Author: Kelsey Sutton
Title: Smoke
and Key
Release
Date: April 2019
Publisher: Entangled
Teen
Summary
A
sound awakens her. There's darkness all around. And then she's falling...
She has
no idea who or where she is. Or why she's dead. The only clue to her identity
hangs around her neck: a single rusted key. This is how she and the others
receive their names—from whatever belongings they had when they fell out of
their graves. Under is a place of dirt and secrets, and Key is determined to
discover the truth of her past in order to escape it.
She
needs help, but who can she trust? Ribbon seems content in Under, uninterested
in finding answers. Doll’s silence hints at deep sorrow, which could be why she
doesn't utter a word. There's Smoke, the boy with a fierceness that rivals even
the living. And Journal, who stays apart from everyone else. Key's instincts
tell her there is something remarkable about each of them, even if she can't
remember why.
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Chapter
One
A
voice penetrates the silence.
At
first, it’s just a string of syllables without meaning. I float in
the unending darkness, disoriented and drowsy. The voice calls to me
again. Frowning, I try to concentrate. When it comes a third time, I
finally understand some of what it’s saying. Wake
up.
My
eyes fly open.
Darkness
surrounds me. The voice reaches out a fourth time, still muffled but
easier to comprehend now. Please
wake up,
it’s pleading.
At
last I try to answer; the only sound that emerges from my throat is
an odd grunt. The beginnings of hysteria stir within me. All
right, I
think. Be
logical. Find out where you are.
Slowly,
I work out that I’m lying down. Whatever is against my back and
shoulders is plush and foul smelling. I lift my hands, blinking, and
touch a smooth ceiling. What is this place? How did I come to be
here?
I
strain to hear the voice, but it’s gone. Now confusion gives way to
fear and my hands become fists. I shove at the ceiling—it doesn’t
move. A frenzy overtakes me as I begin hitting it. The grunt has
progressed to a hoarse shout. Wherever I am is so quiet, so still
that I know I’m alone. Panic burns through my veins and I attempt
to roll over in the tiny space, kicking and clawing. Then someone
screams, “Let
me out!”
It
takes a moment to recognize that it’s my own voice, weak and rough.
Suddenly a new sound vibrates through the stillness, a thundering
crack.
Then
I’m falling.
Air
rushes past me. Acting on instinct, I spread my limbs out in a wild
attempt to save myself, but there’s nothing to latch onto. Faint
lights shine below. I blink, too shocked to scream again. The
ground—or whatever awaits at the bottom—approaches rapidly. I
glance backward and see long hair and a skirt flapping like a sheet
in the wind.
There’s
no time to notice anything else; I’m seconds away from the ground.
Somehow I think through the panic and curl up into a ball to brace
for impact. I do so just in time, and as I crash down, the entire
world trembles. Earth billows up around me, and a shock goes through
my limbs. There’s not as much pain as there should be, though, only
a slight disturbance on the skin and bones I landed on.
Trembling,
I open one eye and watch the dust settle. A thousand questions churn
in my mind as I uncurl and look around.
“Hello?
Is s-someone there?” I manage to whisper. The words shake so badly
even I can hardly understand them. I’m sitting in what appears to
be a narrow alley. Everything is dirt, even the walls on either side.
Lit torches appear sporadically, giving this frightening place an
orange tint. The small flames sputter every few seconds, and it’s
the only sound I detect around me. A faint musty smell fills my nose.
I push myself up on unsteady legs and turn in a circle, searching for
anything familiar or living. I cup my elbows to protect myself from
terror rather than cold.
“Hello?”
I call again, louder this time.
There’s
movement out of the corner of my eye and I spin toward it. A face
peers around the edge of the doorway. One of the torches is directly
above it, casting flickering shadows over the little girl’s face. I
recoil instinctively, gasping, and the girl vanishes back into the
house-like structure made entirely of earth.
But
it’s too late. I saw her. I saw the way her eye dangled from its
socket and how her skin was half withered away.
I
retreat until my back hits the wall behind me. This
is a dream, I
think faintly. So I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to wake up.
Nothing changes, though. Intending to run from this place and the
appalling girl, I slide away from the wall and into the path.
