tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85997482319015766992024-02-19T01:16:32.275-06:00Turn the PageGinger Schenck, AuthorGingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-24516426404525848702023-03-08T09:30:00.000-06:002023-03-08T09:30:10.383-06:00The Raven Murder<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7OxZn8PP1OyUN2pxtZ-4aD-yRwMkPQThJ1wEJpfSNVlnSEDNGBjx1faEVcH3dKEVlFoUs3HsBCd9y54N_emGuSwWpnlbfGGEQt3DU77tX0YRWh5wamdbsbDieQfz11TxNbth8b4bCV6ck78Q_5gEoXqC0MM4GXovwNPPC3NDEVucsAnGy2dW78rh0Q/s1080/the%20raven%20murder.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7OxZn8PP1OyUN2pxtZ-4aD-yRwMkPQThJ1wEJpfSNVlnSEDNGBjx1faEVcH3dKEVlFoUs3HsBCd9y54N_emGuSwWpnlbfGGEQt3DU77tX0YRWh5wamdbsbDieQfz11TxNbth8b4bCV6ck78Q_5gEoXqC0MM4GXovwNPPC3NDEVucsAnGy2dW78rh0Q/w400-h400/the%20raven%20murder.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The Raven, a tiny bar on a side street off
Bourbon Street was slow today. The bartender pushed open the back door of the
storage room with her foot and stood in the open doorway, smoking. She hadn’t
smoked in years, had given it up but every so often she still felt the urge.
Most of the time the call of nicotine was controllable but not today. She
sucked on the cigarette and looked at the darkening sky. Soon drunken customers
would wander in, demand service, and leave the bar unbelievably filthy. It was
the start of the carnival season. The weeks leading up to and including Fat
Tuesday were a boom for the businesses in the center of New Orleans but one
that came with a price. Broken furniture, stolen glasses, and fights. Taking a
last drag of the cigarette, she dropped it and rubbed it out with her foot. The
door shut slowly as she walked away. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> As the night descended on New Orleans, the
pace picked up. Laughter and boisterous voices filled the streets and echoed
down empty alleys. The smell of urine and vomit drifted through the air. Groups
of people drinking from tall grenade glasses and others carrying fishbowls
sloshing with alcohol roamed the streets as if searching for something. Energy
buzzed around them and loud music made talking difficult. That’s why the group
of five drifted onto a side street, to get away from the noise. They ended up
at The Raven, which even though overflowing, still offered a slightly quieter
space. Pushing through the crowd inside they leaned against the wall in the corner
scanning the room for anyone leaving a table. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “My feet hurt,” one of the women said. It
was Elizabeth, a tall blonde with a feathery mask She pushed her hair back from
her face and noticed the group at the table right next to them preparing to leave.
She plunged into a seat before the last one had even picked up her purse. The
departing woman pulled her hand back and cast a disgusted look at Elizabeth. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The group consisted of three women and two
men, college friends that had made their way to New Orleans in a van.
Elizabeth, tall and willowy, might be considered sexy in New York but in New
Orleans, she just came across as scrawny. Kelly wore a feathery mask also but
hers was red while Elizabeth’s was white and glittering with tiny gold beads. The
third woman, Kat, was wearing a half mask, painted with swirls around the eye
slots and topped with purple and green feathers. Her mouth pulled together in a
frown as she looked around. Did they need to go to the bar for drinks? Not that
she wanted anything but she knew the others would soon complain, especially
Elizabeth. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Carson Houston and Brett Rivers were both
from Texas. They weren’t from the same town but both carried themselves with an
air as if being from Texas somehow bestowed upon them special favor. Money was
power and in Texas, their families had both. The two of them had become instant
friends, freshman year and seldom did anything without the other. Carson draped
his arm around Kat’s shoulder. Brett watched the two of them with hooded eyes.
A tingle of jealousy wormed its way inside him. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What do you want to drink, my darling,”
Carson drawled and Kat smiled. While the two of them made out with their eyes,
Brett turned to Elizabeth and Kelly to get their drink orders. Then the two men
pushed their way through the crowd, ending up at the corner of the bar. There
were two bartenders, one tall and one short. Both were hustling back and forth
filling drink orders as fast as they could. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Cresia eyed the two men at the end of the
bar. It was going to be a hot minute before she could get to them and they
looked like the type to complain. She was surprised when they just leaned on
the bar and talked to each other quietly. She knew the look. They were hunters.
They didn’t hunt animals but women. Women were their prey and she had no doubt
the two of them planned to “bag” as many as possible while in New Orleans. An
air of danger swirled around them and she wondered if they would end up on the
nightly news. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Cresia lost track of the two men. The bar
was packed but as the hours passed, the crowd thinned out until finally, only a
handful remained. Their attention was captured by the last call and when they
realized just how late it was, most of them staggered outside. Soon they would
be passed out in cheap hotel rooms, snoring through the alcohol-induced sleep.
Sighing, Cresia locked the door and surveyed the damage. The table by the front
window was sideways and a purse still dangled from a chair. She grabbed it and
put it inside the small cabinet under the bar. Surely someone would return
looking for it. Grace, the other bartender was sweeping the floor behind the
bar. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’ll start clearing tables,” Cresia told
the younger woman and she started toward the back wall, pushing a small cart.
It was two-tiered with the bottom containing a large trash can and the top a
tray to deposit the glasses into. The wheels squeaked. Shaking her head, she
cleared the first table and sprayed it with disinfectant. Using the bar towel,
she quickly wiped the surface. People were slobs she decided. Spilled drinks
and soggy napkins covered almost every tabletop. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> In the far corner, she noticed someone for
the first time. A woman leaned back against the wall, her head lolling to one
side. Passed out. Her face was covered in a feathery mask, purple and orange
feathers that hung far past the woman’s chin and rested against her dark blue
dress. All dressed up, alone, passed out in a bar. Not exactly anyone’s idea of
a fun time. Her friends were most likely too drunk themselves to even notice
her absence. Leaving the cart Cresia approached. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Hey, hey lady, it’s time to go home,” she
called out. The woman didn’t move. Her dress was darker at the center,
splotched with spilled drinks. What a mess. She stood over the woman, looking
at her dark hair spilling around the mask, tangling with the drooping feathers,
and landing on her shoulders. She hesitated to touch her but she had to bring
her out of her drunken stupor. She couldn’t just sleep in the corner of the bar
all night. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Cresia tapped the woman with her finger.
“Wake up,” she said in a voice husky with fatigue. It had been a long night and
dealing with this meant she wouldn’t get to bed before dawn. Then she grabbed
the woman’s shoulder, shaking her like a naughty child. The woman didn’t
respond. She simply slid down further in the chair until Cresia thought she
would end up in a heap on the floor. “Turn up the lights,” she called to Grace
who responded immediately. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Blinded by the brighter lights, Cresia
blinked rapidly, allowing her eyes to adjust. As the woman came into focus
again, she took a step back. There was something wrong. Her arms were so pale,
like white snow and her head tilted at an odd angle. Her eyes didn’t match up
to the eye slots of the mask. Did the woman need medical attention? It wouldn’t
be the first case of alcohol poisoning during Mardi Gras. She placed her hand
on the woman’s chest. She couldn’t tell if she had a heartbeat. Her chest was
strangely still. She wasn’t breathing! As Cresia pulled her hand away it was
sticky with the substance that soaked the woman’s dress. It was red like blood.
“Call 911,” she yelled to Grace. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> She backed away from the body and sat down
heavily in a chair. Rubbing the blood from her hand with a napkin, she stared
vacantly at the floor and waited for the police. Grace leaned over the back of
her chair peering at the woman. The slinky purple dress was hiked up on one
side, revealing a thin pale leg. The woman’s head was at an odd angle and Grace
wondered for a moment if the woman’s neck was broken. How could that have
happened? As if reading her thoughts, Cresia said, “this was no accident,” and
Grace patted her shoulder reassuringly. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The lights of a patrol car flashed outside
the front window and two detectives walked in the front door. Normally the beat
cops would have handled the Mardi Gras madness but when Detective Ross
Bourgeois heard the address he rushed over. He knew the bar and he knew the
bartender, Cresia. This wasn’t the first crazy mess she had found herself in
and he doubted it would be the last. Some people just attract trouble. Ross and
his partner, Keith Lamar stood for a minute just looking at the body. There was
blood, soaking through the purple dress making the center appear almost black.
They’d wait for the coroner to reveal whatever wound had started the blood
flow. They noted the crooked slant of her neck. Had someone snapped her neck?
If so, how had they done so in a crowded bar? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Got any of your spooky feelings,” Keith
asked, casting a wary eye at Ross. Ross took a quick step toward him and Keith
shuffled backward. Then Ross smiled. It was the kind of smile you give someone
when you are just about to punch them in the face. Keith threw his hands up in
the air. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. Ross let it go. He’d deal with his new
partner soon. He wasn’t near as funny as he thought he was. Ross preferred to
work alone, and didn’t relish dealing with some rookie that was out to prove
something. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> When Doc Oliver, the coroner, walked in
the door he was already slipping on gloves. He looked older than the last time Ross
had seen him. New Orleans aged you. He nodded at Ross and squatted down next to
the dead woman. The feathers on the mask moved slightly in the breeze from the
open door. He reached up and inserted his finger under the bottom part of the
mask, tilting it up and over the woman’s head, removing it easily. The vacant
eyes of a beautiful woman stared back at him. Her dead eyes were such a
brilliant blue he wondered if she was wearing colored contacts. The blue, like
an ocean on a hot summer day, seemed unnatural.
Her face was a chiseled thing of beauty, so perfect he wondered about
plastic surgery. Her lips were full and pouty even in death. He moved closer
and looked at her neck. There was faint bruising. He brushed her dark hair back
from her face. Kat Monroe didn’t protest. She had been silenced forever. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Something was wrong. Something besides the
fact that she was dead. Cresia shifted in her chair and closed her eyes
briefly. She remembered the group from earlier. The two men scanned the room
like predators and the three women with them. They had laughed and joked and
drank just like every other group in the bar. Nothing, other than her sense of
discomfort with the men had sent up any red flags. She tried to conjure up a
description of the other members of this woman’s party but there had been too
many people. Most of the crowd had been masked but the later the hour got many
had removed their masks, revealing their true faces. That’s how Cresia
remembered Kat. She was in the small vestibule by the bathroom when she had
stripped off her mask. The rest of her group was still at the table in the
corner. Angry and red-faced she had stomped her foot and muttered to herself.
What had that been about? She had dismissed it as drunken rage at the time but
now she wondered. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Grace and Cresia stood behind the bar.
Grace had put on the coffee and the rich aroma of the brew hung in the air
around them. Cresia poured a cup while keeping one eye on the action in the
corner. She couldn’t see exactly what Dr. Oliver was doing but after several
minutes they moved the body, easing Kat down onto the floor. Her head was no
longer at a strange angle and Dr. Oliver was running his gloved hand over her
neck, moving her head slightly as he did so. He turned and said something to Ross
who only nodded in reply. Cresia wondered about Ross’s new partner and how long
he might last working with the local detective whose family made their fortune
doing psychic readings for the rich and powerful. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’ll need to get her to the morgue before
I can say for sure,” he said and the two technicians lifted the body onto the
waiting gurney. Dr. Oliver followed the body out the door, leaving only Ross and
Keith. They both turned at the same time to stare at the two bartenders. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You talk to Grace and I’ll interview
Cresia,” Ross said. Keith would have preferred it the other way around but he
stayed silent. He had heard the stories and he worried that Ross’s familiarity
with Cresia might make him miss something. But while he felt more objectivity
was needed, he was also relieved not to be interviewing the woman. She was
famous for her sharp tongue and the way she challenged anyone she didn’t agree
with. Maybe it was better after all for Ross to deal with her. He walked to the
table by the front window and motioned for Grace to sit down. After a few
questions, it became evident that Grace had been so busy pouring drinks that
she had noticed very little. She did remember that the woman was with a group
and that was about it. She couldn’t even confirm how many were with her. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> While they had waited for the detectives,
Cresia had dug around in the receipts and now she held a small slip of paper between
trembling fingers. Nodding at the receipt, Ross asked, “What have you got
there?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “It’s the credit card receipt for that
party. Well, just one of the men, he was paying for everything. They were
probably going to split it up later. That’s not unusual.” She looked down at
the thin strip of paper. Carson Houston had spent almost two hundred dollars on
drinks. “There were two men and hmmm three women I think.” She closed her eyes
briefly trying to remember the men. Other women had mingled with the men during
the early morning hours. They had fluttered around them like moths drawn to a
light. She remembered her initial impression, about the men being hunters,
woman hunters but she shook it off. It wasn’t relevant. Just her gut feeling. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Were there any fights?” Ross asked. She shook
her head. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Surprisingly no. Everyone seemed in a
good mood. Although…” her words trailed off as she thought again of Kat pulling
off her mask. Her pouty lips were pulled tight in anger and her eyes flashed. Ross
waited.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “This one,” she said and nodded toward the
door as if the woman’s ghost was standing there listening to them. “She was mad
at one point. I saw her by the bathrooms. She jerked off her mask and glared
across the room.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Could you tell who she was mad at?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “No not really, everyone was bunched up
and I hadn’t noticed anything earlier. She had her phone in her right hand and
I thought for a minute she was going to throw it.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “A phone? We didn’t find a phone nor a
purse,” Ross said as he looked back over his shoulder at the corner. Cresia
frowned. People kept a close eye on their phones. She couldn’t imagine this
woman losing hers. She seemed in control, not the sloppy out of control drunk
that a lot of the customers become. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Someone will come looking for her, call
me when they do,” he said and then he left her standing there biting her bottom
lip. She scratched her arm. Her skin felt like dozens of ants were crawling
over it. She tried to calm her anxiety. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Leave this mess,” Cresia told Grace after
the two detectives left. “Let’s get some sleep and then we can clean this
afternoon. We can open a few hours late.” She locked the door behind them,
still lost in her thoughts. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Raven usually opened for lunch but
Cresia had decided to stay closed until four. When she arrived at the little
bar, the raven sign creaked in the light breeze. Grace wouldn’t be in until
seven. There was no use wasting money on another bartender when she wouldn’t be
needed until later. Unlocking the door, she let her eyes adjust to the dim
light. Flipping on the large ceiling lights, she sighed. The floor was filthy.
Grabbing the broom, she started sweeping. Gathering the bottle caps, old
napkins, and dirt into a pile she pushed it onto the dustpan and dumped it into
the large wheeled trash can. Looking under the bar, she searched for the bucket
on wheels and soon had it full of warm soapy water. Twenty minutes later the
floor wasn’t spotless but it would pass. As she shoved the bucket back into its
place, it resisted. She tried again and then muttering pushed the bucket aside
and reached under the shelf where the bucket was usually stored. She felt
something silky. Frowning she grasped hold of it and pulled. She stared at the
object in her hand. A purple silk purse. It was small but heavy.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Inside the purse was a small wallet, some
loose credit cards, a ten-dollar bill, and a cell phone. She placed the items
carefully on the bar and cursed herself. She shouldn’t be searching the purse.
She should have left it alone. She knew exactly what it was, the dead woman’s
missing purse. She grabbed her phone and punched in a number. Her call was
answered on the third ring. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Hey, I got something for you,” she said.
Her words were clipped, almost angry in tone and on the other end of the line,
Ross rolled his eyes. Didn’t she know you catch more flies with honey than
vinegar? He knew Cresia as far back as the Dover case, another murder, but one
that took place in the alley, not the bar. He didn’t ask what she had. He
wouldn’t give her a chance to give some evasive answer. He confirmed he was on
his way and hung up. Two could play at being mysterious and he wasn’t going to
give her the pleasure of knowing she had gotten under his skin. He reached his
hand in his pocket and rubbed the smooth black stone he carried as he rushed
down the sidewalk to his car. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The streets were still almost empty. Too
early in the afternoon to draw many tourists although he supposed some people
partied all day and all night too. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
Maybe when he was younger, he would have joined in but not anymore. He was in
constant catch-up mode and seldom had time for even a single beer. Ross had
looked into any reports of missing people first thing this morning. Nothing had
been reported. He frowned. Probably the woman’s friends were still sleeping off
last night’s alcohol. When he approached the bar, the door opened and he walked
inside. The bar looked so different under the bright lights. The room seemed a
little shabbier and a whole lot less fun. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Found this under a shelf behind the bar,”
Cresia said, nodding at the purse and its contents that were spread out on the
bar. Ross tried to slow his breathing. She had opened up the purse and searched
it. She knew better than that but he didn’t even bother mentioning it. She
would pretend to be sorry but he knew she wasn’t sorry at all. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He flipped the wallet up with an index
finger and read the name out loud. “Kat Monroe” He pronounced the first name like
Kate. Cresia shifted onto one foot before correcting him. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I think it’s cat, like meow,” she said. When
Ross looked at her, he thought he could see secret satisfaction glimmering in
her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Where exactly did you find it?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Cresia led him behind the bar and to the
cubby hole under the shelf, where the mop bucket usually sat. She pointed at
the dark opening. Drops of water dotted the floor. She hadn’t bothered to wipe
them up. She had been too interested in the purse. She waited for him to catch
up to her thinking and of course, he did. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Couldn’t have landed there by accident,”
he muttered more to himself than to her. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Nope,” she said and offered nothing more.
Ross arched his eyebrows and considered whether he should waste time asking
more questions. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Did you see anyone back here last night?”
he finally asked. The cubby wasn’t too far behind the bar and in the mass of
people, anyone could have taken a couple of steps and shoved the purse in. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Nope,” Cresia said without even taking a
moment to consider it. Then she looked at him again and added, “too many people
to be sure.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross considered pushing her a little. She
was cagey and she never told everything she knew. Suddenly his phone chirped and he glanced at
it. A missing person report had just been filed for Kat Monroe. Cresia’s eyes
were drifting sideways trying to get a look at his phone. He couldn’t help but
smile. She wasn’t very good at snooping. He put all the items from the bar into
a plastic bag and turned to leave. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Just got the missing person report for
her,” he called back over his shoulder as he was leaving, throwing his old
friend a bone. Cresia’s dark eyes followed him across the room and out the
door. Once he was gone, she sighed deeply. She wasn’t in the mood to clean and
cook but she had no other choice. Washing her hands and pulling on an apron she
disappeared into the small galley kitchen in the back. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> At the station, Ross scanned the report
and kept the young woman waiting in the outer office. Wasn’t much on the page.
He went to introduce himself. “I’m Detective Bourgeois,” he said holding his
hand out to the tall blonde who was glancing around nervously as if she was
about to be arrested any minute. She looked up meeting his eyes with her sea-blue
ones. She pushed her hair back from her face and shook his hand. “Elizabeth
Baker,” she said. Anxiety and confidence mingled in the air surrounding her. He
nodded toward a small room. “Let’s talk in here,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Once inside the room, Ross looked down at
the report and gathered his thoughts. He hadn’t wanted to blurt out her friend’s
death in the main room, surrounded by people but it wasn’t much better here
with just the two of them. Instead, he stalled. “So, you are from Kansas City?”
he asked, although it was more of a statement than a question.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Yes, I am. I think Kat is from Denver and
Kelly is too. The guys are both from Texas.” She rolled her eyes like Texas was
about as hokey as it gets. “We met at school.” She finished as if that
explained everything. “The University of Colorado.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross nodded. “When was the last time you
saw Ms. Monroe?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Elizabeth tilted her head to the side,
pursed her lips, and thought for a minute. “You know I can’t be sure. I had too
much to drink. At least I think it was the drinking. I can’t remember. I know
she went to the bathroom and was gone for a long time but she came back to the
table and then….”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross leaned forward. His arms rested on
the table as he watched her intently. The makeup couldn’t hide the puffiness
under her eyes and her lips were dry and chapped even though she had applied a
liberal amount of lip gloss. Didn’t mean anything. Partying could age you in a
matter of hours. The alcohol drains the water from you leaving you a wrinkled
husk. He was trying to stare inside her, to see if she already knew her friend
was dead but he had also picked up something else. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What
do you mean, “you think” it was the drinking?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Her eyes grew round. She swallowed hard.
“I don’t know. I’ve never drank so much that I black out. I can always remember
the night even if it’s a bit fuzzy. But my memories of last night just end.
They end in that dumpy little bar and I can’t even remember getting back to the
hotel. But I woke up in my room this morning so I got back somehow.” She paused
for a minute and then said, “But Kat didn’t.” Her face flushed as she finished
speaking and she pulled at her long-sleeved shirt, pulling her hands up inside
the sleeves. She was feeling vulnerable, very vulnerable. Ross didn’t think it
was about Kat. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Where is the rest of your group?” he
asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Kelly is still sleeping. She woke up
briefly but threw up and went back to sleep. The guys? I have no idea where
they are.” She pulled at her shirt again and shifted in her seat. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Are you okay?” Ross asked. He felt a
stirring in the pit of his stomach. Something was off but he wasn’t sure what.
Before he could ask anything else she burst into tears. Burying her face in her
hands she sobbed. Ross looked around for a box of tissues and locating one, he
placed it on the table near her. She ignored them and patted her tears with her
shirt sleeve. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The tears washed over the dark purple skin
under her eyes. In contrast to her lily-white skin, it looked almost like
someone had punched her. She sniffled several times. “I think I was drugged. I
think someone slipped me something,” she finally got out. Then she started to
cry again. Ross waited. Quiet, still like a rabbit hiding from the hounds. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I feel awful. I can’t remember anything.
When I woke up, I felt strange. Like…” She choked the words out but didn’t
finish her thought. She didn’t need to. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’m going to have a female officer take
you to the hospital to be checked out.” He sighed. He didn’t want to break the
news to her right now with all of this but she had to be informed. “I’m afraid
I have some bad news about Kat,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Elizabeth’s eyes grew even bigger. She
grabbed the tiny cup of water off the table and drank it all in one big
swallow. Ross handed her some tissues before speaking. She dabbed her eyes with
the tissue and clutched it in her hand. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Kat was murdered last night,” he said. “I’m
sorry. I know this hard. If you think of anything that might help us figure out
who did this, please let us know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> She recoiled, shifting in her chair. She
started to cry again. She didn’t ask where or how or anything. She buried her
face and sobbed. Ross stood up and leaving her to her grief went to find a
female officer to take her to the hospital. She might be a victim of a sexual
assault and he wanted to afford her as much respect and dignity as that
warranted. There wasn’t a camera in this particular interview room. It wasn’t
used for interrogation. Had there been one it would have picked up her sudden
change in demeanor. She pushed back from the table, dabbed at her eyes, and
shook her head. Then a tiny smile played across her lips. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> After the officer left with Elizabeth,
Ross entered the room again to grab his coffee. The paper cup was almost empty
and the brown liquid at the bottom of it was cold and bitter. He started to
toss it into the trashcan when he noticed something. One of the tissues
Elizabeth used was tossed carelessly inside. Ross leaned down, picking it up he
held it for a second staring at the dark blue smudges on it. He pulled an
evidence bag out of his pocket and dropped the used tissue into it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross arrived at the coroner’s office about
an hour later. The sheet was pulled back and Kat Monroe lay exposed on the
steel table. Her skin was even whiter than the last time Ross had seen her. Her
dark hair was combed back from her face exposing a sharp chin line, a tiny
pointed nose, and dark lashes that contrasted sharply with her porcelain skin.
She looked vulnerable even in death. Dr. Oliver looked up. “I just finished.”
Secretly Ross was glad he didn’t have to view the actual autopsy. The
methodical dismantling of a human body always seemed grotesque. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “She has a broken neck and a deep puncture
wound in the upper part of her stomach. High enough to say her chest. A thin
instrument punctured her heart and killed her instantly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Which one is the actual cause of death?”
Ross asked and stared into the blank face of the victim as he spoke. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Her neck was broken first but it wasn’t a
break that severed the spinal cord. It would have immobilized her for sure,
probably even created some paralysis. I’m surprised no one would have noticed.
But it was the stab wound directly to the heart that killed her.” Dr. Oliver
reached down and pulled the sheet over Kat’s head. Ross continued to stare at
it as if the face was still clearly visible. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Could this happen in a crowded bar?” he
asked. Dr. Oliver shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Anything is possible. I mean you have
people drinking, dancing, drunk, and staggering around. Any reaction she had to
the injuries might have been played off as a drunken stupor.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross mulled over the injuries. Kat would
have been killed right there in the chair they found her in or fairly close.
Someone might have lugged her there but not from a long distance. Either a man
or a woman could have carried her. If someone was drugging and sexually
assaulting women, he would just drag the drunken woman out of the bar, not kill
her. Was it the same crime or were there two? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross glanced at his phone. “Thanks, Doc,”
he said and then turned to leave. Dr. Oliver coughed. He turned looking at the
doctor, not the corpse. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “There’s one more thing. She was about
eight weeks pregnant.” Ross shifted his eyes to the sheet-covered body. She had
been drinking so either she didn’t know she was pregnant or she didn’t care. “Was
she drunk?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dr. Oliver shrugged. “Have to wait for the
lab results.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Ross pulled up in front of the Crowne
Plaza Hotel. Elizabeth was still at the hospital but he needed to check on the
rest of the group. He glanced down at his notes. Kelly Tessa, Carson Houston,
and Brett Rivers. He stepped aside to let two men with coffee enter and then he
followed them to the elevators. Elizabeth had given him the room number. The
two men got off on the same floor and entered room 745. Kelly was in 746 which
meant the two men were probably Carson and Brett. He paused for a minute,
thinking. They had appeared perfectly normal, balancing coffee cups as they
unlocked their door. He’d get to them soon enough. Now he knocked gently on the
door to room 746. Inside he could hear movement and muffled groans. Soon the
door opened just a tiny bit and a woman with dark eyes peered out at him. He
flashed his badge and she recoiled slightly. Then she unlatched the door and
opened it wider.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “May I help you?” she asked. Ross nodded
and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He stood just inside the
door.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Ms. Tessa, I’m sorry to inform you that
your friend Kat Monroe is dead…” Before he could say more, Kelly jerked back
and braced herself against a wall. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What… How?’ she managed to gasp out as
she gulped in the air. Like a fish out of water, her mouth opened and shut
several times as she struggled to comprehend his words.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Here, you better sit down,” he said as he
took her by the elbow and propelled her into the chair in the corner of the
room. He pulled out the chair from the desk and sat down facing her. She
propped her head up on her hand and then shook it back and forth. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “No, no this can't be true. You must be
mistaken.” Her eyes were wild, rolling in her head like a horse before a
thunderstorm. She looked around the room. “What happened?” she asked again. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’ll get to that in a minute. Can you
tell me about last night?” Ross said as he flipped open his notebook. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I…” she started and then stopped. “Can I
have some water please?” she swallowed hard and Ross suspected she was fighting
not to throw up. Grabbing a cup, he ran water into it and handed it to her. Her
fingers trembled as she took it. She sipped and closed her eyes. She didn’t
cry. When she opened her eyes, they were remarkably dry but they were bleak.
The news shocked her. Ross didn’t think the reaction could be easily faked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We were at a bar, hmmm. It was Kat,
Elizabeth, and me with Carson and Brett. It was late when we ended up at some
little local bar off Bourbon Street. Even so, it was crowded. We managed to
grab a table.” She paused for a minute thinking. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “How was Kat? Elizabeth? Were they drunk?”
Ross asked. She met his eyes and something sparked in her memory. She bit her
bottom lip.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You know, I’m not sure. I was drunk, that
I do know but those two? I saw Kat once pour her drink out. It was a Hurricane
and she barely tasted it. Then she asked a waitress for clear soda. She was
giddy about something for sure but I’m not sure she was drinking much.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What about Elizabeth?” Ross asked. Kelly
frowned.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Well, she was drinking but honestly not
all that much. She seemed distracted by something or someone. Probably Carson.
She’s had a thing for him forever but Carson? He’s not one to settle for just
one woman. I’ve told her a thousand times to let it go. He’s not worth the
effort.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Kelly rubbed her forehead with her
fingers, picked up a bottle of Tylenol, and popped two into her mouth,
following them with a large drink of water. She held the empty cup out to Ross
who immediately went to refill it for her.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What about Carson and Brett? He asked as
he handed her the water. She rolled her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “They were drinking pretty heavily and
grabbing women’s asses. I thought there was going to be a fight at one point.
What happened to Kat?” she abruptly changed the topic and her dark eyes searched
Ross’ face for a clue. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’m sorry to tell you but she was
murdered, there at the bar. Do you remember where she was when you left?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Kelly buried her face in her hands and
moaned. It was a soft little kitten sound. She dabbed at her face with a
Kleenex that Ross handed her and then stared off into space as if conjuring up
a memory. She started to speak and then stopped. Finally, she shook her head
and looked directly into Ross’s eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’m not completely sure. Carson and Brett
were over by the door, talking to a couple of blondes in skimpy skirts.
Elizabeth? I think she went to the bathroom but where was Kat? I was so sick by
then. My head was spinning and my stomach was churning. I almost threw up
before we made it out of the bar. Carson, Brett, and I were out on the
sidewalk. The cold air was helping me some. Elizabeth joined us. She said Kat
was using the bathroom and would catch up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Did she? Did Kat catch up with you?” Ross
asked and Kelly started to cry. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “No, no she never did. I was so sick I
didn’t care where she was, I just needed to get to the hotel,” she answered and
then she sobbed louder. “I’m such a selfish bitch.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “But the four of you made it back here,
ok?” Ross asked. She looked at him over the top of her soggy Kleenex. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Yeah, Elizabeth helped me get in my room
and then disappeared next door. I figured she was going to continue partying
with the guys.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross let this roll around in his mind. Did
Elizabeth go to her room or return to the bar? He jotted a note to ask Cresia
if she saw Elizabeth after the group left. The bar had been crowded but perhaps
she would remember something. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> At the bar, the little gnome-sized
bartender was remembering something but it wasn’t about Elizabeth. That nagging
inconsistency she had been trying to grab onto finally jumped into her brain.
The mask. Most of the night Kat Monroe had worn a half mask, decorated with
purple and green feathers. In her mind, she could picture Kat ripping off the
mask and stomping away. When her body was discovered, she was wearing a
full-face mask with long purple and orange feathers. When had she changed it?
She ran her hand through her hair and went to find her phone. She would text
Ross and if he wanted more details he could stop by. The crowd would be light
tonight.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Outside the once sunny sky was threatening
rain and Ross sat in the corner of the Raven sipping from a mug. Coffee. The
switched mask made no sense at all. The lab was collecting DNA and perhaps they
could identify whoever the mask belonged to. The half mask, Kat’s original mask
was gone. They had searched the trash dumpsters near the bar but all of them
had already been emptied so if someone had tossed it then the mask was long
gone. Ross shrugged. It probably wouldn’t have told them much anyway. Cresia
was right. The bar crowd was light tonight but it was still early. She would
alert him if she noticed anyone from the night of the murder.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Elizabeth was back at the hotel. The
hospital had found little to indicate she had been drugged or sexually
assaulted. It didn’t mean she hadn’t been but Ross was thinking about the
Kleenex with the dark blue eye shadow on it. He thought she was lying. She had
helped Kelly to her room that night and according to a very drunk Kelly had
seemed fine. She might have returned to her room and gone to bed. He had
nothing but his gut to make him suspect otherwise. He didn’t interview Carson
and Brett at the hotel. He had been called to another scene, a hit and run.
They had agreed to come to the station in the morning to give statements. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You want anything to eat?” Cresia asked.
He jerked slightly. He hadn’t noticed her. She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll
fix you something,” she said and disappeared as quickly as she had arrived. Ross
smiled and shook his head. She was always doing that. Just selecting an entree
for people or bringing them food they hadn’t ordered. In the end, he always
liked her selections so he leaned back in his chair and wondered what he might
be eating tonight. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Before long she was back. She sat the plate
down and Ross’s mouth started to water. The delicious aroma from the sandwich
drifted up to his nose. An enormous Muffaletta stuffed with ham and salami,
overflowing with melted provolone cheese took up almost the whole plate. Beside
it, crisp sliced pickles took up the rest of the space. Ross grabbed the huge
sesame seed bun and looked up. Cresia nodded and stalked away, waving her towel
at a customer at the bar who was grumbling loudly. Ross stuffed the Muffaletta
in his mouth and bit off a large piece. The olive oil dressing with green
onions and black olives seasoned the bread to perfection. He sighed and forgot
about murder for a few minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Cresia disappeared into the back room to
grab another box of plastic cups. She shoved a big box aside and looked at the
writing on the side of the boxes. Where were those cups? She hoped they still
had some. They were going through supplies even faster than usual. A piece of
color caught her eyes. She tugged the box forward. There stuffed down between
the box was a Mardi Gras mask. It was a half mask, porcelain with purple and
green feathers. She gasped. It was Kat Monroe’s missing mask. She backed away
from it, wiped her hands on her apron, and went to get Ross. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross stood looking down at the mask. How
had it gotten into the storage room? He looked from the mask to the door and
imagined on a crowded night it wouldn’t be all that hard to slip into the back
room. Cresia stood with her hands on her hips with a sour look on her face. She
was annoyed. She ran a tight ship and the fact that someone had managed to not
only hide the purse but now the mask frosted her. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Did you think Kat Monroe was “with” one
of the guys,” Ross asked. He nudged Cresia when she didn’t answer immediately
and then regretted it almost instantaneously. She glared at him, her dark eyes
piercing like the rays of car lights on a dirt road in the darkest hours of the
night. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Not that I could tell. Honestly, she was
kind of above everything, as if the craziness of the evening was beneath her.
Haughty if you know what I mean,” she finally muttered. Ross thought of the
pregnancy. Maybe Kat Monroe had things other than partying on her mind. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross rubbed his head with his fingertips
and sighed. He picked up the mask gently and deposited it into a bag. He peered
at it through the plastic. He let the possibilities sift through his mind. Why
had Kat changed masks? That was of course if she did. Maybe the killer had
switched the mask but why? It didn’t make sense and when things didn’t, he got
grumpy. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’m going to call it a night,” he said
and walked out without a backward glance. Cresia stared after him. Moody
bastard, she thought and then she went back to the bar where Grace was
struggling to keep up now that the crowd had unexpectedly picked up. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
night of the murder: </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Kat Monroe tilted her head back and
scanned the bar. She was looking for someone, someone in particular and he was
late. She wasn’t sure how he was going to manage Elizabeth. He knew she was
here and Kat wasn’t sure how easy it would be to hide from her. She was cagey
and the familiarity would make hiding difficult even with a disguise. The bell
above the door jingled and she smiled. There he was. He was wearing a jester’s
suit, green and orange with bells sewn around the collar. His face was
concealed by a clear plastic mask that distorted his features. He had texted
Kat and described the costume so she’d recognize him. His hat jingled as he
walked to the far end of the bar. She
was anxious to talk to him. It was difficult to gauge his feelings about the
baby over the phone.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Kat was so focused on the man that had
walked into the bar that she failed to notice Elizabeth. While her eyes
followed the man, Elizabeth’s eyes followed her. Elizabeth’s back stiffen and
she frowned. What was this? She recognized the man immediately. Why wouldn’t
she, she had known him all her life. What puzzled her was Kat’s interest. She
had met him once, Elizabeth remembered, on a trip home at Christmas. She had
stayed three days at Elizabeth’s childhood home before meeting her family for a
skiing holiday. What was he doing here in New Orleans? A thought darted through
her mind and a flicker of anger ignited in the pit of her stomach. A feeling of
dread coated her like a blanket on a chilly night. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The next morning Carson and Brett arrived
early. Carson bounced his leg on the floor while he waited his turn. Inside the
interview room, Brett watched Ross like a mouse might watch a hungry cat. “So,
you left the bar without Kat?” Ross’s tone left nothing to the imagination. He
was finding it hard to believe that the group had left without even realizing
Kat wasn’t with them.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Well, I thought she was with us. I even
remember her stopping outside the bar to fix her shoe. She waved at me and I
figured she would catch up,” Brett said. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> This was a new piece of information. The
first indication that perhaps Kat had left with her friends, at least briefly.
Why had she turned back into the bar? “Was she with anyone else that night?” The
question made Brett snort. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Kat is just like her name suggests. A
cat, that lands on her feet. If some guy ignores her or offends her in some
way, she would just move on to someone else. She liked the attention I guess,”
Brett said and then his eyes shifted nervously as if he had said too much. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Were you intimate with her?” Ross asked.
Brett looked confused by the question. Then he leaned back in his chair. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You mean like was I sleeping with her?
No. I was just a small fish. Kat always wanted to reel in the big fish. Guys with
money. That’s not me. Maybe I will be someday but not now.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What about Carson?” Now, Brett leaned
forward, his shoulders hunched over and his elbows resting on his knees. He was
giving the question serious thought. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Hmm, I don’t know but I don’t think so.
Sure, there was lots of flirting but that’s just Carson. He dated Elizabeth for
a bit but I don’t think he ever hooked up with Kat.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> After he finished with Brett, Ross drank
some coffee and let his mind wander before calling in Carson. Who was the
father of Kat’s baby? The baby who would now never be born, never breathe a
first breath. That hope had vanished with Kat’s last breath. Was this jealousy?
If the baby was Carson’s would it drive Elizabeth to murder? Her story just
wasn’t adding up. The blood tests hadn’t confirmed any drugs, the rape kit was
negative, and those purple smudges under her eyes were more than likely eye
shadow. Now Ross considered whether her story was made up to get away from the
interview quickly. He stood up, opened the door, and motioned for the waiting
Carson to enter. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross started with routine questions. How
long had he known Kat Monroe? Did Carson notice her talking with anyone outside
their group? When did he last see her? Carson didn’t flinch. He answered each
question with a steady voice. Now he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at
the floor. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Did you know she was pregnant? Are you
the father?” Carter jerked at Ross’ words and then he stared at him from across
the table. He didn’t blink, didn’t move, just stared. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “No, and no,” Carson finally managed to
choke out. “But it does explain something,”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What?” Ross asked the young man as he
watched carefully for his reactions to the subject. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Last night, we kept ordering drinks but
I’m pretty sure Kat wasn’t drinking hers. I noticed her pouring one in a trash
can one time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> This was the second account of the night
where someone was questioning whether Kat was consuming alcohol or not. The
idea that someone had caught her off guard, drunk and slow, didn’t seem to be
possible. She hadn’t felt like partying with the group so why was she at the
bar? She could have stayed at the hotel instead. Then without prompting Carson
offered another observation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I think she was there to meet someone.
She kept looking up every time the door opened.” Carson said. He looked at
Ross. “And no before you ask, I don’t know who it was or if that person ever
arrived.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross tapped the table absentmindedly.
Carson seemed forthcoming. He wasn’t shifting his eyes around or giving
rambling explanations. He didn’t appear to be lying. He had seemed taken aback
by Kat’s condition. His gut feeling was that Carson was not the father but DNA
would confirm it. He asked for a sample which Carson immediately agreed to.
After the swab and a reminder not to leave New Orleans, Ross told Carson he was
free to go. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Several hours later, a red-eyed Elizabeth
sat in the same room facing Ross. She was the grieving friend of the victim but
at the same time, she didn’t come across as such. She was nervously fluttering
her hands as she talked and sat on the very edge of the chair. Ross frowned.
Suddenly the door burst open and two men walked in. The one was tall and dark,
dressed in a navy-blue suit with a crisp white shirt. “Is Ms. Baker being
arrested?” he asked. Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide and she looked from the man to
Ross in horror. Then she turned to the other man.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Daddy, what in the world are you doing
here?” His dark hair was streaked with silver and he placed a large hand on
Elizabeth’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. A small band-aid on his right
hand stood out, remarkably light against his dark tanned skin. He didn’t
answer. Ross stood and introduced himself to the man in the navy suit, the
family lawyer, no doubt. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Ms. Baker is just here voluntarily
answering questions about her friend's death,” he said. The attorney handed him
a card. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “All questions and contact with Ms. Baker
need to go through me from now on. We want to cooperate, of course, but I’ve
seen this type of thing before. She’s not getting railroaded to close a case.”
