Shall Not Sleep [bxb]

Chapter Seventeen

It was raining when we landed in Manchester. It was also early morning, which was confusing. When we got on the train that would take us to Yorkshire, people were shoving breakfast sandwiches into their mouths, gulping coffee, and commuting to work. I counted back the hours and tried to figure out how long I'd been awake.

Too long. I fell asleep. After what felt like the blink of an eye, Mom was shaking me awake and whispering, "We're in Lansing."

My heart raced as I jolted out of sleep. I couldn't stop looking around me as we climbed off the train, exited the tiny train station, and emerged into the town square. It was beautiful, like something straight off a period piece TV show. The houses surrounding the grassy square looked like dollhouses, and they each seemed to have a prize rose garden out front. The sun came out and bathed them all in a golden glow.

Mom clutched the guesthouse's brochure that she printed off from the internet.

"Okay, it says once you've arrived in the town square, head down Elmer Street until you see a pig," she read. "Um, okay. Where's Elmer Street?"

We found the sign, pointing off down a sunny, tree-lined lane, and we were about to head down it when I noticed the monument at the centre of the town square. It was a large, pointed obelisk, adored with iron curls and blackened brass.

In Memory, the plaque says in big letters. There's some more written under that.

"Max, where are you going?" Mom cried. "Elmer Street is this way."

"I have to see this," I murmured, striding towards the monument.

Something told me...

Yes.

In Memory of Lansing's Heroes of the Great War.

Before there was a second world war, the first one was called the Great War.

There were lists of names. Dozens of names from a town so small. World War One devastated an entire generation of young men and I remembered the numbers of dead and shivered. I was looking at some of their names right now.

But it only took one scan for me to notice that Alastair Barrington-Stowsworth was not on this list.

I covered my mouth with my hand.

"Max, come on. We don't want to keep them waiting."

I turned and followed her, but my mind was on that monument.

This could mean a few things. One, I was in the wrong place. Alastair never lived here, never saw this place. I got it all wrong.

Or he didn't die in the war.

Elmer Street took us just outside the village. As we walked, towing our suitcases behind us, Mom fretted.

"Do you see a pig? They say we'll see a pig as we're approaching. Where would a pig be? Do they mean a real pig or, like, a statue?"

Fields and bushes and farmlands stretched on one side of the lane. On the other, a copse of trees loomed over us. I kept seeing peeks of buildings on the other side. I craned my head to see more than just the occasional glimpse of stone, but it was impossible.

"Ooh, there's a pig!" Mom cried, pointing into a little paddock next to us.

A giant pink pig stood there, staring at us as it stuck its face in a trough of slop.

The paddock was just outside a two-story cottage with vines growing up its sides. It had a turret. An honest-to-God turret, like they were keeping Rapunzel up there. The other side of the yard, across from the pig's paddock, was a garden full of green so bright it hurts my eyes. A sign outside read "The Urban Swine."