“She
won’t hurt you. Doll’s afraid of her own shadow,” a voice
drones.
I
let out a small cry and stagger back yet again. This time my heel
catches on something and I land hard on my bottom. I frantically
search for the speaker. The words came from another doorway, one
opposite where I spotted the young girl. No one else appears, though,
and it takes several attempts to speak again. “Who’s there?” I
squeak.
Seconds
pass. Then the same voice answers, “No one.”
His
tone is so reasonable, so indifferent, that I’m able to gather my
thoughts. Perhaps this person can help me? Swallowing, I strain to
see in the gloom. “If n-no one’s there, then how are you talking
to me?” I challenge, finding a bit of courage.
“Perhaps
you’re talking to yourself.”
Instead
of responding, I get to my feet. I dare to step closer, and when
nothing leaps out or attacks, I take another. There is
someone beyond the threshold—the light is just enough that I can
make out the details of his appearance. It’s a boy.
He
sits in a wooden chair, bent forward, wrists dangling atop his knees.
Between two of his fingers is a single, unlit cigar. The holder
containing it is lovely, shining white like a pearl, the edges
adorned with carvings. As for the boy himself, his features are
hidden, but I can see a shock of blue-black hair against the back of
his neck and curling over his ear. His profile is lithe and…sad,
somehow.
“Who
are you?” I whisper, stopping again.
The
boy doesn’t react. “Weren’t you listening?” he asks without
glancing up, as though he’s carrying on a conversation with the
dirt. His accent is distinctly American. “I’m no one. We’re all
no one.”
“I’m
someone,” I say without thinking. It doesn’t make any sense,
because of course I am, but suddenly I need to prove it’s true.
An
odd sound escapes him, something that is more bark than laugh. The
edges of it are sharp and mocking. “Oh, really? Then what’s your
name?” Now his head tilts slightly in my direction, though not
completely.
Curious,
in spite of the alarming strangeness all around me, I fiddle with my
skirts and resist the temptation to move even closer. “It’s…”
I begin, then trail off. This shouldn’t be a difficult question.
Yet I don’t remember. It’s a sensation similar to fumbling in the
dark, reaching for an item that should’ve been there, and finding
empty air. How can I not know my own name? Everything has a name. I
can tell him what the oceans and continents of the world are called,
so why can’t I recall that one word that defines the entirety of my
being?
The
boy lets me struggle for a few seconds. “See?” He doesn’t sound
smug, just resigned. He still doesn’t turn. I want him to see
me, to say that this is a terrible nightmare. There’s a bleak
feeling spreading through my chest, a sinking sensation, because
there can’t possibly be any good answers to the question I’m
about to ask.
“Where
are we?”
The
torch closest to us is dying. It makes a pathetic sound, and I’m so
distracted by the dwindling flames that I almost don’t hear the
boy. “…one of those, are you? Need to have everything said out
loud.” I wait for him to go on, refusing to rise to the bait, and
he sighs. He puts the cigar to his nose and takes a long inhale.
“You’re dead, darlin’. This isn’t hell, but it’s the next
best thing.”
“You’re
lying,” I manage, frozen despite everything inside me urging me to
run.
His
shoulders lift in a careless shrug. “Wish I was.”
“I
think I would remember dying.”
“Not
in this place, you wouldn’t. No one remembers anything here. Also,
why don’t you try finding a heartbeat? Go on. I’ll wait.”
My
hands rise of their own volition. The skin they flatten against is
cold. Too
cold,
I think numbly. I stand there, waiting, praying to sense that steady
thump,
thump, thump.
Nothing.
It
feels like my lungs are swelling, horror trapping all the air and
protests. In that instant, I realize I’m not breathing. The corset;
it must be too tight. Disregarding rules of propriety, I reach behind
me to undo the strings. The dress hinders every effort, but I
stubbornly keep at it. When the stillness lingers too long, the boy
finally looks at me. “You don’t need to breathe…” he starts
to say, impatience coloring the words. Our gazes clash.
Every
thought I have vanishes. I nearly bolt again. The boy is pale…too
pale for someone living. His eyes are a too-light shade of blue and
his lips are nearly white. His shirt is buttoned up the front but
open at the collar, revealing the raised tissue across his throat and
the line of stitches closing it up.