He handed the card to Ross, barely holding onto it as if he didn’t want his
fingers to come in contact with Ross’s hand. He sniffed the air, turned, and
taking Elizabeth by the elbow he propelled her out of the room. Mr. Baker
stared hard at Ross and then followed them. Gathering his papers, Ross thought
about why the father was here. Had Elizabeth called for help? What were they
hiding? His phone vibrated and he looked at the text message. The information
on the group’s phones was ready. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Ok Detective Ross, the info is
interesting but not conclusive,” Sarah Keith said. The hotel is far enough away
from the bar to likely ping off of a different tower but it's not impossible
that the signals were also set by tower one.” Her slender finger pointed at the
computer screen. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Here are Carson Houston, Brett Rivers,
and Kelly Tess’s phones. After 1:00 A.M., they are snuggly in the hotel. Even
without calls or texts, it's fairly easy to locate them.” She looked over her
shoulder at Ross. He nodded. “This is the victim’s phone. It never left the bar
with the others.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “And Elizabeth Baker’s phone?” Ross asked.
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “That’s where it gets interesting. At 1:08
she is at or very close to the hotel then she leaves, backtracking and arriving
at the bar around 2:05. Whether she went inside or not is impossible to
determine.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross frowned. The bar would have closed at
2:00. The bartenders would have started cleaning up but hadn’t found the body
yet. Why had Elizabeth returned? Had she left something behind? Was she looking
for Kat or was she there to kill her? He shook his head. It didn’t make sense.
He was certain Kat was already dead by then. Her phone never left the bar
because she never left either. It was enough for a search warrant though. They
could toss Elizabeth’s hotel room looking for some evidence. He went to type up
the warrant. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Back at the hotel, Kelly sat in the chair
in the corner of the room while Elizabeth sprawled across the bed. She had
ditched her father in favor of her friend. She wanted to hear what Kelly knew.
Propping her chin in the cup of her hand she listened intently to Kelly’s
ramblings. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Carson said Kat was pregnant. Did you
know?” Kelly asked, Elizabeth’s face remained blank but hot anger burned inside
her. She struggled to remain calm. Pregnant! That was all they needed. It
provided a motive and would surely send the police into a frenzy. “Did you
know?” Kelly asked again. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “No, she never told me. How far along? Do
you know?” Elizabeth kept her voice steady but a tiny bit of shakiness crept
in. Kelly looked at her oddly but shook her head no. How long had they been
seeing each other Elizabeth wondered. Was he the father? Her body trembled with rage and she
readjusted her position on the bed to cover it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> A knocking near them captured her
attention. She tilted her head and listened. Suddenly she swung her legs off
the bed and stood up. Someone was knocking at the door next door, her room. She
hurried into the hallway just as the hotel manager was opening her door. “What
are you doing?” Ross stepped closer to her and handed her the search warrant. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You might want to call your lawyer,” he
said and then he followed two officers into the room. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth, her
father Henry Baker, and Raymond Collins, the attorney stood bunched together in
the hallway talking in whispers. Ross glanced out the door at them. He thought
about going out to speak to them but one of the officers tapped his shoulder.
“Found this in the back of the toilet,” he said, handing Ross a large plastic
bag. Inside the bag was a long slender ice pick. The bottom half of it was
covered in blood. At just that moment he looked up and locked eyes with
Elizabeth. Her round eyes almost convinced him she was shocked they had found
something. She put her hand up, covered her mouth, and said something to her
father. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross approached the trio and started
reading Elizabeth her rights. She looked frantically between her father and the
lawyer. “I’ll start working on bail,” the attorney said and the two men hurried
off. Henry Baker tossed his water bottle in a small trash can by the elevator.
Ross patted his pocket for a plastic bag. He wanted that bottle. He waited to
retrieve it until an officer lead Elizabeth away in handcuffs. She kept tossing
looks back over her shoulder, expecting to be recused but instead she grew
further and further away from her father. Ross <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Several days later, Ross scratched his
head and yawned. Elizabeth had made bail of course but she wasn’t allowed to
leave New Orleans. He was scanning the paperwork in front of him when something
caught his eye. A discrepancy that he had missed before. Did it mean anything?
Elizabeth’s father didn’t fly in to support her the day after the murder. No,
he had flown in the day before Kat was killed. Ross tapped the paper as he let
thoughts roll around in his mind.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Here are the lab results,” a young
assistant said as she placed a thin folder on his desk. Ross couldn’t recall
her name but he nodded his thanks, still engrossed in the puzzle of Henry
Baker’s trip. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He opened the folder. As he scanned it two
things jumped out at him. Ross was shocked. Had the man no shame? Who was
covering for whom? Either scenario could be true. He picked up the phone and
called Raymond Collins. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Later that day, Henry Baker, Elizabeth,
and their lawyer crowded into an interview room with Ross. “I’m telling you. I
know nothing about that ice pick,” Elizabeth burst out. Her agitation was real
this time, unlike the first time he had met her. Ross cast a sideways glance at
Henry Baker but his face remained motionless. The man wasn’t giving anything
away. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Elizabeth, be quiet,” Raymond Collins
told her. “Let me handle this.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross wasn’t crazy about lawyers but this
one was giving good advice. There was a web of deceit here and he hadn’t quite
untangled it yet. The father was involved. There was no other explanation for
the blood. Did it happen during the murder or afterward as he sought to protect
his daughter? But how did the icepick get in Elizabeth’s room. Was it planted? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Mr.
Baker, it has come to our attention that you arrived in New Orleans the day
before Kat’s murder. Can you explain your trip,” Ross asked. For the first time,
the older man seemed shaken. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his
attorney. His attorney? Ross suddenly wondered if the lawyer was for Henry or
his daughter. Elizabeth didn’t seem surprised by the question. So, she knew her
father was in town earlier than he said. She bit her bottom lip as if to keep
from speaking. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I was here on business,” Henry finally
answered. He shifted his eyes as he spoke, between Raymond Collins and
Elizabeth. Was he worried one of them would give him away? Normally he would be
questioned separately but he wanted to observe Elizabeth’s reactions. He still
wasn’t sure which one had killed Kat. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross slowly opened the folder and scanned
the contents, as if looking at it for the first time. “Can you explain how your
blood is on the ice pick, Mr. Baker?” Henry’s face paled and he licked his
lips. Elizabeth recoiled and took a few steps back from him. Raymond Collins
stuck his hand out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “How would you know this Detective? Mr.
Baker’s DNA is not on file.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ross paused. Nodded toward his water
bottle and said, “Trash is fair game.” Before he could say any more a light
tapping on the door drew Ross’s attention. “Come in,” he called. The door swung
open and a woman entered and placed a file folder in front of Ross. He opened
it slowly enjoying the anxiety it produced in Henry Baker. Elizabeth stared at
the folder as if it contained some hideous monster that was about to devour
them. And Ross thought maybe it did. He flipped it open and ran his finger down
the page. Just as he thought, Henry Baker was the father of Kat’s unborn child.
Anger burned in the pit of his stomach. The man had not only killed his lover
but his child. He was certain of it now. Elizabeth might be withholding
information and protecting her father but Ross now had enough to arrest Henry
Baker. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He called for an officer who read Baker
his rights and then placed his arms behind him, snapping the handcuffs snuggly.
“Don’t say a word, Henry,” Raymond Collins advised his client. Elizabeth’s
round wide eyes watched, horrified. “Daddy, daddy, how could you?” she
whimpered. It was obvious she had suspected her father and her story of being
drugged was just a red herring. Now she was realizing her father had plotted to
set her up. How else had the ice pick gotten into her room? She had contrived
to shield him but he had no such instinct. He only thought of himself. The two
weren’t that different though. She had no sympathy for Kat Monroe but only pity
for herself. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
night of the murder:<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Kat
waited in the brisk air outside the hotel for a few minutes, letting the others
stagger away before turning to go back in. “Hey will you switch masks with me,”
a younger woman asked. “I want to play a trick on my friends.” Kat slipped her
mask off and switched with the woman then turned back into The Raven. As she
entered, she noticed the woman in her mask heading into the back storage room
with a man in tow, laughingly teasing him. Kat smiled.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The man in the jester suit waited, He had
claimed the table they had just left. She hurried toward him. She leaned down
to kiss him when he didn’t stand to greet her. He grabbed her by the neck and
twisted. Then he pushed the ice pick deep inside her, below her rib cage, and
upward. She gasped softly. Catching her, he eased her into a chair, threw a
napkin in her lap, and grabbed her purse. He stood at the end of the bar with
the bag beneath his coat until Cresia and Grace were busy with customers. Two
steps in and he stashed the purse in the back of the crate. It wouldn’t buy him
much time but he hoped to be gone before they figured out who she was. The ice
pick was in a plastic bag in his pocket. He would deal with it later. His
finger was bleeding and he stuck it in his mouth. He would need to stop at a
drugstore and get something to cover it. He left the bar whistling to himself.
Problem solved, he thought. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-44992891658055969232023-01-09T07:12:00.001-06:002023-01-09T07:12:25.342-06:00Secrets in the Ice<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZxwMnxnd_67nDgxXgKJnD8JoZb1TBdYiVLYRqZ9VYS3VlWaw20gD9uvMi_ahLeaeaDWMcC9FEwMQDyYh0PZLo_iaOvvxbcCskXIcfxuu8JXxy_5_jQFURE-D-OqKqsVg9yyEr59jM9o1ecuqDDe0aousbHnZNtnJYJaeWtua29kbXKL_Z2PmXR3dCw/s1080/Secrets%20in%20the%20Ice%20Cover%20pic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZxwMnxnd_67nDgxXgKJnD8JoZb1TBdYiVLYRqZ9VYS3VlWaw20gD9uvMi_ahLeaeaDWMcC9FEwMQDyYh0PZLo_iaOvvxbcCskXIcfxuu8JXxy_5_jQFURE-D-OqKqsVg9yyEr59jM9o1ecuqDDe0aousbHnZNtnJYJaeWtua29kbXKL_Z2PmXR3dCw/w400-h400/Secrets%20in%20the%20Ice%20Cover%20pic.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The small research vessel, the Calypso,
lurched on the rough sea, water spilling over the railings, even though it was
securely bound to the small dock. The team was further inland, and even though
they periodically checked their devices for weather reports they had no idea
that the storm was already upon them. They had noted before that signals were
sporadic and often delayed as they worked this particular island about 40 miles
northwest of Alaska. It didn’t have a name but most people called it Paradise
Frozen. It was mostly large rocks, thick snow, and ice boulders but BioX, the
company they worked for was for some reason interested in it.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> They had slept on the boat last night
determined to get one more day of samples before heading back. Currently, they
were two and a half miles away. The thick ice and deep snow made it impossible
to cover as much distance as they wanted. The goal had been to reach the center
of the island and to take samples from just inside a small cave there. If there
was a cave. The team wasn’t convinced that the images BioX had provided were
accurate. They had all agreed to give it one shot and then head back with the
samples they had already dug out of the ice and frozen patches of ground. They
had even chipped off sections of thick gray rock to take back for examination.
No one mentioned it but they all were curious about what BioX was looking for.
What possible use could they have for these samples? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dr. Kit Pierson was the lead researcher on
this trip. Kit was in her early 50s a graduate of Harvard with a doctorate in
biochemistry. She had been with BioX for almost ten years. Her no-nonsense
approach to gathering data endeared her to her employers. Some of her earlier
research had led to products that had made the company millions. Recently she
had become somewhat disillusioned with the company. Her life goal was to make a
real difference in the world and making millions for a few people didn’t quite
jive with that desire. BioX believed in
shared leadership so the lead rotated between Dr. East and her on each trip.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dr. Ivan East was the other head
researcher and he had led the last trip to the island. He wasn’t quite 50 yet
but had a massive list of publications that focused mainly on environmental
science. Global warming was pounding on the earth’s door and the clock was
ticking. Current weather trends were a real concern. He suspected BioX wasn’t
interested in saving the environment and so he frequently questioned his
position with them. He hoped his five-year stint at BioX might propel him into
another company that better aligned with his concerns about pollution and the
climate. His easy-going personality was a sharp contrast to Kit who was all
business. He was a strong leader but one that at times was influenced by his
heart rather than his head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> River Eubanks was a student at Yale,
completing an advanced degree in molecular biology. She had earned a spot on
the team by publishing a complex and new theory on cellular evolution. She
hypothesized that these invisible changes would at some point create
substantially different creatures than what existed currently. She had secretly
started a study involving small changes in the human biostructure. Were things
changing at a molecular level and if so, what did it mean for the future of
humans? River was driven to prove her theory and at times the others needed to
bring her back to earth. Scientists that look only for data that reinforces
their theory can muddy the process. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Baxter Kingman and Ryan Clark were from
Princeton. Both were almost finished with degrees in Chemical and Biological
Engineering. Baxter’s research focus was mostly on pharmaceuticals while Ryan’s
included a smattering of topics, like the chemical, biological, and physical
processes affecting the climate and world. He leaned heavily toward chemistry
and the compounds that make up the world. His discovery of how pollution had
altered certain compounds was what caught BioX’s interest and landed him a slot
on this mission. It frustrated him that the company had yet to okay his
publication of those findings. He suspected that they had brought him on board
to silence him rather than to embrace his research. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The group was in a small clearing. The rocks
surrounding them were thick with snow. River tapped her digital recon radio. It
was as silent as the frozen area around them. “Anyone getting any reception,”
she asked. She pulled her thick glove back on. The frigid air stung her skin,
she could almost feel the skin tightening, pulling away from the cold. No one
answered her but when she looked around the group several people shook their
heads. The dark sky overhead which had been threatening snow broke loose and
thick flakes drifted through the sky. The hazy dim lighting in the artic gave
way to an even more dismal haze. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We aren’t making it back to the boat
tonight,” Dr. East said. He looked around. “Let’s set up camp here,” he added.
This clearing was as good as any other. It might be better than most. The large
boulders in between the twisted chunks of ice provided some shelter from the
icy wind. A chirping noise caught his attention and he frowned. It almost
sounded like a tree frog but no such creature existed here in this frigid
environment. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The others had taken off their heavy
backpacks and pulled out the thermal pup tents contained inside each one. There
were two days of dried food rations, as well as, a thermal tarp. It wasn’t a
blanket but it worked even better. The thin thermal material trapped their body
heat and after being under it for a minute or two their skin would warm. Most
of the team started stomping down snow, preparing an area for the pup tents but
Dr. Pierson wrapped the thermal covering around her and leaned back on a
boulder. She had heard the chirping noise also and unlike Dr. East she didn’t
think it sounded like a tree frog at all. She wasn’t sure where it was coming
from. She looked into the snowy distance. Kit squinted her eyes trying to see
better. She flinched and leaned forward, straining to see. It was impossible
but she thought she had noted some motion, a shifting of the snowy landscape as
if something moved in the distance. This was their second trip to the island
and they had never noted any living creatures. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> She looked up and noticed Dr. East
watching. She shrugged and started working on her pup tent. The extra bag that
they took turns carrying contained fire blocks but they decided not to waste
them. Instead, they circled the tents so close to each other that it would be
easy to talk with each other while they were inside the cocoon the tent
provided. “Once we get settled, I’ll try the radio,” Ryan said. They needed to
make contact. Mostly they were prepared for emergencies like this but if the
quickly growing storm lasted long, they wouldn’t have enough supplies. If they
could manage to get back to the boat, they would be ok for a longer period. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> In about thirty minutes they were all
safely ensconced inside the tents. Ryan tried the radio several times and then
stopped. He was wasting precious battery in the howling storm. The island was
remote and communication had always been an issue but with the storm it was
impossible. For now, they were cut off from BioX. He wasn’t worried. The
company knew where they were and would come looking for them eventually if they
didn’t return. He pushed down to the very bottom of the bag and checked the
three flares. He wanted to make sure they were staying dry, just in case they
needed them. They were snuggly wrapped inside the thick plastic along with two
small boxes of matches. Neither the flares nor the matches were regulation
gear. No one had anticipated being trapped on the island but at the last
minute, Ryan had put them in his bag. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> No luck?” Dr. East called out. His tent
was on the opposite side of the small circle but his voice easily carried to
all of them. Inside each tent, they felt oddly alone even though the others
were just a few feet away. On the first trip here River had remarked how the
island felt like the end of the world, cold and unwelcoming. As soon as Dr.
East had spoken a loud chirp followed his words as if in response. It was
close, perhaps on one of the huge boulders that surrounded the clearing. Ivan
East frowned. He wasn’t a fan of the unknown and something was here. Something
he couldn’t see nor understand. And yet the very idea was ludicrous. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What was that?” Ryan called out. They
could hear a thread of fear in his words. It seeped into each tent until the
fear was suffocating. They had nothing to defend themselves with except the ax
and pick. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I don’t know Ryan,” Dr. Pierson answered.
“But it doesn’t sound very ferocious. We will be fine.” Her words were calm and
soothing. The fear evaporated. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> In his tent, Dr. East shifted, glaring in
the direction of Kit’s voice. He picked up something in Kit’s words. She was
more concerned than she was letting on. What she said might or might not be
true. Threats don’t have to be big snarling monsters to kill you. People die
from small, invisible to the naked eye, things every day. His jaw tightened as
he listened for another chirp. None came. Perhaps whatever it was had moved on,
oblivious to them. He squirmed under the thermal wrap and tried to get
comfortable on the hard snow packed ground. After several minutes someone
spoke. It was Baxter. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Don’t worry Ryan. Whatever it was has
moved on,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> No one looked outside their tents. That
lack of curiosity seemed oddly out of place. But then again no one had any idea
about the history of the island. They weren’t even aware that BioX owned it. It
was a desolate location with neither plant growth nor animals. Nothing much
could survive in such a place. Ryan swallowed hard thinking about it. What were
they looking for in this icy location? He crawled to the zipper and pulled it
up ever so slightly. With his head on the ground, he put one eye up to the
opening. At first, all he could see was the snow-packed ground. He shifted and
looked up. It was so dark and the drifting snow made it almost impossible to see.
The shadowy outlines of the boulders came into view. And something else. Red
glowing eyes. He blinked and when he looked again, they were gone. Closing the
zipper, he pulled back and chided himself. Don’t let your imagination get the
best of you he told himself. There’s nothing out there. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Back at BioX, Dr. Jeffrey Clemson leaned
back in his chair and peered over his steepled fingers at Dr. Brent Nader. He
was struggling not to show his anger at the younger man. He too had once been an
idealist but over the years he had come to recognize that to do great things
one had to take great risks. He never stopped to consider that he seldom put
himself at risk, only others.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I told you we should have given them a
full brief, disclosed everything,” Dr. Nadar said. He leaned forward in his
chair as if to emphasize the point. The anger sparking in his eyes was lighting
a fire in him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “There’s no danger, no reason to believe
that anything from the original research is still viable. It was years ago,”
Dr. Clemson answered. He tried to keep his anger out of his voice but he was
unsuccessful. Dr. Nader was overreacting, and being dramatic. Clemson had
learned through the years that great things are only accomplished with great
risk. He never stopped to consider that it was always a risk for others, not
himself. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “But you read Eubanks’ research-cellular
evolution,” the younger man quipped. The tension in him bubbled to the surface
and he shifted in his chair to distract from it. It infuriated him that Clemson
smiled at just this moment. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “That’s just a theory. There’s no real
proof that that would happen even under the best of circumstances. The island
is frozen, inhabitable.” He wanted to stop this conversation but he wasn’t
exactly sure how to shut the other man up. He was lying and he didn’t want the
other man to know it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You’re an idiot. Viruses survive quite
well frozen,” Nader’s agitation was so great he stood briefly but then sat back
down. Storming out of the room wasn’t going to solve anything. The island was
one vast petri dish and anything could have bubbled to the surface. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Ok, but first it would need to thaw.
That’s not going to happen. And at this point we don’t even know it would be
lethal,” Dr. Clemson was warming up to his explanation but before he could say
more, Dr, Nader interrupted him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Maybe not in its original form but we
have no idea if it's evolved…” He wanted to say more but a knock at the door
interrupted him. It was Mary Trip, Dr. Clemson’s assistant. Her face reflected
discomfort and uncertainty. They both looked at her expectantly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’m sorry to interrupt Dr, Clemson but we
have lost contact with the team on Calypso Island,” she said. Her words came
out breathless, like feathers floating in the air between them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dr. Nader stood up, looking between Dr.
Clemson and Mary with horrified eyes. Mary trembled in response to his
reaction. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Now sit down, Brent,” Dr, Clemson said,
using the man’s first name to position himself in power above the younger man.
Brent responded, sinking into his chair. His hands gripped the chair arms and
his face shifted in a kaleidoscope of emotions as he struggled to get himself
under control. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Mary, there’s no reason to panic yet. The
storm is creating more disturbance than we usually get from that location. They
have supplies. I’m sure they are hunkered down and waiting for the storm to
pass. It’s not time to worry yet.” When he finished speaking Mary nodded and
left, closing the door behind her. He congratulated himself for calming her
down. Now he just needed to get Nader under control. He took a deep breath.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The truth was he was more than a little
worried himself. Unknown to Dr, Nader there were cameras on the island. For
years they had dutifully changed batteries and fixed glitches and nothing of
note had ever been recorded. Nothing that is until a few months ago. A single
recording, blurry but interesting. In the video a large pile of snow moved, the
clumps of snow shifting to make a small opening. Out of the opening two bright
red eyes appeared, looking directly into the camera. Then whatever it was
pulled back into the snow. None of the future recordings showed anything.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It was past midnight before the team
finally managed to fall asleep. The wind surged outside, smacking the tents, and
creating a howling symphony. At a little after two, Dr. Pierson jerked awake. She
turned over on her side and listened intently. What had awoken her? She was
sure she had heard something. A swoosh of wind? A thud? And not exactly a
scream but some kind of cry, a call for help? It wasn’t enough to wake everyone
up but a deep uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The night was so dark she couldn’t even
see her hand in front of her face. A giant gust of wind grabbed the tent and
then pulled away, trailing off until the night was silent and cold. Something
felt wrong, off in some way but she couldn’t identify what it was. This place
was alien, like a scene in a movie, barren and yet dangerous. In the distance,
she heard the strange chirping again. She struggled to identify it. Perhaps it
was some type of bird but what creature could survive on this frigid island?
She stayed alert for over an hour but when nothing else happened she allowed
her eyes to close and drifted back to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Kit, are you awake?” Ivan called to her.
It was just after five o’clock. The days were so short this time of year and
even when it was daylight, a foggy cloud hung over everything. It was still
murky and dark outside. She groaned and sat up. The snow pushed in on all sides
of the tent. She’d have to dig herself out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’m awake,” she called softly so as not
to disturb the others. Ivan’s tent was right next to hers and the snow heaped
between them had the sides bulging against each other. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Did you hear anything last night?” Ivan
asked and something in his voice gave Kit pause. She rubbed lip balm on her
wind-chapped lips and considered how to answer. Had she heard something or had
it been her imagination? An odd tingling crawled up her spine like a fat spider.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Maybe, I’m not sure, you?” she finally
answered truthfully. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Same as you. Something woke me up.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Well, I slept soundly and would still be
asleep if you two were a little quieter,” Baxter called out. His voice was
gruff and husky with sleep. “Hey Ryan, are you awake?” he called out. There was
no answer from Ryan but River groaned. She was stiff and sore. Her back shot
pain up and down her spine. She wished they had been able to return to the
boat. Staying out in this environment was rough. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Ryan,” Baxter called out slightly louder
this time. No answer. River thought that one word, Ryan, carried more anxiety
than it should. When there was no answer the anxiety was almost palpable. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> A chill raced up Ivan’s spine at the lack
of response. Ryan might be a sound sleeper but Ivan didn’t think he would be
under these circumstances. He tugged at the zipper of his tent and was met with
a solid wall of snow. He scrapped at it, trying to keep it from falling inside
the tent. That was impossible. The more he dug the more chunks of frozen snow
landed inside. Soon he had a tunnel outside. Crawling out he collided with Kit
who had also dug herself out. The whiteness of the snow was almost blinding. Ivan
glanced over his shoulder and could just make out two figures. River and
Baxter. They were staring at something behind him. He turned. The spot where
Ryan’s tent had been was now empty. The tent was gone, along with Ryan.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We need to try calling for help,” Kit
said. Her voice was smooth and calm, far calmer than she felt. Ivan stared at
her with a look of horror. It took a second for Kit to understand the look. The
radio had been inside Ryan’s tent. The pair walked over to where Ryan’s tent
had stood but thick snow covered the area and any footprints were gone. It was
unlikely that Ryan had wandered off. It just wasn’t like him. He would have
stayed with the group no matter what. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “There’s no blood,” Kit whispered. Ivan
shrugged. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “It might be covered,” he said. Was Ryan
still alive? They had no way of knowing but at this point they couldn’t search.
They needed help. They had only been equipped for a day trip. They had spent
one night on the boat and now one in the wilderness. If they hoped to survive,
they had to get back to the boat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Ryan,” Kit called out several times but the only answer was the
swishing wind. It gusted so hard that it whipped up clouds of snow. River and
Baxter called out too but the vastness of the snowy landscape swallowed their
words. It was deathly quiet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The
snow which had stopped briefly was falling again. Big fat sloppy flakes. River
shivered. “The radio is gone, isn’t it?” she asked. Ivan and Kit both nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We are going to need to get back to the
boat,” Baxter announced. Ivan was glad to hear his thoughts spoken by another
group member. He felt bad about Ryan but they couldn’t afford to linger here.
He started digging up the snow around his tent so he could take it down and
fold it back into his backpack. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Can we even make it in this weather?”
River asked. She looked from Ivan to Kit trying to read their faces. Both
maintained an eerie calm that neither truly felt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Do we have a choice?” Ivan finally said
and turned to start digging out his tent. River and Kit both started working
frantically as well. Eyes watched the group. Blinking in unison, they waited. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The tents were packed into backpacks and
the group was ready in record time. River kept looking around, searching for
Ryan, expecting him to pop out from behind a large boulder and laugh at his
stunt. But there was nothing but snow and ice. Once she thought she saw
movement in the distance but after staring for a couple of minutes she
shrugged. It must have been her imagination. She brushed the snowflakes off her
face but they were immediately replaced with more. The storm front was
suspended directly over them and as she looked east the sky seemed lighter.
Maybe they could walk themselves out of it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dr. East tossed a rope to River. She
clipped it to her belt and tossed it to Kit. Kit fastened her clip to the rope
and tossed it to Baxter who did the same. Now each of them was linked to the
other. The rope with hooks was a safety precaution. It would be easy to get
confused and lost in the murkiness of the fog and snow. They couldn’t lose
precious time searching for a crew member who had wandered off or taken a wrong
turn. Holding up a small flashlight, Dr. East tapped his compass. He was
certain the boat dock was directly west of their location. The compass needle
was frozen and he tapped the face of it harder. It moved slightly and then spun
in circles before settling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Everyone ready?” he asked. He didn’t wait
for an answer but turned east and put his foot carefully down. The thick snow
covered everything. It was impossible to tell what the ground underneath was
like. Scatter rocks, deep ravines, and sloping ground made travel difficult and
the snow hid pitfalls that might cause a serious accident. As he walked, he had
the uncanny sensation that he was only inching forward, that no real movement
was occurring but when he looked behind them it was impossible to see where
they had just come from. There was very little to judge their movement on.
Everything looked the same. Thick snow and big charcoal gray boulders that at
times peeked out from the dense covering of snow and ice. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> There was a coldness in the pit of Kit’s
stomach that had nothing to do with the weather. It increased in size like a
snowball rolling downhill until it created a throbbing ache of anxiety.
Something was wrong. Her mind swirled with questions. What had happened to
Ryan? It made no sense. First of all, the island had never shown any signs of
life. As far as she knew they were the first research team to visit the island
in almost a decade. Second, even if a polar bear or some other predator had
ended up stranded on the island, they couldn’t have attacked and left no signs
of the struggle. The tent stakes had been ripped up from the frozen ground and
not a speck of the tent nor Ryan remained. She shook her head. No, this was
something else. She had an almost photographic memory and now as they trudged
forward, she flipped through all the information she had read about the island,
its history, and the purpose of their research. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> They made it maybe a half mile when it
happened. Baxter slipped on a round ice-covered rock. He went down hard and
screamed in pain. The rope was suddenly heavy with his weight and everyone
turned and circled back to where he writhed on the ground. Dr. East bent down
and pressed his fingers down on Baxter’s ankle. He didn’t think it wasn’t
broken. Perhaps a bad sprain. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Do you think you can stand?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’m not sure. I’ll try,” Baxter ground
out between his clenched teeth. He struggled to get up, leaning on both River
and Ivan. He put his injured foot down gingerly and winced. Tingling pain shot
up his leg and he was light-headed. “I don’t think I can walk,” he managed to
say. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Over here,” Kit called. They hadn’t
noticed she had moved away from the group, searching the area for any natural
shelter it might provide. She was standing in an indentation between two rocks.
Hanging above the two massive boulders was a shelf of ice and snow, creating a
roof. She was stomping down the snow in the small cave created by the boulders
and ice. Baxter started shivering uncontrollably. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ivan pulled the backpack off the other man
and pulled out the thermal blanket. He wrapped it around Baxter who he eased to
the ground. Then he carried the folded tent to Kit. The two of them tucked the
tent into the crevice between the rocks. It barely fit but he would be able to
fit snuggly inside. He would be sheltered by not only the tent but the rocks
and ice as well. Groaning as he hopped, Baxter made it over to the tent and
crawled inside. Kit pushed some rations inside the tent, along with one of the
axes, and a small packet of pain medication. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We’re just leaving him?” River asked,
pacing back and forth. The snow covered the top of her hood and her dark eyes
sparked with anger. The snow was already piling up around the opening of the
tent. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “The meds will make him sleep and this
hideaway is about as secure as we will find. We need to make it to the boat and
call for help. It’s our only chance,” Dr. East. He was as nervous as River but
he managed to hide it. He hadn’t told the group but he suspected they were
being followed. How closely, he wasn’t sure but he hoped it was far enough back
that whatever was stalking them had not observed Baxter’s hiding spot. <br />
“River, go. I’ll be fine,” Baxter
called out groggily. The meds were already dulling the sharp pain in his ankle
and making him sleepy. The snow stopped abruptly and the trio looked up at the
sky. It was a gray haze but at least the stinging bits of snow and ice were no
longer slapping them in the face. Grumbling to herself River followed Dr. East
away from the tent. The three started at a much faster pace than previously. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dr. Clemson looked at the weather map one
more time. Then he picked up the phone. “Karl, it’s time to get the tactical
team ready. I’m not sure what we are dealing with but it's just like we talked
about last month. Rough terrain and bad weather. We’ve lost touch…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He paused and listened for a moment. “I
know the weather can interfere with the transmission but it’s more than that,
trust me.” The man on the other end of the conversation didn’t argue. It wasn’t
his call and if Dr. Clemson was worried then he should be too. His call would
alert the team of twelve men, well-trained men, that could think on their feet
and deal with any number of threats. Dr. Clemson believed some animal was loose
on the island. The man chuckled to himself. There might be but he doubted it
was the abdominal snowman. Of course, Dr. Clemson had never said that but he
did make it seem like the creature was some demigod. It was probably a rogue
bear stranded on the island and hungry as hell. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Jeffery Clemson didn’t think it was any
kind of god at all but what he did think is that something had changed on that
damn island. Evolved. That was why when he read River Eubanks’ research, he
hired her immediately. The research on the island previously had been a bust or
at least everyone thought so. The biogenetic endeavor had yielded little. At
that point, BioX was part of a defensive research grant and when their work
showed little promise, they lost funding. It wasn’t even worth packing up the
material from the island. They had simply left everything there and walked
away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Now it seemed something had evolved from
the original material and Dr. Clemson wasn’t sure what it might be. It wasn’t a
single-cell organism though, something that worked slowly through the system.
No, single cells, didn’t have red glowing eyes. The brief glimpse of those eyes
provided very little information. Buried in the snow the creature could be any
shape and any size. It didn’t matter. The team would have little chance against
a predator. They were ill-equipped to handle a situation like this. Burying
their noses in tiny microscopic organisms was right up their </span>alley,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but real combat
was something they knew nothing about. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Jeffrey ran his hand through his thinning
hair and sighed. Maybe he was overreacting. The storm was affecting
communication and he had no way of knowing if the team had made it back to the
boat or not. On the boat, they would have some protection from the weather and
extra rations. They could make it several days on the boat. On land? He wasn’t
sure. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dr. Brent Nader was in a panic. He was
brilliant. His mind allowed him to consider multiple scenarios at the same
time. The weather was the least of his concerns. He fully believed there was
danger on the island, an unknown predator that the team didn’t even know
existed. He had read River Eubanks’ findings over and over again. He believed their
original material might have shifted, and changed to meet the demands of the
environment. If so, it now lived in the harshest environment and would do
anything to survive. What was it eating? That’s what Brent had asked and Dr.
Clemson had no answer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">On the rough terrain, the human trio walked
slowly. They couldn’t afford another injury. River pushed back tears. In her
mind, they had left Baxter to die. She wasn’t even sure they could locate him
if a rescue team came for them. All the land looked the same. Nothing but
rocks, snow, and ice. The trail they were on had disappeared and now they just
wandered in the direction of the boat.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Behind them, Baxter slept. Unconscious
from the double dose of medicine, Dr. Pierson had pushed on him. That’s why
when the creatures arrived, he wasn’t even aware of it. There were five of
them, sniffing the snow and circling around and around. Each creature was a
shaggy mass of hair. It was matted and clung to their bodies like a thick second
layer of skin. White like the snow it made them difficult to see. Sometimes
they walked on two legs and sometimes on four. They were equally agile in
either position. On their hind legs they were toddler size, maybe three feet tall
and their enlarged heads bobbled on top of the small bodies. Ape-like hands
ended in razor-sharp claws that clicked together as they searched. The pack was
one of three that existed on the island, four males and a female. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> All the human smells were confusing. The
scents mingled together and went in multiple directions. Eventually, the group </span>homed in<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> on the location of the tent. It was hidden under the snow with Baxter
encased inside it slightly snoring. The snow muffled the sound and the
creatures heard nothing. Sniffing the snow that was piled around it two of them
scratched at it. It had thawed slightly as the humans worked it and now was
refrozen. Hard and crunchy ice ripped at their ape-like hands. Wincing one
pulled back and licked the blood from his palm. An older male climbed up the
rock front and pounded his chest with his fists, making a chirping sound. His
eyes searched the </span>distance,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and he caught sight of movement. Tilting his head,
he looked again. Whatever it was had </span>disappeared,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but he scrambled down the
rocks and took off in the direction of the movement. Two others followed him,
leaving the first two digging in the snow around the tent. So far, they had
been unable to locate anything. The two males stopped digging and sniffed the
air. They ground their teeth together. They were hungry. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dr. East stopped briefly to catch his
breath. This mission was to be his last in the field. He was tired of digging
in the frozen dirt and sleeping on the hard ground. He looked back the way they
had come and wished they had somehow marked Baxter’s location. It would be
difficult to relocate him in all this snow and ice. About a half mile behind
them he saw the snow tremble. Puffs of snow and ice spluttered into the air,
propelled by something. He frowned. Something was moving, gaining on them, and
he wasn’t sure what it could be. He knew about the earlier research. He had
read as much as he had access to. He was curious why they were gathering
samples from this particular island. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He shook his head hard, pushing the
thoughts away. The earlier study had been a bust, producing nothing useable so
he didn’t see how it could be a part of whatever was going on. He suspected Dr.
Pierson knew this too, maybe even more details than he had gleaned. She was so
quiet, her brain processing the few details they had. Something had taken Ryan.
Ivan was pretty sure he was dead but there had been no blood at all. He must
have been carried away and killed elsewhere. Now he shivered as a light breeze
picked up and the snow started to fall again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Let’s get moving,” he said without
mentioning what he suspected. Something was stalking them. They needed to pick
up their pace. Dr. Pierson pulled herself out of her musings and trudged on.
River heaved a sigh but saying nothing she followed. Each of them was far more
worried than they let on. The fear was almost tangible in the air. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Suddenly to the right of them, three
creatures appeared out of the dense snow. About the size of a small wolf, they
skid to a stop, spewing snow around them. Their heads were massive, and out of
proportion with their bodies. River saw them first and she almost screamed.
Instead, she grabbed Dr. East’s arm and nodded at the trio standing on the top
of the snow dune. Dr. Pierson was suddenly alert. She could see them. They
reminded her of an advanced scouting group. Watching the enemy but far enough
away as not to be an immediate danger. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Don’t look directly at them,” she advised
but that was a little late. River had turned toward the creatures, examining
them. It was hard to tell their size from this distance. Then one of them stood
up and she gasped. What was this? The creature when standing wasn’t very tall,
maybe three and a half feet tall, but the fact that it could transform from
four-legged to two-legged with very little effort was horrifying. As she
watched it raised its arms as if scratching at the air around it. The glint of
the black nails was muted by the swirling snow but in her imagination, she
could see them ripping into Ryan. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Move,” Ivan said and the urgency in his
words propelled them forward. River’s boots slipped in the ever-deepening snow
but she quickly righted herself and pushed on. When she glanced back, the
creatures had disappeared from the hilltop. Her heart thudded in her chest. She
shivered more from anxiety than the cold. Where might the animals pop up next?
They were being hunted with very little to protect themselves. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Behind them, where they had left Baxter,
one of the males had found a corner of the tent and was tugging at it. It was
encased in the ice but the movement brought Baxter out of his drug-induced
sleep. It took a moment for him to gain awareness. He rubbed his eyes and
listened. The scratching on the ice around the front edge of the tent told him
all he needed to know. Some animal was trying to get to him and there was nowhere
to go. He gripped the handle of the ax and silently waited. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Clemson and Nader stared at the large
monitor displaying the weather. The storm front was slowly moving across the
island and would soon be gone altogether. The rescue team was suited up and
ready to go but the foggy, snowy weather made it impossible for the helicopter
to take off yet. Clemson feared they might be too late.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I want to show you something,” he said to
Dr, Nader. “But you have to be prepared. This cannot leak out. This information
is well, sensitive,” Clemson said. Dr. Nader looked at him and frowned. He had
suspected for a while now that his business partner was keeping something from
him. Now he was about to find out what it was. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The monitor screen split into a half dozen
views. The views were white and fuzzy with few details. At first, Nader thought
it was the fuzziness of a malfunctioning monitor but then he looked closer.
Each screen was a view of a snowy landscape. The air around some of the cameras
was thick with snow, a whiteout. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What is this?” he asked. His voice shook
with anger. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We have cameras on the island,” Clemson
admitted and there was a thin layer of excitement in his voice. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Since when?” Nader asked and his voice
quivered with anger. The implication struck him and an avalanche of emotions
cascaded through him. Why would Clemson have cameras set up to watch an uninhabited
island? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “For a while now,” Clemson answered. He
tapped one of the monitors. Until a few days ago we hadn’t picked up much. Here
let me go back and show you. He clicked some buttons and the live feed changed
to a recorded version. It showed very little. Mounds of snow and a gray sky.
