1 GLOAMING When the light is gone, the dark things come: creeping from shadows, their cruel minds afire. When the light is gone, tell your dad and your mum that it's safest inside 'til the sun grows higher . . . --excerpt, traditional Brannland nursery rhyme A dark woolly shape flashed by the window. "Jacky?" Nora looked up from the table. The sun was a sliver behind the trees, its light almost gone. It's not gloaming yet . . . I think. She dropped her pencil. All she wanted was to finish her homework before the weekend started and eat a roasted potato dripping with butter by the warmth of the fire. But if Jacky the sheep was out that close to the gloaming, there'd be no dinner until she was in. Nora crept to the kitchen. Her mother, Deena Kemp, was washing dish towels in the sink. "Mum?" Nora cleared her throat. "I think Jacky's out." "How'd she get out of the barn?" Deena swept a strand of gray-blonde hair from her tired face. "Didn't you bother to close the door?" Nora nodded--though in truth, as she'd done her outdoor chores, she'd been planning a detailed takedown of bog mobs in Warriors of the Frozen Bog, the video game she played with her friend Wilfred. She remembered crushing an army of undead with her own undead, but not if she'd actually shoved shut that crooked door. "I think I did." Her mouth tight, Deena marched into the big room to the window. "Jacky's gone clever, then, and figured out the barn door." Nora's face burned. "Shall I fetch her?" "And be out alone so close to the gloaming?" Deena grabbed her farm coat from its peg. "We can fetch her quick together." Nora slipped on her father's heavy boots and scampered gratefully after. Ever since Nora's father had died, Deena had changed: sometimes vulnerable, often strong, but never angry the way she used to be. The Deena from three years ago would have shouted at Nora for not closing the barn door--and Owen Kemp would have gently taken her hands and murmured her into stillness. It was as if the old Deena had died with Owen and the new Deena carried his warmth. Nora saw that in the look Deena shot over her shoulder. "You've run out like a scarecrow without your coat." A gust of wind tore over the field, blowing snow from the fence posts. Nora hurried after her mother down the snow-covered grass to the rickety stile--the steps on either side of the sheep fence--and climbed over. Ice flecked her cheeks. The bitter cold cut into her fuzzy blue sweater. In the distance, a little brown sheep with stubby horns watched them from beside the river--a whole field away. "Jacky!" Deena hadn't fastened her coat and the sides flapped as she sprinted. "Look at that: Risking her life for a drink of fresh water. I'd have that sheep's head on a platter if she weren't our only sheep. I still might." Nora stumbled after. The sun had sunk beyond the trees. The cold was more intense and the woods menacing, shielding what hid in the dark. "Mum? I think it's just about gloaming." Gloaming: the line between day and night, safety and terror. Everyone knew of the unseen beasts that lurked outside between gloaming and dawn. Everyone heard them scratching at doors and windows, kept off only by the special iron on the thresholds. Whenever Nora heard them, she'd burrow deep into the warmth of Deena's arms in the bed they'd shared since Owen Kemp had died. Dad was going out to mend the fence at the gloaming when a beast got him. The thought snapped into Nora's mind like a wet cloth. She'd never seen a shadow beast--no one she knew had--but everyone knew what they could do: kill with one bite. We shouldn't be outside now. This is really bad. "Mum?" Deena was ahead, crunching over the snow. "Mum, it's gloaming! We need to go in." "I know, but we have a minute. And look: Jacky's coming." Deena held out her hand. "Here, sweet." The ewe stared at them--then broke into a gallop toward the river. "You piece of mutton! You want to be eaten by the beasts?" Deena chased a few feet, but stopped, breathing hard. "Our last sheep." Nora slipped her hand in her mother's. "Please, Mum. I'm scared out here." Deena's hand tightened. Together, they jogged up toward the little farmhouse. It waited at the top of the hill, lit by the oil lamp in the window. That shack was home: safe and warm. And the potatoes in the pot on the fire would be roasted and the house would be full of their smell. "You first." Deena pointed at the stile. Nora climbed the two wobbly steps. "I'm sorry for leaving the barn open." "We all make mistakes." The second step creaked as Deena followed. "And it's not your fault that Jacky's being a pain. She's lonely--" A rattle from behind the house broke into her words. A clatter. A rustle. A sound like a huge bundle of sticks rolling down a hill. No, not rolling , Nora thought. Crawling--fast. It was a wrong sound. A bad sound. A horrible, familiar sound she'd heard many times on the other side of the window at night. Then Nora saw it, lit by the windows, stark against the snow between her and Deena and the house: a huge, hairy, sand-brown spider--big as a hay bale--with blood-red mandibles and six gleaming black eyes. Excerpted from Secret of the Shadow Beasts by Diane Magras All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.