No
one would survive a wound like that.
A
sound of terror escapes me as I retreat. The boy studies my face, and
now there’s obvious interest in his expression.
“Wait—”
he starts.
I
flee.
He
says something else, but his words are overpowered by the roaring in
my ears. There’s no sign of the little girl as I burst out of the
alleyway and into another. There are more doorways, more torches,
more moving things in the darkness. It’s a maze.
Mindless
with terror, I sob and stumble along. “Help! Please, help!
Anybody—”
My
face slams into a wall.
No,
not a wall. “What we ’ave ’ere?” a new, deep voice rumbles
above my head. The brogue of someone who works in fields and has
calluses on his hands. Fingers catch hold of me, huge and rough, and
I scream as I try to yank free. The grip on my arms tightens as
though I’m no stronger than a child. The man pins me with one hand
and explores my face with his other—I’m so shocked that the next
scream catches in my throat. An acrid smell assails every sense.
Before I can look up or demand release, he continues. “Aye, dis is
a new bake. Boys, come greet our latest arrival! Gracious, you’re a
juicy lassie.”
Indignation
shines through the terror fogging my mind. “Let go
of me!” I finally snap, flattening my fists against the man’s
chest to put distance between us. I kick at his shins, and he
chuckles. Torches approach from every side, held aloft by hands of
all shapes and sizes. My gaze flicks over the people surrounding us,
and colored spots mar my vision when I see the various states of
decay they’re in. Exposed tissue and gaping teeth and flapping
skin.
I
shriek yet again, a high and piercing sound. Then I happen to catch a
glimpse of my captor’s face, and I go mute with horror.
He
might have been a man, once. But what I see now is purely a monster.
His skin is charred and peeling, his scalp red and shining. The tips
of his fingers and ears and nose are missing, and he has no eyes.
Empty sockets leer down at me.
I
open my mouth to scream again.
“Let
her go, Splinter.”
Through
my terror, I recognize that voice—it’s the boy with the unlit
cigar. Several moments go by as I search for him in the crowd.
Eventually I see his silhouette leaning against one of the dirt
buildings close by, hands shoved in his pockets. That cigar dangles
from his lips.
“An’
if I don’t?” the hideous Irishman snaps. Seconds tick by, thick
with tension. The boy doesn’t say a word; he just stares. Slowly,
the steel grip around my middle relents. The man spits on the ground
next to my foot. Or, at least, he tries to—nothing leaves his
mouth. “Was just a bit o’ fun. Not much else to do round ’ere.”
He stomps off.
Some
of the creatures still eye me with curiosity. So much pale skin. So
many dark eyes. My stomach quakes when I realize there’s nowhere to
run.
After
another moment, the boy shoves off the wall, pocketing his cigar. The
moment he approaches, the crowd begins to disperse, taking their
torches with them. Like black iron, they meld with the darkness. One
of them hesitates, though, and glances back at me. A man in rags
who’s less rotten than the others. The hair at his temples is a
distinguished gray and there’s a slight limp to his step. Our gazes
meet for an instant, and then he’s gone.
The
boy reaches my side and touches my elbow. “Are you all right?”
It’s
too soon after being assaulted by that monster. I jerk away. “Don’t
touch me!”
He
eases back and puts some distance between us. “Are you all right?”
he repeats carefully.
I
push my hair out of my face, shaking so badly that there’s no way
to hide it. “Yes, I’m fine. Just fine.” No matter how many
times I say the words, they don’t become true. He waits, giving me
a chance to regain my composure. Eventually I can think again, and
the need for answers intensifies. “You said this is hell?” I
whisper, keeping my focus on the direction the creatures disappeared.
Now
I believe it.
I
can feel the boy looking at me as he answers. “Well, we call it
Under.”
At
this, I frown. “Why—”
“Look
up.”
Obeying,
I arch my neck back. Instead of sky, there’s a ceiling, of sorts.
More dirt and what appear to be tree roots. Scattered among these
roots are splotches of shadow, though it’s too far away to tell
their purpose or origin. “What are those?”
“Those
are the holes each of us fell through. Our graves are right over
them.”
The
word graves
jars something within me, and suddenly everything makes sense.