Then the snow trembled like a mole was digging beneath the surface. A large
clump broke off and rolled down, exposing something red. Two orbs buried under
the snow. Nader leaned forward, getting close to the screen. Then he jerked
back. Those were eyes and as he watched they pulled back into the snow bank and
disappeared. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What the hell is that?” he spat out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We don’t know. That’s the only activity
we’ve picked up on until recently.” How recently Nader wondered. Had this man
sent an unknowing team into a deadly situation? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What else have you picked up?” he asked.
He watched Clemson closely. This was a betrayal he wouldn’t soon forget. The
older man should have kept him appraised from the beginning. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Clemson clicked a few keys and a brief recording scrolled across the
monitor. The team of at least three of them was working their way along a deep
crevice, carefully placing each foot so as not to fall. Nader could only see
them from the waist down and with the heavy clothing he wasn’t sure who they
were. He shifted impatiently in his chair. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Wait,” Clemson said. His words refocused
Nader on the footage. The snow quivered as something moved just underneath it.
It was only briefly in the camera's view but then a second movement inched
forward. A head popped up. A furry head covered with matted white hair. Against
the glaring snow, it was hard to make out details but it was nothing Nader had
ever seen before. The head turned as if drawn to the whirling sound of the
camera and looked directly into the lens. Then it yawned. The mouth was full of
razor-sharp teeth, double rows of teeth that clicked together when the creature
closed its mouth. Nader buried his face in his hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “What have you done?” he moaned. Clemson
ignored him. He wasn’t one for dramatics.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Some of the cameras are not functioning.
The batteries are most likely dead but I’m hoping as they make their way closer
to the boat, we can pick up something.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “There’s only three of them…” Nader’s
voice trailed off and he left his thoughts hanging suspended in the air between
them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Maybe. Or maybe the other two just didn’t
travel across the camera’s view. We can’t be sure.” Clemson made it sound so
convincing but Nader didn’t fall for it. The research team wasn’t safe. Forget
about the weather and the cold. That wasn’t the main problem. No, they had
bigger issues and Nader wasn’t even sure they realized it yet. The group was
being hunted. That much was obvious from the animal’s furtive efforts. What was
the creature? A mutation, or an evolved
organism. Evolved? He had been worried about microscopic organisms. He had
never considered that their earlier work might have evolved into an actual
animal. His heart froze at the thought. They had been designing weapons to use
in war. Was this animal a killing machine?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Baxter’s heart beat rapidly. He wondered
what the creature looked like. It would most likely kill him. He scooted as far
back in the tent as he could. The sound didn’t make much difference now and he
wanted his back against the hard rock. Suddenly loud chirps and whistles
sounded from outside. Whatever was digging him out stopped. Footsteps fell hard
on the cold ground and muffled cries filtered to him through the snow and ice.
Scuffling. Squeals and chirps. What was going on? No way was he crawling to the
front of the tent to try and peek out. It fell silent.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Outside bright splotches of red marred the
pure white snow. Pieces of torn white fur littered the area. Entrails still
steaming hung from a large rock. One of the pair was dead, ripped into several
pieces. The other one was barely breathing. It would be dead within minutes.
The other pack had come upon the two. They were so engrossed in getting to the
human that by the time they noticed them they were surrounded. Five against two
hardly seemed fair but these creatures had no sense of fairness. The fight was
over quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The members of the second pack spent no
time looking for the man hiding under the snow. If they were aware of him, they
never gave any indication of it. By now the area was a smorgasbord of scents.
The coppery scent of blood, the other pack, and the unusual scent they had
smelled before but had never placed, humans. They sniffed the air and lopped
off in the direction the three had taken earlier. After a few yards, they
paused and lifted their heads sniffing again. They inhaled deeply and their
hearts pounded inside their chests. Filled with rage they moved forward at a
swift pace. The two packs hated each other. Bored with life on the island the
hatred had grown bigger than life. The main goal was to kill and now that they
had drawn blood, they were thirsty for more. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The leader clicked her teeth together in her
enormous mouth as she ran. The teeth, still stained with blood were a good
three inches long. Down on all fours, they were swift like wolves. Their padded
feet had adapted to the rough terrain and were covered with thick skin that cushioned
their steps and protected them against the bitter cold. This pack was four
females and one male but it didn’t make it any less deadly. Quite the opposite.
The females were larger, their muscles rippled under the dense fur. Their
eyesight was also better. They could see the smallest details. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Pack 2 didn’t care about the humans. Sure,
they would kill them, devour them like Hors D’oeuvres at a party, relishing the
flavor. But their main focus was the three remaining members of Pack 1. Just over
a month ago, they had stolen one of the females from this group and now she was
brainwashed and aligned with them. Bonded to the largest male in that group.
Most likely pregnant now. This infuriated them. The third pack was on the
opposite side of the island which wasn’t that far away but they stayed to
themselves and weren’t exerting dominance and so Pack 2 left them alone. For
now. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Barely a quarter of a mile ahead of Pack
1, Dr. East stopped. He thought they should have arrived at the rocky beach by </span>now and<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> been close to the edge of the </span>water,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but they were still surrounded by
a sheet of ice with rocks jutting out in several places.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Are we lost?” River asked. Her voice was
muffled by the thick scarf she had wrapped around her face. Dr. East didn’t
respond. He just moved forward again. They were traveling along the top of a
ridge. On the right, the hill sloped downward until it disappeared into a deep
crevice. On the left, a solid sheet of ice glistened. It was almost like being
in a tunnel and it occurred to him that if they were attacked here, they would
have little chance of escape. He picked up his pace. The snow had stopped again
but visibility was still made difficult by the misty cold fog. Fog? He wondered
about this. It seemed impossible for it to be foggy. Maybe it was tiny ice
particles dancing in the air. He picked up a sound, chirping, coming to him
from a distance. Not far. He walked faster. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dr. Pierson was in the lead and she felt
Ivan push into her. “Faster,” he said and her heart tightened in her chest.
Something was hunting them. She knew it by instinct but his words brought it
into focus. Their very lives were hanging in the balance in this isolated God-forsaken
place. She hurried even faster. She had a vacation planned. One that involved
the hot sun, sand, and blue water and she intended to make her flight. Whether
she ever came back was yet to be seen. BioX would not take her “retirement”
lightly but she had seen enough, heard enough, and she didn’t like the new direction
the company was moving. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> River stumbled, coming dangerously close
to the right side. She looked down the snowy hillside into the gaping darkness
of the crevice. It pulled at her, almost with a magnetic force. Ivan grabbed
her arm and pulled her further away from the edge. One false move might send
her plunging into that dark hole of emptiness. Dr. Pierson had gotten further
ahead and they hurried to catch up but moving across the snow and thick patches
of ice wasn’t a rapid process. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> It was River who first noticed. She felt
rather than saw a slight movement along the ice ridge on the left. She glanced
up. Against the grayness of the sky, she didn’t see anything. Frowning she put
her head down and walked faster into the snowy distance, trying to catch up
with Kit. Ivan had noted her look up and now he paused to run his eyes along
the icy cliff. A puff of snow danced along the top. What had kicked it up? The
wind perhaps. Nevertheless every few yards he cast his eyes upward hoping to
catch a glimpse of anything that, might be a threat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> River had gained ground on Dr. Pierson.
She was closing in but Ivan was still several yards behind her. They had
abandoned the rope once the snow had stopped. It would be hard to get lost in
the chute of snow, ice, and boulders. A flash of movement, so intense that it
blurred before her eyes. Something hurled itself from the icy ridge right into
Kit Pierson. River stopped, her eyes taking in the horrific scene. A creature,
about the size of a wolf, plunged off the ridge and landed right on Kit,
knocking her off her feet. The yellowed fur made it partially viewable against
the white snow. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Kit screamed as the creature rolled her onto
the ground. Biting through the thick coat, tearing at her arm. River looked up.
Were there others? Seeing none, she watched Ivan move past her and toward Kit.
He had the ax. He swung it, chopping at the creature who lifted its head and
snarled at him. The double rows of long sharp teeth clicked together. Long
strands of drool hung from its chin and spit frothed in the creature’s mouth.
Ivan lifted the ax overhead, prepared to take another swing. Kit looked at him
wide-eyed. Blood seeped through the thick coat material, pumping out of the brachial
artery. The artery was close to the surface so the creature had severed it
easily. Beneath her coat, the bursts of blood were weakening Kit. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Before Ivan could attack again, Kit rolled
away from the beast but she was too close to the edge and went hurtling down
the slope toward the crevice. The creature followed. The two struggled briefly
and then both vanished into the dark gaping hole. It was probably a crack that
extended into a cave system but Ivan wasn’t sure. It could extend into the
center of hell for all he knew. The geographical maps of this place had never
made sense. He looked around for River. She was huddled on the ground with her
knees pulled up against her chest. Her blank eyes stared at the point where Kit
had tumbled down the hillside. Ivan looked up again and then moved swiftly to
River. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Get up, River, get up,” he urged. She
didn’t respond but when he pulled at her arm she stood up. Wild-eyed she looked
around in every direction. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> They moved forward. Ivan rubbed a gloved
hand across his mask-covered forehead. He knew they hadn’t come this way when
they had worked their way inland but they needed to move, get to the end of
this chute, and reassess their direction. River softly sobbed as they walked.
She didn’t bother to ask what the animal was. Did it matter? It was dangerous
and there were others. Of this, she was sure. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Ivan’s mind was whirling, both with the
need to escape and with questions about the creature. How had it gotten to the
island? Animals often adapted to hostile environments but this place had hardly
any form of life. The soil samples they were taking had changed this trip. The
soil was softer in places, and easier to dig out as if the earth was warming
here. That seemed impossible but now he considered it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The microscopic examination had shown
something. Tiny squirming organisms but what were they? He thought again of the
crevice. Maybe it didn’t go to hell but maybe it did release some heat, and energy
from deep inside the earth. An earthquake deep in the ocean could potentially
shift the earth’s plates. That might thaw something, something centuries old.
An idea popped into his mind. BioX’s previous research. What had it been about?
He didn’t have time to consider that right now. They had to get to the boat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Pack 1 was down to two. The large male and
the female that they had captured. She was pregnant but the male felt no real
urgency to protect her.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He just wasn’t
wired like that. They had been birthed from nothing and if the female lost the
child, then he did not doubt that the island would find another womb to bring
life forth. He had winced when his companion had disappeared into the crevice
though. Not because of any real affection for his teammate. No, it was simply a
matter of survival. With only two of them, it would be almost impossible to
defend against an attack. He momentarily thought of Pack 3. If they combined
forces, then they stood a chance but Pack 3 was far too docile for his liking.
He grunted. Pushing the idea aside he allowed a primal urge, an almost
overwhelming instinct to rush through him. He turned his attention back to the
two humans.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The female stood on two legs. She examined
not only the landscape but the male. He was aggressive and she didn’t relish a
beating. She pulled back her lips baring the sharp teeth that crowded inside.
She looked for an escape, preferred Pack 2, but the one time she had tried to
leave this group she had been beaten until she could barely walk. Surely, he
wouldn’t attack her, risk the infant she carried. He turned as if reading her
thoughts and stared at her until she cast her eyes down. No, she wouldn’t try
to escape again but she wasn’t fully in this hunt. She placed a clawed hand
against her stomach. The male charged along the top of the ridge after the two
humans and she followed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Behind them, Pack 2 was gaining. The leader
had caught a glimpse of them upon the high rocks. There were only two of them
left and one was the female she was desperate to regain. She too had been
thinking about Pack 3. She also considered them subpar. Their behavior was
confusing. Instead of bonding and working as one, they went in different
directions. She had been watching them for a while now and thought if they had
a strong leader, they might be an asset. But first, her primary goal was Pack 1
and getting the female back. She chirped in rapid succession and the rest of
the pack lined up, single file to run behind their leader. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Back at the encampment, Baxter groaned.
His foot ached. It was swollen so large that the skin was stretched to its
limit like a rubber band. He rubbed it
through his pants leg and the thick sock. He listened intently but he heard
nothing outside in the crisp air. No chirping, no footsteps, no raspy
breathing. The fight was over and from what he could tell the creatures had
moved on. They would be back. He had no idea how many of them existed here on
this icy island but from the sounds of the fight, it was an army. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The pain medicine had worn off and he
longed to take another pill but he didn’t dare. He shivered more from fear than
from the cold. He couldn’t be unconscious if they came again. He gripped the ax
so tightly that his hand ached. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it was better
than nothing. There were a couple of guns on the boat but it wasn’t sure they
would fare much better against these animals. They were swift and deadly. Where
had they come from? He thought of Ryan. He was sure he was dead and he hoped
death had come swiftly. What would it feel like to be eaten alive? He prayed he
didn’t find out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Baxter was at the very back of the tent
with his back protected by the dense rock behind him. It was hard and sharp
behind his back. He only had to worry about a full-frontal attack. Even so, he
figured his chances were slim. If his fingers weren’t so stiff with cold, he
would write a goodbye letter. He had his small notebook and pencil in his
backpack. He dug around inside it but instead of pulling out the notebook, he
pulled out some jerky that was frozen. He broke off a small chunk and put it in
his mouth letting it thaw against his warm tongue before chewing. Was this to
be his last meal? Leaning back, he closed his eyes, and even though he fought
against it, he fell asleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Hurry up, River,” Ivan East was trying to
stay calm but now they were growing closer to the beach and he suspected an attack
before they made it to the relative safety of the vessel. The short dock that
protruded into the choppy ocean would be a dangerous path and when they reached
it, they needed to run across the slippery surface and jump into the boat. He
patted his cold hands together and the sting of the movement made him wince.
Even with his thermal gloves on he was certain he had frostbite. He needed to
unlash the rope and push the boat away from the dock. It was their only chance.
To float out into the ocean and wait for help.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He thought momentarily of Baxter. A stab
of guilt hit him square in the chest but they weren’t leaving him. Just getting
to safety until backup arrived. The storm was clearing but the day was still
dark and dreary. His foot touched the wet rocks that littered the beach and he
lost his balance, falling hard. River cried out. He shook his head and clamored
to his feet. Any noise would give away their exact location. He rushed forward
to the rickety metal and wood structure that formed a small dock. River was
behind him to his right. Over his shoulder, he saw movement along the massive
boulders that shielded the small bay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The creature jumped to the top of the rock
without any effort at all. Like a child playing king of the hill, it paused for
a moment and then stood on its hind legs. Upright it looked like a small furry
ape. It beat its chest with the enlarged hands and chirped. Soon another joined
it atop the boulder. Ivan frowned. The second creature wasn’t paying any
attention to him or River. Instead, it looked back into the snowy landscape as
if searching for something. The first one appeared to notice this also because
he reached out and shoved the other one, sending her toppling off the rock. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Come on,” Ivan shouted urgently to River.
It was at that moment when he turned toward the sea that he saw something he
hadn’t before. The boat was no longer anchored at the end of the dock. The
choppy sea had pulled the boat loose and it bobbed about fifty yards away. The
white-capped waves were dark green, almost black and Ivan knew they would never
be able to swim out. He turned to warn River. The dock was now a dead-end. He
was trapped between the angry animal and the turbulent ocean. When he swirled
around River wasn’t on the dock, she was still standing on the rocky beach,
staring at him. Behind him, just at the entrance to the dock stood the larger
of the two creatures. On his hind legs, he was 3 ½ -4 feet tall. His head,
larger than his body, bobbled back and forth as he eyed Ivan. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He took a step forward and Ivan moved
backward. Step by step the creature pushed Ivan closer and closer to the end of
the dock. The ocean lapped at the wood and large chunks of ice floated next to
the structure. They clicked as they came
in contact with the dock and then bobbed away. Soon Ivan’s shoes were at the
very edge, the dark water calling to him. River was still just standing on the
slippery rocks, watching, horrified. Sniffing the air, the animal charged and
Ivan had no other choice but to jump into the churning sea. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> When he hit the icy water, he inhaled
sharply. The cold took his breath away. He started swimming to the boat but the
more he swam the further away the boat appeared. The constant movement of the
waves pushed him back and he made little progress. On the dock the animal
grunted and chirped, beating its chest in frustration. He wanted the man but he
knew better than the plunge into the icy water. As he watched the man
disappeared under the water. He waited for him to surface but he never did. He
turned his attention to the woman on the beach but when he looked, she was
nowhere to be seen. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Dropping to all fours he galloped off the
dock and twisted his head in all directions, sniffing the air. The area was a
mingling of scents and he couldn’t locate the woman. The female had picked
herself up from the thick snowdrift. Slightly behind her were the members of
Pack 2, silently watching the large male on the beach. He chirped, calling the
female to his side but she didn’t move. Planting her feet into the ground, she
waited for him to charge but he thought better of it. He was outnumbered.
Instead, he raced to the far end of the beach. He had noticed movement and when
he arrived at the twin boulders, he saw the woman. She had lodged herself in
between the two rocks. Her shoulders were drawn in as if trying to protect her
core. He opened his mouth and roared. He
would take his rage out on the human.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> As he moved in, he sensed movement above
him. On the top of the second rock the female stood, staring down at him. She
hurled herself off and landed hard on top of him, knocking him onto the
slippery rocks. She bit into his neck, her teeth tearing at the flesh buried
beneath the matted fur. He roared and nipped at her. She rolled him over and
sit atop him. Her teeth were coated in his blood and more leaked from his neck.
Soon his white fur was covered in red. His eyes closed briefly and then he
propelled himself upward until he was on his hind feet. He slashed at her with
his massive hands but she jumped back avoiding the strike. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> She was forced back against the rock front
and he leaned in to rip her throat but then strong hands grabbed his arms and
pulled him back. He stumbled and fell. In that instance, Pack 2 was upon him.
They scrambled over his body, gnawing at him until his fur was pulled out and
the pink glistening skin beneath was exposed to the cold. There were deep bits
on almost every part of his body. He bled out quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> River whimpered. The pack finished the
fight and then turned to River. The female stood between them and the human.
She roared and shook her massive head. The others backed away. She took a step
forward and the others moved back. The one male snorted but he waved a hand
over his head and the group moved away. They trotted down the beach,
disappearing into a clump of rocks. The ocean lapped at the beach and River
cried. Then she passed out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> A whirling sound woke her. Three
helicopters hovered above the beach. They slowly descended and as they landed,
armed men jumped out encircling the helicopters, facing outward with guns
ready. One of the men pulled River from her hiding place and rushed her into a
copter. She pulled at his arm when he asked about the others. She could barely
speak. Before she passed out, she managed to explain about Baxter although she
had little hope of his survival. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> It took over three hours for a search
party to find the big boulders with the tent buried between them. The snow
around the clearing was still spotted with dark blood. It's what drew their
attention to the location. A man kicked one of the creatures, its body was frozen
solid. The glassy eyes beneath the shaggy white fur stared blankly at the sky. Light
snow started falling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Baxter. Are you here?” several men called
out, repeating the words over and over. Only silence answered them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Let’s recover the body,” the commander
shouted and two men started digging in the snow, tugging at the corner of the
tent. They cleared enough snow and ice to get to the zipper. Inside the tent,
Baxter leaned against the back of the tent with an ax in his lap. His eyes were
shut. His pale face was as still as an ice sculpture.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “He’s got a pulse,” one of the men called
out. They pulled him from the tent and placed him on a stretcher. Two men
huddled around him. Tending to him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We don’t have time for this, let’s move,”
the commander barked. They wrapped a thermal blanket around the stretcher and
secured it at the bottom. Hefting it up the men moved rapidly. The others in
the group searched the rock tops, moving their guns in small circles. The snow
started to fall harder. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> At the beach, two helicopters remained and
the men pushed the stretcher into one and climbed in behind it. As they lifted
off the ground a massive pack of creatures charged onto the beach. On all fours,
they sniffed the rocks and chirped loudly. As they watched several of the
animals stood up on two legs and roared into the air. The noise sent chills
down the commander's back. He pulled out a camera. Dr. Clemson was going to
have a lot of questions. He videoed briefly as the copter hovered. Then it
climbed higher until the animals looked like small white specks, just more
pebbles on the beach. As the humans disappeared into the distance, the pregnant
female, called to the others. It was time to organize. They needed a plan for
when the humans returned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The small research vessel, the Calypso,
lurched on the rough sea, water spilling over the railings, even though it was
securely bound to the small dock. The team was further inland, and even though
they periodically checked their devices for weather reports they had no idea
that the storm was already upon them. They had noted before that signals were
sporadic and often delayed as they worked this particular island about 40 miles
northwest of Alaska. It didn’t have a name but most people called it Paradise
Frozen. It was mostly large rocks, thick snow, and ice boulders but BioX, the
company they worked for was for some reason interested in it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had slept on the boat last night
determined to get one more day of samples before heading back. Currently, they
were two and a half miles away. The thick ice and deep snow made it impossible
to cover as much distance as they wanted. The goal had been to reach the center
of the island and to take samples from just inside a small cave there. If there
was a cave. The team wasn’t convinced that the images BioX had provided were
accurate. They had all agreed to give it one shot and then head back with the
samples they had already dug out of the ice and frozen patches of ground. They
had even chipped off sections of thick gray rock to take back for examination.
No one mentioned it but they all were curious about what BioX was looking for.
What possible use could they have for these samples? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Kit Pierson was the lead researcher on
this trip. Kit was in her early 50s a graduate of Harvard with a doctorate in
biochemistry. She had been with BioX for almost ten years. Her no-nonsense
approach to gathering data endeared her to her employers. Some of her earlier
research had led to products that had made the company millions. Recently she
had become somewhat disillusioned with the company. Her life goal was to make a
real difference in the world and making millions for a few people didn’t quite
jive with that desire. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BioX believed in
shared leadership so the lead rotated between Dr. East and her on each trip.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Ivan East was the other head
researcher and he had led the last trip to the island. He wasn’t quite 50 yet
but had a massive list of publications that focused mainly on environmental
science. Global warming was pounding on the earth’s door and the clock was
ticking. Current weather trends were a real concern. He suspected BioX wasn’t
interested in saving the environment and so he frequently questioned his
position with them. He hoped his five-year stint at BioX might propel him into
another company that better aligned with his concerns about pollution and the
climate. His easy-going personality was a sharp contrast to Kit who was all
business. He was a strong leader but one that at times was influenced by his
heart rather than his head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>River Eubanks was a student at Yale,
completing an advanced degree in molecular biology. She had earned a spot on
the team by publishing a complex and new theory on cellular evolution. She
hypothesized that these invisible changes would at some point create
substantially different creatures than what existed currently. She had secretly
started a study involving small changes in the human biostructure. Were things
changing at a molecular level and if so, what did it mean for the future of
humans? River was driven to prove her theory and at times the others needed to
bring her back to earth. Scientists that look only for data that reinforces
their theory can muddy the process. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baxter Kingman and Ryan Clark were from
Princeton. Both were almost finished with degrees in Chemical and Biological
Engineering. Baxter’s research focus was mostly on pharmaceuticals while Ryan’s
included a smattering of topics, like the chemical, biological, and physical
processes affecting the climate and world. He leaned heavily toward chemistry
and the compounds that make up the world. His discovery of how pollution had
altered certain compounds was what caught BioX’s interest and landed him a slot
on this mission. It frustrated him that the company had yet to okay his
publication of those findings. He suspected that they had brought him on board
to silence him rather than to embrace his research. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The group was in a small clearing. The rocks
surrounding them were thick with snow. River tapped her digital recon radio. It
was as silent as the frozen area around them. “Anyone getting any reception,”
she asked. She pulled her thick glove back on. The frigid air stung her skin,
she could almost feel the skin tightening, pulling away from the cold. No one
answered her but when she looked around the group several people shook their
heads. The dark sky overhead which had been threatening snow broke loose and
thick flakes drifted through the sky. The hazy dim lighting in the artic gave
way to an even more dismal haze. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We aren’t making it back to the boat
tonight,” Dr. East said. He looked around. “Let’s set up camp here,” he added.
This clearing was as good as any other. It might be better than most. The large
boulders in between the twisted chunks of ice provided some shelter from the
icy wind. A chirping noise caught his attention and he frowned. It almost
sounded like a tree frog but no such creature existed here in this frigid
environment. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The others had taken off their heavy
backpacks and pulled out the thermal pup tents contained inside each one. There
were two days of dried food rations, as well as, a thermal tarp. It wasn’t a
blanket but it worked even better. The thin thermal material trapped their body
heat and after being under it for a minute or two their skin would warm. Most
of the team started stomping down snow, preparing an area for the pup tents but
Dr. Pierson wrapped the thermal covering around her and leaned back on a
boulder. She had heard the chirping noise also and unlike Dr. East she didn’t
think it sounded like a tree frog at all. She wasn’t sure where it was coming
from. She looked into the snowy distance. Kit squinted her eyes trying to see
better. She flinched and leaned forward, straining to see. It was impossible
but she thought she had noted some motion, a shifting of the snowy landscape as
if something moved in the distance. This was their second trip to the island
and they had never noted any living creatures. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked up and noticed Dr. East
watching. She shrugged and started working on her pup tent. The extra bag that
they took turns carrying contained fire blocks but they decided not to waste
them. Instead, they circled the tents so close to each other that it would be
easy to talk with each other while they were inside the cocoon the tent
provided. “Once we get settled, I’ll try the radio,” Ryan said. They needed to
make contact. Mostly they were prepared for emergencies like this but if the
quickly growing storm lasted long, they wouldn’t have enough supplies. If they
could manage to get back to the boat, they would be ok for a longer period. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In about thirty minutes they were all
safely ensconced inside the tents. Ryan tried the radio several times and then
stopped. He was wasting precious battery in the howling storm. The island was
remote and communication had always been an issue but with the storm it was
impossible. For now, they were cut off from BioX. He wasn’t worried. The
company knew where they were and would come looking for them eventually if they
didn’t return. He pushed down to the very bottom of the bag and checked the
three flares. He wanted to make sure they were staying dry, just in case they
needed them. They were snuggly wrapped inside the thick plastic along with two
small boxes of matches. Neither the flares nor the matches were regulation
gear. No one had anticipated being trapped on the island but at the last
minute, Ryan had put them in his bag. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No luck?” Dr. East called out. His tent
was on the opposite side of the small circle but his voice easily carried to
all of them. Inside each tent, they felt oddly alone even though the others
were just a few feet away. On the first trip here River had remarked how the
island felt like the end of the world, cold and unwelcoming. As soon as Dr.
East had spoken a loud chirp followed his words as if in response. It was
close, perhaps on one of the huge boulders that surrounded the clearing. Ivan
East frowned. He wasn’t a fan of the unknown and something was here. Something
he couldn’t see nor understand. And yet the very idea was ludicrous. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What was that?” Ryan called out. They
could hear a thread of fear in his words. It seeped into each tent until the
fear was suffocating. They had nothing to defend themselves with except the ax
and pick. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t know Ryan,” Dr. Pierson answered.
“But it doesn’t sound very ferocious. We will be fine.” Her words were calm and
soothing. The fear evaporated. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In his tent, Dr. East shifted, glaring in
the direction of Kit’s voice. He picked up something in Kit’s words. She was
more concerned than she was letting on. What she said might or might not be
true. Threats don’t have to be big snarling monsters to kill you. People die
from small, invisible to the naked eye, things every day. His jaw tightened as
he listened for another chirp. None came. Perhaps whatever it was had moved on,
oblivious to them. He squirmed under the thermal wrap and tried to get
comfortable on the hard snow packed ground. After several minutes someone
spoke. It was Baxter. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t worry Ryan. Whatever it was has
moved on,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one looked outside their tents. That
lack of curiosity seemed oddly out of place. But then again no one had any idea
about the history of the island. They weren’t even aware that BioX owned it. It
was a desolate location with neither plant growth nor animals. Nothing much
could survive in such a place. Ryan swallowed hard thinking about it. What were
they looking for in this icy location? He crawled to the zipper and pulled it
up ever so slightly. With his head on the ground, he put one eye up to the
opening. At first, all he could see was the snow-packed ground. He shifted and
looked up. It was so dark and the drifting snow made it almost impossible to see.
The shadowy outlines of the boulders came into view. And something else. Red
glowing eyes. He blinked and when he looked again, they were gone. Closing the
zipper, he pulled back and chided himself. Don’t let your imagination get the
best of you he told himself. There’s nothing out there. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back at BioX, Dr. Jeffrey Clemson leaned
back in his chair and peered over his steepled fingers at Dr. Brent Nader. He
was struggling not to show his anger at the younger man. He too had once been an
idealist but over the years he had come to recognize that to do great things
one had to take great risks. He never stopped to consider that he seldom put
himself at risk, only others.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I told you we should have given them a
full brief, disclosed everything,” Dr. Nadar said. He leaned forward in his
chair as if to emphasize the point. The anger sparking in his eyes was lighting
a fire in him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There’s no danger, no reason to believe
that anything from the original research is still viable. It was years ago,”
Dr. Clemson answered. He tried to keep his anger out of his voice but he was
unsuccessful. Dr. Nader was overreacting, and being dramatic. Clemson had
learned through the years that great things are only accomplished with great
risk. He never stopped to consider that it was always a risk for others, not
himself. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But you read Eubanks’ research-cellular
evolution,” the younger man quipped. The tension in him bubbled to the surface
and he shifted in his chair to distract from it. It infuriated him that Clemson
smiled at just this moment. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s just a theory. There’s no real
proof that that would happen even under the best of circumstances. The island
is frozen, inhabitable.” He wanted to stop this conversation but he wasn’t
exactly sure how to shut the other man up. He was lying and he didn’t want the
other man to know it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re an idiot. Viruses survive quite
well frozen,” Nader’s agitation was so great he stood briefly but then sat back
down. Storming out of the room wasn’t going to solve anything. The island was
one vast petri dish and anything could have bubbled to the surface. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ok, but first it would need to thaw.
That’s not going to happen. And at this point we don’t even know it would be
lethal,” Dr. Clemson was warming up to his explanation but before he could say
more, Dr, Nader interrupted him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Maybe not in its original form but we
have no idea if it's evolved…” He wanted to say more but a knock at the door
interrupted him. It was Mary Trip, Dr. Clemson’s assistant. Her face reflected
discomfort and uncertainty. They both looked at her expectantly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry to interrupt Dr, Clemson but we
have lost contact with the team on Calypso Island,” she said. Her words came
out breathless, like feathers floating in the air between them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Nader stood up, looking between Dr.
Clemson and Mary with horrified eyes. Mary trembled in response to his
reaction. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now sit down, Brent,” Dr, Clemson said,
using the man’s first name to position himself in power above the younger man.
Brent responded, sinking into his chair. His hands gripped the chair arms and
his face shifted in a kaleidoscope of emotions as he struggled to get himself
under control. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mary, there’s no reason to panic yet. The
storm is creating more disturbance than we usually get from that location. They
have supplies. I’m sure they are hunkered down and waiting for the storm to
pass. It’s not time to worry yet.” When he finished speaking Mary nodded and
left, closing the door behind her. He congratulated himself for calming her
down. Now he just needed to get Nader under control. He took a deep breath.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The truth was he was more than a little
worried himself. Unknown to Dr, Nader there were cameras on the island. For
years they had dutifully changed batteries and fixed glitches and nothing of
note had ever been recorded. Nothing that is until a few months ago. A single
recording, blurry but interesting. In the video a large pile of snow moved, the
clumps of snow shifting to make a small opening. Out of the opening two bright
red eyes appeared, looking directly into the camera. Then whatever it was
pulled back into the snow. None of the future recordings showed anything.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was past midnight before the team
finally managed to fall asleep. The wind surged outside, smacking the tents, and
creating a howling symphony. At a little after two, Dr. Pierson jerked awake. She
turned over on her side and listened intently. What had awoken her? She was
sure she had heard something. A swoosh of wind? A thud? And not exactly a
scream but some kind of cry, a call for help? It wasn’t enough to wake everyone
up but a deep uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night was so dark she couldn’t even
see her hand in front of her face. A giant gust of wind grabbed the tent and
then pulled away, trailing off until the night was silent and cold. Something
felt wrong, off in some way but she couldn’t identify what it was. This place
was alien, like a scene in a movie, barren and yet dangerous. In the distance,
she heard the strange chirping again. She struggled to identify it. Perhaps it
was some type of bird but what creature could survive on this frigid island?
She stayed alert for over an hour but when nothing else happened she allowed
her eyes to close and drifted back to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Kit, are you awake?” Ivan called to her.
It was just after five o’clock. The days were so short this time of year and
even when it was daylight, a foggy cloud hung over everything. It was still
murky and dark outside. She groaned and sat up. The snow pushed in on all sides
of the tent. She’d have to dig herself out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m awake,” she called softly so as not
to disturb the others. Ivan’s tent was right next to hers and the snow heaped
between them had the sides bulging against each other. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Did you hear anything last night?” Ivan
asked and something in his voice gave Kit pause. She rubbed lip balm on her
wind-chapped lips and considered how to answer. Had she heard something or had
it been her imagination? An odd tingling crawled up her spine like a fat spider.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Maybe, I’m not sure, you?” she finally
answered truthfully. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Same as you. Something woke me up.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, I slept soundly and would still be
asleep if you two were a little quieter,” Baxter called out. His voice was
gruff and husky with sleep. “Hey Ryan, are you awake?” he called out. There was
no answer from Ryan but River groaned. She was stiff and sore. Her back shot
pain up and down her spine. She wished they had been able to return to the
boat. Staying out in this environment was rough. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ryan,” Baxter called out slightly louder
this time. No answer. River thought that one word, Ryan, carried more anxiety
than it should. When there was no answer the anxiety was almost palpable. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A chill raced up Ivan’s spine at the lack
of response. Ryan might be a sound sleeper but Ivan didn’t think he would be
under these circumstances. He tugged at the zipper of his tent and was met with
a solid wall of snow. He scrapped at it, trying to keep it from falling inside
the tent. That was impossible. The more he dug the more chunks of frozen snow
landed inside. Soon he had a tunnel outside. Crawling out he collided with Kit
who had also dug herself out. The whiteness of the snow was almost blinding. Ivan
glanced over his shoulder and could just make out two figures. River and
Baxter. They were staring at something behind him. He turned. The spot where
Ryan’s tent had been was empty. The tent was gone, along with Ryan.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We need to try calling for help,” Kit
said. Her voice was smooth and calm, far calmer than she felt. Ivan stared at
her with a look of horror. It took a second for Kit to understand the look. The
radio had been inside Ryan’s tent. The pair walked over to where Ryan’s tent
had stood but thick snow covered the area and any footprints were gone. It was
unlikely that Ryan had wandered off. It just wasn’t like him. He would have
stayed with the group no matter what. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There’s no blood,” Kit whispered. Ivan
shrugged. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It might be covered,” he said. Was Ryan
still alive? They had no way of knowing but at this point they couldn’t search.
They needed help. They had only been equipped for a day trip. They had spent
one night on the boat and now one in the wilderness. If they hoped to survive,
they had to get back to the boat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Ryan,” Kit called out several times but the only answer was the
swishing wind. It gusted so hard that it whipped up clouds of snow. River and
Baxter called out too but the vastness of the snowy landscape swallowed their
words. It was deathly quiet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
snow which had stopped briefly was falling again. Big fat sloppy flakes. River
shivered. “The radio is gone, isn’t it?” she asked. Ivan and Kit both nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We are going to need to get back to the
boat,” Baxter announced. Ivan was glad to hear his thoughts spoken by another
group member. He felt bad about Ryan but they couldn’t afford to linger here.
He started digging up the snow around his tent so he could take it down and
fold it back into his backpack. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can we even make it in this weather?”
River asked. She looked from Ivan to Kit trying to read their faces. Both
maintained an eerie calm that neither truly felt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do we have a choice?” Ivan finally said
and turned to start digging out his tent. River and Kit both started working
frantically as well. Eyes watched the group. Blinking in unison, they waited. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tents were packed into backpacks and
the group was ready in record time. River kept looking around, searching for
Ryan, expecting him to pop out from behind a large boulder and laugh at his
stunt. But there was nothing but snow and ice. Once she thought she saw
movement in the distance but after staring for a couple of minutes she
shrugged. It must have been her imagination. She brushed the snowflakes off her
face but they were immediately replaced with more. The storm front was
suspended directly over them and as she looked east the sky seemed lighter.
Maybe they could walk themselves out of it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. East tossed a rope to River. She
clipped it to her belt and tossed it to Kit. Kit fastened her clip to the rope
and tossed it to Baxter who did the same. Now each of them was linked to the
other. The rope with hooks was a safety precaution. It would be easy to get
confused and lost in the murkiness of the fog and snow. They couldn’t lose
precious time searching for a crew member who had wandered off or taken a wrong
turn. Holding up a small flashlight, Dr. East tapped his compass. He was
certain the boat dock was directly west of their location. The compass needle
was frozen and he tapped the face of it harder. It moved slightly and then spun
in circles before settling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Everyone ready?” he asked. He didn’t wait
for an answer but turned east and put his foot carefully down. The thick snow
covered everything. It was impossible to tell what the ground underneath was
like. Scatter rocks, deep ravines, and sloping ground made travel difficult and
the snow hid pitfalls that might cause a serious accident. As he walked, he had
the uncanny sensation that he was only inching forward, that no real movement
was occurring but when he looked behind them it was impossible to see where
they had just come from. There was very little to judge their movement on.
Everything looked the same. Thick snow and big charcoal gray boulders that at
times peeked out from the dense covering of snow and ice. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a coldness in the pit of Kit’s
stomach that had nothing to do with the weather. It increased in size like a
snowball rolling downhill until it created a throbbing ache of anxiety.
Something was wrong. Her mind swirled with questions. What had happened to
Ryan? It made no sense. First of all, the island had never shown any signs of
life. As far as she knew they were the first research team to visit the island
in almost a decade. Second, even if a polar bear or some other predator had
ended up stranded on the island, they couldn’t have attacked and left no signs
of the struggle. The tent stakes had been ripped up from the frozen ground and
not a speck of the tent nor Ryan remained. She shook her head. No, this was
something else. She had an almost photographic memory and now as they trudged
forward, she flipped through all the information she had read about the island,
its history, and the purpose of their research. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They made it maybe a half mile when it
happened. Baxter slipped on a round ice-covered rock. He went down hard and
screamed in pain. The rope was suddenly heavy with his weight and everyone
turned and circled back to where he writhed on the ground. Dr. East bent down
and pressed his fingers down on Baxter’s ankle. He didn’t think it wasn’t
broken. Perhaps a bad sprain. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you think you can stand?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m not sure. I’ll try,” Baxter ground
out between his clenched teeth. He struggled to get up, leaning on both River
and Ivan. He put his injured foot down gingerly and winced. Tingling pain shot
up his leg and he was light-headed. “I don’t think I can walk,” he managed to
say. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Over here,” Kit called. They hadn’t
noticed she had moved away from the group, searching the area for any natural
shelter it might provide. She was standing in an indentation between two rocks.
