(page 20) NOVEMBER 2013
CREATIVE WRITING
About the author: Shanna Howe lives in Sioux Falls, and when she’s not busy writing, she’s trying to raise a couple of good humans.
THE DARE Make no sound, Jacob wills himself, leaning down on the handle of the front door. Orion, his Jack Russell, only stares, tilting his head and watching his thirteen year-old owner slip out into the humid night. With the door secure behind him, Jacob allows a quiet exhale. Dare me to meet you at the park at midnight, will you, Jaz? Let’s see if you even bother to show. Jacob scans his sleepy neighborhood, with its empty lots and for sale signs marking the new houses, and decides the street is too risky with its gleaming lights. To make it to the park without being caught, he’ll have to weave between the backyards. After a successful tiptoe across his driveway, Jacob edges around the garage with his back flat against his house. He surveys his
Graphic by C. T. Miner
neighbors’ backyard. He zeros in on the giant play system. After three deep breaths, he sprints toward the yellow slide. Half-way there, he realizes he can easily pass it and run straight for the empty house next door. He sails past the play set, giving the house behind it a quick glance to make sure no one is stirring. Jacob safely swerves to a stop around the half-finished privacy fence and catches his breath. He smiles—it was smart choosing this yard. The house is almost finished, but nobody’s moved in, and its fence means an easy stroll through the lawn. Suddenly Jacob is blinded by a bright light. He shields his eyes and crouches down, certain it’s the cops shining the beam in his face, ready to haul him in for trespassing, or worse, take him home to his mother. But there’s no movement: no voices. Blinking, Jacob realizes the light is coming from above the sliding
door at the back of the house. Motion lights. Relief, followed by the panic of being seen, hits him, and he takes off again. At the end of the fence is a vast, open square where four empty lots meet. Thistles scratch at his bare calves as he makes his way through the first lot. The summer-grown weeds are waist-high in spots and slow him down; to avoid them he starts doing highknees like Coach makes him do in gym class. Car lights illuminate the lot in front of Jacob. Fear gets the best of him, and he hits the ground. “Ow!” he whispers, so loudly he might as well have yelled. He isn’t injured, but pulling the thistles out of his hand in the dark is going to be difficult. Sitting in the weeds, he picks out the tiny spikes. He hears a garage door close, and waits a few more minutes to make sure all is silent. Slowly, Jacob