Opening my eyes in that dark, soft space. The closeness of those
smooth walls, the muffled noises above. Something cracking beneath
me. Then soaring through open air and hitting the ground.
It
was a grave. My
grave.
He’s
telling the truth.
If
I had any food in my stomach, it would be surging up right now.
Tearing
away from the sight of those holes, I face the boy. I know I should
thank him for saving me from Splinter, but there are too many
questions to ask. “So this is it? This is the afterlife?” My
voice is faint. I want him to lie to me. I want him to tell me
there’s something more, something better. Whoever I was in life
must have spent time in a church, because I find the thought of
wooden pews and stained-glass windows comforting.
But
he only shrugs again. “For some, I suppose. Judging from the size
of the graveyard and the number of holes above us, there are many who
don’t fall.”
“If
that’s true, why did we?”
“Who
knows? Maybe it’s unfinished business. Or it only takes a
particularly loud noise. Or we’re just too stupid to stay dead.”
He begins to walk, and after a brief hesitation, I hurry to follow.
Splinter might come back, or some other creature from a nightmare,
and this boy has proven to be an excellent protector. His long-legged
strides make me break into a run to keep up. The space is so narrow
that our arms brush.
Neither
of us attempts conversation, and I realize this place isn’t as
quiet as it seemed in the beginning. There are sounds echoing through
the giant cavern. A laugh, a hiss, a whisper. A reminder there are
monsters here. How can I know that this boy isn’t one of them? He
did save you, a
tiny voice reminds me.
Glancing
at him sidelong, I find his profile is appealing. His eyelashes are
long and dark. He has a generous mouth. Upon our first meeting, I
remember with some shame, I’d been too horrified by the wound
across his throat to notice anything else. “What’s your name?”
I blurt. He raises a thick brow at me, and I bite my lip. “I mean,
what do they call you here?”
After
a long moment, he murmurs, “Smoke.”
I’m
about to reply when I recognize where we are. We’ve reached the
location where I fell; the indent my body made is in the dirt. There
are the doorways where Doll peered out and I first encountered Smoke.
Now
that I’m not running from something, there’s more time to absorb
this place. In every direction, there are crude houses of dirt with
no spaces between them, as if the occupants were trying to create a
city. There are no cobblestones or carriages, no trees or signs. Just
passages that end in darkness and these earthen homes. But if I
squint just so, it’s easy to imagine a sky beyond the line of
roofs, the faint colors of dawn.
Eventually
I realize not all of the structures are the same—some of them have
square openings next to the doorways, crude imitations of windows. Of
course there’s no glass, though. There must be torches inside a few
of the dwellings, because shadows dance on the ground, cast by gentle
flickers from within. In a way, it’s almost comforting.
While
I examine our surroundings, my eyes feeling so huge they might as
well swallow the rest of my face, Smoke watches me. “You’ll have
to pick one of your own, you know,” he says. “A name, I mean.
Usually we just use whatever we fell into Under with. Splinter,
Smoke, Doll.”
Something
we fell into Under with? Unconsciously, I run my hands over my
stomach and sides and thighs, searching for any kind of pocket. His
eyes track the movements, an odd tightness to his mouth. My hands
halt and I wonder if it’s possible for the dead to blush. But now I
know there’s nothing else on my person besides the dress.
No,
wait.
For
the first time, I notice a weight against my skin, near the center of
my chest. I reach for it…and my fingers collide with something
curved and hard. It hangs from a chain around my neck and glints gold
in the firelight.
Smoke
smiles, a ghost of what a smile should be. “Nice to meet you, Key.
Welcome to Under.”
About
the Author
Kelsey
Sutton is a young adult and middle grade author. She lives in Minnesota, where
she received a dual bachelor's degree in English and Creative Writing from
Bemidji State University. She will soon have a master's degree from Hamline
University. Her work has received an Independent Publisher Book Award, an
IndieFab Award, and was selected as a Kirkus Reviews Best Teen Book of 2013.
When not writing, Kelsey can be found watching too much Netflix, ordering a
mocha at the nearest coffee shop, or browsing a bookstore. You can visit her
online at www.kelseysuttonbooks.com, like her on Facebook, and follow
her on Twitter or Instagram.
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