Hanging above the two massive boulders was a shelf of ice and snow, creating a
roof. She was stomping down the snow in the small cave created by the boulders
and ice. Baxter started shivering uncontrollably. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ivan pulled the backpack off the other man
and pulled out the thermal blanket. He wrapped it around Baxter who he eased to
the ground. Then he carried the folded tent to Kit. The two of them tucked the
tent into the crevice between the rocks. It barely fit but he would be able to
fit snuggly inside. He would be sheltered by not only the tent but the rocks
and ice as well. Groaning as he hopped, Baxter made it over to the tent and
crawled inside. Kit pushed some rations inside the tent, along with one of the
axes, and a small packet of pain medication. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’re just leaving him?” River asked,
pacing back and forth. The snow covered the top of her hood and her dark eyes
sparked with anger. The snow was already piling up around the opening of the
tent. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The meds will make him sleep and this
hideaway is about as secure as we will find. We need to make it to the boat and
call for help. It’s our only chance,” Dr. East. He was as nervous as River but
he managed to hide it. He hadn’t told the group but he suspected they were
being followed. How closely, he wasn’t sure but he hoped it was far enough back
that whatever was stalking them had not observed Baxter’s hiding spot. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“River, go. I’ll be fine,” Baxter
called out groggily. The meds were already dulling the sharp pain in his ankle
and making him sleepy. The snow stopped abruptly and the trio looked up at the
sky. It was a gray haze but at least the stinging bits of snow and ice were no
longer slapping them in the face. Grumbling to herself River followed Dr. East
away from the tent. The three started at a much faster pace than previously. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Clemson looked at the weather map one
more time. Then he picked up the phone. “Karl, it’s time to get the tactical
team ready. I’m not sure what we are dealing with but it's just like we talked
about last month. Rough terrain and bad weather. We’ve lost touch…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He paused and listened for a moment. “I
know the weather can interfere with the transmission but it’s more than that,
trust me.” The man on the other end of the conversation didn’t argue. It wasn’t
his call and if Dr. Clemson was worried then he should be too. His call would
alert the team of twelve men, well-trained men, that could think on their feet
and deal with any number of threats. Dr. Clemson believed some animal was loose
on the island. The man chuckled to himself. There might be but he doubted it
was the abdominal snowman. Of course, Dr. Clemson had never said that but he
did make it seem like the creature was some demigod. It was probably a rogue
bear stranded on the island and hungry as hell. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeffery Clemson didn’t think it was any
kind of god at all but what he did think is that something had changed on that
damn island. Evolved. That was why when he read River Eubanks’ research, he
hired her immediately. The research on the island previously had been a bust or
at least everyone thought so. The biogenetic endeavor had yielded little. At
that point, BioX was part of a defensive research grant and when their work
showed little promise, they lost funding. It wasn’t even worth packing up the
material from the island. They had simply left everything there and walked
away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now it seemed something had evolved from
the original material and Dr. Clemson wasn’t sure what it might be. It wasn’t a
single-cell organism though, something that worked slowly through the system.
No, single cells, didn’t have red glowing eyes. The brief glimpse of those eyes
provided very little information. Buried in the snow the creature could be any
shape and any size. It didn’t matter. The team would have little chance against
a predator. They were ill-equipped to handle a situation like this. Burying
their noses in tiny microscopic organisms was right up their alley but real combat
was something they knew nothing about. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeffrey ran his hand through his thinning
hair and sighed. Maybe he was overreacting. The storm was affecting
communication and he had no way of knowing if the team had made it back to the
boat or not. On the boat, they would have some protection from the weather and
extra rations. They could make it several days on the boat. On land? He wasn’t
sure. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Brent Nader was in a panic. He was
brilliant. His mind allowed him to consider multiple scenarios at the same
time. The weather was the least of his concerns. He fully believed there was
danger on the island, an unknown predator that the team didn’t even know
existed. He had read River Eubanks’ findings over and over again. He believed their
original material might have shifted, and changed to meet the demands of the
environment. If so, it now lived in the harshest environment and would do
anything to survive. What was it eating? That’s what Brent had asked and Dr.
Clemson had no answer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the rough terrain, the human trio walked
slowly. They couldn’t afford another injury. River pushed back tears. In her
mind, they had left Baxter to die. She wasn’t even sure they could locate him
if a rescue team came for them. All the land looked the same. Nothing but
rocks, snow, and ice. The trail they were on had disappeared and now they just
wandered in the direction of the boat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Behind them, Baxter slept. Unconscious
from the double dose of medicine, Dr. Pierson had pushed on him. That’s why
when the creatures arrived, he wasn’t even aware of it. There were five of
them, sniffing the snow and circling around and around. Each creature was a
shaggy mass of hair. It was matted and clung to their bodies like a thick second
layer of skin. White like the snow it made them difficult to see. Sometimes
they walked on two legs and sometimes on four. They were equally agile in
either position. On their hind legs they were toddler size, maybe three feet tall
and their enlarged heads bobbled on top of the small bodies. Ape-like hands
ended in razor-sharp claws that clicked together as they searched. The pack was
one of three that existed on the island, four males and a female. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the human smells were confusing. The
scents mingled together and went in multiple directions. Eventually, the group
honed in on the location of the tent. It was hidden under the snow with Baxter
encased inside it slightly snoring. The snow muffled the sound and the
creatures heard nothing. Sniffing the snow that was piled around it two of them
scratched at it. It had thawed slightly as the humans worked it and now was
refrozen. Hard and crunchy ice ripped at their ape-like hands. Wincing one
pulled back and licked the blood from his palm. An older male climbed up the
rock front and pounded his chest with his fists, making a chirping sound. His
eyes searched the distance and he caught sight of movement. Tilting his head,
he looked again. Whatever it was had disappeared but he scrambled down the
rocks and took off in the direction of the movement. Two others followed him,
leaving the first two digging in the snow around the tent. So far, they had
been unable to locate anything. The two males stopped digging and sniffed the
air. They ground their teeth together. They were hungry. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. East stopped briefly to catch his
breath. This mission was to be his last in the field. He was tired of digging
in the frozen dirt and sleeping on the hard ground. He looked back the way they
had come and wished they had somehow marked Baxter’s location. It would be
difficult to relocate him in all this snow and ice. About a half mile behind
them he saw the snow tremble. Puffs of snow and ice spluttered into the air,
propelled by something. He frowned. Something was moving, gaining on them, and
he wasn’t sure what it could be. He knew about the earlier research. He had
read as much as he had access to. He was curious why they were gathering
samples from this particular island. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shook his head hard, pushing the
thoughts away. The earlier study had been a bust, producing nothing useable so
he didn’t see how it could be a part of whatever was going on. He suspected Dr.
Pierson knew this too, maybe even more details than he had gleaned. She was so
quiet, her brain processing the few details they had. Something had taken Ryan.
Ivan was pretty sure he was dead but there had been no blood at all. He must
have been carried away and killed elsewhere. Now he shivered as a light breeze
picked up and the snow started to fall again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let’s get moving,” he said without
mentioning what he suspected. Something was stalking them. They needed to pick
up their pace. Dr. Pierson pulled herself out of her musings and trudged on.
River heaved a sigh but saying nothing she followed. Each of them was far more
worried than they let on. The fear was almost tangible in the air. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly to the right of them, three
creatures appeared out of the dense snow. About the size of a small wolf, they
skid to a stop, spewing snow around them. Their heads were massive, and out of
proportion with their bodies. River saw them first and she almost screamed.
Instead, she grabbed Dr. East’s arm and nodded at the trio standing on the top
of the snow dune. Dr. Pierson was suddenly alert. She could see them. They
reminded her of an advanced scouting group. Watching the enemy but far enough
away as not to be an immediate danger. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t look directly at them,” she advised
but that was a little late. River had turned toward the creatures, examining
them. It was hard to tell their size from this distance. Then one of them stood
up and she gasped. What was this? The creature when standing wasn’t very tall,
maybe three and a half feet tall, but the fact that it could transform from
four-legged to two-legged with very little effort was horrifying. As she
watched it raised its arms as if scratching at the air around it. The glint of
the black nails was muted by the swirling snow but in her imagination, she
could see them ripping into Ryan. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Move,” Ivan said and the urgency in his
words propelled them forward. River’s boots slipped in the ever-deepening snow
but she quickly righted herself and pushed on. When she glanced back, the
creatures had disappeared from the hilltop. Her heart thudded in her chest. She
shivered more from anxiety than the cold. Where might the animals pop up next?
They were being hunted with very little to protect themselves. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Behind them, where they had left Baxter,
one of the males had found a corner of the tent and was tugging at it. It was
encased in the ice but the movement brought Baxter out of his drug-induced
sleep. It took a moment for him to gain awareness. He rubbed his eyes and
listened. The scratching on the ice around the front edge of the tent told him
all he needed to know. Some animal was trying to get to him and there was nowhere
to go. He gripped the handle of the ax and silently waited. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clemson and Nader stared at the large
monitor displaying the weather. The storm front was slowly moving across the
island and would soon be gone altogether. The rescue team was suited up and
ready to go but the foggy, snowy weather made it impossible for the helicopter
to take off yet. Clemson feared they might be too late. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I want to show you something,” he said to
Dr, Nader. “But you have to be prepared. This cannot leak out. This information
is well, sensitive,” Clemson said. Dr. Nader looked at him and frowned. He had
suspected for a while now that his business partner was keeping something from
him. Now he was about to find out what it was. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The monitor screen split into a half dozen
views. The views were white and fuzzy with few details. At first, Nader thought
it was the fuzziness of a malfunctioning monitor but then he looked closer.
Each screen was a view of a snowy landscape. The air around some of the cameras
was thick with snow, a whiteout. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is this?” he asked. His voice shook
with anger. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We have cameras on the island,” Clemson
admitted and there was a thin layer of excitement in his voice. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Since when?” Nader asked and his voice
quivered with anger. The implication struck him and an avalanche of emotions
cascaded through him. Why would Clemson have cameras set up to watch an uninhabited
island? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“For a while now,” Clemson answered. He
tapped one of the monitors. Until a few days ago we hadn’t picked up much. Here
let me go back and show you. He clicked some buttons and the live feed changed
to a recorded version. It showed very little. Mounds of snow and a gray sky.
Then the snow trembled like a mole was digging beneath the surface. A large
clump broke off and rolled down, exposing something red. Two orbs buried under
the snow. Nader leaned forward, getting close to the screen. Then he jerked
back. Those were eyes and as he watched they pulled back into the snow bank and
disappeared. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the hell is that?” he spat out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We don’t know. That’s the only activity
we’ve picked up on until recently.” How recently Nader wondered. Had this man
sent an unknowing team into a deadly situation? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What else have you picked up?” he asked.
He watched Clemson closely. This was a betrayal he wouldn’t soon forget. The
older man should have kept him appraised from the beginning. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Clemson clicked a few keys and a brief recording scrolled across the
monitor. The team of at least three of them was working their way along a deep
crevice, carefully placing each foot so as not to fall. Nader could only see
them from the waist down and with the heavy clothing he wasn’t sure who they
were. He shifted impatiently in his chair. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wait,” Clemson said. His words refocused
Nader on the footage. The snow quivered as something moved just underneath it.
It was only briefly in the camera's view but then a second movement inched
forward. A head popped up. A furry head covered with matted white hair. Against
the glaring snow, it was hard to make out details but it was nothing Nader had
ever seen before. The head turned as if drawn to the whirling sound of the
camera and looked directly into the lens. Then it yawned. The mouth was full of
razor-sharp teeth, double rows of teeth that clicked together when the creature
closed its mouth. Nader buried his face in his hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What have you done?” he moaned. Clemson
ignored him. He wasn’t one for dramatics.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Some of the cameras are not functioning.
The batteries are most likely dead but I’m hoping as they make their way closer
to the boat, we can pick up something.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There’s only three of them…” Nader’s
voice trailed off and he left his thoughts hanging suspended in the air between
them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Maybe. Or maybe the other two just didn’t
travel across the camera’s view. We can’t be sure.” Clemson made it sound so
convincing but Nader didn’t fall for it. The research team wasn’t safe. Forget
about the weather and the cold. That wasn’t the main problem. No, they had
bigger issues and Nader wasn’t even sure they realized it yet. The group was
being hunted. That much was obvious from the animal’s furtive efforts. What was
the creature?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A mutation, or an evolved
organism. Evolved? He had been worried about microscopic organisms. He had
never considered that their earlier work might have evolved into an actual
animal. His heart froze at the thought. They had been designing weapons to use
in war. Was this animal a killing machine? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baxter’s heart beat rapidly. He wondered
what the creature looked like. It would most likely kill him. He scooted as far
back in the tent as he could. The sound didn’t make much difference now and he
wanted his back against the hard rock. Suddenly loud chirps and whistles
sounded from outside. Whatever was digging him out stopped. Footsteps fell hard
on the cold ground and muffled cries filtered to him through the snow and ice.
Scuffling. Squeals and chirps. What was going on? No way was he crawling to the
front of the tent to try and peek out. It fell silent. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside bright splotches of red marred the
pure white snow. Pieces of torn white fur littered the area. Entrails still
steaming hung from a large rock. One of the pair was dead, ripped into several
pieces. The other one was barely breathing. It would be dead within minutes.
The other pack had come upon the two. They were so engrossed in getting to the
human that by the time they noticed them they were surrounded. Five against two
hardly seemed fair but these creatures had no sense of fairness. The fight was
over quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The members of the second pack spent no
time looking for the man hiding under the snow. If they were aware of him, they
never gave any indication of it. By now the area was a smorgasbord of scents.
The coppery scent of blood, the other pack, and the unusual scent they had
smelled before but had never placed, humans. They sniffed the air and lopped
off in the direction the three had taken earlier. After a few yards, they
paused and lifted their heads sniffing again. They inhaled deeply and their
hearts pounded inside their chests. Filled with rage they moved forward at a
swift pace. The two packs hated each other. Bored with life on the island the
hatred had grown bigger than life. The main goal was to kill and now that they
had drawn blood, they were thirsty for more. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The leader clicked her teeth together in her
enormous mouth as she ran. The teeth, still stained with blood were a good
three inches long. Down on all fours, they were swift like wolves. Their padded
feet had adapted to the rough terrain and were covered with thick skin that cushioned
their steps and protected them against the bitter cold. This pack was four
females and one male but it didn’t make it any less deadly. Quite the opposite.
The females were larger, their muscles rippled under the dense fur. Their
eyesight was also better. They could see the smallest details. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pack 2 didn’t care about the humans. Sure,
they would kill them, devour them like Hors D’oeuvres at a party, relishing the
flavor. But their main focus was the three remaining members of Pack 1. Just over
a month ago, they had stolen one of the females from this group and now she was
brainwashed and aligned with them. Bonded to the largest male in that group.
Most likely pregnant now. This infuriated them. The third pack was on the
opposite side of the island which wasn’t that far away but they stayed to
themselves and weren’t exerting dominance and so Pack 2 left them alone. For
now. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Barely a quarter of a mile ahead of Pack
1, Dr. East stopped. He thought they should have arrived at the rocky beach by
now, and been close to the edge of the water but they were still surrounded by
a sheet of ice with rocks jutting out in several places. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are we lost?” River asked. Her voice was
muffled by the thick scarf she had wrapped around her face. Dr. East didn’t
respond. He just moved forward again. They were traveling along the top of a
ridge. On the right, the hill sloped downward until it disappeared into a deep
crevice. On the left, a solid sheet of ice glistened. It was almost like being
in a tunnel and it occurred to him that if they were attacked here, they would
have little chance of escape. He picked up his pace. The snow had stopped again
but visibility was still made difficult by the misty cold fog. Fog? He wondered
about this. It seemed impossible for it to be foggy. Maybe it was tiny ice
particles dancing in the air. He picked up a sound, chirping, coming to him
from a distance. Not far. He walked faster. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Pierson was in the lead and she felt
Ivan push into her. “Faster,” he said and her heart tightened in her chest.
Something was hunting them. She knew it by instinct but his words brought it
into focus. Their very lives were hanging in the balance in this isolated God-forsaken
place. She hurried even faster. She had a vacation planned. One that involved
the hot sun, sand, and blue water and she intended to make her flight. Whether
she ever came back was yet to be seen. BioX would not take her “retirement”
lightly but she had seen enough, heard enough, and she didn’t like the new direction
the company was moving. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>River stumbled, coming dangerously close
to the right side. She looked down the snowy hillside into the gaping darkness
of the crevice. It pulled at her, almost with a magnetic force. Ivan grabbed
her arm and pulled her further away from the edge. One false move might send
her plunging into that dark hole of emptiness. Dr. Pierson had gotten further
ahead and they hurried to catch up but moving across the snow and thick patches
of ice wasn’t a rapid process. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was River who first noticed. She felt
rather than saw a slight movement along the ice ridge on the left. She glanced
up. Against the grayness of the sky, she didn’t see anything. Frowning she put
her head down and walked faster into the snowy distance, trying to catch up
with Kit. Ivan had noted her look up and now he paused to run his eyes along
the icy cliff. A puff of snow danced along the top. What had kicked it up? The
wind perhaps. Nevertheless every few yards he cast his eyes upward hoping to
catch a glimpse of anything that, might be a threat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>River had gained ground on Dr. Pierson.
She was closing in but Ivan was still several yards behind her. They had
abandoned the rope once the snow had stopped. It would be hard to get lost in
the chute of snow, ice, and boulders. A flash of movement, so intense that it
blurred before her eyes. Something hurled itself from the icy ridge right into
Kit Pierson. River stopped, her eyes taking in the horrific scene. A creature,
about the size of a wolf, plunged off the ridge and landed right on Kit,
knocking her off her feet. The yellowed fur made it partially viewable against
the white snow. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kit screamed as the creature rolled her onto
the ground. Biting through the thick coat, tearing at her arm. River looked up.
Were there others? Seeing none, she watched Ivan move past her and toward Kit.
He had the ax. He swung it, chopping at the creature who lifted its head and
snarled at him. The double rows of long sharp teeth clicked together. Long
strands of drool hung from its chin and spit frothed in the creature’s mouth.
Ivan lifted the ax overhead, prepared to take another swing. Kit looked at him
wide-eyed. Blood seeped through the thick coat material, pumping out of the brachial
artery. The artery was close to the surface so the creature had severed it
easily. Beneath her coat, the bursts of blood were weakening Kit. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before Ivan could attack again, Kit rolled
away from the beast but she was too close to the edge and went hurtling down
the slope toward the crevice. The creature followed. The two struggled briefly
and then both vanished into the dark gaping hole. It was probably a crack that
extended into a cave system but Ivan wasn’t sure. It could extend into the
center of hell for all he knew. The geographical maps of this place had never
made sense. He looked around for River. She was huddled on the ground with her
knees pulled up against her chest. Her blank eyes stared at the point where Kit
had tumbled down the hillside. Ivan looked up again and then moved swiftly to
River. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Get up, River, get up,” he urged. She
didn’t respond but when he pulled at her arm she stood up. Wild-eyed she looked
around in every direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They moved forward. Ivan rubbed a gloved
hand across his mask-covered forehead. He knew they hadn’t come this way when
they had worked their way inland but they needed to move, get to the end of
this chute, and reassess their direction. River softly sobbed as they walked.
She didn’t bother to ask what the animal was. Did it matter? It was dangerous
and there were others. Of this, she was sure. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ivan’s mind was whirling, both with the
need to escape and with questions about the creature. How had it gotten to the
island? Animals often adapted to hostile environments but this place had hardly
any form of life. The soil samples they were taking had changed this trip. The
soil was softer in places, and easier to dig out as if the earth was warming
here. That seemed impossible but now he considered it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The microscopic examination had shown
something. Tiny squirming organisms but what were they? He thought again of the
crevice. Maybe it didn’t go to hell but maybe it did release some heat, and energy
from deep inside the earth. An earthquake deep in the ocean could potentially
shift the earth’s plates. That might thaw something, something centuries old.
An idea popped into his mind. BioX’s previous research. What had it been about?
He didn’t have time to consider that right now. They had to get to the boat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pack 1 was down to two. The large male and
the female that they had captured. She was pregnant but the male felt no real
urgency to protect her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He just wasn’t
wired like that. They had been birthed from nothing and if the female lost the
child, then he did not doubt that the island would find another womb to bring
life forth. He had winced when his companion had disappeared into the crevice
though. Not because of any real affection for his teammate. No, it was simply a
matter of survival. With only two of them, it would be almost impossible to
defend against an attack. He momentarily thought of Pack 3. If they combined
forces, then they stood a chance but Pack 3 was far too docile for his liking.
He grunted. Pushing the idea aside he allowed a primal urge, an almost
overwhelming instinct to rush through him. He turned his attention back to the
two humans. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The female stood on two legs. She examined
not only the landscape but the male. He was aggressive and she didn’t relish a
beating. She pulled back her lips baring the sharp teeth that crowded inside.
She looked for an escape, preferred Pack 2, but the one time she had tried to
leave this group she had been beaten until she could barely walk. Surely, he
wouldn’t attack her, risk the infant she carried. He turned as if reading her
thoughts and stared at her until she cast her eyes down. No, she wouldn’t try
to escape again but she wasn’t fully in this hunt. She placed a clawed hand
against her stomach. The male charged along the top of the ridge after the two
humans and she followed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Behind them, Pack 2 was gaining. The leader
had caught a glimpse of them upon the high rocks. There were only two of them
left and one was the female she was desperate to regain. She too had been
thinking about Pack 3. She also considered them subpar. Their behavior was
confusing. Instead of bonding and working as one, they went in different
directions. She had been watching them for a while now and thought if they had
a strong leader, they might be an asset. But first, her primary goal was Pack 1
and getting the female back. She chirped in rapid succession and the rest of
the pack lined up, single file to run behind their leader. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back at the encampment, Baxter groaned.
His foot ached. It was swollen so large that the skin was stretched to its
limit like a rubber band.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rubbed it
through his pants leg and the thick sock. He listened intently but he heard
nothing outside in the crisp air. No chirping, no footsteps, no raspy
breathing. The fight was over and from what he could tell the creatures had
moved on. They would be back. He had no idea how many of them existed here on
this icy island but from the sounds of the fight, it was an army. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pain medicine had worn off and he
longed to take another pill but he didn’t dare. He shivered more from fear than
from the cold. He couldn’t be unconscious if they came again. He gripped the ax
so tightly that his hand ached. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it was better
than nothing. There were a couple of guns on the boat but it wasn’t sure they
would fare much better against these animals. They were swift and deadly. Where
had they come from? He thought of Ryan. He was sure he was dead and he hoped
death had come swiftly. What would it feel like to be eaten alive? He prayed he
didn’t find out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baxter was at the very back of the tent
with his back protected by the dense rock behind him. It was hard and sharp
behind his back. He only had to worry about a full-frontal attack. Even so, he
figured his chances were slim. If his fingers weren’t so stiff with cold, he
would write a goodbye letter. He had his small notebook and pencil in his
backpack. He dug around inside it but instead of pulling out the notebook, he
pulled out some jerky that was frozen. He broke off a small chunk and put it in
his mouth letting it thaw against his warm tongue before chewing. Was this to
be his last meal? Leaning back, he closed his eyes, and even though he fought
against it, he fell asleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hurry up, River,” Ivan East was trying to
stay calm but now they were growing closer to the beach and he suspected an attack
before they made it to the relative safety of the vessel. The short dock that
protruded into the choppy ocean would be a dangerous path and when they reached
it, they needed to run across the slippery surface and jump into the boat. He
patted his cold hands together and the sting of the movement made him wince.
Even with his thermal gloves on he was certain he had frostbite. He needed to
unlash the rope and push the boat away from the dock. It was their only chance.
To float out into the ocean and wait for help. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought momentarily of Baxter. A stab
of guilt hit him square in the chest but they weren’t leaving him. Just getting
to safety until backup arrived. The storm was clearing but the day was still
dark and dreary. His foot touched the wet rocks that littered the beach and he
lost his balance, falling hard. River cried out. He shook his head and clamored
to his feet. Any noise would give away their exact location. He rushed forward
to the rickety metal and wood structure that formed a small dock. River was
behind him to his right. Over his shoulder, he saw movement along the massive
boulders that shielded the small bay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The creature jumped to the top of the rock
without any effort at all. Like a child playing king of the hill, it paused for
a moment and then stood on its hind legs. Upright it looked like a small furry
ape. It beat its chest with the enlarged hands and chirped. Soon another joined
it atop the boulder. Ivan frowned. The second creature wasn’t paying any
attention to him or River. Instead, it looked back into the snowy landscape as
if searching for something. The first one appeared to notice this also because
he reached out and shoved the other one, sending her toppling off the rock. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Come on,” Ivan shouted urgently to River.
It was at that moment when he turned toward the sea that he saw something he
hadn’t before. The boat was no longer anchored at the end of the dock. The
choppy sea had pulled the boat loose and it bobbed about fifty yards away. The
white-capped waves were dark green, almost black and Ivan knew they would never
be able to swim out. He turned to warn River. The dock was now a dead-end. He
was trapped between the angry animal and the turbulent ocean. When he swirled
around River wasn’t on the dock, she was still standing on the rocky beach,
staring at him. Behind him, just at the entrance to the dock stood the larger
of the two creatures. On his hind legs, he was 3 ½ -4 feet tall. His head,
larger than his body, bobbled back and forth as he eyed Ivan. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took a step forward and Ivan moved
backward. Step by step the creature pushed Ivan closer and closer to the end of
the dock. The ocean lapped at the wood and large chunks of ice floated next to
the structure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They clicked as they came
in contact with the dock and then bobbed away. Soon Ivan’s shoes were at the
very edge, the dark water calling to him. River was still just standing on the
slippery rocks, watching, horrified. Sniffing the air, the animal charged and
Ivan had no other choice but to jump into the churning sea. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he hit the icy water, he inhaled
sharply. The cold took his breath away. He started swimming to the boat but the
more he swam the further away the boat appeared. The constant movement of the
waves pushed him back and he made little progress. On the dock the animal
grunted and chirped, beating its chest in frustration. He wanted the man but he
knew better than the plunge into the icy water. As he watched the man
disappeared under the water. He waited for him to surface but he never did. He
turned his attention to the woman on the beach but when he looked, she was
nowhere to be seen. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dropping to all fours he galloped off the
dock and twisted his head in all directions, sniffing the air. The area was a
mingling of scents and he couldn’t locate the woman. The female had picked
herself up from the thick snowdrift. Slightly behind her were the members of
Pack 2, silently watching the large male on the beach. He chirped, calling the
female to his side but she didn’t move. Planting her feet into the ground, she
waited for him to charge but he thought better of it. He was outnumbered.
Instead, he raced to the far end of the beach. He had noticed movement and when
he arrived at the twin boulders, he saw the woman. She had lodged herself in
between the two rocks. Her shoulders were drawn in as if trying to protect her
core.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He opened his mouth and roared. He
would take his rage out on the human.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he moved in, he sensed movement above
him. On the top of the second rock the female stood, staring down at him. She
hurled herself off and landed hard on top of him, knocking him onto the
slippery rocks. She bit into his neck, her teeth tearing at the flesh buried
beneath the matted fur. He roared and nipped at her. She rolled him over and
sit atop him. Her teeth were coated in his blood and more leaked from his neck.
Soon his white fur was covered in red. His eyes closed briefly and then he
propelled himself upward until he was on his hind feet. He slashed at her with
his massive hands but she jumped back avoiding the strike. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was forced back against the rock front
and he leaned in to rip her throat but then strong hands grabbed his arms and
pulled him back. He stumbled and fell. In that instance, Pack 2 was upon him.
They scrambled over his body, gnawing at him until his fur was pulled out and
the pink glistening skin beneath was exposed to the cold. There were deep bits
on almost every part of his body. He bled out quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>River whimpered. The pack finished the
fight and then turned to River. The female stood between them and the human.
She roared and shook her massive head. The others backed away. She took a step
forward and the others moved back. The one male snorted but he waved a hand
over his head and the group moved away. They trotted down the beach,
disappearing into a clump of rocks. The ocean lapped at the beach and River
cried. Then she passed out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A whirling sound woke her. Three
helicopters hovered above the beach. They slowly descended and as they landed,
armed men jumped out encircling the helicopters, facing outward with guns
ready. One of the men pulled River from her hiding place and rushed her into a
copter. She pulled at his arm when he asked about the others. She could barely
speak. Before she passed out, she managed to explain about Baxter although she
had little hope of his survival. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took over three hours for a search
party to find the big boulders with the tent buried between them. The snow
around the clearing was still spotted with dark blood. It's what drew their
attention to the location. A man kicked one of the creatures, its body was frozen
solid. The glassy eyes beneath the shaggy white fur stared blankly at the sky. Light
snow started falling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Baxter. Are you here?” several men called
out, repeating the words over and over. Only silence answered them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let’s recover the body,” the commander
shouted and two men started digging in the snow, tugging at the corner of the
tent. They cleared enough snow and ice to get to the zipper. Inside the tent,
Baxter leaned against the back of the tent with an ax in his lap. His eyes were
shut. His pale face was as still as an ice sculpture.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s got a pulse,” one of the men called
out. They pulled him from the tent and placed him on a stretcher. Two men
huddled around him. Tending to him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We don’t have time for this, let’s move,”
the commander barked. They wrapped a thermal blanket around the stretcher and
secured it at the bottom. Hefting it up the men moved rapidly. The others in
the group searched the rock tops, moving their guns in small circles. The snow
started to fall harder. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the beach, two helicopters remained and
the men pushed the stretcher into one and climbed in behind it. As they lifted
off the ground a massive pack of creatures charged onto the beach. On all fours,
they sniffed the rocks and chirped loudly. As they watched several of the
animals stood up on two legs and roared into the air. The noise sent chills
down the commander's back. He pulled out a camera. Dr. Clemson was going to
have a lot of questions. He videoed briefly as the copter hovered. Then it
climbed higher until the animals looked like small white specks, just more
pebbles on the beach. As the humans disappeared into the distance, the pregnant
female, called to the others. It was time to organize. They needed a plan for
when the humans returned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-66056241673925938112022-12-07T08:56:00.002-06:002022-12-07T08:56:52.501-06:00Tinsel and Temptation<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio4QqlGwhgqLGhUYZzYNLqQZCX1ElQngn3MsAUMn9H3ijlF6z_kHnoooW1O1RJVrIPYSFlDR9dLRDb3qxb1hiiERleDeSHC3t6nr-EXIr8xuhCZjoHmKVrak8n_pqKpO1rWNQ8P5dE3gwD8IToLVY0eWxGck7RYLUC3THl_RI4pehrgxJWIVvvcJ0K6w/s1350/Tinsel%20and%20Temptation.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio4QqlGwhgqLGhUYZzYNLqQZCX1ElQngn3MsAUMn9H3ijlF6z_kHnoooW1O1RJVrIPYSFlDR9dLRDb3qxb1hiiERleDeSHC3t6nr-EXIr8xuhCZjoHmKVrak8n_pqKpO1rWNQ8P5dE3gwD8IToLVY0eWxGck7RYLUC3THl_RI4pehrgxJWIVvvcJ0K6w/w320-h400/Tinsel%20and%20Temptation.png" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Lily looked at the sign hanging over the shop door. Sugar and Spice was
one of the first places she had noticed on her initial trip to Huntington. Now
that she was finally moved into the old two-story house, she felt like
exploring a bit. She had bought the house on a whim but she didn’t regret it,
at least not yet. It was old and drafty. She cringed thinking about future
heating bills. Yet it gave her something to focus on just when she needed to
keep herself busy. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Her hand was on the doorknob, she was about to enter the store when the
door was shoved hard against her and she fell on the sidewalk. She winced and
looked up. The dark-haired man stared at her, scowling. She felt a bubble of
annoyance. The man was at fault but he didn’t say a word at first. His eyes
narrowed as he looked at her suspiciously. Finally, he reached down and offered
her a hand, which Lily grabbed hold of. He pulled her to her feet. She stared
right into his deep blue eyes and her stomach tightened. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Sorry,” he muttered as he pulled his hand loose and hurried down the
sidewalk without looking back. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Once inside the shop, she browsed the display cases of cookies and
candy. The woman behind the counter smiled and she seemed to be watching Lily closer
than necessary. Snickerdoodles, with sugar and cinnamon, sprinkled across the
top tempted her the most. She turned to the woman and asked for a dozen.
Digging in her purse she handed the woman her debit card and waited for her to
ring up the purchase. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I noticed you ran right into the most eligible bachelor in Huntington,”
the woman said with a bemused look. Lily wondered if she was considering her
competition. Well, she shouldn’t worry, Lily had no intention of getting
tangled in any romance. A recent breakup had left her bruised and cynical and
she had no desire to repeat the experience. She shook her head and frowned just
thinking about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Oh well, he was a rude, obnoxious man, knocked me over, and hardly
bothered to apologize,” Lily said as she tucked her card back into her purse.
The cashier smiled and nodded slightly. Bemused by Lily’s comment, she ducked
her head and didn’t look directly at her. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“That’s Hudson Thorn,” she said. “I’m Jacy West.” She looked like she
was about to say more but then she turned toward another customer who had
entered the store. Lily caught a glimpse of sadness that flickered across her
face before she concealed it. It was a look she knew all too well. Someone had
broken Jacy West’s heart. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
As she left the store, thinking about how Thorn was a perfect name for
the prickly man who collided with her, it started snowing. The big wet flakes
were coming down fast. She brushed them out of her blonde hair and pulled her
hood up. She stopped for a second to get her bearings. There was a coffee shop
along here, she thought, but in which direction? Oh, there it was, down at the
corner. She hurried in that direction. Her coat was going to be sopping wet if
she didn’t get out of this storm soon. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
The door opened with a squeak. The air inside the shop was filled with
the smell of coffee and Lily’s mouth watered. She ordered a cup of coffee with
hazelnut creamer, pulled off her wet coat, and settled at a small table in the
corner. That’s when she saw him. The man from the cookie shop, Hudson Thorn was
seated at a large table with several other people. He leaned forward and tapped
the table with his finger, glaring at the person across from him. The man
pulled back, stood up, and stormed out of the shop. The door slammed shut
behind him whether, from the force of his departure or the wind that was
gusting heartily outside, Lily couldn’t decide. Well, he had ticked off at
least two people today and it was still early. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Hudson Thorn must bring out the best in people she thought and stifled a
chuckle. She brought her cup up to her mouth and sipped the hot coffee while
looking over the brim of the cup at the table across the room. The people
remaining, one woman and two men listened attentively to whatever Hudson was
saying. His voice was so low that Lily could only make out a word here or there.
Dividends, investment portfolio, cash flow. Business, she thought and took
another sip of coffee. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Pulling out her phone, Lily checked for messages. There were only a few
and her heart sank just a bit. She missed seeing Robert’s morning messages. She
looked down at her left hand. Her ring finger was bare, the shining diamond
solitary was gone. Technically she could have kept it but she didn’t. She
wanted no reminders of her failed engagement. She wondered why she had ever
thought the two of them could make a go of it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Now, don’t be thinking about me and rings and marriage,” a deep voice
drawled. She jerked and looked up at the tall man beside her table. He was so
close a whiff of his cologne tickled her nose. His shirt stretched tight across
his broad shoulders and firm chest. A blush crept up her neck and over her
face. A smirk played on the man’s face and it ignited a fire inside Lily. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“How rude!” she exclaimed. “I’d never consider anyone as arrogant as
you,” she spat out. Hudson Thorn didn’t seem put off at all. He tilted his head
back and laughed. Lily pressed her lips together tightly. She should have
ignored his comment. Her anger was probably feeding his ego. She knew men like
him. Robert had been one. They tormented other people and enjoyed it and she
had given him the exact reaction he sought. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“So, you WERE thinking about rings,” he said as he slid into the seat
opposite her. Grinding her teeth, Lily glared at him. He ignored her look and
extended his hand. “Hudson Thorn,” he said. Lily instinctively shook his hand
without even thinking. His grip was warm and firm. It sent tingles up her arm
and she found herself lost for a moment in the blue sea of his eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I know,” she blurted out without thinking. His smile deepened and he
ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his forehead. Tilting
his head to the side he looked at her.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“My reputation precedes me,” he snorted and leaned back in the chair.
“So, tell me what awful things you have been hearing?” Lily couldn’t be sure
but something flickered in his eyes. It was gone so fast Lily couldn’t be sure.
It wasn’t amusement though. She thought it was a bit of sadness as if a half-forgotten
memory had pounced on him at the wrong time. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Did I invite you to sit down,” Lily asked and Hudson arched his eyebrow
and smirked? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“This is Huntington,” he said as if that explained everything and
perhaps it did. Lily pressed her lips together in a frown. She didn’t look
welcoming at all but that didn’t seem to faze Hudson. He closed his eyes
briefly and then sighed. He stood up abruptly. “Sorry, I really must go.
Business, you know.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily didn’t know at all but she was quite relieved to see him walk out
the door. The man was obnoxious. She knew his type only too well. Rich, overly
confident, and self-absorbed. Sipping her coffee, she looked around the coffee
shop. People were chatting and smiling. The small-town appeal was what made her
impulsively buy the old house on Carter Street. She loved the city but her
nerves were raw and jagged after her breakup with Robert and she needed a
slower pace. It might not be forever but for right now it was perfect. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
That afternoon as Lily was unpacking boxes of Christmas decorations in
her new living room, the doorbell chimed. Who could that be she wondered. The
only person she knew in Huntington was the real estate lady. Wiping her dusty
hands on her jeans and brushing back her hair with one hand, she headed to the
door. When she pulled the door open, Hudson Thorn stood on her front porch with
several folders clasped in his hand. Lily brushed at her hair again as she
waited for some explanation. Was he following her? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“You’re the new owner?” Hudson asked. His husky voice seemed genuinely
surprised. “I’ve come to make you an offer.” He shifted from foot to foot but
Lily didn’t suppose he was nervous. People like Hudson Thorn didn’t do
nervousness.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily pulled the door open and waved her hand. “Come in.” She wondered
exactly what offer he was making and blushed at a stray thought that popped
into her mind. He looked around the half-unpacked living room and whistled. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’m glad I caught you before you unpacked too much,” he said. Lily’s
jaw tightened and her heart did tiny flip-flops inside her chest. His husky
voice did have a certain quality to it that she was sure appealed to the women
of Huntington. She picked up several strands of Christmas lights from the chair
and motioned for him to sit down. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
She perched on the edge of the sofa. Why was he here? A tiny smile
played across his face as he looked at her. She ran a hand through her hair
wishing she could have brushed it before opening the door. His focus turned to the
winding stairs that led upstairs. “How many bedrooms is this place?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Five,” Lily answered. She bit her lip to hold back her curiosity. He
rubbed his forehead and sighed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I need to buy your house,” he said leaning back in the chair. “How
much?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’m sorry this house isn’t for sale. Geeze, I just moved in.” Nervousness
in the pit of her stomach churned. She suspected Hudson Thorn hadn’t been told
no too many times. She had closed on the house a few weeks back. If he had
wanted it so bad, he could have bought it then. He tilted his head slightly and
looked at her as if reading her thoughts. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I didn’t know I needed it,” he said as if in answer to her unspoken
question. Then he paused, lifted one shoulder, and eased even further back into
the comfy chair. He was getting comfortable and appeared to have no intention
of leaving any time soon. “Money’s not a problem. You can name your price.” His
words were smooth, filled with confidence that Lily never felt herself. A blush
crept up her neck. She felt her cheeks redden. Who did he think he was? This
was her home and she didn’t have to part with it. She owned it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’m sorry, the answer is no. I just bought it and I plan on staying.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily caught a brief flicker of anger flash in his eyes and she braced
herself for the rampage that was sure to follow but it never materialized. His
jaw clenched and unclenched but he kept his emotions in check. She studied his
jawline, sculpted and firm. His dark hair hung down on his forehead, falling in
soft ringlets. Her heart rate quickened and she licked her lips. He watched her
and smiled. The damn man was gorgeous and the worst thing was he knew it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Very well, I’ll see you in court,” he said as he stood up. Court? What
was he talking about? “I’m sure my attorneys can find a loophole, something to
force the sale.” He walked to the front door leaving Lily staring after him
speechless. Then she rushed over and grabbed his arm.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Why are you doing this?” she asked and cringed at her words. There was
a pleading quality to them that irritated her. He looked at it for a moment and
then reached out. She thought he was going to stroke her hair and her stomach
quivered at the thought. He ran his finger down her cheek. Her skin was on fire
from his touch. Then he tugged a tangled piece of tinsel out of her hair and
rubbed it between two fingers. He handed it to her without a word. Bemused he
walked out the door without explaining anything. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily was frozen in place, horrified. Her face was hot as fire. She
blinked back tears. She had sat talking to him all this time with a stupid
piece of tinsel in her hair. She must have looked like an idiot. Shaking her
head, she pushed aside her embarrassment and thought of his comment about going
to court. She couldn’t afford to fight this man in court and he knew it. She
figured he knew all about her. He had the resources to know her entire history.
