moving aside from the occasional slow blink, took another step, then another until he was close enough to reach out and touch him. The whole action was extremely careful, Edgar noticed, as though Monty was scared.
As soon as Monty’s fingers ghosted Edgar’s knuckles he pulled back with a gasp.
“You’re freezing!”
“I- I know. Just-“ Edgar sighed, blinked and had to force his eyes to stay open afterwards. “I’m cold.”
Monty shuffled closer. He still seemed nervous but there was a determined set to his brow, a rigidity in his shoulders as though he was making a real effort to seem brave. Monty inched towards the couch until he was able to sit beside Edgar, reached out to set a hand over his arm. He was warm. Despite the cold around the two of them, Monty seemed to radiate heat and each second that passed with Monty carefully touching him, had Edgar coming back to himself little by little.
“H-how are you not c-cold?”
Monty shrugged. “I don’t get cold anymore.”
“Is that your c-curse?”
Monty was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. “Yeah.”
“I…” Edgar swallowed, still had trouble getting his head to work properly. “I want t-to go- go back to the room now.”
“Okay.”
Neither one of them moved. Monty looked about a little awkwardly, took his hand off of Edgar’s arm and fiddled with the hem of his pyjama tip as he waited for the other boy to move.
Edgar sighed shakily, didn’t think he could get up on his own but found himself unable to ask for help.
“Do you want me to go back?” Monty said at last, stood up and regarded Edgar like he was something he just couldn’t quite work out.
“No! No, um, I- I’m sorry. Please. Can you, um, I- please-“
Monty’s eyes widened and he perked up with realisation. “Do you want some help?”
“Y-yes. Please. S-sorry, I-“
“Hey, it’s alright,” Monty said as he bent down to carefully lift Edgar’s arm and slide it over his shoulders. “I’ll help you.”
It was like Monty said it to reassure himself more than anything else but Edgar’s brain was working too slowly to unpack that. He let himself be eased upright and leaned his weight against Monty’s side, shuddered feeling the warmth of having another person beside him.
“Can you walk?”
“I can try.” Edgar really did but his limbs were heavy and uncoordinated – even more so than usual – and he kicked Monty’s heels more than anything else.
The height difference between them made Edgar difficult to manoeuvre but Monty managed, didn’t seem to have any issue letting Edgar against him for support.
They took things very slowly and Edgar found that slowly he was able to feel sensation in his feet again instead of just a numb tingling. It was still an effort to put one foot in front of the other but Monty had hold of him; didn’t let Edgar trip.
“Why were you in the library, anyway?” Monty asked after a while.
“I- It’s where I go when I need to find myself. It’s usually where I feel happiest but tonight… I didn’t realise how cold it’d be and by the time I realised it was already too late.”
He could have frozen there. If Monty hadn’t found him Edgar may have ended up with a prolonged stay in St. Churnley’s hospital wing or worse. He shivered.
“You’re still cold? We’ll be back in the room soon and then you can have my blanket as well to warm you up.”
“I- I can’t do that. You’ll be cold.”
“I haven’t been cold in a long time.”
Edgar nodded, felt warmer than he had a moment ago. He wasn’t sure what he’d done for Monty to care so much. He considered the two of them to be friends but nobody had really gone out of their way to help Edgar this much before. When he needed help growing up his Dad or Grandad were always there to help but their aid came with a lecture. Monty didn’t make Edgar feel stupid for falling asleep in a freezing library, he didn’t make Edgar feel guilty for needing his help either.
“Is there a place you feel happy?”
Monty thought for a moment. “Manchester forest. But before then… I don’t know. Maybe my old bedroom? The one at my Mum and Dad’s house.”
“Where do you live now?”
Monty bristled, turned on Edgar with sharp, guarded eyes. He seemed panicked as though he’d said too much.
“With you.”
That wasn’t what he meant and the pair of them knew it. Edgar looked away, knew better than to pull that thread, especially since Monty had been so considerate with him.
Edgar’s voice softened of its own accord. “Ah, sorry, of course that’s what you meant.”
Monty settled at that, used one hand to open the door to their dormitory and kept Edgar standing with the other. Together they slowly crossed the room and when Monty was sure Edgar was alright on his own, stepped away from the other boy so Edgar could settle down on his bed, pull the covers up and over his body until he had the duvet tucked under his chin. Edgar shut his eyes, teeth still chattering and body shivering violently.
He could hear Monty moving somewhere else in the room and registered a swooping sound somewhere overhead. Edgar braced himself, waited for Poe to slam into his body but the pain didn’t come. He looked up to see Monty’s own duvet settling over him and his roommate standing over him looking uncertain.
“Is that alright? Does that help?”
“Y-yes, um, thank you, Monty. O-only if you insist, I don’t want you to be cold.”
Monty just shook his head. “It’s fine.” The boy paused. “I don’t really know how to look after someone when they aren’t well. My Grandma would make me soup and bring me sweet cups of tea but I don’t really know how to bring you that here. Sorry.”
“It’s fine, really.” Edgar shuddered but was feeling much warmer already, felt himself getting tired. There was an initial stab of fear upon remembering losing consciousness in the library but it passed quickly. Monty was here. If Edgar really was about to fall back into that cold-induced delirium, he trusted that his roommate would pull him out of it again. “You’ve helped me out already and I can’t thank you enough – you’re a great friend, Monty.”
“Thank you.”
Edgar opened his eyes to see Monty settling down on his own bed. He’d scrounged a blanket from the hamper in the far corner of the room. It was thin and threadbare in places but Monty didn’t seem to mind. He nestled down with his head against the pillow. There was a moment of peace, then Monty shifted about, kicked the blanket off, already too warm.