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Hudson felt a spark of interest as he walked down the porch steps. He
could still see that silly piece of tinsel tangled in her blonde hair and a warm
longing raced through him. Her delicate face and perky nose reminded him of
something. Shaking his head hard to distill the image, he ground his teeth
together. She might be cute but he needed that lot for his new shopping center
and he couldn’t get off track looking at her soft pink lips. He’d have to find
a way to persuade her to sell. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily managed to forget about Hudson Thorn for two whole days, as she
unpacked and arranged things in the house. Most of the rooms were still empty,
she’d have to furnish them a little at a time. She focused on the living room,
kitchen, and bedroom. Standing with her hands on her hips, she looked at the big
tree in front of the window. It was enormous. The spacious room allowed her to
fulfill her dream of a huge Christmas tree. Now looking at it, she realized
she’d need a lot more ornaments to decorate it properly. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily headed out the door. She knew just the shop, A Bit of Everything.
It was close to both the Sugar and Spice cookie shop and the coffee shop, Java
Jingle. She wanted to talk to Jacy West again. She was more curious about
Hudson Thorn than before and she needed to get a better idea of what she was up
against. She was sure Jacy would be able to help. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Light snow was blowing and she
shivered as she climbed into her car. It was so pretty with the snow clinging
to the tree branches, almost like a fairy tale. She pushed the heater up to
high and turned on the seat warmer. Winter here seemed colder than in the city.
At least the roads were clear. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
The bell jingled over the door of Sugar and Spice as Lily hurried
inside. The wind was sharper than she had realized. Without a scarf, her cheeks
were bright red and her hair was sticking out in every direction. Jacy looked
up as she entered and took a step back, smiling. Lily pulled off her mittens
and rubbed her hands together and then approached the glass cookie cases. Today’s
special, Rudolph Noses, were round chocolate cookies with a bright red candy
planted right on top. Jacy reached inside the case and pulled one out, handing
it to Lily. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Try these, she said. “Do you think they are too chocolatey?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily crinkled up her nose. Too chocolatey? Was there such a thing? Then
she bit into the tiny delight and chewed. It practically melted inside her
mouth. They were delicious. She devoured the whole thing before answering. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Not too chocolatey at all,” she said, smiling at the anxious woman
behind the counter. Jacy relaxed just a bit and a huge smile spread across her
face. Even her eyes sparkled with merriment. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’ll take a dozen on the Rudolph Noses and some information please,”
Lily said. As Jacy packed up the cookies, she kept one eye on Lily waiting for
the information part. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“What can you tell me about Hudson Thorn?” she asked. Jacy’s eyes
widened and she looked over her shoulder at the curtained door behind her. She
started to speak but before she could Lily started talking again. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“He is awful. He came to my house insisting he was going to buy it. I
don’t want to sell it. I just moved in and I love it. It’s the kind of house
I’ve always wanted. He’s such a pig. Said he’s taking me to court.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Jacy’s nervousness grew as Lily ranted about Hudson Thorn but Lily
ignored the warning signs. Jacy held up her hand as if to shush her but at that
moment the curtain behind her parted and Hudson Thorn himself stepped out of
the back room. He towered above the two of them and growled. “The oven is
fixed,” he said and then turned toward Lily. As he stepped closer to her a
brief flicker-like fire echoed inside his eyes. She could almost feel the air
warm between them. He glared at her for
a full minute and then left without speaking.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily buried her face in her hands and trembled with embarrassment. When
she looked up Jacy was smiling. Smiling after that! What in the world must the
woman think of her? She handed her a mug of hot apple cider and motioned to a
small table in the corner. “You better sit down for a bit,” she said. Grabbing
a napkin, she deposited two cookies and the steaming mug on the table as Lily
slipped into a chair. Her fingers twitched as she picked up the cup. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“See, he’s just awful,” she whispered. Jacy flipped the sign on her door
to closed and sat down at the table across from Lily. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“He’s not that bad…” she started but then Lily burst into tears and she
stopped. She waited as Lily wiped her tears and sniffled as she took a sip of
cider. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“What I meant to say is his bark is worse than his bite.” Jacy wiped an
imaginary crumb off the table. Suddenly Lily wondered why he had been here
working on the oven. Was Jacy a past lover and if so, they must still have a
connection if he was helping her with repairs. A deep crimson blush started to
make its way up her neck. What an idiot she was. She should leave. But before
she could get up, Jacy placed a gentle hand on her arm. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“He’s my brother, she said quietly. “My husband died in an accident last
year and so Hudson tries to help out whenever he can. Just as easily could hire
someone but it gives him an excuse to check in on me.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily was mortified. She had been talking bad about this woman’s brother!
She wanted to say something, to apologize. Her mouth was suddenly so dry and
her throat ached with more unshed tears. Jacy didn’t seem upset at all. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’m sorry,” Lily started but Jacy stopped her with a hand wave. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Don’t be, Hudson is a tyrant with his business and I can only imagine
how he comes across to people who don’t know him.” She reached out and patted
Lily’s hand. A knot formed in the pit of Lily’s stomach. This wasn’t a very
good start to life in her new town. She popped a cookie into her mouth and
chewed. At least it helped her avoid answering for a few seconds. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll have to figure out how to deal with him
on my own,” she finally said. Lily couldn’t imagine going up against someone as
powerful as Hudson Thorn but she was determined to fight for her house.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Well, you’ve certainly gotten under his skin, that’s for sure. I seldom
see Hudson at a loss for words,” she said and then giggled. “It was kind of
funny actually.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily couldn’t help but smile. She had made him mad, which was pretty
obvious, but getting him riled up was doing little to stop him from trying to
force her to sell. The cider was sweet and a little tart at the same time. It
tickled her nose as she took another drink from the large mug. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’ll try not to bother you about him again. I’m so embarrassed.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Don’t be,” Jacy answered, and then she hesitated for a few seconds
before continuing. “Hudson was supposed to get married but on his wedding day,
his fiancée backed out. I’m afraid it’s made him a bit bitter toward women in general.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily barely stifled a gasp. Someone had left Hudson Thorn standing at
the altar? That was hard to believe. He didn’t look like the kind of man to
take no for an answer. She thought of her broken engagement. Thankfully, they
hadn’t gotten to their wedding day. It still hurt though. Like a dream that
shatters upon waking, the plans she had for her marriage and her future changed
instantly. It was a lot to keep up with. A glimmer of sympathy for Hudson Thorn
grew inside her. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Hey, I was wanting to ask if you could cover my shop on Friday night?
It’s usually pretty slow in the evenings and all the baking will be done. You
would just need to ring up purchases. I wouldn’t ask but it’s kind of an
emergency.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily hesitated. She had worked for several years in retail so ringing up
items shouldn’t be any real challenge and it wasn’t like she had any plans for
Friday night. “Sure, what time do you need me?” she asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Around four? Or three if you can make it that early.” Jacy’s face brightened
and a wave of relief swept over her features. Whatever she had to do was
important and Lily was glad she had said yes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Friday arrived with heavy gray clouds filling the sky, threatening snow.
Lily unpacked as she kept an eye on both the clouds and the clock. She didn’t
want to be late. Jacy was the first “friend” she had made in Huntington and she
didn’t want to let her down. She cast a wary eye at the sky as she slipped into
her car and headed to Sugar and Spice. She was surprised to find the street
crowded with shoppers. Christmas was still two weeks away but the street was
busy as people rushed in and out of shops. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Oh, there you are,” Jacy said as Lily entered the store. “Thanks for
coming so early. I want to beat the snow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Jacy showed her the register and luckily it was one that Lily
recognized. She rang up a couple of make-believe purchases and Lily seemed
satisfied that her shop was in good hands. This would be simple. “There’s
coffee in the back kitchenette,” Jacy called over her shoulder as she hurried
outside. Lily looked around and sighed. Her Friday nights had been reduced to
this. No candlelight dinners, no dancing till dawn, just helping out a friend. A
friend had a nice ring to it though. Most of her and Robert's friends were from
his group and after the breakup, she found herself strangely alone. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Two customers rushed in, ordered cookies and muffins, and tapped their
feet impatiently as Lily bagged up their items. “We want to get home before the
storm hits,” the woman said as she inserted her card into the machine. “It’s
going to be a big one.” Lily glanced out the big front window and sure enough,
large fat snowflakes were swirling in the air. Jacy had said to keep the shop
open till eight. Lily wasn’t sure what the roads would be like by then. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
At six o’clock the snow was falling fast and the roads and sidewalks
were already covered in a thick layer of fluffy white. Lily turned on the tree
lights and watched them dance around the branches. The tree, thick with tinsel,
reminded her of Hudson. Her face grew warm with embarrassment. No one had been
in for the past fifteen minutes. The traffic on the street had disappeared,
replaced by a thick curtain of snow. Sighing, Lily realized she might have to
spend the night in the shop. She couldn’t afford a tow bill or car repairs so
risking the trip home just wasn’t worth it. The bell above the door jingled.
She turned to greet a customer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Her breath caught in her throat. It was Hudson Thorn. His dark coat was
covered with snowflakes and he stomped his snow boots on the floor. Looking
down at the mess he was making, he looked back up at Lily. When his blue eyes
met hers, he winked. “Sorry about that,” he said and pulled a few napkins out
of a dispenser to clean the floor. “Where’s Jacy?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I don’t know. She asked me to cover the shop for her tonight.” Lily
said. She lost herself in his gaze and the air between them filled with
invisible sparks. His looks were magnetic, drawing her eyes to him even while
she tried to look away. He smiled. That smile almost made her short circuit. She
finally managed to pull her eyes away from him, pretending to wipe down the
already clean counter. When she darted another glance at him, he was frowning.
She suspected he was annoyed that she wasn’t swooning. A shiver raced up her
spine that had nothing to do with the cold air that had rushed into the shop with
him. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
He flipped the door sign to closed and sat down at one of the small
tables opening a shopping bag, Lily hadn’t noticed before. Sitting the
containers on the small table by the tree, he sat out paper plates and
plasticware. Waving his hand at the other chair, he said, “You might as well
join me. I brought some food for Jacy because I figured she would be trapped in
the shop. We can’t let it go to waste.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
The aroma of the food swirled in the air making Lily realize just how
hungry she was. She had skipped lunch and now her stomach growled in protest.
The food lured her to the table even as she struggled to resist. She wanted
nothing to do with Hudson Thorn. She knew his type. She was nothing to him and
his charm wasn’t going to get him her house. He spooned out Sweet and Sour
chicken and a large helping of rice. Then he placed a small container of snow
peas next to her plate. Tiny slivers of almonds and flakes of red mingled with
the peas. Her mouth watered. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily managed to wait until Hudson started to eat before digging into her
food. The spicy peas made her long for some water and as if he was reading her
mind, he pulled out two bottles of water. Opening one, he handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she muttered, ungraciously. He arched an eyebrow and a tiny smile
quivered on his lips. Lowering the bottle, she stared at him. His smugness
burned into her. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“You can feed me but you are NOT getting my house,” she choked out. Her
anger blazed through her whole body and it reached its peak when he laughed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Calm down, we can talk about that later. Just enjoy your dinner.” He
stood up and walked into the little kitchenette at the back of the shop,
returning with two wine glasses and a bottle of wine. “This might help,” he
said. He poured the chardonnay into the glasses. Lily was still angry but she
pretended otherwise, sipping the wine and spearing a piece of chicken.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Outside the snow continued. It fell fast, piling up on the ground and
the sidewalks. “Looks like we might be stuck here for the night,” Hudson said.
Lily looked out the window and sighed. The fluffy piles of snow were beautiful
but they would make travel impossible. “Don’t worry, there’s a sofa in the back,
and it is all yours,” Hudson said. He looked over the rim of his glass at her.
Lily’s head swirled from the wine but there was a warmth in the pit of her
stomach that had little to do with the alcohol and everything to do with those
blue eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Hudson had turned on music and the soft strands of Silent Night drifted through
the shop. Lily relaxed far more than she intended to and she even managed a
small smile. He was so darn cute and that only spelled danger. But his dark
hair fell across his forehead and she reached up to brush it back from his
eyes. As her fingertips trailed across his skin, he flinched. “I’m sorry,” she
said, pulling back abruptly. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“It’s okay. Someone I used to know did that all the time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily didn’t speak. She imagined he was talking about his ex-fiancée. She
understood. There were little things that Robert used to do that still stabbed
into her when someone else had the same mannerisms. Letting go of the memories
wasn’t easy. She felt a real pang of sympathy for Hudson. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Hudson reached up with his napkin and dabbed at her mouth. She pulled
back. “You had some red sauce on your chin,” he said and lifted the napkin so
she could see the smear of sauce he had wiped off. She cringed. First tinsel
and now red sauce. He laughed as if thinking the same thing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“There’s a tv in back. Let’s check the weather,” he said. Lily cleared
the table and wiped it with a damp cloth while he disappeared into the back
room. Her heart fluttered inside her chest and she bit her lip. Hold yourself
in check she thought. The house wasn’t worth selling her soul to the devil. She
chided herself. He’s not that bad, she thought. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
In the room, at the back of the shop, was the small kitchenette and a
sitting area. There was only one sofa and so Lily sat as far away from Hudson
as she could, clinging to the arm of the old couch. Hudson had managed to get a
channel to come in but it wasn’t the weather. A Christmas Story played on the
old set and Hudson groaned. He shook his head and looked at Lily. “Jacy makes
me watch this several times every year. I can almost leave the sound off and
say the lines myself.” He plopped down on the other end of the sofa, extending
his legs and putting an arm behind his head. Lily swore the temperature rose
just from his closeness. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“It’s one of my favorites too,” Lily admitted and Hudson groaned. She
yawned. The combination of the food and wine made her pleasantly relaxed.
Before long, her eyes closed and she drifted into a light slumber. A few
minutes later she was jerked awake when Hudson pulled her closer to him.
“What…”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Relax, I was just trying to get you more comfortable,” he muttered. She
realized she was nestled next to him with her head resting on his broad chest.
She could feel his heart beating beneath her ear. She wanted to protest but his
heartbeat was hypnotic. She stopped struggling and stayed put. He reached up
and smoothed her hair. She hoped there wasn’t more tinsel entangled in it. She
wasn’t sure how long she slept but she woke up fast. She pulled herself away from
him and sat up. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Hudson was groggy from sleep but he released her and rubbed his eyes.
There was a loud banging from the front of the shop. What time was it, he
wondered. Lily was on her feet and running her fingers through her hair to
smooth it. She thought she could hear someone shouting. Lily rushed from the
room and into the front of the shop. Against the night sky, snow swirled, and two
people huddled at the front door. Was someone trying to break in? Lily jumped
when Hudson put a hand on her shoulder. She stepped aside as he opened the
door. The couple rushed inside. One of them was carrying something wrapped in a
blanket. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“We need to get her warm,” a man said and as he spoke, he pulled back
the snow-covered blanket revealing a tiny pixie-like girl. Her dark hair fell
in ringlets on her forehead and her dark lashes fluttered slightly but she
didn’t open her eyes. Her skin, whiter than it should be, looked like
porcelain. She reminded Lily of a doll. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Hudson pulled the cushions off the chairs and created a small bed on the
floor next to the counter. He raced into the backroom returning with a pillow
and two blankets. The man placed the girl in the bed and pulled off her wet
coat and bright red mittens. She moaned and twisted onto her side. Hudson
tucked the blankets around her and then disappeared into the back again. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“What happened?” Lily asked and it was the woman, the mother Lily
supposed, that answered. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“We ended up in the ditch, thought we could last out the storm but we
ran out of gas and it was so cold.” She started to cry. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Hudson was carrying something heavy back into the room. A small heater
that he sat on the floor next to the child and plugged in. Soon the room was
filled with warmth. Lily removed bread, butter, and jam from the cabinets and
made some sandwiches which the parents accepted gratefully. Hudson leaned down
and touched the girl’s forehead. When he did, she opened her eyes and smiled
briefly before falling asleep again. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
‘She’s warm and snug now,” he announced. He poured water and coffee
grinds into the coffee maker and soon the room was filled with the delicious
smell of coffee. He served everyone and the warm liquid quickly dispelled any
remaining cold. Lily watched him. He chatted with the man. She remembered the
meeting in the coffee shop down the street when he had been stern and
demanding. This was a different side of Hudson Thorn, gentle and caring. The
man was immediately at ease with Hudson.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Is he your husband?” the woman whispered. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Oh goodness, no,” Lily whispered back. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Well, he should be,” she said and her eyes sparkled. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Hudson looked across the room at them and locked eyes with Lily. A surge
of energy, like electricity, raced across the space between them. Lily wasn’t
sure she ever wanted to get involved with anyone again but she had to admit
that Hudson Thorn was a real temptation. She found herself wondering what it
would be like to kiss him. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’ve managed to call for medical assistance. They should be here any
minute,” Hudson said. Lily was surprised. She hadn’t even noticed him using his
phone. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
And as if conjured up by his words, flashing lights bounced across the
front window, and an emergency vehicle skidded to a stop. The paramedics hopped
out, stopped at the door, and then kicked the snow off their boots before
Hudson let them in. They wrapped a thermal blanket around the small girl and
whisked her away with the parents hurrying after them. Lily shivered as the
cold air swirled into the shop. She took a step back and collided with Hudson.
He pulled her into his arms, rubbing her shoulders as if trying to dispel the
cold. She grew warm under his touch. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
A mixture of emotions collided inside her. She wanted to push him away
but then again, she didn’t. She turned to face him and he pulled her in close.
His firm lips descended onto hers. The kiss was short and for a few seconds,
Lily wondered if she was dreaming. She wasn’t used to men she barely knew
kissing her. She wanted to melt into him. She wrapped her arms around him
before she caught herself. She pulled back and looked up into his face puzzled.
He looked so damn smug. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’m not selling the house,” she said again as a spark of anger burst
into flame inside her. She thought she caught a glimpse of some emotion in his
face, sadness or regret perhaps. Then it was gone. She frowned. Hudson tilted
his head back and laughed. It was a sharp cynical laugh that didn’t match the
look she had noticed in his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Fine,” he said as he practically shoved her away from him. Lily slipped
on some melted snow on the floor and landed quite soundly on her butt. She fell
back and her head hit the sharp edge of the counter. She grimaced in pain and
moaned. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Oh no,” Hudson bent down and touched the back of her head. His fingertips
were covered in blood when he pulled his hand away. “I’m sorry, honestly I am,”
he said. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily’s head throbbed with pain and she wasn’t sure if it was the injury
or her anger at Hudson. Either way, she closed her eyes trying to ease the
ache. “Lean forward,” Hudson said and he applied an ice pack to the back of her
head. His fingers tenderly probed the knot that was rapidly swelling. She
winced and he pulled away briefly. Then she felt something cold. He applied a wet
compress to her head, holding it in place. His hot breath on her neck
emphasized his closeness and her stomach fluttered. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Come on. You need to rest.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily followed him and eased herself onto the sofa. He fluffed up a
pillow and put it at one end of the sofa. He pulled a thick blanket over her as
she eased her head down on the pillow. Rubbing his forehead with his fingers he
muttered something she didn’t quite hear. She closed her eyes briefly. “You shouldn’t go
to sleep,” he told her. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Let me look at it,” he commanded and Lily felt a surge of irritation.
But she leaned forward so he could look at the back of her skull again. He
pulled the bloody strands of hair apart and looked at the wound.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“The cut’s not too deep. Head wounds bleed so much but I don’t think you
need stitches.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily’s head rolled forward and she yawned. How was she going to stay
awake in the middle of the night? Hudson was digging inside the small
refrigerator in the corner and he emerged with an energy drink. Popping the
tab, he handed it to her. She wrinkled up her nose. She didn’t like energy
drinks but she would give this one a try under the circumstances. Hudson’s
pulse quickened. Even with blood in her hair and a look of disgust on her face,
Lily Cooper was beautiful. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Tell me something about yourself,” Hudson said. If he could keep her
talking, she wouldn’t fall asleep. The cut wasn’t deep but that lump was big.
She twisted on the sofa and ignored him. She was done with letting men boss her
around.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Tell me about you,” she countered.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Fine,” was all he said and she hid a smile behind her hand. She was
getting under his skin. Perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I’ve lived in Huntington all my life. My grandparents and great-grandparents
lived here.” As he talked, he sat down at the end of the sofa and without
missing a beat, put her feet in his lap. “I…” he stopped as if there was
nothing more to say about his life. A look of sadness coated his face and his
eyes drifted up as if seeing a distant memory that gave him pause. He didn’t
start talking again and Lily didn’t ask him anything else. This man was perhaps
a bit more complex than she had thought. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily started talking to fill the gap. She told him about her parents,
both killed in an accident years ago. She told him about her childhood pets and
her best friend in college. She talked until her voice grew husky but she never
mentioned Robert. Finally, she grew silent and allowed her eyes to flutter
shut. This time he didn’t stop her. Hudson sat for a long time watching her
sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily’s head ached and her eyes were gritty with sleep. She was squished
against Hudson and the throw had slipped off. She looked at him and reached up
running her finger along his chiseled jaw. His skin was rough under her finger.
He moved under her touch and she pulled her hand back. She resisted the urge to
kiss him. His eyes popped open at just that moment and she wondered again if he
could read her thoughts. She moved to the other end of the sofa and yawned. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“That was the most interesting night of my life,” he said. His voice was
still husky with sleep and Lily’s heart fluttered in her chest. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“I can’t imagine that’s true,” she chided him. His eyes widened and she
blushed under his gaze. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“So where do we go from here?” he asked and she avoided the intent of
the question by standing up.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Let’s check the roads,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
The snow had stopped at dawn and snow plows running up and down the
streets cleared them until just a thin coating of snow covered the street in
front of the shop. Thick piles of snow lined both sides of the street. A few
cars rolled past slowly. “Time to leave,” Lily chirped with far more joy than
she felt. She needed to put some distance between her and Hudson Thorn. Even
now she could smell the sweetness of his lingering cologne and her head swam
with the memory of his brief kiss. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
“Here’s your coat,” he said. There was something in his words, some
hidden emotion just beneath the surface. Lily took the coat. She didn’t meet
his gaze even though she could feel it burning into her. Disappointment
lingered between them. She thought how like a little boy at Christmas he was,
one that hadn’t gotten their Christmas wish. It tugged at her heart.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Lily stepped outside and the sting of the cold air bit at her face. It
was in stark contrast to the night spent in Hudson’s arms. She looked back at him
locking the door and paused. It was too soon. Her heart was still broken. I
need time to heal, she thought. Then Hudson tilted his head and looked at her.
Her heart did somersaults in her chest. He smiled. Lily felt a surge of
electricity between them, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. One
date, she told herself. Just one date. But even then, she knew it was a lie. She
didn’t want just one date, she wanted more, much more. She smiled at him. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-52880948713041284152022-11-30T06:23:00.000-06:002022-11-30T07:57:15.175-06:00This Side of Insanity, Henry Oh Henry, and Seeds of Insanity <b> </b><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHE1bkt2Nmy0KfdhmmHBcQilD4gl5delNlBdENV6yKb7NUDKrrWmBR0tw5XScxo7S05kGiVj5FI9B6Z5q8HqmKF2ENcAqlv00Lo5VcK6nO_V4_gfKojvjXqmZqJ--Pl3LX8GEl6PewMgHLwpBoVUkkV_YubFwWAbtvuQgKghBO2_AYfa3RHmIDyUv4Ag/s1080/This%20Side%20of%20Insanity.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHE1bkt2Nmy0KfdhmmHBcQilD4gl5delNlBdENV6yKb7NUDKrrWmBR0tw5XScxo7S05kGiVj5FI9B6Z5q8HqmKF2ENcAqlv00Lo5VcK6nO_V4_gfKojvjXqmZqJ--Pl3LX8GEl6PewMgHLwpBoVUkkV_YubFwWAbtvuQgKghBO2_AYfa3RHmIDyUv4Ag/w400-h400/This%20Side%20of%20Insanity.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b></div><div><b>This Side of Insanity </b></div><div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>There are some things better left unseen. Things that slither into
the soul and change a person. Things that live in the dark recesses of
the human mind. Things that hover just there on the edge of sanity and
linger for the sole purpose of temptation, to lure us there, to the
other side, to insanity. Nobody talks about them, mostly because those
that see them rarely survive to tell about them, or end up babbling
inside some ward behind locked doors. </i><br />
<br />
The path around the park was smooth, paved and fairly level, with just a
few inclines but the section that ran around the lake was lonely, the
lake to one side and trees to the other. She wasn't thinking about the
lake, the trees or the weather.<i> </i>But she was deep in thought, her
brain replaying the night before, when she had stood by the end of the
lake, looking into the sun at the opposite end. What had she seen? If
not for the morning news she would have doubted she really saw anything
at all.<br />
<br />
She stopped at just the same spot as last night, looked into the setting
sun and let her mind conjure up the image from the night before. <br />
<br />
A girl, of about ten, had walked slowly at the opposite end of the lake,
oblivious, lost in thought, ear buds stuffed into her ears, and her
pony tail bopping along to the music. As she stood watching her, she
felt a slight twinge of regret, childhoods lost and time marching on,
then she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Something dark
lumbered toward the girl and it was unlike anything she had ever seen
before, so frozen in disbelief she just watched as it edged closer to
the unsuspecting girl.<br />
<br />
It walked on all fours but hunched forward, bear like yet the outline
was so blurry and undefined that she couldn't make out its identity. She
opened her mouth to shout but realized the music would make it
impossible for the girl to hear her. She started to run, her sneakers
slapping against the pavement. The thing turned in her direction, looked
at her, and yawned. The cavernous mouth gaped open and even from a
distance she could make out the double rows of shiny white teeth. Heart
pounding she stopped and it was just at that moment that the creature,
close behind the girl, opened its mouth again but this time it was not
yawning but devouring. She closed her eyes in horror and when she opened
them mere seconds later the path at the end of the lake was empty. <br />
<br />
She stared, shook her head and then slowly walked along the path,
stopping at the spot she had last seen the girl, She stared at the
ground, searching for saliva or blood or a lost shoe, finding none she
clenched her teeth and walked to her car without a look backwards, Her
fear was real but now the fear centered on herself. It was happening
again and she felt powerless to save herself. The dread was building
inside her and she knew it would be only a short time before they came
looking for her.<br />
<br />
Now lured here by her memories and the news story, she stood looking at
the end of the lake. She knew it was real, she knew it, she just did,
But she knew better than to report it. Last time, in the last town, she
had spoken up and had ended up nine months in a locked ward, until she
had pulled herself together enough to pretend to come out of her
"psychotic" episode.She had walked out the doors that day wanting to get
as far away from the place as she could. For the others there might
just hallucinate but she saw, she did, she just knew it.<br />
<br />
There has been a time there on the locked ward when she had almost
thrown it all away, the pretending to get well. It was the night Henry
disappeared. They said he had escaped somehow but she knew better. He
hadn't escaped. He had been sucked into the walls of the third floor
hallway by the wall creature. The creature with long boney fingers, that
popped out of the wall at unexpected times, in unexpected places and
tugged on people, But when it tugged at Henry, he had looked at it with
soulful eyes and stepped right into the wall with the creature. She
supposed that Henry lived there now, in the walls and she was glad to
walk out the front doors before she encountered him in a lonely hallway
or the showers at the back of the dorm. '<br />
<br />
She was tempted last night to explain away what she had witnessed as a
fit of imagination, although why anyone would imagine anything so
horrific she had no idea. But this morning she had listened to the
morning news, first with sense of relief and then with a sense of dread
when the story came on. She had been silently willing it not to, but it
did, and she listened to the tearful mother asking for the return of a
child that she, herself knew would never return. Even as the news aired,
the child digested in the belly of a beast. A beast that others could
not see and would not search for. She knew this and she also knew that
should she speak up they would look at her oddly, question her, suspect
her and eventually lock her up for her own good.<br />
<br />
That's what they said, "its for your own good' and with pitying eyes
they would stare at her but they also showed just a bit of
fear....because "what if" they wondered. Not what if the creatures
existed but what if she had did it....what if it was her who had swept
away the child and did God only knows what to her.<br />
<br />
Now she stood here at the edge of the lake, in much the same situation
she had been in just a few years ago, another time, another town but
still the same and the anxiety sucked at her like a baby at the breast.
She stood for so long that others begin to notice and cast wary glances
her way. She moved on, walking quickly past the place the girl had been
sucked into the belly of the beast.<br />
<br />
In the car she rested her head against the steering wheel, tears sliding
slowly down her cheeks. She waited for dusk then got out of the car
with the tire iron in her hand. This time she would slay the creature.
She would stop its feeding cycle. She shivered as she sat crossed legged
at the spot of the beasts dinner the previous night. She thumped the
tire iron against her knee and stared into the coming gloom.<br />
<br />
The trees rustled in the evening breeze but along with the rustling she
could hear heavy breathing and the slinky footsteps of the creature on
the hunt. It appeared almost out of thin air on the path just a few feet
from her and she scrambled to her feet, caught unaware. The beast
roared a silent roar, showing its razor sharp teeth, it charged. She
thrust the tire iron into its open mouth.<br />
<br />
It scratched at her with its puny front legs, which were stunted and
offered little in the way of defense. She shoved harder and the tire
iron gouged into the back of the creature's throat causing it to heave.
Choking and heaving it backed away from her, then it emptied the
contents of its stomach. A thick mucous twinged with blood, pooled on
the pavement of the path. The beast jerked away and disappeared into the
woods in the darkness of the falling night. She sat there all night, in
the moonlight she stared at the small pink tennis shoe that rested in
the middle of the puddle. <br />
<br />
They found her there the next morning, bagging the shoe, they led her
away to another psych evaluation, another locked ward, in another
hospital, and she hoped this one didn't have the wall creatures. The
beast confused by the attack moved on, to another town, in another
state, and even today everyone in this town, in this place, wonders
where she put the body.<br />
<br />
<i>She travels the hallways of the hospital, alone even here where
others see things. But she knows the difference between the others and
herself. For the things they see are conjured up in their brains while
the ones she sees.... are birthed of evil,</i> <i>sent to collapse the wall that divides sanity and insanity, and to tease the soul into submission.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Henry, Oh Henry </b><br />
<br />
She knew they looked at her chart daily, sometimes multiple times a day.
They wrote her name in their notes, as if by doing so, they knew
her..... Macy.......She said it out loud sometimes at night, letting it
roll off her tongue and trying to remember what it felt like to be plain
old Macy, not crazy as bat shit Macy.<br />
<br />
Sometimes during a session they would bring up the monster, the one that
lived under the bed in the hotel in Cottonville,where she worked as a
maid a lifetime ago. The one that insisted on creeping out and
tormenting her with its evil grin and its red eyes, The one who started
all this trouble and turned her into Crazy Macy instead of plain
ordinary Macy. Sometimes they still questioned her about it but not as
much as in the early days here. <br />
<br />
She listened as the frigid wind swirled around the sign out front,
causing it to groan and creak, swinging on the chains that suspended it
from the posts. She sat in her bed with her knees pulled up to her chin
and shivered more from her thoughts than the cold. She remembered the
sign, remembered what it looked like as the ambulance pulled into the
circle drive and deposited her on the steps. Clarkson Mental Sanatorium
She remembered it even though then, during the early days, she was
filled with doubt and considered herself quite as insane as they
believed her to be. <br />
<br />
For weeks she walked around in a drug induced stupor, barely noticing
her surroundings, hardly tasting the food on her tray. She painted in
those first weeks here, painted the boogeyman under the bed in brilliant
colors rather then the deep gray that was his true color. She painted
him red, blue, yellow and orange. Hoping the bright colors might mute
his power, making him more clown like. They looked at her painting,
whispered about them, ask her to tell stories about them until one day
she suddenly just stopped painting. That was just about the same time
she started cheeking her medicine, flushing the pills down the toilet
when no one was looking,.<br />
<br />
Without the numbing effect of the pills, she slept less and in the
darkness of her room, late at night, she played over the memories.
Played them over and over until she realized that it was not she that
was mad but the world of the unseeing that mindlessly went through life
oblivious to the existence of these creatures. What had happened there
in the hotel was real. It started in that old hotel but she knew it had
chased her for awhile, Glimpses of shadowy figures, slithering sounds
that never reached the ears of others, a sense of foreboding. it had
been there for a while, maybe a few years before it pounced full force
into her life with the creature under the bed. <br />
<br />
That's how she came to be here and it is here that she meet Henry, the
kindest gentlest, old man she had ever met, But he was sad, mired down
in the darkness of his despair, mindlessly going through the actions of
living. Eating, dressing, walking around empty. They spent hours
talking, first about ordinary things like the food, the weather or
whatever old TV show they let them watch. But later they talked about
the creatures, and when she talked he listened, never questioning, never
doubting, accepting her version of the world. She felt guilty because
in the end she believed his indifference to the creatures is what let
him slip so easily into their world.<br />
<br />
One day they sat together in the sun room, curled up in the faded
chairs, carefully keeping an eye out for the orderlies. Neither wanted
to be caught talking about the forbidden subjects.<br />
<br />
"So Mace, what do you think happened at the hotel after you left?" Henry
asked, scruffy eyebrows raised as he peered at her over the magazine he
was pretending to read.<br />
<br />
She shrugged, "I don't know, perhaps it continued or perhaps it passed
on to some other place. No one saw it but me. They all lived in their
own make believe reality, where monsters don't exist. But Henry I know
they do."<br />
<br />
"Oh I believe you girly, I really do. I've been fighting them for years." his voice cracked as he spoke.<br />
<br />
"Now Henry we've been over this before, that's not the same thing at all....."<br />
<br />
"And why not? It's just as likely that this black gloom is a slug
encrusted with despair just as probable as chemical imbalance? Can't
prove...chemical imbalance.. any more than a thick, soul sucking, slug."<br />
<br />
She put down her magazine and thought about what he had just said. She
supposed it could be true. She had never seen anything lingering around
Henry but she imagined there were lots of things she may have missed.
Perhaps it buried deep into him while he slept or maybe it was inside
him right now, nestled at his core sucking away at his life force. <br />
<br />
He watched her closely, waiting as if her word was authority. Their eyes
met and she nodded her agreement. it was possible, after all she had no
idea how many creatures existed, just outside the realm of
consciousness. But there was danger in such acknowledgement. As if the
act of accepting their existence, gave them breathe, brought them into
being, as an author creates characters.<br />
<br />
She decided to confide in him about what she sensed upstairs. In the
hallway of the third floor, she had started to notice damp footprints on
the old tile floor. They appeared without warning but sometimes on the
very edges of her hearing she heard faint footsteps, falling like a
gentle rain in the long, empty hallway. He listened quietly and nodded.<br />
<br />
"Any time when they appear more often?" he asked but before she could
answer an orderly showed up and briskly told them it was time to return
to their rooms for afternoon quiet time. Macy wanted to roll her eyes.
Quiet time was contrived for the express purpose of getting all the
patients in their rooms for medication.<br />
<br />
Back in her room, medicine lodged in her cheek, she waited for the
orderly to disappear before she shuffled to the bathroom to flush the
pill. A creeping cold crawled over her skin in the bathroom and she felt
eyes watching her. She jerked around but there was nothing there other
than the sterile white walls of the institution. The feeling nagged at
her as she climbed into bed, even without the medicine she was sleepy.
Sometimes she slept and other times she lay with her eyes closed
replaying things in her mind over and over again. In therapy they called
it perseverating. She had stopped talking about it after a while
because she grew leery of their prodding.<br />
<br />
She closed her eyes and dozed for what she thought was only a few
minutes when she felt someone standing over her. Terror gripped her and
she clenched her eyes tighter,willing whoever or whatever it was to go
away. She could feel a hot misty breath on her face, someone was leaning
in to kiss her. She heard a slight chuckle, it knew she was awake,
pretending to sleep, avoiding seeing it. She felt the exact moment it
moved away from the bed and her eyes flew open. She caught only a
glimpse of a shadowy figure as it stepped into the wall and vanished.
She struggled to draw in her breath, for an instant wishing she had
taken the pill today, then she would have been in such deep slumber
nothing would have awoken her. Trembling under the sheet she held
tightly against her, she wondered what it wanted.<br />
<br />
The sun room was ablaze with sunshine in the late afternoon, it cascaded
off of her but did little to warm her. She hadn't slept again after
the encounter in her room and she wished she knew where Henry was. He
hadn't shown up as he usually did after they were released from the
cells of their rooms. She worried that he was somewhere immobile, the
fat slug of despair sucking unrelenting at him.<br />
<br />
He wasn't but she had no way of knowing that. Instead he sit on the
bottom step of the stairs, with the steps leading to the third floor
behind him. Face buried in his hands, he rocked slightly back and forth,
it wasn't despair that gripped him. Instead doubt and confusion surged
through him. He had considered telling the girl the whole of his story;
why he had ended up here at the sanatorium. Now he felt like he had
waited too long to do so. She had bared her soul to him, offered up her
stories, her reality, like caviar on a silver platter but he had kept a
morsel of his own hidden. Partly because it confused him and he couldn't
tease out the fact from the fiction. He wasn't sure what parts were his
own reality and what were nuggets planted there inside him by others.<br />
<br />
Before Clarkson, he had been successful. Well, if success could be
measured by dollars. He had money; plenty of it even though he burnt
through a lot of it. He had laughed and loved and lost like just about
everybody else on this hellish planet. Until the night they came, asking
questions, looking, tapping here and there, while he sat with the
unfolded search warrant open on his life. He hadn't even known Sasha was
missing.<br />
<br />
They had quarreled several days previously and she had simply left, or
at least he had thought she left, but as it would turn out, she had
been there all the time, not answering his calls or texts, but how could
she? They found her tucked inside the wall, wrinkled from the heat,
grimacing in death in a somewhat similar way to how she smiled in life.
The thing is...he hadn't remembered putting her there, he wasn't sure he
had, but they were sure. They couldn't explain it; the wall was solid
with no signs of repair, so that one thing couldn't be explained but
still they were sure, so sure. And so he accepted what they said and let
them lead him away, the deep darkness of it clinging to him like a
second skin.<br />
<br />
Now he sat here, worried, he hadn't told the girl and wondered if he
should. It hadn't mattered before. No one here cared about the past, or
cast cautious glances at others, they simply coexisted; living the
mundane life of the hospital. But now he felt a connection, as co
conspirators, together in a broken world. So the heavy black stone of
regret settled in the pit of his stomach. Something she had said, nudged
at him, he wanted her to know; needed to ask her about something that
teased at the corners of his memory. Everyone had been so sure, everyone
except him; and now it ate at him worse than the slug of despair.<br />
<br />
The next morning he found her in the corner of the sun room, dark
circles under her eyes, jittery and keyed up more than he had ever seen
her before. He flopped on the sofa right next to her. Forget about the
damn orderlies.<br />
<br />
"What's up girly?" he asked patting her knee as he spoke. She looked at him with mournful eyes...<br />
<br />
"There's something here, it's happening again" she whispered and a single tear slid down her left cheek.<br />
<br />
He didn't speak, he waited, watching her closely out of the corner of
his eye. He barely breathed. Then the story burst forth from her like a
volcano spewing lava and ash. It came in hot bursts, fear filled, words
like burning embers. He wasn't surprised at her words but he was
surprised at her terror. In all the times she had talked about the hotel
monster, she had never trembled, her voice had always been strong and
steady. Now she looked like a fragile child.<br />
<br />
"It just disappeared into the wall." her words floated to him like the
fluttering wings of a butterfly, he gasped at them. they reminded him of
his own story and the body in the wall, She cast an odd glance his way
and before he really had time to weigh his words, he unraveled the story
of his past, wrapping her in his own doubt and remorse.<br />
<br />
When he finished they both sat staring at each other, not speaking but
letting the idea of the wall creature caress their thoughts, sending
shivers to the very core of their beings. She wasn't afraid of him, even
if he had murdered someone, there were far worse things in this world
than a murder committed in anger. She should know. If he had murdered a
lover in anger, which she doubted, she could comprehend that. Where the
emotions came from, how quick the heart can flip from love to hate. That
was easy to understand, easier than the creatures that slithered
through the landscape of her life.<br />
<br />
Several days and several whispered conversations later, they were
sneaking together through the third floor hallway when it happened. The
creature, long bony fingers beckoning, stepped right out of the wall in
front of them. It's elongated head with ebony black eyes twisted to peer
at them. Both she and Henry were frozen, staring in astonishment at the
creature they were both pursuing and running from. The dark eyes looked
first at Macy and then at Henry, the mouth stretching into a grimace.
Or perhaps it was smiling, Macy couldn't be sure.<br />
<br />
None of them spoke, but Henry whimpered, and at that exact moment, the
creature locked gazes with Henry and beckoned with a slender finger.
Henry's soulful eyes looked at her for an instant and then he was
stepping forward. Before Macy had a chance to react, Henry grasped at
the creature and the two disappeared into the wall, leaving her staring
after them with open mouth.<br />
<br />
They found her wandering the upstairs hallways calling Henry's name.
When they placed the medication inside her dry mouth, she gulped from
the glass and gratefully swallowed the pill, following it into oblivious
darkness. In a hazy daze of pills and grief, she slept for days,
awaking only for short periods of time, in which she stared fearfully at
the walls, both hoping and dreading that Henry might step out of one
and beckon her to follow.<br />
<br />
She was never quite sure how she managed it but she pulled herself
together. Perhaps it was her desperate need to leave this place that
propelled her into action. But eventually she walked out the doors into
the sunshine, eternally grateful to have escaped before Henry had come
to call.<br />
<br />
She took a bus, she couldn't remember which one, changing them
frequently, traveling aimlessly for miles. Trying to run away but never
really escaping, in her heart she had come to realize there is no
escape. Just this side of insanity is a barren, desolate place, it reeks
of despair, gasping for life but finding only a wasteland; it withers
inside, stalking the soul. In agony it waits.<br />
<br />
<b>Seeds of Insanity </b><br />
<br />
<b> </b>Ordinary days just start, extraordinary days burst forth, taking our
breath away, shifting our world, trampling our reality. Although in hind
sight she realized that there had been signs, a fore shadowing,
tantalizing clues to future events. She had missed them and forever she
would wonder if that made a difference.<br />
<br />
Macy tucked the corner of the sheet in with one hand and fluffed a
pillow with the other.This job was becoming tedious but she was ill
prepared for anything else. She spent periods of time searching for a
new job, scanning the paper each week, but in the end it just took took
much energy to find something else. She grabbed the trash can liner and
threw it carelessly into the larger can on her cart. Ripping loose a
new liner she mindlessly inserted it.<br />
<br />
As she went to place it next to the bed her foot struck something just
under the edge of the bed. Whatever it was rolled deeper under the bed
she bent down and peered under. It was shiny and elongated. Stretching
she reached for it, hairs standing on end along her arm, she grasped it,
pulled it out and muttered.<br />
<br />
"A frigging travel mug, worthless." turning she tossed in the trash
bin. As she did something grabbed her ankle and she jerked away from the
side of the bed; gasping, she collided with her cart. Puzzled she
dropped to the floor and from a distance scanned the area under the bed.
Her eyes skated from one end to the other but only dark carpet
stretched under the bed.<br />
<br />
Room 212 was unoccupied, other than herself so she chalked it up to an
active imagination and moved on to the next room. Had she bothered to
look at her ankle she might have noted the dark red marks encircling her
ankle. Only later would she notice them darkening into bruising.<br />
<br />
The next day she found her self doing the same thing, all over again,
mindlessly cleaning rooms, one after another. When she reached room 212,
she hesitated, glancing down the hallway, searching for some reason to
skip this particular room, finding none, she opened the door and stepped
into her nightmare.<br />
<br />
She tackled the bathroom first, bathrooms always gave her an immediate
sense of accomplishment, towels in the cart hamper, sinks shined,
mirrors wiped down, and cute little bottles of shampoos and lotions
replaced, she turned back into the room itself. She walked cautiously
toward the bed.<br />
<br />
Then the world as she had always known it ceased to exist. It didn't
come to an end with a blast, or a roar, or even a bang. Instead it came
to a end with a hiss, a slithering sound and grayness. She first
noticed the gray, at the start she thought it was a rumpled discolored
sheet protruding from under the bed but as she walked forward, it
slipped from under the bed, raised to its hind feet, locking its eyes on
her, it challenged her movement. She froze.<br />
<br />
She was reminded of a large lizard, its skin rough, but it had human
qualities too, its skull all too familiar in size and structure. It
twisted now, stretching after being confined under the bed, and as it
moved it transformed, becoming more human like, but still retaining its
reptilian skin, with sharp claws on miniature hands. She found herself
lost not in its beady eyes but in its grayness. She felt herself
swirling into the grayness of the creature. helpless to break free.<br />
<br />
Cocking its head, it blinked at her and opened its mouth, stretching
lips over rows and rows of razor sharp teeth. It seemed to smile, she
mindlessly noted the dark red nestled between the teeth, old blood and
bright red new blood too. She shivered. Then as quickly as it had
appeared, it dropped to the floor and slithered snake like under the
bed. Her eyes darted around the room, waiting for it to reappear, but
the room remained empty, it was then she noticed the black shoes, the
feet protruding from under the foot of the bed. That's when she found
her voice and she screamed but no one heard.<br />
<br />
She charged from the room, as if on fire, fleeing down the hallway
without looking back. The police arrived, recorded some information, and
exchanged guarded glances when she talked abut the creature under the
bed. They sent her home early that day.<br />
<br />
How she managed to continue working she had no idea. She wondered about
it later and thought perhaps it was simply a product of pretending.
Pretending, as if, the police were right and her vision of the creature
was simply the shock of the sight of the mutilated man; the raw gaping
wound in his throat turning gray around the edges. Two weeks went by,
her mind screaming silently to run, to flee, to escape but as so often
happens there was no escape really. The creature had slithered into
existence in the hotel room, in her mind, in her life and killing it was
impossible.<br />
<br />
It was on the third day of the third week and she stood beside her cart
just outside a room. She wasn't even sure of the room number, but it was
the second floor and that alone numbed her, frozen with dread, unable
to open the door, incapable of crossing the threshold into a nightmare.
In the end, she didn't even have to open the door.She felt it behind
her. Slithering along the hallway floor, approaching her without
hesitation. She clenched her eyes shut, refusing to look, hoping that
things only come into being through acknowledgement. If she could simply
wish it away. Then she felt the tiny scratches, pinpoints on her ankles
and without thinking she looked down.<br />
<br />
It's head was cocked to the side in a impossible position, like a doll
with its head rotated all the way around. It grinned at her with tiny
pointed teeth and black eyes. She thought of a deep abyss when she met
those eyes, heart lurching, she swirled and ran screaming down the
hallway into the lobby, out into the street. She wouldn't have stopped
at all if she hadn't collided with a moving car in the middle of the
busy street.<br />
<br />
She awoke to flashing
lights, medics and curious eyes. They loaded her onto the stretcher and
carted her off to the hospital, first to x-ray then to intensive care
and eventually into a psych consult. After which she ended up at
Clarkson Mental Sanatorium, That's where insanity met reality. It's
where she met
Henry and the creature in the wall. That's where she came to realize
that the seeds of insanity aren't cultivated in the mind but rather grow
just this side of sanity in the dark dampness of doubt, watered by
terror, and nourished with evil intent. <br />
<br />
<br />
(This Side of Insanity series compiled) (Copyright Ginger Schenck, 2016)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-70484216700416443092022-11-24T07:57:00.001-06:002022-11-24T07:57:55.292-06:00Happy Thanksgiving<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1g1d2g2qbmPgKfB7UX1-YatECVeZsdW9CHuhUo0tPdhqgEzr2u6tIyfHGLvGS3zgEYXpePWXGFyj4AYNtzttVyoEtyPzfi-HEoYiv4MM1qNyaG9W6vSVMVzvrMDdp0wZFUqCl8dFbkWd9xU4Xp5A15LDJi2mBAUqik_wWfMOvKqkNOyAS19xahTNlQ/s1080/Happy%20Thanksgiving.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1g1d2g2qbmPgKfB7UX1-YatECVeZsdW9CHuhUo0tPdhqgEzr2u6tIyfHGLvGS3zgEYXpePWXGFyj4AYNtzttVyoEtyPzfi-HEoYiv4MM1qNyaG9W6vSVMVzvrMDdp0wZFUqCl8dFbkWd9xU4Xp5A15LDJi2mBAUqik_wWfMOvKqkNOyAS19xahTNlQ/w400-h400/Happy%20Thanksgiving.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div>I hope you enjoy your day! </div>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-65943951444318412022022-11-23T01:00:00.001-06:002022-11-23T15:39:59.315-06:00Plum's Potions<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmJTDRVcGqLJiMNhhuEB5zB2AFvIjRBOv1UUI4odI6xPyAsDB5hKFe_MnXMYB4Mcd2isJafl1bEYYNozwpsLM06bNkhUuBWRWQs0bTsX1_pH7dOiGtgncNIY55XMJ6Qe9m4istiUTxwwf/s960/Plum%2527s+Potions.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="600" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmJTDRVcGqLJiMNhhuEB5zB2AFvIjRBOv1UUI4odI6xPyAsDB5hKFe_MnXMYB4Mcd2isJafl1bEYYNozwpsLM06bNkhUuBWRWQs0bTsX1_pH7dOiGtgncNIY55XMJ6Qe9m4istiUTxwwf/w320-h512/Plum%2527s+Potions.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched Emma, seated in the large rocker
in the middle of the massive backyard, one leg tucked up under her and the
other dangling, with a sketch pad on her lap. Her pencil scratched across the
surface of the page. Sipping peppermint tea, I watched my nemesis, turned ally.
I started thinking about how I had underestimated my next-door neighbor. A
slight movement down by the old oak tree drew my eyes. Emerging from the bark
of the tree, like dandelion petals blowing in a breeze, about a dozen fairies
burst forth, swirling in the air before heading straight to Emma. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma was still a novelty to all the
fairies, but particularly the first years. They were drawn to her like a bear
to honey. I thought perhaps it should be the bear who was afraid rather than
the bees. Oh, she was a sweet enough girl and smart as a whip, but it was too
soon to relax and decide she was trustworthy. I mean, the secret of my
backyard, home to The Rhiannon Academy of Fairies, was centuries old, and this
little slip of a girl had unraveled the mystery in a matter of days. Summer
stretched before her like the empty pages of an unwritten book, and I worried
about what would fill those pages. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
fairies had paused in the air near Emma, just momentarily though, then they
raced over to the pond giggling, which I knew would make Gus, the old bullfrog,
especially grumpy later in the day. This day was a free day for the girls, so
with no classes nor homework to fill their hours, I was a bit anxious about how
the day might pass. I had only been overseeing the academy for a couple of
years, but I knew fairies could get up to a lot of mischief in a very short
period of time. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was startled from my thoughts by Emma’s
voice right next to me. Her words fluttered in the air seasoned with a bit of
curiosity. “They want to know why I can’t fly,” she said, and rather than
smiling at the words, a slight frown caressed her face. “Why can’t I?” she asked,
and the strange question hung in the air between us. I wasn’t sure exactly what
to say. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Because you don’t have wings,” I answered
quite logically, but I could see by the expression on her face that she wasn’t
quite satisfied by my very logical response. This didn’t bode well for me, and
I silently hoped she’d leave it alone. Her determination, creativity, and
intelligence might bring attention we really couldn’t afford. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma was my next-door neighbor, or at
least she had been my neighbor for about two weeks. Before that, the house had
sat empty, and I found myself wishing that it was still the case. She was tall
and slender, with brown hair that grew a little frizzy on humid days. She was
thirteen, but I had to admit grudgingly a very mature thirteen. She didn’t
swoon about boys, nor bat her eyelashes, or giggle uncontrollably. Instead, she
liked to read and draw and ask a thousand questions a day about the fairies.
Being new in the neighborhood, she hadn’t had the opportunity to make any friends
so far, so I didn’t have to worry about her revealing the secret or gossiping
about my backyard. At least not yet. I wondered if that would all change when
school started in the fall. Would the story be just too tantalizing to withhold
once she had a best friend?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now she helped herself to a big mug of
peppermint tea, turning her nose up at the first sip, and drizzling massive
amounts of honey into it until I was sure the peppermint flavor had all but
disappeared. Then she plopped into the chair next to me, snagged a lemon poppy
seed muffin from the tray, and nibbled it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve decided you need a curriculum,” I
said. Emma’s eyes grew wide; I could see her arguments forming inside. I had
been wondering how to keep her busy, something useful besides the garden
chores. I thought we should write a history of The Rhiannon Academy of Fairies,
for none existed. A written history would have been especially helpful to me
when I had inherited the school from my aunt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A curriculum, like a school,” she
muttered disgustedly. I wanted her busy. Free time would only lead to problems,
but she was having none of it. The clever girl always had a response. “I’m more
like Jane Goodall,” she quipped, “a naturalist.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew who she was referring to, the famous primatologist
who studied chimpanzees in the wild, but I was determined not to let her get
off that easily. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ok, you can do all the observations you
want, but there are also discussions, reports, reflections, and other written
things that document your work,” I said, but a tiny buzzing in my head was
trying to get my attention, warning me. Putting anything in writing was not a
very good idea. What was I thinking? Sketches were one thing, fanciful images,
but reports? No, that wouldn’t work at all. When I looked at Emma, I realized
she had also followed my train of thought and suppressing a grin; she waited
patiently to see where I would take this. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Alright, no reports, but we need to meet
regularly to discuss your observations. I really want to compile a history of
the academy,” I said, conceding, and Emma smiled. I got the real sense that
discussions were something that Emma often dominated. I was sure she was
looking forward to besting me. The idea of writing about the history of the
academy still tickled my brain, and I wanted to explore ways to do so without
having the information floating around for just anyone to read.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sipped our teas and looked out at the
fairy world, also known as my backyard. The flowers in the flower beds had burst
into full bloom, and the purples, reds, oranges, and yellows were dazzling. I
hadn’t told Emma yet about the peepholes in the oak tree, whereby slipping
aside a piece of bark, you could get a full multi-storied view of the academy.
Let’s just take this one step at a time I thought. Later I would discover I
wasn’t the only one keeping my knowledge secret. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now we knelt by the side of the pond, the
water was crystal clear, and the bottom was easily visible. It was quite deep,
and the white stones lining the bottom glistened. The little koi fish swam
around, exotic creatures I had added much to the annoyance of Gus. After her
morning chores, Emma would return home for lunch. We had told her parents that
she was doing yard work and other small tasks for me, which wasn’t really a lie
at all. We just didn’t reveal that the other chores involved fairies and
talking frogs<a name="_Hlk46735538">.<o:p></o:p></a></span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk46735538;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can you come back later this evening?” I
asked. The sun was too hot and bright to weed the flower beds across the back
wall, and they needed it desperately. I couldn’t use any chemicals to keep the
weeds at bay because of the fairy population. The ones against the back wall
contained all types of abodes, lined up like a whole fairy village. No one
lived in the adorable little structures, but they were portals to other fairy
locations. I had warned Emma about the one that led to the boy’s academy, and
she had solemnly nodded when I explained the boys’ pranks last summer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, do you want to work on the back
beds?” She said, looking at me, and I found it uncanny how often she read my
mind. I nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Unless I have to babysit Baylee, I can,”
she answered. Baylee was the youngest in her family, about a year old, she was
still chubby, and when her face split with a grin, it would melt your heart. I
was thankful she wasn’t up trailing after her sister yet. There were five
children, two boys, and three girls. Griffin, the eight-year-old had tumbled
into my yard one day right after they moved in. That’s how I happened to meet
Emma, and whatever I had said that day, had made her curious enough to breach
my backyard. I suspected when she was determined; she could do just about
anything. Except for fly, I thought, smiling to myself. Time would prove me
very wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right after dinner, Emma arrived, wearing
jean capris and a yellow tee shirt. She had pulled her long hair back in a
ponytail and looked ready for some serious work on the flower beds. I rocked in
the chair on the back patio, letting my gaze travel around the huge yard. The
fairies were finishing up some lessons, and then they would be released from
classes. Evening classes often simply distracted the girls from the mischief of
which they naturally sought out. Just as I was thinking about misconduct, I
observed three students arrive next to Emma in a flurry. Of course, they were
way too far away to hear what they were saying, but they were chattering
animatedly and waving their arms. That it was about me or something off-limits,
I had no doubt about it because Emma turned her head and looked my way. Then
she bent back over the weeds and started pulling them, quickly and efficiently.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I observed the little fairies, trying to
determine the three. I was sure even from this distance that one was Plum. I
waved my arm, whistling, and the three looked my direction, pausing before
flittering my way. They landed lightly on the grass beside the patio. Plum,
Gigi, and Tara. They shifted from one foot to the other, twirling on their toe
tops, in a futile attempt to distract from their nervousness. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How have your classes been going?” I
asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Quite well, my lady,” Gigi answered, and
Plum snickered. I didn’t blame her. This wasn’t England, and I didn’t look much
like a lady in my faded sundress and bare feet. I picked up my glass of iced
tea and sipped it, letting my eyes peek over the brim to observe them. No one
moved. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do you think of Emma?” I said,
already knowing the answer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s the bee’s knees,” Gigi said, and
this time the other two girls burst out laughing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wherever do you come up with this stuff?”
Plum choked out between snorts of laughter. Gigi didn’t even flinch. It didn’t
bother her that the other girls thought her a bit flighty. She was a fire
fairy, after all, and they could never take that from her. It was a long line
of ancestry that commanded respect no matter the flightiness of the current
heiress. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s ok,” Plum added as she glanced
cautiously at Tara. My radar went up immediately. Downplaying their adoration
of Emma meant they were up to something they didn’t want me discovering.
Whatever could it be? I waved my hand, dismissing them without comment, and
they popped into the air like little firecrackers on the Fourth of July. Off
they sped without a backward glance. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew I needed to keep a keen eye on
these three. They were concocting some plan, and it didn’t involve homework. I
watched Emma weed with zest and felt a tiny tingle of apprehension crawl up my
spine. Try as I might, I couldn’t figure out what they were contemplating. I
mean, there were tons of mischief: unlocking the boys’ portal, playing pranks
on Gus or even me, or spinning some spell that cast us back in time. The
possibilities were unlimited. There would be no way to prepare for it until it
burst forth. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, I took my tea beside the
pond, tilted back in a lime green Adirondack chair, letting my bare feet
caressed the grass: my dainty cup and a small teapot balanced on a low bench
beside the pond. Gus was nowhere to be found. I had called to him upon my
arrival, but the yard remained silent, and no croaking voice answered my call.
I loved our early morning chats, Gus, with his ancient wisdom and advice, had
helped beyond measure when I had first arrived to oversee the fairy academy. He
was older than the academy, with a sharp mind. His memories were a record of
all that had transpired through the years. I couldn’t imagine where he could
be. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma hadn’t arrived yet for her morning
shift, and I wondered if she was growing tired of the fairies already. I
usually left the front door unlocked for her. Upon her arrival, she would lock
it firmly behind her and join me in the back yard. It was still early, but
without Gus, only silence greeted me. A small piece of silky ribbon fluttered
in the breeze, held down by a tiny rock beside the pond. I frowned, wondering
what it was. Just as I was about to get up and look closer at the ribbon, I
heard Emma call to me from the patio. Forgetting about the ribbon, I waved for
her to join me for tea before starting her morning chores. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We settled down with steaming cups of
orange blossom tea. I had even added a small orange wedge, which gave the cups
a festive flair. As we sipped, Plum and Gigi flew out of the old oak tree,
fluttering frantically around its base. I wondered what had them up so early as
they twirled anxiously like out of control ballerinas. Their movements were
jerky and uncertain. Emma seemed to sense their urgency and glanced at me.
“What do you think is going on?” she asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Probably some forgotten assignment,” I
replied absentmindedly. The two fairies landed at the base of the tree and
argued with some unseen creature in the grass surrounding the tree. Perhaps it
was another fairy, but I couldn’t see clearly because of the shaggy grass.
Glancing away, I caught a bit of horror drift across Emma’s face. I suspected
she knew more about the situation than I did. Looking again toward the tree, I
saw a slightly plump fairy bounce into the sky from the tree base. Frowning, I
wondered who it was. I usually kept pretty good tabs on the students at the
academy. No sooner had she careened into the air than she faltered and landed
back on the ground with a plop. Not very gracefully, I might add. I started to
get up. There was something vaguely familiar about the fairy, and I wanted to
get a closer look. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma jumped up and stumbled into my path
as I headed to the tree. We both fell, landing hard on the ground, looking at
each other with round eyes we started to laugh. The sound tingled in the air,
making me forget all about the odd fairy. It felt good to laugh. At times I
felt more a prisoner than a caretaker here in my fairy filled backyard. By the
time we settled ourselves down, they had all returned to school ready for
morning classes. I cast a suspicious glance at Emma, wondering if our accident
had been a diversion. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma took out her sketch pad and showed me
the drawings she had made earlier in the week. The delicate details of each had
me in awe. Tiny veined wings, silky hair, and petite feet kicked out in-flight
all perfectly captured the small beings. As she flipped to the next page, I
shifted in the chair to get a better look. It was the beginning of a drawing,
pencil lines trailed across the white surface, and the details around the pond
had yet to be sketched in, but it was Gus. Seeing it reminded me that Gus was
missing in action. It really wasn’t like him at all; apprehension tingled along
my spine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma headed to the far side of the yard.
Some moles had worked their way into the back yard, and I didn’t want to have
the whole yard filled with holes. Each morning Emma would check the traps and
put the tiny creatures into a large cage. Then later in the day, a man would
arrive to cart them off to an open field about five miles outside the
subdivision. She had been horrified when I mentioned the traps but calmed down
when she realized the animals would not be killed. Although they were pests, I
just didn’t have the heart to destroy a tiny living thing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once she was further away, I strolled
around the pond, looking for a hole in the mud, which might indicate that Gus
had burrowed down deep. Nothing caught my eye, but then I remembered the tiny
piece of ribbon. It was still there, stuck in the mud. The fabric was about
three inches long, like a fancy hair ribbon or perhaps a silky belt from a
dress. It was green, not the lime green fairy doors were often painted but a
deep forest green. Shrugging, I walked around the pond one more time before
giving up my search for Gus. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was later in the afternoon when I saw
the strange fairy again beside the pond, dipping her feet into the water.
Rushing across the yard, I landed in a heap on the banks of the pond. The fairy
jumped about a foot in the air and then dipped her head, shading her face. Her
head seemed oversized to her body, and I wondered what was wrong. She was not a
dainty fairy at all. That was puzzling. Most of the fairies were slender, with
tiny waists and sculpted faces, their chins chiseled like a stone. It wasn’t a
judgment on my part. I didn’t care about shape or size; it just struck me as
odd. A tiny tremor of curiosity tingled through me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t think we’ve met,” I said, bending
down and peering at her. Twisting her head to the side, she avoided my gaze. A
dark green bonnet was covering her face. It reminded me of the ribbon, and sure
enough, when I looked closer, I could see the tattered end of a ribbon, shorter
than its partner on the other side of the bonnet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No,” she replied in a deep and husky
voice, as she cleared her throat. I waited for her to speak more, but she was
mute, shifting self-consciously. I felt sorry for the strange creature and
hoped the other fairies were kind to her. Ashton came to mind, and I wasn’t
sure about her. Ashton, with all her beauty, was probably not that nice to anyone
that didn’t fit her idea of beauty. The fairy walked a few feet away. I didn’t
have the heart to stop her. It was evident that she wanted as far away from me
as possible. I bet her days here at the academy were pure torture. Her gait was
awkward, another source of teasing I imagined. The image of Gigi and Plum at
the base of the tree this morning floated into my mind. I needed to talk to
them and remind them of my rules regarding kindness. I wasn’t sure they were
teasing her, but I wasn’t sure they weren’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma called to me from the middle of the
yard. Turning, I saw she held a cage containing about six moles. They squirmed
in the daylight and buried their tiny heads into themselves. I forgot about the
pitiful fairy and joined her to take the tiny creatures inside to wait in the
darkness of a closet until they left for their new home. After they were safely
tucked away, Emma departed for the day, leaving me to ponder the new fairy. She
had departed so quickly I hadn’t even gotten her name. I was positive this one
had not arrived with the first years because I had watched all the pre-school
year events, and I would have remembered her. Perhaps she was a transfer or a
foreign exchange student. Yes, that would explain it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day passed quickly with cleaning and
paying bills. I used to struggle every month with money, frequently robbing
Peter to pay Paul. There had just never been enough money to go around. Now the
money was always ready, making it a simple task to click “pay” on the small
pile of bills. I read all afternoon. Not a fantasy book. No, I lived that story
now myself. Instead, I chose a complicated murder mystery that teased my mind
as I tried to figure out who the murderer was before the final page. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The knock on the door startled me, and I
glanced at the clock. It would be Emma arriving to do the evening watering of
the large flowerbeds that covered the back of the yard. I let her in. I wanted
to ask her about the new fairy, but she charged through the house and out the
backdoor. A small group of fairies swarmed from the tree and descended upon
her. I could hear their chattering drifting on the evening breeze, but I
couldn’t make out the words. I wondered what had them so excited. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking over to the pond, I called to Gus.
This caused the fairies to stop their animated conversation with Emma. They
swirled in the air, twirling on tippy-toes, air ballerinas. Even as they danced
in the air, I felt their eyes on me, watching. The pond was so still. The water
held not one ripple. I fed the fish and examined the mud along the edge. I
didn’t see any fat frog indentations, but there were some fairy prints. None
were your typical slender footprints but larger, like a flat-footed fairy with
size twelve shoes. I followed them around to the other side, and sitting in a
little mud puddle was the fairy with the green bonnet. She seemed as surprised
to see me as I was her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her bonnet askew on her head was dotted
with specks of mud. Her dress was drenched, and mud dripped from the hem of her
dress as she hastily stood up. Her face puffed out in embarrassment, and her
cheeks colored a deep red. I noticed that her skin wasn’t the delicate texture
of the other fay, smooth and shiny. Instead, it was dimpled in places, rough
and discolored, almost a sickly green. I hoped she wasn’t ill. Her hair was a
deep dark green, almost black, and it lay frizzled around the edges of her
bonnet. Whatever in the world was she doing?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I, ummm, heard mud baths were good for
your skin,” she stuttered, the words deep throated as if pulled from the depths
of her soul. I almost laughed, but then I caught myself. The poor thing!
Surely, she must feel the sting of rejection often. All fairies were different,
of course, but to me, they all appeared beautiful, some stunningly so.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think, aww, that’s mineral mud. I’m not
sure this plain pond mud will work the same,” I said, and then suddenly, a
thought struck me. I had some mud masks. Perhaps one might work as a whole-body
wrap for her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can bring you one of my mud masks, and
you could try that,” I said, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She
jumped, literally jumped into the air as I spoke. Uncertain whether that was
for joy or in horror, I let the subject drop when she didn’t immediately accept
my offer. She shifted from foot to foot and wrung her hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly a swarm of fairies buzzed around
me, flying around my head and chattering. “Amelia, hello, where have you been
all day?” Plum asked. All of them were shooting questions at me like tiny
daggers. My head was awhirl, listening to their high-pitched excited voices.
This was how they normally responded to Emma, and I wondered how she ever
cleared her thoughts. I shook my head, causing them to back off momentarily,
and when I looked down, the mud-covered fairy had vanished. When I looked back,
the group of fairies shot off across the yard, not waiting for answers to any
of their questions. They ended up next to Emma and called to her excitedly.
Frowning, I returned to the patio and sat in the big cushioned rocker. The
movement of the rocking soothed me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What were they so excited about?” I asked
Emma as she stepped onto the patio. She was so lost in thought that she jerked
away from my voice. I smiled and waited for her answer. Her glance landed on me
briefly before she took a sudden interest in her feet. She shrugged before
answering.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, you know how they are, always giddy
about the smallest things,” she replied. Her voice was so soft I could barely
hear the words. She was lying. Pressing my lips together, I considered what to
do. Teenage girls all held tightly to their secrets, and fairies were no
different. While I didn’t like lies, I also realized that privacy should be
honored. Most of the time, those secrets were simply girlish gossip and dreams,
nothing to worry about. I decided to let her answer stand and pried no deeper. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After Emma departed, I ate a sandwich and
watched television in bed until my eyes drooped. Clicking off the set, I
snuggled under the blanket, my last thought before drifting off was of Gus.
Where are you, my old friend? I didn’t know it that night, but as I slept the
night away, outside the odd green fairy took off her shoes and buried her feet
in the slimy mud at the waters’ edge, sighing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the watering the night before was
unnecessary as the sky poured rain the next morning, coming in waves so massive
that the left side of the back yard filled with about a foot of water. The
ground was so saturated that it had no place to go. As I watched, fairies
danced in the puddles, laughing, drenched but wild and free. They pulsated with
energy, moving in rhythm. I sighed. I wanted to be wild and free, too, and I
considered going barefoot into the yard and swaying to the music that only the
fairies could hear. Instead, I put on the tea kettle and scooped sassafras tea
into an infuser shaped like a little ball.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day was miserable. Rain pounded the
roof, and lightning flashed. Curtains of rain fell, sweeping across the yard in
waves. The fairies all fled from their water dancing and now were holed up
inside the academy, curled in their beds reading or playing cards. They were
particularly fond of Razzle Dazzle, a card game of luck and chance. I was sure
the professors also had them busy, reading, memorizing fairy chants, and
singing alluring stanzas that would mesmerize the listener. What I didn’t know
though was about the new class, A History of Fairy Potions. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A History of Fairy Potions, I would later
learn endeavored to teach rare fairy skills. As the course description
detailed, however, it was only for the most talented and uniquely skilled
fairies. Potions were dangerous if used unwisely. The delicate balance of
ingredients must be mixed precisely, or they created unintended results.
Potions were tricky to reverse, which complicated matters even more. Once used,
the result often became permanent. The class had just started, and there were
only three fairies enrolled, Plum, Ashton, and a fairy called Star. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day poured forth, and I calmed myself
with repeated mugs of lemon and honey tea and paced back and forth around the
house. I was on edge, and it was more than the storm. Something tickled my
brain, some small forgotten detail or some weird intuition. Something was
wrong, and I felt I had missed a crucial clue. I missed Gus, and I was worried.
He had never disappeared before, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out
where he had bolted. My head ached from thinking so hard. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night ended up being just as rainy
with lightning bolts shooting through the sky and flashing across the windows.
I jumped every time the ensuing thunder shook the house. Electrical energy
filled the air, and I could almost smell it in my bedroom. I fluffed my pillows
repeatedly, switching sides over and over again, but sleep alluded me until the
wee morning hours when exhausted, I fell asleep for a short while. My eyes were
gritty when the pink light of dawn seeped in behind the curtains, but I didn’t
linger in bed. Instead, I plopped both feet into my slippers and headed into
the kitchen. This kind of morning called for coffee, dark and rich, packed with
caffeine. As I filled my mug, adding a generous pour of French Vanilla creamer,
I glanced out the small window above the sink. Sipping the coffee, I let the
hot liquid comfortably warm my tummy. I caught a flash of movement out of the
corner of my eye, but it was gone quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pulled my robe around me and padded out
onto the patio, the sun was playing hide and seek on the horizon, and the yard
was still not fully visible. I thought I caught another glimpse of movement
over by the pond. I left my coffee on the little table beside my chair and
hurried into the house to get dressed. Hastily throwing on jeans and a
tee-shirt, I shoved my feet into sneakers and tied them tightly. I practically
bounced outside, so eager to see what was over by the pond. My shoes were
drenched by the time I stood by the water.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There beside the pool of water, the odd
little student stood with her feet in the pond. Being up this early was an
oddity in itself, and even more, puzzling Gigi was beside her. As I approached,
she swiftly thrust her hand behind her back. Was this some kind of hazing? I
certainly hoped not. Rhiannon Academy of Fairies had strict guidelines on such
things. It would mean immediate expulsion. They both looked equally startled
and fearful. I was hardly that scary, so what were they afraid of? Before
turning to face me, they both looked anxiously at the horizon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is behind your back, Gigi?” I
demanded to know, and her face flushed a bright red. I thrust my hand out, palm
up, and waited for her to deposit the object into it. She squirmed, looking
again toward the sunrise, then she placed the tiniest little bottle I had ever
seen into my hand. It was filled with a bright green liquid with tiny sparkles
swirling in it. The lid wasn’t on tight, and some of the green liquid seeped
out around the cork and dripped down my hand. The two fairies gasped and appeared
horrified enough that I wiped the substance off of my hand quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Gigi, and whatever your name is… What is
going on?” I said, my voice rising in volume even as I tried to stay calm. They
moved closer to each other, whispering and glancing fearfully at the sun as it
rose slowly above the horizon. The yard was getting brighter, and finally, Gigi
begged me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please give it back. He must drink it now
before the sun rises fully,” she pleaded with me, and as her words slowly sunk
in, I looked at the other fairy, the green one. The dark eyes were bulging,
looking back at me, and there was something about the look that was so
familiar. I could see the wisdom in the depths of those eyes. “Gus?” I
whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gigi didn’t wait for my permission. She snatched
the potion bottle out of my loose hand and poured the contents down Gus’s
throat. He gurgled as the thick liquid poured into his mouth. He licked his
lips, and his face twisted in disgust. Suddenly his body or at least his fairy
body shook, quivering and convulsing. The skin stretched tightly against his
frame and then twisted into thousands of wrinkles. Just as suddenly as it
started, it stopped. Gigi started to cry. Gus was still a fairy. Then a loud
pop, like a firecracker exploded from Gus and poof; he was his old self again.
He looked at me sheepishly and plopped into the pond before I could ask any
questions. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gigi shifted from one foot to the other as
I glared at her. Then her eyes widened, and she walked a few steps away from
me, looking up into the new morning. I looked up and hurtling toward us from
over a hundred feet up was Emma. Emma? I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Just as I thought she was going to crash into the earth, she kicked her legs
and sailed through the air about eight feet above the ground. The sky filled
with fairies, trailing behind her, they raced around the yard several times,
then shot upward so fast that their images blurred before my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched the dazzling air display as Emma
and the band of fairies soared, dipped, twirled, and darted across the yard.
Sometimes they stayed low to the ground, and at other times they flew so high I
lost track of them. My heart lurched in my chest as I remembered the roller
coaster rides I had taken. Flying must be a lot like that or worse. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh no,” I heard Gigi gasped, and at the
same time, I heard a scream falling on me from above. I shielded my eyes,
looking upward, and what I saw terrified me. Emma was flipping head over heels,
hurtling toward the ground, faster and faster, completely out of control. Like
darting hummingbirds, the other fairies surrounded her, shooting out silky
threads and wrapping them around her, flying backward they tugged at the
threads, endeavoring to slow her fall. Several of the threads broke, and Gigi
burst upward, adding her silky ropes. Suddenly Emma came to a jerking stop,
just three feet above the yard. Putting her hands down on the muddy ground, she
somersaulted onto the earth, and taking a deep breath, she bent forward and
kissed the ground. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That was surely exciting,” a deep husky
voice said beside me. I tightened my lips and ignored Gus. I was aghast that he
had been in on all of this. I was absolutely furious. “It was an accident,” Gus
stated. He knew full well that I was upset. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“An accident, please tell me how a frog
turns into a fairy, and a human girl flies, and it’s an accident!” I shrieked,
eyes filling with tears. I hate it that I cry when I’m mad. I gritted my teeth
and stomped over to the fairies as they huddled around Emma, patting her arms
and laughing. This was no laughing matter! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It was the potions class,” Plum said,
cringing as I stabbed her with my eyes. “It’s my fault. These fairies aren’t in
the class,” she said as she waved her arm around the group. Emma looked at me
with wide eyes, and she started crying. The adrenaline from flying was wearing
off, and she realized just how close she had come to dying. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s my fault, too,” Emma said, almost
whispering. “I begged and begged until she agreed.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something wet and slimy landed on my foot,
and I was so mad I almost kicked Gus halfway across the yard, but I managed to
stop and included him in my glare. He sat there on the damp grass, looking
sheepish. His bulging eyes pleaded with me, and I felt a slight shift in my
anger. I was madder at him for leaving me worried than from his complicity in
the girl’s scheme. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I turned Gus into a fairy by accident. I
thought he would fly. He was, ummmm, a guinea pig. I guess,” Plum said, and Gus
started croaking, his form of laughter. It infuriated me that he was enjoying
himself while I had been worried about him. I couldn’t even speak. I marched
into the house and closed the door behind me. I needed to think. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I threw myself on the bed, curling into a
fetal position. Through the last two years, I had always had Gus on my side,
advising me, offering ideas and insights, and siding with me if ever a
disagreement arose with the professors. I squirmed in the bed, puffing out my cheeks,
and then releasing the air in a swish. My head ached, rubbing my neck, I closed
my eyes. I knew not only was I disappointed, but I felt alone. Emma was
rallying my only friend against me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know what to do. You can’t demand
that people stay loyal to you, and while I guess I was overreacting a little,
it definitely felt like a betrayal. I tried to calm my rapidly beating heart,
taking deep breaths and letting them out very slowly. Gradually my heart rate
slowed. I scrambled out of bed, going to the bathroom. I looked at my
reflection. The dark circles under my eyes were even darker than usual, partly
a result of lack of sleep and partly allergies. I gritted my teeth. Anger
wasn’t going to work in addressing this issue, so I ran a brush through my
tousled hair and marched out onto the patio. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whole group was there, perched on the
rims of flower pots, sitting on a stray patio stone and reclining on the arms
of the old rocking chair. They jumped to attention at the sight of me. Their tiny
shoulders were slumped, and they bowed their heads, avoiding eye contact. At
the very front of the group sat Gus. He didn’t look at me either. He hopped
sideways a short distance and then settled back down on a stone. He cleared his
throat with a deep raspy cough. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am sorry, Amelia, really I am. I kept
thinking that the girls would figure out the answer to my dilemma and well…I
just wanted to give them a chance to right a wrong,” Gus said, looking up at me
with his glistening black eyes. “It was school work, after all.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had he left off that last part, I might
have felt more cordial about his apology. Yes, it was school work, but plotting
and scheming behind my back and involving Emma seemed almost unforgivable. She
could have died or been transformed into some lumpy funny colored fairy-like
Gus had been. Then what would I have told her parents? I might have even been
arrested. I clenched my jaw so tight that my teeth hurt. I was so furious that
I didn’t even answer him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned toward Emma, her wide eyes
filled with tears, and she bent over, her shoulders shaking from the heaving
sobs that racked her body. The sounds were like little gasps of reality,
shattering her life. She curled tighter into herself, and the fairies shifted
nervously. This was drama they simply weren’t used to, and they itched to fly
to her but stayed with their tiny feet glued to the surface of the patio. They
wrung their hands and looked at each other, but no sounds came from them. They
were as silent as the air before a major thunderstorm rolls in. They were
waiting for the torrent of my emotions to be unleashed on them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I could speak, Plum stepped
forward. Her fists were tightly clenched. I wondered if she was preparing for a
physical fight, and if so, with who? Her eyes, however, did not spark with
anger. Instead, they were dull and lifeless, painted with a deep sadness. She
swallowed nervously. Turning, she looked behind her as if searching for someone
to rescue her. Emma’s sobs had lessened, but they provided a muffled symphony
to the drama unfolding on the patio. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s my fault, and you can have this in
retribution,” Plum managed to squeak out, the words bounced in the air between
us. When she finished speaking, she extended her arm and opened her fist. I
gasped. There resting on her palm was a stone, <a name="_Hlk47868431">Taaffeit</a>,
the crystal from the Crystal Hunt. I remembered the tiny mouse bringing it from
under the stone by the pond, dropping it softly into her hand. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crystals found and awarded on the
night of the hunt were a fairy’s destiny. They made them unique and offered
them extra powers beyond those of heritage and natural skill. The crystals came
to the fairies for a reason. Sometimes it was to enhance a skill, but more
often than not, the power from that particular stone would be needed in the
future. Sometimes the immediate future but more often than not years and years
down the road. Without the crystal, the fairy would have less of a chance of
surviving whatever challenges she faced. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shuddered as I looked at the Taaffeit. It
was the rarest of crystals, and everyone had been shocked to see it and even
more shocked that it was meant for Plum. Centuries usually passed before such a
rare crystal was awarded again. To give up a crystal was seldom done. Sometimes
fairies were stripped of a crystal but only for the most heinous of crimes.
Each fairy stood on tippy-toe peering into Plum’s palm. They didn’t speak, in
fact, I’m not sure they even breathed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reaching out toward her hand, I could see
every fairy start to tremble. Once the crystal was given away, there was no
turning back. I took Plum’s fingers in my hand and carefully folded them back
around the stone. Yes, I was still upset about all the shenanigans, but this
was certainly too high of a price to pay. The fairies collective sigh created a
slight breeze, and Emma squirmed in her seat. She had emerged from her sobbing
with red-rimmed eyes and a wild look.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paused, thinking. Gus looked at me with
his green skin drooping over his puffy eyes. I knew he was regretful. I just
didn’t know how to start trusting him again. Then I remembered a few times when
I had disappointed others, my parents and my best friend in high school. Times
I had let my own interests rule rather than looking at the whole situation and
how it might affect others. Gus was ancient, and he wasn’t even human, but he
appeared to have human weaknesses. I picked him up, holding him so close to my
face that he blinked his eyes rapidly, frightened. Did my old friend think I
was going to eat him? Was I acting like a wicked witch? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I forgive you, Gus,” I whispered so
softly only he could hear me, and a single tear dripped from one of his large eyes.
Then I placed him gently on the ground. Looking back over his shoulder, he
hopped rapidly toward the pond, the grass waving in the breeze as he made his
escape. After several minutes of silence, we heard a loud splash. Plum and the
other fairies buzzed until I cleared my throat loudly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are all grounded for the next two
weeks. I will not report this to the professors, but should such an incident
occur again; I will demand your expulsions from the academy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After my decree, they all flew in unison
to the old oak tree that housed the academy and disappeared inside. I felt a
little guilty. Here I was upset about loyalty and betrayal, and I had just, in
a way, did the same thing to the professors. I had circumvented them handling
what was rightfully their issue. My hurt feelings had defined the
transgression, and I was ignoring the broken school rules. I sighed. I was
skirting the issue, but my decision would stand. Now I turned to Emma, over
whom I was the decision-maker. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t speak, she bowed her head and
looked at her feet, her shoulders slumped forward as if a giant boulder rested
on them. I knew she was truly sorry. As a human, she had been jealous of the
fairies’ ability to fly, and in true human frailty, she had tried to make
herself into something she wasn’t. In doing so, she had risked not only the
secrets of the academy but also her own safety. Luckily, we were still in safe
territory. She could make amends. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Emma,” I said, and she finally looked up
at me. “For the next month, you are forbidden from speaking or being in the
vicinity of the fairies unless I am present. No whispering in the yard, no
private plans, nothing!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She trembled at my words. Perhaps she had
expected to be banned forever, but I had grown used to her company. Together we
made a team and together, we would work through problems, as well as, rejoice
in our accomplishments. It would be adequate punishment. Without the fairy
contact, she would merely be doing chores, pulling weeds, watering plants,
raking dried leaves from the pond. I had purposefully made her punishment a
month. The fairies themselves would be hidden away for two weeks. She wouldn’t
be tempted during that time, but in the final two weeks, they would dart around
the large yard, and she would be required to ignore them. I smiled slightly at
the cleverness of my plan. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, Amelia,” she answered, and her words
quivered. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let’s have some tea,” I suggested. After
critical times, when things like betrayal shake one’s world, there is a time
for mending bridges, a time to rebuild. That time was this next month. While
Emma was forbidden to interact with the fairies, I intended to build a stronger
bridge with her. One where thoughts of working behind my back would not even
come into her mind. At that moment, I forgot that she was thirteen, and the
fairy girls were about the same age in fairy years. The alliance of youth is
strong. I’d learn later that this wouldn’t be the first rebuilding I’d need to
do. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-17682800032434771542022-11-16T08:59:00.003-06:002022-11-16T08:59:46.218-06:00Serve Chilled<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9c0f31G4ngA2yegl6LmdT_ddX2WIiXpA7aHPsyCkJAPC_1GHSiqQTYPxTFDWWnPRj3zx8Mff4VC-oF65_2CM1Fn33a5e9JdUwO97LB4YAjg_ZX56KKR1GmiJWuZYXMoQcrSqBznW37-pauzwdQuq3BOvo7G5F9hRXtJFKC_0OTmpCp8ZRLI7TlEeTg/s1080/Serve%20Chilled%206.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9c0f31G4ngA2yegl6LmdT_ddX2WIiXpA7aHPsyCkJAPC_1GHSiqQTYPxTFDWWnPRj3zx8Mff4VC-oF65_2CM1Fn33a5e9JdUwO97LB4YAjg_ZX56KKR1GmiJWuZYXMoQcrSqBznW37-pauzwdQuq3BOvo7G5F9hRXtJFKC_0OTmpCp8ZRLI7TlEeTg/w400-h400/Serve%20Chilled%206.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Read for FREE in Kindle Unlimited</p><p><a href="https://bit.ly/3Uw18M1">Kindle Edition</a></p><p><a href="https://amzn.to/3ECSmWI">Paperback </a></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-8234498737954700412022-11-14T05:00:00.002-06:002022-11-14T07:53:48.095-06:00Sassafras Magic- Rhiannon Academy of Fairies <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIA4vMUJtXznD8e7Ha6lALCwDkDcsg8tCGw1rymNmg5DPqIFbhsOZyWgDOF84UhGEEiynBzA8T2md35LFXcJdcPanJ0Yo5Y11_vHVo00NVE2l6af46LrYGNuHL8vN40qvCRH09np_g1RvqzrqS8TrqMVWhSf-H3H-mtryqTeZ4LtVFWXpPpzGoDErLg/s1080/Sassafras%20Magic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIA4vMUJtXznD8e7Ha6lALCwDkDcsg8tCGw1rymNmg5DPqIFbhsOZyWgDOF84UhGEEiynBzA8T2md35LFXcJdcPanJ0Yo5Y11_vHVo00NVE2l6af46LrYGNuHL8vN40qvCRH09np_g1RvqzrqS8TrqMVWhSf-H3H-mtryqTeZ4LtVFWXpPpzGoDErLg/w400-h400/Sassafras%20Magic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The
backyard sprawled outside the patio doors, with lush shrubs along the east
wall, and flowerbeds stretched across the back. It was still early June, so the
beds were tangled with mostly green growth but scattered here and there, bright
blossoms threatened to burst open, spilling their colors. In the far-right hand
corner, an enormous oak tree’s leaves blew gently in the morning breeze. I
wondered, not for the first time, how old the old oak tree was. The fence that
encased my back yard was tall, over eight feet, and it was sturdy, constructed
of brick long before I had inherited the house. It offered the most secluded
outdoor area in the neighborhood.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I sipped the lavender tea that had grown
lukewarm while I mused about the backyard, flinching as something flickered
across the air. Pausing and looking closer, it was a butterfly, bright yellow. It
continued on its way, landing on one of the shrubs that had small buds but no
full blooms yet. I relaxed just a bit and sipped the tea again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I had a secret, a rather big secret. One
that, if blurted out, might end up with me in a psych ward. It wasn’t like I
had buried bodies in the backyard. No, it couldn’t be quite that simple. The
secret had started small, a few weeks after I had moved into the house, but it
had grown over the last two years. Now maintaining it consumed more of my time
than I cared to admit. I remembered how, at first, the secret had seemed
delightful and whimsical. I smiled, thinking about how it had thrilled me. Sure,
it was still charming, but it had lost its shine. It was work, hard work,
preventing me from outside hobbies or relationships. The risk of discovery was
just too high. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> There was a small pond near the right edge
of the yard, up a little way from the big oak tree. It contained small plants,
lilies, and a few fish. Occasionally it attracted dragonflies, swirling around
the surface of the water like ballet dancers. Now, around it, little fluttering
wings shimmered in the sunlight, but they weren’t dragonflies. If only, that
would have been too easy. Draining my
cup of the now cold tea, I opened the door, stepping out into the yard, I
headed down to greet the newest students at The Rhiannon Academy of Fairies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> A small group of five fairies flitted
around the pond, squealing and giggling as they darted after each other. I
didn’t worry about the noise. The fence was extraordinarily thick, and any
sound floated skyward and disappeared into the clouds. The house next door had
stood empty for months, but yesterday the for-sale sign had changed to sold, so
I assumed neighbors would be arriving shortly. I felt a small prick of anxiety
at the thought. The fairies all landed on a lily pad and peered at me
suspiciously. Gretchen, a third-year, appeared, chiding them gently. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Mind your manners,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “This is Amelia; she is the great-great-niece
of Clara Bell. And much nicer I might add.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> For some reason that annoyed me immensely,
Clara Bell, the aunt I barely knew, had left me the house, an enormous savings
account, and a healthy stock portfolio. The only catch, which I thought so very
minor at the time, was that I had to agree to live in the house and be
caretaker of the property. Who wouldn’t have wanted to live in the large
Victorian home with the wrap around porch and the polished wood floors? The
back yard was beyond spacious, over an acre, and that didn’t count the house
and the largish front yard. It was the backyard that consumed my attention,
though, and frowning down at the little creatures who looked more smug than
sorry; I asked their names. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Berries,” the smallest fairy said, her
little nose wrinkling in thought. Perhaps she wanted to say more, but she
clamped her mouth firmly shut. I simply nodded. Her lime green hair braided in
several places sparkled with gems added in like the braids often created at
luscious tropical resorts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “I’m Shimmer,” said another one with
bright yellow hair. Crystal glitter sparkled along the strands of hair, shimmering
when she tossed her head around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Ashton,” another replied, disdainfully,
as if talking to a human was far beneath her. Her dark eyes pierced me as her
ebony black hair ruffled in a slight breeze. She was strikingly beautiful, and
she knew it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> One fairy danced on the water lily,
spinning in tiny circles, smiling to herself about nothing in particular. She
stopped suddenly, and giggling said, “My name is Lily.” Her squeaky voice made
me smile, even though I was determined to be stern and unsmiling for at least a
few weeks. I didn’t want them thinking I was a pushover. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Plum,” said the last of the five as she
twisted her dark purple hair with her fingers. The word carried more wariness
than I had expected. I wondered about her background and how she had come to be
at Rhiannon, the most exclusive fairy academy that existed. <i>Scholarship?</i>
I wondered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I knew this was just a few of the new
group; twelve arrived each June. In total, not counting the professors and the
headmaster, there were sixty students enrolled every year. I suspected these
five would be a handful. Even if all the others behaved perfectly, I knew
I would have my work cut out keeping these five in line. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Gretchen herded the wayward fairies back
inside the massive oak tree. They had slipped out quite expertly to romp in the
yard while the other more diligent ones attended a meeting. That should have
been my first clue, the hint that warned me the summer solstice this year was
going to be even more challenging than usual. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> After they vanished, I walked beside the
flower beds, pulling a weed occasionally and checking each tiny fairy abode to make
sure they were just as they should be. To a casual observer, they looked like
an elaborate fairy garden, all the rage right now, mingled among the herbs and
ferns. They didn’t serve as housing; no, the students all stayed inside the
great oak. Instead, most of them were portals to other places. I stopped in
front of the one that most interested me, the portal house to the boys’
academy. Leaning down, I touched the tiny gold padlock, shaking it to make sure
it latched securely. I had experienced far too much trouble with this one, and
I was determined to keep it secure and inaccessible. With my other hand I
pulled out the chain from inside my shirt, a miniature golden key dangled from
it. I sighed. All was safe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I hesitated by the pond before returning
to the house. Next to the brick wall, nestled in the overgrown grass, sat an
enormous bullfrog. His black eyes sparkled as his tongue darted out, ensnaring
an unsuspecting insect, rolling it into his mouth. Gus burped and looked at me
with unblinking eyes. Quiet and observant, the old frog watched over the pond.
On sunny days he’d dally on the grassy bank, and on cold days he burrowed down
into the mud. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “They’re going to be a handful,” he said,
echoing my thoughts. Yep, here in this backyard, anything was possible, even
talking frogs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Yes,” I said, glancing nervously at the
old oak tree. I could hear humming coming from it, like a hive of bees buzzing.
It wasn’t bees; it was the fairies; they were singing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Then I waved a hand at Gus and walked back
to the patio, sighing deeply, precisely ten days until the summer solstice.
Hang on, I told myself. Not that anything ended with the solstice, nothing ever
stopped, but the crystal hunt, the massive festival, and the crowning of the
Queen of the Summer Solstice created peak mischief times. After that, things
settled into a little bit of a routine; books were open, potions created, and
spells memorized. Most of the fairies were too exhausted in the evenings to get
into too much trouble. Most, but not all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Only last year, a trio of boys had managed
to get in through the little portal house, making the girls dance in delight. I
was still annoyed; I hadn’t caught them sooner. They had conducted several
visits before discovery. I knew it wasn’t solely my fault, so I tried to still
my inner critic. Even the Four Corners hadn’t detected their trips back and
forth. I frowned, thinking about that. The Four Corners were guards, at each
corner of the back yard, watching for any intrusions or escapes. Portals create
waves of magic, sending them like bat signals through the air, so I still
wasn’t sure how those boys had hidden their mischief for so long. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I
put on the tea kettle, and after brewing a large cup of lemon lavender tea, I
sunk into a cushioned wicker rocker on the back porch. Looking out at the vast
yard, it struck me how stunningly beautiful it was. Not that I ever got to show
it off. It reminded me of my foolish thoughts of traveling. I had clung to
those for the entire first year. I mean, after all, I had money, lots of it. I
longed for Paris and London and even a trip to Ireland. Although now that I
knew all about the fairy world, I wasn’t sure I wanted to visit the country
that hosted the most ancient fairy population. The history of the fey started
there, in the green hills and woodlands of Ireland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Technically the academy is closed in
August for what the fairies call summer break and again in March for spring
break. Those were times that I could travel within reason, but just last year,
I had tried a weekend trip and ended up getting an emergency message to return
home immediately. The neighbor’s cat had started stalking the Four Corners, and
while I didn’t want a blood bath on my hands, I sincerely wondered how they
ever functioned without me. After that, I gave up on the idea of travel even
during August and March, but I hoped sometime in the future, an opportunity
might present itself again. I couldn’t very well spend the rest of my life
alone, guarding the fairies. Well, I suppose Aunt Clara Bell had, but that
thought made me cringe. I solemnly swore
that I would not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The day past uneventfully, for which I was
thankful. The next morning, I stood on the deck, looking out at the vast
backyard. Across the flower beds, against the back wall, the twelve first-years
lined up, waving their arms in the air and murmuring something. Their words
didn’t carry to me, but I knew what they were saying. I had watched the last
two classes of first-years learn this magic. Mastery of it was required,
without exception, before anyone advanced in the course to new material. Talk
about peer pressure! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Each one stood tall and rigid, waving their
matchstick arms in the air in front of them, I couldn’t see their faces, but I
imagined them determined and solemn. Across the top, down in a slash and
another movement across the bottom. I had been watching for two hours now. The
only thing any of them had managed to do was fall off the stone ledge. I was
preparing to go inside when I caught just the tiniest of sparks from the fairy
on the left end of the line. A little sparkle and then a slightly bigger one
trailed along behind her arm movements. Who was the fairy? Plum, I wondered,
thinking of the dark purple hair the little fairy by the pool had pushed back
out of her face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I casually wandered down to the pond,
hoping to get close enough to identify the fairy. I pulled a few random weeds
while keeping an eye on them. Sure enough, the one that continued to trail
sparks was Plum. A small blossom of joy burst forth in me. I was always rooting
for the underdog. Something about yesterday made me believe she was a bit of an
outcast. Perhaps too nerdy, or not from the “right” family. Would she be the
first to master Zip Zap Sassafras? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The bit of magic was a requirement for an
excellent reason. It protected fairies from discovery, giving them an escape
technique in times of need. When performed correctly, the fairy disappeared,
Zap, the veil covered them, making it impossible for others to see them, even
another fairy. Now this magic had its
limitations. The length of time the fairy remained invisible depended upon her
power and skill. Some only flickered out of sight for mere seconds while others
could maintain the invisibility for hours. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I heard oohs and ahhs, and I knew I had
missed it. When I turned to look, Plum was gone. She had vanished from the end
of the line. We all waited expectantly, and after several minutes she
reappeared, smiling shyly. Grumbling, the other fairies were even more
determined now to make magic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Three whole minutes on your very first
time! Very well done, Plum,” Professor Dandelion called out, making Plum blush
and shrug her shoulders. I sensed that she didn’t like the attention, and as I
watched, I could see why. Two of the girls shielded their mouths behind their
hands and whispered to each other, then giggled. They weren’t the girls at the
pond yesterday, I hadn’t met these two yet, but I made a mental note of their
actions. Cattiness was not something I took lightly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> A tiny bell tingled, calling the class to
lunch, and they fluttered over to the giant oak and disappeared inside. There
were several places in the old tree where I could pull aside the bark and peek
inside. The first year, the comings and goings inside the academy had been
something I spent hours observing, but now I yawned and walked into the house
for a bit of lunch for myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The inside of the tree was a honeycomb of
staircases, rooms, and closets, with a large gathering room and dining hall at
the lowest level. The first-years occupied the uppermost level, meaning they
had a long sprawling staircase to climb on their tiny legs. Normally a fairy
could just flutter into the air and travel quickly upward, but the academy
prohibited flying inside. Even the oldest professors climbed the stairs, often
stopping midway on a landing to catch their breath. I wasn’t sure where the
rule came from, and once again, I reminded myself that I needed to learn that
bit of history. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Each of the dormitory levels had six rooms, two girls per room. At the very top, the staircase
stopped, turning into a circular landing with brightly painted doors opening
onto it. The first-years sometimes fought over the rooms, but more often than
not, the professors just assigned them to keep the squabbling to a minimum.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk41114336"> I </a>visualized the doors in my mind, pink, lavender,
yellow, teal, lime green, and peach. I wondered if Plum was in the lavender
one. Ashton, for sure, had probably sulked if she didn’t get the peach one,
which would offset her dark black hair to the best advantage. I smiled. She was
a beautiful little creature, but as the old saying goes, beauty is only skin
deep. My thoughts were still out on what dwelled inside her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I had just finished my sandwich when I
heard loud rumbling coming from the front of the house. Was a storm brewing? I
slipped out onto the front porch, leaning over the railing; I saw three large
moving vans rumbling down the street, stopping at the next house. A fourth one
sped by just a few minutes later. The sold house now had occupants, and as the
men started to unload boxes, tiny prickles of anxiety burst inside me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> As I watched a gray van pulled into the
driveway, and a family emerged. Five children tussled and pushed each other,
trying to get out first. It was hard to tell from this distance, but I thought
perhaps two older girls, two boys, one about eight years old, and a baby, maybe
a year old, which the mother held in her arms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Great, just great,” I muttered to myself,
as a vague fear developed in my stomach. It wasn’t that I didn’t like kids, but
a house full of children usually spelled trouble. They were curious, and
curiosity was the last thing I wanted. Luckily, I had that massive brick wall,
and the Four Corners would keep an eye on things, even if I thought them less
than efficient. If I had only known then what would happen later, I would have
had a lot more anxiety. Those tiny little specks of fear would have been boulder-sized.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The next morning, I only vaguely paid
attention to the lessons drilled into the first-years. I was browsing some
internet sites for a wishing well. The problem I had discovered was that most
of them required construction, and I wasn’t about to let workers in my back
yard. “Oh, well,” I said to myself. Maybe I could get a kit or something. It
wouldn’t be as big or as elaborate as I envisioned, but it would be better than
nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Something caught my peripheral vision,
trailing along the top of the fence, bobbing up and down. It was prancing awkwardly.
Was it a bird? Was it a cat? I stood up as I remembered the cat from last year
and its constant stalking of the Four Corners. I moved swiftly without
thinking, grabbing the rake from beside the flower bed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Trotting over to the massive wall, I
looked up, astonished. It wasn’t a bird or a cat. Instead, it was a large hand
mirror, taped to the end of a long stick, possibly a broom handle. It moved
slowly down the fence line, tilted at an angle. The person holding it could
look over the fence into the yard. I used the rake and snagged the mirror,
tugging at it, the tape binding it, ripping just enough to send the mirror
tumbling down, onto my side of the fence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Hey, give me back my mirror,” a voice on
the other side said. It was one of my new neighbors. From the sound of the
voice, I assumed it was the boy. I ignored him, carrying the mirror back to the
deck, my heart beating rapidly. The crude tool had allowed a peek into my yard but
not much of one. The way it angled on the stick reflected only the narrow part
of the yard right next to the fence. The secret was safe for now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I leaned back smugly in my chair and
tossed the mirror on the table. I was feeling pretty good about myself until I
looked over at the tall wall; a small boy perched on top of it. He scampered up
and walked along the top of the wall, like a tightrope walker in the circus. I
glanced hastily toward the old oak tree, but all of the fairies had already
entered the academy, listening to lectures and checking out books from the
ancient library. Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, I caught a
glimpse of Lily dancing on a lily pad in the pond. The boy was facing away from
her for now, so I rushed forward and noticing me, she dipped down into the
murky water, shivering and peeking out from behind the big leaf. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Stay put,” I said, rushing past her, I
yelled at the boy. He turned to look at me, and when he did, his foot met the
air. He lost his balance and tumbled off the wall, landing in my yard with a
loud thud. When I reached him, he was trying to sit up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Oh my gosh, are you alright?” I wanted to
be mad at him for snooping, but I certainly didn't want any broken bones or
concussions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> He looked at me with wide eyes, rubbing
the back of his head, at that point, I heard excited yells coming from the
other side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Griffin, Griffin, are you okay? Get home
this instance,” a young girlish voice demanded. There was trembling in her
voice as she frantically called to him. He looked at me, grinning, he didn’t
answer her. What an imp. By this time, he was standing up, seeming none the
worse for wear. I took his hand, leading him through the house and out the
front door. I didn’t have a back yard gate. It only encouraged visitors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> We were walking down the sidewalk as a
young girl of about thirteen met us. Putting her hands on her hips, frowning,
she glared at Griffin. Her brown hair was slightly wavy, and the humidity made
it a little frizzy. Griffin managed to hang his head and look pensive, although
I doubted he was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “I'm fine, Emma,” he spluttered, looking
more embarrassed from her attention than from being caught trespassing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “I’m sorry. Griffin imagines himself quite
the adventurer. I’m Emma North; we just moved in next house down,” she said.
Her dark eyes glared again at Griffin, and Emma pointed her finger down the
road, ordering him home without saying anything. She turned back toward me,
looking expectant, and paused. That’s when I realized she was waiting for me to
introduce myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Amelia Southward,” I said, extending my
hand, hers felt warm and soft in my clasped one. She arched an eyebrow looking
at me skeptically. That should have been a warning, but I didn’t heed it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “So North and South living side by side,”
she commented, and I almost thought she was accusing me of giving a false name
or something. I didn’t take the bait; instead, I flipped the subject to her
pesky brother. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Griffin must not be snooping around or
climbing on my fence again,” I said, keeping my voice firm and matter of fact.
She looked at me curiously, but I didn’t owe her an explanation, nor did I give
one. “Please let your parents know, so they can convey to him the importance of
staying off my land,” I added. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> She looked like she wanted to say
something. Perhaps in defense of her brother or maybe she was simply wondering
what I had to hide. She sniffed the air slightly and then turning on her heel,
she walked away without even a goodbye. Apparently, she thought me a bit bossy
and arrogant, and I felt a little defensive. After all, it was my land. I
hadn’t gone traipsing all over their property. I just stood there until she
disappeared into her driveway, a strange uneasiness nagged at me. I didn’t
realize it at the time, but I had shown my cards, and she was about to up the
ante. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I didn’t hear a peep from the other side
of the wall for two days. However, a beautiful potted plant delivered to my
front door, with a short apology note, told me Emma had conveyed my concerns.
On the third day, I was outside congratulating all the first-years on mastering
Zip Zap Sassafras. They beamed up at me, except for Ashton, she rolled her dark
eyes and sniffed, reminding me of Emma. I had learned Ashton was a Storm Fairy,
controlling the winds and rain, and of course, in the winter the snows. I
thought it fit her personality quite well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The littlest fairy of the group was Gigi,
with auburn hair and blue eyes. I would have never guessed her ferocious skill.
As a Fire Fairy, she controlled fire and could make it dance across the ground
or burst in the sky, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. She was just a smidgeon, but once her skills
developed fully, no one would cross her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> They had just fluttered away for lunch
when I heard a small scraping sound; perhaps a hedgehog had burrowed under the
wall, creating a home for himself at the base. Ignoring it, I moved over next
to the pond, looking for Gus. Gus didn’t miss much, and if a new creature had
joined us, he'd know. I called to him softly, and he immediately emerged from
the pond. He tilted his head, and his bulging eyes looked confused when I asked
him about the hedgehog. Then his sharp ears picked up the scratching noise, too
faint for me to hear but still occurring. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He
hopped over to the fence and rested his head against the very bottom of the
wall.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “It’s coming from next door,” he said, and
I flinched. <i>What now?</i> I wondered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I put my ear up to the wall, listening,
and sure enough, the scrunch, scrunch sound vibrated through the bricks. I
shrugged, perhaps they were digging flowerbeds next to the wall in the same way
I had. I couldn’t very well concern myself with their business when I wanted
them to stay out of mine. Still, it gave me a faint sense of unease. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Keep an eye, or should I say an ear on
that,” I told Gus before I walked away. I knew I was spoiled, that particular
house had been home to an ancient older woman who never came out into the back
yard; instead, she preferred sitting on the front porch watching people and
cars pass. I couldn’t expect a family with five children to confine themselves
to the house. I was determined not to let it consume my thoughts. Tomorrow was
a big day. All the first-years would participate in a contest, an important
one, to determine the order of the crystal hunt on the Summer Solstice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The crystals, hidden around the backyard,
would determine each fairies extra powers. All of them were born with specific
skills based on their family and the type of fairy they were. For example,
Ashton and Gigi already had quite a repertoire of things they could do. All of
them did. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
knew Plum was a Keeper of Trees, and while that might seem a bit dull, it
wasn’t. She could talk to the trees, understand their language, and make leaves
and blossoms burst forth. Perhaps the most exciting thing Tree Fairies could do
was create doorways.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The twelve crystals, hidden for the hunt,
would disappear once they were touched by a fairy and reappear on the judge's
table, awarded to each first-year at the end of the hunt. It was the most important event at Rhiannon’s Academy and launched each fairy in the direction
their future would take them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I
spent a restless night, tossing and turning, but the next afternoon, I was
ready for the contest. At six tiny twig tables, the first years sat nervously
waiting to find out the rules for the competition and what they needed to
expect. Each year the contest was different, so I wasn’t sure of the format for
this year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The headmaster, Professor Honeysuckle
stood on the small stage facing the audience, clearing her throat, she spoke.
She detailed each of the three levels of the contest. First, the dragonfly
races, points were scored not only on speed but on technique and style. The
second round of the competition was Zip Zap Sassafras magic. The most points
went to the fairy that remained invisible the longest. Last, they would race
leaf boats across the pond. Six judges would be privately awarding points as
the event unfolded. I felt a tingle of nervousness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The girls went to a purple barn in one of
the flower beds next to the back fence. The enchanted dragonflies waited
patiently for their riders. Twelve fairies climbed onto their backs, and then a
loud gong rang out, and the race was on. The course ran criss-cross across the
yard, and there were several hoops the girls needed to maneuver. The
dragonflies were flying so fast that they were a blur to my eyes. I wasn’t sure
how the judges could award points for style. Perhaps their eyesight was keener
than mine. A sudden burst of clapping exploded from the second-years. A
dragonfly swirled over and over in the air, doing somersaults coming to a
skidding stop at the finish line. Plum was the rider, and I felt a strange
surge of pride. The others flew in one after the other, and the judges bent
over their score sheets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> In the second phase, the fairies lined up along the landscaping, creating a
natural stage. One judge held a tiny golden bell that would start them, and
several others were ready with their stopwatches. Sometimes this came down to
mere seconds. The bell jingled. The girls waved their arms, chanting Zip Zap
Sassafras, and several of the girls managed it on the first wave. Others did
not, but before long, we were staring into emptiness. One by one, the fairies
blinked back, and the judges recorded times diligently. Soon, we were waiting
on only two, Ashton and Plum. A shimmer broke the air, and Ashton appeared. She
looked around, pouting when she realized Plum was still invisible. Pop. Plum
reappeared, and everyone clapped. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> As we moved to the pond, I glanced up at
the top of the wall, making sure no little boys lingered there watching the
events that unfolded. Gus had never figured out that scratching sound, and it
bothered me. I didn’t like unknowns. The sky was blue with fluffy white clouds,
but no eyes were peeking into my yard. The fairies scampered into their boats.
The leaf boats were even trickier than the dragonflies as they tilted and
swayed in the water. If they capsized, the occupant would surely lose a massive
amount of points. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> This time the race started with a loud
whistle. I watched closely as each boat moved across the surface of the pond,
two ships of each color, bright flags were flying from the top of a tiny twig
on the mast of each vessel. At first, they moved slowly, but as they picked up
speed, I could see both a lavender and peach flag flying toward the front of
the fleet. As I watched the wind, which had started as just a mere breeze,
gusted, tossing several of the leaf boats sideways, putting them off course.
They stayed afloat, but their times would be significantly diminished by having
to readjust their routes. The two in the front struggled forward, but then the
vessel with the lavender flag, shifted, tossed by a fresh wave, it picked up
water, and I was afraid it might sink.
Somehow the helmsman righted it and continued, now far behind the peach
flagged vessel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> As the boats docked, I heard an argument
break out and thought perhaps someone shoved another fairy making her way up
the bank. I moved quickly to join the judges. Plum's face was red, and her eyes
snapped angrily at Ashton. As the slower vessels reached the shore, they added
to the din, some siding with Ashton and others with Plum. The words tangled
together as the furious girls shouted at each other. The judges fluttered
about, not knowing what to do. Finally, one took the tiny whistle and blew it
repeatedly. Silence fell over the group, but their faces were still bright red,
and their eyes flickered with rage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Let me see if I understand the problem,” Professor
Honeysuckle shouted although I wasn’t sure how she could have made any sense
of the squabbling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Some of you think Ashton interfered in
the race, summoning the wind while a few of you believe she is innocent. Is
that in a nutshell?” she asked. The red-faced contestants nodded their heads,
but several still had clenched fists leaving me afraid a fight might even break
out. Two of them walked over, standing beside Ashton, mean-mugging the other
side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Ashton, I will see you in my office at
four o’clock to discuss these accusations. All of you are grounded to your
rooms for the next two days, until its time for the hunt. What an outrageous
display, and we will not tolerate that here at Rhiannon Academy.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> When she finished speaking, she clapped
her hands three times, and all the girls disappeared, magically sent to their
rooms. The judges huddled together. Some looked at their score sheets in
confusion, unclear how to proceed, and others whispered, their faces etched
with shock. Never in the history of the school had anyone been accused of
cheating during the competition. They couldn’t even fathom it. The rewards,
other than having the honor, were meager. They released the fairies on the
Crystal Hunt based on scores, but honestly, that wasn’t much of an advantage.
When a fairy found a crystal, they could choose to touch it or keep hunting.
The stones, magically altered, all looked the same until they arrived at the
judge’s stand. The idea was that a fairy of strong magic would sense the one
they were destined to have.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I just watched silently; typically, I
didn’t interfere in fairy business. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ashton had used
a bit of storm magic when the lavender leaf boat had pulled ahead, but I
doubted if it could ever be proven one way or the other. The headmaster and
teachers didn’t care about who won the competition. It was just a bit of fun to
initiate the girls into the academy, mere bragging rights. Now they were
furious at the class for their unruly behavior.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Normally, the girls would help us
decorate and set up tables for the Crystal Hunt, but I’m afraid I’ll need some
of you to help. They will stay confined until the evening of the event.” When the headmaster spoke, several of the
older professors groaned, but they quickly stifled their reactions, recognizing
in an instant that it was not the time for grumbling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I have to admit I thoroughly enjoyed the
next two days. I didn’t have to worry about any unruly first-year getting up to
mischief. The others, subdued and mannerly, went about their business, trying
not to upset the headmaster even more. The morning of the Crystal Hunt broke
with sunny skies, for which I was eternally grateful. The evening proceeded
regardless of the weather, but a stormy night filled with lightning was not
something anyone relished. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The Crystal Hunt took place on June 20<sup>th</sup>,
the day before the summer solstice, with awards presented the following night
at the Summer Solstice Festival. The
crowning of the Queen of the Summer Solstice was the highest honor. I wondered
who it would be. No one had any choice in it. The drama from the boat races
would play no role in the selection. The crystals chose. Whoever selected the rarest
one, purveyor of the highest magic would be crowned the Queen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The event began at nine, the sun dipping
just low enough below the horizon to leave the yard gloomy and dark. Just a few
seconds later, tiny lights appeared around the border of the yard, small stakes
stuck into the ground, lite not as most would suspect with solar energy, but
with fairy magic. It was enchanting. In front of the academy, a large canopied
area with tiny twig tables and chairs covered in white cloths waited for the
feast and awards ceremony. I took my place in the center of the yard, my
binoculars resting in my lap. The large rocker was comfy, and I had a light
throw in case the air grew chilly. All around me, the tiny lights twinkled, so
beautiful, and they lifted my spirits immensely. I had to admit the Crystal
Hunt was one of my favorite times of the school year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> All the fairies, both teachers and
students, gathered in a large circle around me. They glowed with soft light
adding their essence to the already sparkling yard. Professor Dandelion gave a
brief description of the boundaries, of course, the area stopped at the wall.
Any fairy going outside the outer ring would be disqualified and potentially
expelled pending review. Then a lilting melody played across the air, and the
hunt was on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> No one touched a single crystal as they
darted around the grounds. This year's strategy appeared to be to locate as
many as possible before actually making a selection. Berries, the Harvest
Fairy, swirled in the small vegetable garden in the opposite corner from the
oak tree. I thought that was a good location for a Harvest Fairy to look for
her stone, but she came up empty-handed; whoever hid the crystals wasn’t making
it that easy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I felt something cold and slimy hop onto
my foot, Gus. What was he doing in the middle of the yard so far away from the
pond? I reached down, plopping him onto my lap so I could hear him better. His
words alarmed me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “I heard that scratching again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “No idea of the source?” I asked, a tiny
seed of fear growing inside me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Not really, but it is at a section of the
fence, just about six yards from the edge of the pond.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I nodded, placing him on the ground, his
message delivered, he hopped back toward the pond, a few minutes later I heard
a splash. I pushed aside my dread. I didn’t like this one bit, but I wasn’t
sure what I could do about it in the middle of the hunt. I made a mental note
to inspect the fence in the morning then turned my attention back to the
fairies. Eight fairies were already seated in the front row in front of the
stage; the crystals selected and revealed on the judge's table, although none
of them were privy to that information. As I watched, Tara, a Star Fairy joined
them. Nine down, three to go. It was taking longer than I had anticipated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Looking around the yard through my
binoculars, I could just make out Plum and Ashton, racing toward a big rock by
the edge of the pond. The twelfth fairy, Molly, a MapMaker was at the base of
the oak tree, digging in the soil, unearthing a crystal, she snatched it up and
joined the others in the lineup. Plum stopped suddenly landing on the massive
rock, Ashton glanced back over her shoulder before grabbing the crystal that
lay hidden in the crevice of the rock, fluttering away, a smirk appearing as she
shot a final glance at Plum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The last fairy, Plum, waited until Ashton
was too far away to notice, then she landed gently at the base of the rock,
looking at the ground. A tiny mouse emerged from underneath, scratching some
dirt away in his haste. In his small mouth, he carried a single crystal. Plum
extended her hand, and he dropped it into her outstretched palm. It looked
perfectly ordinary. I wondered if a living creature had ever delivered a
crystal before?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I walked down, nearer the tree as the rest
of the fairies gathered. I was anxious to know which crystals they had
selected. Different ones each year were part of the hunt, but some favorites
were repeated year after year, like amethyst and moonstone. I glanced at the
row of first-years. Ashton was looking suspiciously at Plum, wondering perhaps
why she had stopped the race so suddenly at the rock. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Professor Honeysuckle droned on for a bit
about the history of The Rhiannon Academy of Fairies, and I supposed I should
listen better because there was still so much about the school that I didn’t
know. Instead, I waited impatiently for Professor Dandelion to take the stage.
Finally, the youngest professor at the academy stepped up to the podium, and I
leaned forward, anxious to catch every word. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> She called out a name, Tara, the Star
Fairy. Tara seemed to hesitate. Perhaps she’d rather not know her special
powers. She quivered in the air as she approached the awards table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “For you, Tara, you have selected a
sunstone,” Professor Dandelion announced. She waited for the ohhs and awws to
subside before continuing. “An excellent selection for you, my dear, this
crystal contains the power of optimism and warmth. You will have the ability to
change the course of things, directing them onto a more positive path. The
sunstone will serve you well.” As she finished, a blushing and relieved Tara,
exited the stage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Kara, a Dream Weaver fairy, was next
receiving a moonstone, which I thought was a lovely choice. “It will help you
with its calming effect and increase your intuition. You shall see deep into
others,” the professor said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Professor Dandelion went down the list, and
each fairy stepped forward to receive theirs until only Ashton and Plum
remained seated. As protocol dictated, one of them would be the Queen of the
Summer Solstice. The last crystal awarded to the queen, so I held my breath waiting
for the next name. Ashton tossed her silky black hair over her shoulder and
glared at Plum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Next, we have Ashton,” the professor said.
The crowd fell silent, shocked. It wasn’t so much that they relished the idea
of Ashton winning the crown. It was more that they just expected it. She was
one of those; you know the ones I mean, girls who received more than their fair
share, and good things just fell in their laps effortlessly. Belatedly, some of
the professors started clapping, and some students joined in. Ashton
reluctantly received her crystal, a black opal, rare and refined. It was a
powerful crystal just not as powerful as whichever one the queen might receive.
Professor Dandelion explained that a black opal was a good luck charm and
prevented terrible dreams. She hesitated for a moment, a frown crossing her
face. I thought there was something else she wanted to say, but she kept her
mouth firmly shut. Ashton tripped slightly descending the stairs; several
fairies giggled before clamping their mouths shut tightly and staring straight
ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “I am pleased to announce the crystals
have selected Plum for the honor of Queen of the Summer Solstice this year.”
Thunderous applause ripped through the crowd as Plum timidly made her way to
the stage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Plum, your crystal is Taaffeit.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Everyone gasped. It was an extremely rare
crystal that only presented itself at the hunt every 20-30 years. Fewer than
fifty existed in the human world, mainly from Sri Lanka and Tanzania. The shock they had felt when Ashton was
passed over for the crown was nothing in comparison to this. Wide-eyed Plum
accepted the crystal and meekly returned to her seat. <i>Good thinking, Plum,</i>
I thought. No one, absolutely no one, wants an arrogant queen. Some of the
fairies looked around confused, and then I realized that the professor had
neglected to describe the powers of Taaffeite. No one asked; they were still
reeling from the presentation of the rare crystal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The feast would go on forever, and I was
tired. I made my nightly walk around the wall, stopping at the spot, Gus had
said the noise originated. There were some small pieces of concrete at the base
of the wall, but everything was quiet. Perfectly normal. Shrugging, I returned
to my house and snuggled into bed, satisfied that we had made it through the Crystal
Hunt. I smiled to myself. Tonight was one of those times that I still found the
fairies charming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The next morning, I sipped my coffee,
looking out over my fairy kingdom. The day was gorgeous, filled with light,
fluffy clouds, blue sky, and golden sunshine. Ever blossom in every bed was now
in full bloom. The bright, cheerful colors were the perfect backdrop. The
temperatures rose during the day, but they would cool in the evening and be
perfect at festival time. Everyone was busy setting up tables, chairs, food
booths, and entertainment. A fairy band, called, the Dreamers would be on
center stage. The Four Corners would sprinkle fairy dust along the top of the
wall, which would conceal every sound coming from the backyard. It was
temporary protection, but it would last through the night. The dust was too
precious to use daily, but the Summer Solstice was a big and noisy festival
that would be sure to attract attention without extra precautions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The day flew by; I marked things off a
massive list as students reported to me on the status of each section of the
yard. The carnival rides were in the back left corner; a Ferris wheel was the
centerpiece surrounded by swings, a tilt a whirl, a small roller coaster, and a
merry go round. The food booths and dining areas surrounded the base of the old
oak tree. The band stage was next to the pond, and I smiled, knowing I was
going to be getting complaints from Gus tomorrow about the noise level. A large
dance floor constructed of patio stones offered more than enough room for
dancing all night, which most of them would do. The main stage where the crown
awaited the Queen, draped in silky fabrics of lavender, lime green, pink,
yellow, teal and peach, was filled with thousands of candles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The time passed quickly, joyous dancing,
carnival rides, and sugary sweet goodies. The petite caramel apples were my
favorites, although they were just a teensy morsel for me—lots of laughter and
smiles everywhere. I even noticed Ashton smiling several times, so I assumed
they had forgotten their spat. At the crowning, everyone gathered around the
stage, pushing and shoving good-naturedly. I craned my neck looking for Ashton,
but she was nowhere. I understood. It's hard to see a rival claim a prize you
had dreamed about all your life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Professor Honeysuckle stood tall and proud
on the stage as she placed the gleaming, jewel covered crown on Plum’s head.
Plum blushed and kept her eyes down, avoiding contact with everyone. It struck
me that she wasn’t playing a game with this; she indeed was that modest and
unassuming. The applause sounded perfect, tempered, majestic, and
sophisticated. The coached students had listened well to the festival lessons.
The crowning was an honor, traditional, not a time for outrageous behavior nor
hooting and cheering. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I was tired, but I stayed to congratulate
Plum before making a final round of the wall. The dust was still in full
effect, sparkling along the top edge, silencing the noises from the festival.
By the time my young neighbors woke up, the fey would all be sound asleep in
their beds. I expected them to slumber late into the afternoon, so I was
looking forward to sleeping in and relaxing for most of the day. I couldn’t
have been more wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I circled the yard, watching magic swirls
of dust collecting trash, raking the grass to remove all the footprints, and
stacking the twig furniture in the flower beds. I wondered if I should borrow
some of it for the inside of my house. As I neared the pond, Gus plopped on the
bank, eyeing me. Something was troubling him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “The noise was back tonight,” he said,
hopping in front of me for a short distance, he paused at the exact spot I had
noticed the chipped concrete on the ground earlier. It was darker over here by
the pond, challenging to see, I almost stepped on Gus, who frantically leaped
far away from my careless feet. My shoe caught on something, twisting my ankle;
I stumbled a little but managed to brace myself with the wall, leaning my back
against it to look down. A large chunk of brick lay at my feet. A hurricane of
apprehension race through me as I called to Gus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Gus, come here. Look at this.” Even as I
was hoping I was wrong, I felt an unevenness in the wall behind my back.
Turning, I ran my fingers across the surface, something cut into my fingers,
drawing blood. I winced. There in the wall, a hole, walnut-sized, gave a small
but perfect view of my backyard—a hard knot formed in my stomach. Picking Gus
up, I showed him the hole. He squirmed in my grip, looking through into the
next yard. He put his ear against the opening. The old bullfrog listened
intently, troubled by what he heard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “We have trouble,” he announced, adding
softly, “I think I can hear breathing on the other side, down low but hidden.”
I nodded. Turning, I ran to Professor Dandelion, who looked about to fall
asleep on her feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “I need your help,” I said frantically,
and she didn’t ask a single question, following me quickly to the wall, taking
in the situation immediately she reached inside her pocket. Removing a handful
of dust, she threw it forcefully at the wall.
A slight grinding sound started, and two seconds later, the hole
repaired itself, sealing a dark concrete plug into the opening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “I’m exhausted,” she said, “let's talk
about this around noon tomorrow.” She didn’t give me a chance to protest,
spinning around and flying off. Gus croaked and disappeared into the murky pond
water. I was left standing alone, staring at the wall, the wall I had so carefully
guarded for two years. Outwitted. I had a good idea who had accomplished that.
To the victor goes the spoils, and I crawled into bed that night wondering what
her plan was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I tossed and turned all night, alternating
between being furious and sad. The fairy academy, centuries-old, was a historical
treasure. Now all of it was about to come crashing down. I felt an enormous
weight settling over me, holding me down, guilt. As much as I complained about
the responsibilities, the end of the academy would be dreadful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I had barely made my first mug of tea when
I heard the doorbell. My slippers brushed the wooden floor as I looked out the
peephole. Just as I expected, it was Emma. She shifted from foot to foot as she
waited. Slightly nervous. Good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I
let her in; my well-engrained manners offered her a cup of tea, which she
declined. She had a small folder, placing it on the table in front of me she
waited silently. I looked at it like a bomb that was ticking away before
exploding. My heartbeat was rapid, trying to still it, I casually took another
sip of tea. I looked at her, and she returned my gaze, unflinching. A stranger,
yet she reminded me of myself at a younger age. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I swallowed more tea before reaching out
to open the file. It was worse than I expected. I sifted through the pictures,
stopping to look at one of the leaf boat race. Ashton was waving her hand in
the air, her eyes shining with jealousy. So she had used magic to shift the
wind to her advantage. Whatever else I might think, Emma was an excellent
photographer, even dealing with that little hole. The pictures captured the
last two days perfectly, the joy, the anger, the jealousy, the laughter. I
guess it had taken her some time to chip through the concrete mortar between
the bricks. That explained the scratching noises, her tiny chisel, and hammer,
working stealthily, bit by bit, so as not to attract attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “What are your terms?” I asked. There was
no use wasting any time. I saw her hide a tiny smile behind her hand. Emma
recognized surrender when she saw it. I wished she wasn’t quite so smug about
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “I want access to the fairies. To observe
them, sketch them, learn about them,” Emma answered promptly, her words so soft
I could barely hear them. She had been thinking about this. I watched her for a
moment, this little wisp of a child. In one night, she had undone everything I
had spent two years hiding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “For that, you will never tell anyone
about this?” I asked, my voice stern and business-like. She nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “You’ll have to sign a confidentiality
agreement,” I told her. I had no idea how that idea had popped into my head. It
just appeared out of thin air. It wasn’t ideal, but I was desperate. I needed to
shut this down. I had to give her credit; my demand didn’t faze her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> On the one hand, I felt like I was
entering into an agreement with the devil; on the other, I wondered if she
might be helpful. Carrying this secret alone was starting to wear on me.
Perhaps she could be useful, maybe even an apprentice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Emma nodded so eagerly, looking so
pleased, I almost felt sorry for her. She had no idea what she was getting into,
but then neither had I, two years ago. I had moved into the house in March
while all the fairies were on spring break, the giant oak tree was just a tree,
and Gus, still snuggled in the mud near the pond, I had assumed an ordinary
frog. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The excitement in her eyes reminded me of
my joy when I had first discovered the fairies. With a twinge of guilt, I
wondered how long it would be before she begged to get out of this arrangement.
So be it, I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t have her running all over town,
stirring up stories about the backyard. Even though most people wouldn’t
believe her, there would be just enough interest to keep a steady flow of
trespassers sneaking into my yard. Then it would be only a matter of time
before someone else saw them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Okay, come back in the morning, and I’ll
have the paperwork ready.” These words made it sound so official, and this time
I was the one that hid a smile. I swear she barely stopped herself from
clapping in delight. Ushering her out the door, I breathed a big sigh of
relief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I closed the door behind Emma, peeking out
the small side window, I could see her almost skipping down the sidewalk. I
wasn’t sure if I had just averted disaster or walked right into it. Only time
would tell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">THE END<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-28469456295442999762022-11-13T07:56:00.004-06:002022-11-13T07:56:44.110-06:00 Ribbons and Bones<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCC9XJcEkNJgw0yzw7ibqOWBJZwurTTiaWaN6X3TppwQtI-S_Pgacm9kJRRIJoqthGBL9igB_XIc4H-yX9zsmvQOnyscn02tjh5_f-tdl1Iz1Jra48nhhp1T9WH19OJ0EwmxXU6CO_v666L3PRB_DJ9CAFXXI5J7fA-qBJq3BiMxGk4pl80a__oOAXg/s1080/Ribbons%20and%20Bones%20Ad%201.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCC9XJcEkNJgw0yzw7ibqOWBJZwurTTiaWaN6X3TppwQtI-S_Pgacm9kJRRIJoqthGBL9igB_XIc4H-yX9zsmvQOnyscn02tjh5_f-tdl1Iz1Jra48nhhp1T9WH19OJ0EwmxXU6CO_v666L3PRB_DJ9CAFXXI5J7fA-qBJq3BiMxGk4pl80a__oOAXg/s320/Ribbons%20and%20Bones%20Ad%201.png" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Available on Kindle Unlimited. Read for FREE<p></p><p>Kindle Version:<a href="https://bit.ly/3Uw18M1"> HERE</a></p><p>Paperback: Coming soon. <br /> </p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-46325657146943362072022-10-31T05:57:00.003-06:002022-10-31T05:57:38.683-06:00Happy Halloween<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFgW3-E5wpVeMmGqc74Z1MhUEp4CjP0HVIdIT7LE7-hCeCdarsB4t75tm06P1Iu6cUnyS4MvBMOs3Je0UedBRR6tS4t_FRLn648QkEqVSCX8s9s1kJH3Rj3jYhPmURxYu5ikUla8JwHm-LZN-sB8Y9ibErTfrB6xU994MFHS-0dTQiNr8LlgoKgYF-gQ/s1080/Happy%20Halloween%203.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFgW3-E5wpVeMmGqc74Z1MhUEp4CjP0HVIdIT7LE7-hCeCdarsB4t75tm06P1Iu6cUnyS4MvBMOs3Je0UedBRR6tS4t_FRLn648QkEqVSCX8s9s1kJH3Rj3jYhPmURxYu5ikUla8JwHm-LZN-sB8Y9ibErTfrB6xU994MFHS-0dTQiNr8LlgoKgYF-gQ/w400-h400/Happy%20Halloween%203.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-52009672901317991072022-10-18T10:17:00.003-06:002022-10-18T10:17:24.787-06:00400 Mockingbird Lane<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonzDAZfaT8BTFWLbzWRIMaJeqRc8xnK48uthoTacto8ekPvJy9vMRmxk7CWNs9KiXF3FqkpIlUZoVZLItIvGnE2ZSCl44tfquochdOy5NdrJv70uF7CvxAxX-oT9Kmk9mmToyyjnj820gqHtXVzDeBr-HJXw0BNbivYgpxAl5n8W4tMMgqwsHyg0CyQ/s1080/400%20Mockingbird%20Lane.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonzDAZfaT8BTFWLbzWRIMaJeqRc8xnK48uthoTacto8ekPvJy9vMRmxk7CWNs9KiXF3FqkpIlUZoVZLItIvGnE2ZSCl44tfquochdOy5NdrJv70uF7CvxAxX-oT9Kmk9mmToyyjnj820gqHtXVzDeBr-HJXw0BNbivYgpxAl5n8W4tMMgqwsHyg0CyQ/w400-h400/400%20Mockingbird%20Lane.png" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Standing in the
circular driveway looking up at the enormous house., I marveled at the old
place. The architecture was unique to say the least, part Victorian mansion and
part castle. The turrets on all four corners hosted circular bedrooms. I knew
this from my previous visit to the old place. I also knew that every nook and
cranny of the massive structure was stuffed with things, some valuable antiques,
and some mere junk. As the owner of Hidden Treasures: Art and Antiquities it
was my job to determine which was which. The number of items in the house was
astronomical and therefore I had a contract for a year. Looking at the
structure again today I wondered if even that would be enough time. I planned
to assess things a little before I started and determine how many assistants I
might need. This was not a one-person job. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pulling my suitcases from the car, I felt
a slight tingling along my spine and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
I jerked around fully expecting someone to be standing behind me. Nothing.
Frowning I looked around cautiously, the sensation of being watched still
surged through me. Across the front of the older home was a long wide porch,
the concrete banisters were darkened with age and bare of any plants or
flowers. Perfectly reasonable since the place had been empty for almost five
years. The heirs had fought a long hard battle that had lingered in the courts.
Now that they had reached a settlement it was my job to inventory and catalog
and value the contents of the place so everyone got their fair share. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Juggling the suitcases, I searched my tote
bag for the keys, slipping the old metal key into the lock, the door popped
open as if a strong hand had jerked it wide. I peered into the murky interior.
Part of the arrangement was for me to live on the premises during the year. I
shivered for a minute wondering why I had ever thought that was a good idea.
Originally it appealed to me because it was cost savings. I wouldn’t have to
pay rent for an entire year. Second, I liked the idea of making my hours and if
I choose to stay up late and work, getting lost in the mirage of items then I
could easily do so. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leaving the bags in the foyer and the
front door open, I walked into the big library to the right. The walls were lined
from floor to ceiling with books. A wooden ladder hung along the shelves making
it easy to climb up and retrieve the volumes on the topmost shelf. The
furniture was covered with sheets, which in turn were covered with dust. I
pulled one off, coughing, the dust thick in the air. I threw it crumpled into a
corner. The chair was a mauve color and I looked for any markings that might indicate
age or maker. Finding none I eased down onto it and looked around the room. I
needed to clean and set up a workspace and decided the library was the best
room to conduct business in. All items were to be sold. No exceptions. So, I’d
get appraisals and find buyers, and gradually over time items would be removed
from the house, emptying it piece by piece. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello,” the voice in the foyer made me
jump. It was simply the leader of the cleaning crew I had hired to clean and
make the library a presentable workspace. “Ms. Collins,” the rather thin lady
said. Looking around she rubbed her hands together and coughed discreetly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please call me, Stacie” I answered,
extending my hand which she took gently and perhaps a bit reluctantly. The dust
was so thick in the house that even the slightest movement made it float into
the air, swirling like a fine mist. It hung around us like a suffocating
blanket. I shuddered thinking about what microscopic germs might be invading my
nostrils. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Here’s the library,” I said pointing the
way. She nodded, casting her eyes around the large room while putting on
gloves. Instantly her team appeared in the room with buckets and mops and
bottles of cleaning supplies. They worked quickly and </span>efficiently,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I thought
they were very worth the cost. It wasn’t my money </span>anyway,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> so I hadn’t pinched
pennies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I retreated to the dining room across the
foyer, pulling my blonde hair back in a ponytail to keep it from cascading down
my forehead and into my eyes. The room was filled with an enormous cherry
dining set that seated twelve. The matching cabinet was filled with a plethora
of old china. It was worth a fortune, especially the Welmar in a Blue Willow
pattern. I glanced at the engravings on the back and wrote down the markings, I
knew a collector that might be interested in the pieces. The buffet in the
corner had been dusted recently and the Bramley Hedge China tea set was barely
covered in dust. I could see the characters from Bramley Hedge having tea at a
long table. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Above the buffet hung a set
of Brambly Head Seasons collectible plates, each featuring a different season.
I pulled out my tape measure and carefully leaned in. Yes, eight inches across,
these were originals. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The chatter from the library was a dull
white noise lulling me into my workflow. I thought the best plan was to limit
myself to the dining room for now and then I’d inventory the library. While I
was fairly knowledgeable about dishes, I was going to need help with all those
books. I wouldn’t be able to tell a first edition from a mock-up. My friend,
Jana would be arriving </span>tomorrow,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I’d leave her to tackle the library. If we
could manage these two rooms ourselves, I would then hire a few more
assistants. I lost myself in the massive </span>China<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> collection, snapping pictures,
checking markings, and occasionally doing a search online. I knew a couple of
action houses and considered for a minute outsourcing it to them. That would
cut into the profits though so I decided looking first for individual buyers
might be the best approach.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so lost in the work that when the
cleaners departed, I gave them a check and waved them on their way without
inspecting the library. I needed to have worried. It was immaculate. The
library tables were oak and they glistened in the sunlight coming in through
the windows. They had pulled back the heavy drapes and cleaned the windows until
the glass was so clear you might have thought the window was open. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Smiling to myself I walked into the
kitchen and put on a tea kettle. A slight humming sound drew my attention.
Looking around and finding nothing plugged in I put my ear against the wall and
sure enough, the humming like a hive of bees was coming from inside the wall.
It unnerved me. I hoped it wasn’t an electrical problem because a fire in this
vast estate would be catastrophic. Just as suddenly as it started it stopped.
Looking down at the base of the wall I saw a fine powder residue. Looking
closer it appeared to be salt, a thin line of salt trailed along the
baseboards. Maybe it wasn’t salt but poison for rodents? I wasn’t sure. At just
that moment the tea kettle </span>whistled,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I went to make a nice pot of peppermint
tea. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">With the tea tray balanced in my hands, I
looked ruefully at the suitcases. I’d need to make two trips up the winding
staircase. I had picked a bedroom, the first door on the right, second floor
and it was shiny and clean. The bed had smooth cotton sheets with lilacs
dancing across them. Sitting the tea tray on the tiny table next to the reading
chair I went down to retrieve the suitcases. Just as I was starting back up a
loud noise echoed upstairs. Arriving at the top I noticed the door I had left
open was now firmly shut. Fighting the suitcases, I tugged at the door. It
stuck firmly in the door frame, refusing to budge. I pulled with both </span>hands,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and
it eventually popped open. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I threw the cases in a corner and sat down
sipping the hot fragrant tea. I could feel my muscles relaxing and I leaned
back in the chair, closing my eyes. They popped open startled as the door
slammed shut again, causing the whole room to vibrate with the force. I looked
around the room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing nothing I Shrugged.
Old houses are drafty and there could easily be a window open somewhere. I
poured myself a second cup of tea and thought back to the ad I had answered for
an estate accountant. Short and to the point. I had been immediately offered
the job and I rejoiced at my good fortune. Finishing my second cup, I made a
mental note to check the windows tomorrow and crawled into bed sinking into the
feather bed and letting the smooth sheets soothe my hot skin. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke once during the night, a cold
breeze drifted through the room. Shivering I pulled the blankets a little
closer. A scratching noise in the wall captured my attention and a chill ran
through me that wasn’t a result of the cold. I listened to the noise as I
drifted back to sleep. I reminded myself that Jana was coming tomorrow and that
having someone else in the house would quiet my uneasiness. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The early sunlight barely filtered into
the room around the edges of the moss-green drapes. They were thick. I pulled
one of them open. The window was tall, running almost from floor to ceiling.
Looking out I noticed how well-sculpted the lawn was while the inside of the
house had been neglected. The grass lawn was interrupted by a stone path that
led off into the woods to the east of the house. It disappeared into the dense
underbrush of the forest that surrounded the house on three sides. I glanced
over at the winding driveway that led up to the house and caught a glimpse of a
car vanishing behind a curve and then reappearing. Jana.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stood on the front porch, leaning
against the concrete railing as Jana pulled her small yellow escort into the
driveway. The sunny yellow fit her personality so well, always smiling and
cheerful. Now she stopped in the drive and with her hands on her hips she
looked up at the house. I hadn’t told her it was three stories and a mishmash
of design. The expression on her face said it all. Her tiny nose crinkled in
disgust and her smile was more of a grimace. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s hideous,” she called to me as she
walked up the steps. “Absolutely hideous” When she reached me, she wrapped me
in her arms, squeezing so tightly I gasped. “Quite a gig you got here,” she
said. Then we both burst out laughing. She trailed along behind me as I gave
her a quick tour of the downstairs. Besides the library which would serve as
our office, there was the dining room, the kitchen, an enormous pantry, two big
bathrooms, and a long room that ran across the entire back of the house. From
the furnishings, I guessed it was like a den or a family room. It was stuffed
full of a mixture of furniture, different colors, and styles. The entire back
wall of the house was floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the dense
forest at the rear of the yard. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“What’s this?” Jana asked rattling the </span>doorknob<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> on a door at the far end of the room. I had noticed it before and had
assumed it was a closet. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A closet, I guess,” but just as I said
the words Jana pulled with all her might on the door and it popped open,
causing her to stagger backward and stub her toe. She yelped, wincing and
rubbing her toe. I wanted to tell her that opened-toed sandals were not the
best for working. I even opened my mouth to speak then my eyes were drawn to
what was in the closet. Sitting snuggly inside the small space was a vault. Its
surface was a shiny black although it was rusted slightly around the hinges.
The lock on the safe was a thick knob with numbers around the outside. Jana
turned and looked at it too, whistling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“What have we here?” she muttered, running
her fingers over the lock. I walked up next to her and jotted down the safe
number and serial number. We were going to need a locksmith or so I thought.
Jana leaned in next to the tumbler lock and held her finger up to her lips I
watched as she twirled it. She must have heard some faint sound that I couldn’t
because her eyes </span>sparkled,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and she paused and then twirled the lock in the
opposite direction. After a second the spark jumped in her blue eyes again and
she twirled in the other direction. I heard a </span>click,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and she pulled the handle.
The door was heavy and it slowly creaked open. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jana jumped back, tumbling onto the floor,
and then we both started to laugh. Sitting inside the old safe was a porcelain
doll. Its bright green eyes stared out at </span>Jana;<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> the little painted-on smile was
lopsided. Rings of curly brown hair covered the doll’s head and fell to its
shoulders. The dress was faded but daisies were still visible dancing across
the surface. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I wonder why Daisy is in the safe?” I
asked, giving the doll a name immediately. Reaching out I lifted her out of the
safe, checking her little arms and legs for any chips or cracks. Finding none I
pushed her hair back, touching the finely sculpted ears and wondering how old
she was. The dress was on the verge of </span>crumbling,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> so the doll was probably very
old. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She looks very old,” Jana said, sitting
back on her heels, she added, “Are there any tags?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I delicately lifted the dress and then ran
my finger along her arms and legs. I couldn’t feel any tags. Outside the wind
picked up and tiny twigs and leaves slammed against the windows startling me.
The brewing storm came out of nowhere. Drops of rain pounded the windows,
bouncing off the glass. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I carried the doll to the library with
Jana following me. Placing her gently into one of the huge leather chairs, I
took some pictures with my phone. A few minutes later we were both bent over
one of the computers that I had sat up on a long table, clicking several sites
and coming up empty. None of the old dolls listed had even a resemblance to the
one we had found. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walked back toward the chair, both
stopping, our wide eyes looked at each other and we proceeded forward at a
slower pace. Daisy sat in the chair looking at us with her crooked smile. Her
hair tangled on her head and rested against the chair's back. Turning I looked
at Jana who met my gaze. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Did you sit her up?” I asked for I was
certain we had left her reclining on the seat of the chair. Jana swallowed and
shook her head no. Then we both turned and stared at the old doll perched in
the chair. I felt my first inkling of dread. It was birthed in the pit of my
stomach and traveled upward, past my heart, and right into my throat. I felt
the lump forming there and I grabbed a bottle of water, chugging it down. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We left her sitting there and moved over
to the small seating arrangement in front of the old stone fireplace. Uncannily
her green eyes seemed to follow our movements. Jana picked up her bottle of
water and gulped it down. Then she shifted in her chair so she could keep an
eye on the doll as we talked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is there another explanation?” I asked.
Jana took her eyes away from the doll, looking at me I could see a tiny bead of
fear in her eyes. We sometimes took in a horror movie together or shared
stories from books but neither of us had ever dabbled in anything even remotely
supernatural. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps the doll fell,” I offered. Jana
looked at Daisy again then rolled her eyes at me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The doll fell up?” she asked. If the doll
had been sitting up and we had found her reclining my explanation might make </span>sense,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but Jana was right how did the doll fall up into a sitting position? Frowning,
I closed my eyes and thought. Finally, exhausted I suggested </span>lunch,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> so we left
Daisy there in the library and busied ourselves making sandwiches in the
kitchen. I slathered mayo on the bread then added tomato, lettuce, turkey, and
cheese. Jana poured large glasses of lemonade from the pitcher in the
refrigerator. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We ate with great gusto as Jana told me
about her latest date, which had ended in disaster very much like all of them
seemed to. I outlined the treasures I had found in the dining </span>room,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and she
offered to contact possible buyers in the afternoon. The sooner we emptied one
room the sooner we could start on the next. Neither of us had any connections
in the doll business but I decided we need to unload that little piece as
quickly as possible. I’d rest better knowing it was out of the house. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I dreaded returning to the library but
carrying a tea set on a tray we traipsed back into the room. Jana let out a
deep sigh and I knew she had been holding her breath, dreading the room as much
as I did. To our relief Daisy was exactly as we left her and looking at </span>her,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I
thought her eyes even seemed a little less life-like. Ignoring her, we poured
tea and enjoyed one cup before getting to work. I carried the </span>China<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> in from the
dining room for Jana to photograph then we wrapped each piece in bubble wrap
and placed it gently into boxes, labeling each one precisely. We didn’t seal
the boxes because potential buyers would want to examine the pieces. After
making dozens of trips, I collapsed on the sofa and Jana took the chair. The
rain had stopped but it was still dreary. Closing my eyes, I drifted into a
light </span>slumber,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but I’d learn later that Jana refused to close her eyes. Instead,
she kept a steady eye on Daisy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I put Jana in the small bedroom directly
opposite mine. It had faded yellow paint, a hodge- podge of mismatched
furniture, and lacy curtains that barely kept the moonlight out let alone the
sun. She laughed at my apologies. “It’s perfect,” she </span>said,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I knew she was
right. Jana was a disarming array herself. Her black hair framed a surprisingly
pale face which didn’t match her hair coloring at all. When I first met her, I
assumed her hair was dyed but later when I confessed as much, she laughed
showing her pearly white teeth. “No way,” she exclaimed. She spoke in a slight
accent that clipped her words in properly annunciated syllables and gave an air
of aristocracy. But I knew she came from a small town buried in the Midwest
without any big city sophistication at all. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The night was surprisingly </span>quiet,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I
woke early to the shower running in the bathroom next to my room. Jana’s up
early I thought but then I hear her banging on the bathroom door, complaining
about needing to pee. I poked my head out my door and she jumped at the sight
of me. Then she turned her wide eyes to the closed bathroom door where the
shower had suddenly shut off. I swallowed hard and pulled my robe around me. “Who
is in there?” I called out, tapping on the door. No one answered. I pushed the
door open and misty steam swirled into the cold hallway. Peeking inside the
room I looked around. The mirror was fogged up, a crumpled towel lay on the
floor and the shower curtain was pulled back showing the wet tub. On one side
of the white tub, something glistened. The faint smell of lavender drifted past
my nostrils. It was my shower gel spilled down the side of the tub. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the hell,” Jana said as she took in
the empty bathroom. “What is going on?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My hands trembled slightly as I propped
the door open with a heavy cast iron door stop. The closed door was easily
explained by an old drafty </span>house,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but the shower was not so easily dismissed. “I
have no idea,” I said the Jana. Not bothering to get dressed we went </span>downstairs,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I put on the coffee pot. Forget about tea, we needed a strong jolt of
caffeine. After settling at the table with two large mugs of steaming coffee, I
spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you think this old place is haunted?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In typical Jana fashion, she didn’t flinch
or belittle my suggestion. How could she? We had just walked into an empty
bathroom filled with steamy air from a recent shower. Instead, she rolled her
eyes up in her head in thought. Jana was an old book expert, not a paranormal
investigator but she was also an avid reader. Now she searched her mind for
anything that might tell us what was going on. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got up to make some toast but when I
opened the cupboard where I had put the toaster I screamed. The words ripped
from my throat with the intensity of a hurricane. There sitting in the place
the toaster usually did was the doll. Daisy’s cracked face seemed to smirk at
me. One hand rested in her lap and a single drop of water trailed down her cheek
like a tear. Jana jumped up at the sound of the scream. Now standing beside me
she bit her bottom lip. She reached out a finger to touch the doll but I
slammed the cabinet door shut and backed away. The tapping of my heart inside
my chest felt like the drum beats of an ancient tribe. We sat back down and
stared at each other, afraid to speak. Afraid the doll might hear us. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let’s put her back in the safe,” Jana
suggested. Leaving the doll behind we went to the closet with the safe inside
it. The safe door was closed and no matter how many times Jana tried she
couldn’t hear the tumblers inside the lock. The door remained firmly locked. We
avoided the kitchen and ended up in the library. The rows of books mocked us.
There was work to be done but the creepy doll was making it impossible. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s that story about a creepy doll?
Annabelle?” I asked. Jana’s eyes bulged and she swallowed hard. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The doll was possessed or something,” she
finally answered me. “I think the doll is in some occult museum in Connecticut
now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A knot formed in my stomach, a mixture of
fear and uncertainty. Did I believe in this stuff? No, no I did not but there
was something wrong with that doll. Something was very wrong. Just the fact
that she kept turning up in unexpected places was enough to spook me. And the
shower, why had it run all by itself? I was sure the doll hadn’t been in the
shower so who was?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But what about the
shower?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jana bit her lip again and her dark hair
fell across her forehead as she leaned closer to me. “I think there’s more than
one ghost here,” she whispered, looking around as if she was afraid of being
overheard. I thought about the steamy shower. I shook my head and tried to
clear my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Maybe we should just get to work,” I
suggested but Jana was up and out of the room before I could say anything more.
When she returned, she was holding Daisy. She smoothed the doll’s dress and sat
her on a cushion in a tall wing-backed chair. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She can watch us work. Maybe she’s just
worried about us invading her home,” Jana said. I almost rolled my eyes but I
didn’t. There was something very wrong in this house. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daisy stayed put while we pulled books off
a shelf, dusted them, and flipped through the pages. Jana had a laptop open to
make a list of exactly what we had. A lot of the books were common copies, old
but not particularly valuable. But there were also hidden gems. There was a
first edition of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen worth over $200,000. A copy
of The Canterbury Tales while old turned out to be a newer version that was
nowhere near a first-edition price. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A thick black book toppled from the shelf
landing with a loud thud on the floor. A cold breeze circulated in the room and
Jana looked at me. The windows were firmly shut so where was the air coming
from? Old houses are </span>drafty,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but goosebumps popped up along my arms. Jana picked
up the volume and carried it to the table. It was an old Bible. Inside the
cover, a family tree was filled with faded looping handwriting. When Jana
picked it up to show me, I noticed a tiny piece of paper sticking out from one
of the pages. I tugged at it but it didn’t move. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Put it on the table,” I told Jana and she
put the book down with a loud thump. Dust floated in the air around it. I
inserted my finger next to the protruding paper and flipped the pages until I
revealed it. It was a faded photograph. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A young girl, of about four, with curly
hair and bright eyes, stared back at us. The photo was in black and </span>white,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but
her hair was so white I thought it had to be blonde. Her hands were neatly
folded in front of her in the picture. Behind her bare-branched trees created a
desolate landscape. The photo evoked a mood of sadness, barren and lonely as if
the girl was completely alone. Jana touched the photo. Though the girl's dress
was blurry, I could make out the pattern. Daisies. I turned it over. Spidery
handwriting trailed across the back. Our beloved daughter, Catherine Elizabeth.
We both turned to look at the doll. She sat in the chair exactly as we had left
her, blindly staring into space. I flipped through the book repeatedly but
nothing further was tucked into its pages. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We worked through lunch but stopped early
that evening. We had barely made it through even a third of the </span>books,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but it
was enough to know that this room alone was a goldmine. I had made sandwiches
and a new pitcher of </span>lemonade,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but we were so excited by the finds that we
barely ate. Daisy was still perched on the cushion. Nothing unusual had
happened during the day but now that the sun was dipping below the horizon, I
felt a surge of fear. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The date on the photo was hard to read but
we decided the year was 1924. The more I stared at the little girl the more I
felt sorry for her. She was so thin that her legs looked like sticks protruding
out from the blossoming skirt of her dress. Her face taut and fixed offered
only the smallest of smiles. What life had she lived here at this house and
what had happened to her? I glanced over at Daisy. She still sat upright but I
could have sworn her head was in a different position. She looked right at me.
I sipped the cold lemonade and tried to ignore the tingling anxiety that
suddenly enveloped me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When we climbed the stairs later that
night, I looked back over my shoulder expecting to see Daisy following </span>us,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but
the stairs were empty. We parted ways in the </span>hallway,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I closed my bedroom
door firmly behind me. The image of the little girl still haunted me. I looked
into the mirror after brushing my teeth, lost in thought. A shadow shifted
behind me in the bedroom. Nothing substantial just a darkening like someone’s
shadow. When I stepped back into the bedroom nothing was there. Crawling into
bed I tucked the sheet around me with the childish idea that keeping myself under
the blankets would somehow protect me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It must have been about two o’clock when a
scream pierced the house. I set upright and dangled my legs off the bed as
another scream echoed in the hallway. Was it Jana? Rushing to the door I pulled
it </span>open,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and a strong gust of cold air swooshed by me. Across the hallway,
Jana’s door was open too. She stood just inside the room, her eyes wild and
frightened. Her mouth open and shut like a hooked fish gasping for air. A third
scream further away and the pattering of running feet jerked us to action. We
raced down the stairs. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An hour later the house was quiet with
only the sounds of our ragged breathing breaking the silence. We searched
downstairs. Nothing. We both agreed that the screams had come from the lower
level but finding nothing we decided to examine the upstairs as well. <br />
We worked out way down the hallway, opening doors and turning on lights. Soon
the whole house was ablaze with lights. The bedrooms on the second floor were
stuffed with old furniture covered in sheets. Dust billowed off them when we
touched them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the last bedroom, on the right side of
the hallway, I opened the closet door. But it wasn’t a closet at all. Inside
were metal steps, leading up to one of the turret rooms. Of course, I had
forgotten about the upper level. The four rooms on the third floor didn’t
connect. Each one was a separate room only accessible by the sets of twisting
metal stairs hidden inside each corner room. Then I remembered the one in my
room and shivered. I looked at Jana and she nodded. I used the flashlight to
examine the steps before we started up. They looked sturdy enough. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At the top, the last step led us into a
circular room. It was large with windows filling each wall. The night lurked </span>outside,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I could see the stars in the massive darkness that surrounded the
house. In this room, the furniture was uncovered. A tiny canopied bed, a white
nightstand, and a shelf filled with neglected toys and books. It was a child’s
room. I thought of the picture. Surely this couldn’t be Catherine Elizabeth’s
room. She had lived so long ago. The dust was thick in here and <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A crucifix hung on the wall opposite the </span>bed,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but it had come loose from the hook and hung crooked on the wall, upside
down. The walls were a pale yellow or maybe they were supposed to be white but
had yellowed over time. The windows were clean. The glass panes were as clear
as if they had just been washed with Windex. Jana ran a finger down one of them
and looked at me puzzled. “Were the cleaners up here?” she asked. I shook my
head. As far as I knew no one had been up here. I had even forgotten the rooms
existed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sneezed making Jana jump. We glanced
around the room one last time and then made our way back to the second floor.
It was eerily quiet. No squeaking floorboards nor the sounds of an old house
settling. Neither of us wanted to sleep so we ended up in the kitchen where I
put on the coffee. Soon the room was filled with the comforting aroma of
brewing coffee. The warmth of the mugs was reassuring in our hands. The kitchen
wrapped around us like a protective oasis. We sat quietly, each of us secretly
keeping our silence as we listened for any ominous sounds from the house. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are we going to do?” Jana asked. I
didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure how to handle any of this. In all my time dealing
with antiques, I had never encountered anything remotely similar. I breathed in
deeply wondering what to do next and the only thing I could come up with was to
keep working. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jana followed me to the library where we
started on the pile of faxes that had arrived during the night. Several dealers
were interested in the items we had posted online. We worked for several hours
until sudden fatigue overtook me. I felt weak. A single sheet of paper slipped
from my hand and floated through the air, landing under the chair where we had
left the doll. Both of us had steadfastly ignored looking at Daisy when we came
into the library. Now I noticed something different about her. In her lap was
the photo we had found in the old Bible. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m going to empty the desk drawer,” Jana
said, unaware of the picture. I just swallowed hard and stood back up. I didn’t
want to know how the picture had gotten from the desktop to the doll's lap. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She started pulling things out of the
stuffed drawer, old newspaper clippings, a paperweight, and a small leather
book. A red marble dropped to the floor with a loud thud and rolled toward me.
I stopped down to pick it up and that’s when I saw the tiny corner of paper
stuck at the very back of the drawer. “Something’s stuck in the back,” I said.
Jana bent down to look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Yep,” she said using her finger to nudge
the corner of the paper. It was stuck </span>fast,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and she pulled at the drawer trying
to remove it and retrieve it. The drawer was stubborn, moving only an inch
before stopping. Jana wiggled it back and forth. It groaned in </span>protest,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but she
kept working until it popped out of the opening. Falling to the floor beneath
the desk was a folded piece of paper. She shook it open and handed it to me. We
huddled together on the sofa to examine it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It is with great sadness that I must
accept that we will soon lose Lizzie. She grows weaker every day and is so
thin. The doctor says there is nothing left to be done. My heart aches when I
watch her eat. She can barely swallow even a few bites. Belinda is so
distraught she can barely eat herself. Yesterday she begged me again to go and
visit the old woman who lives across the meadow and over the hill. Rumors
abound that she is gifted with healing power.</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">There was a large gap in the paper like
it’s a torn page from a journal and the next entry was cryptic. It looked
different from the first entry as if written with a shaking hand. The sprawling
writing trailed crookedly across the yellowed page.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">God
help me I have given in. Stella has been visiting my wife and </span>Lizzie,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but I see
little change. I fear Belinda’s hopes have been raised just to be crushed again
when our poor Lizzie passes. Today the three of them were whispering and
stopped abruptly when I came into the room. Later I asked my wife what they had
been talking about. Her eyes rolled in her head like a frightened </span>horse,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and she
bit he bottom lip until it bled. I prodded gently. She cried out but confessed.
What they have been planning is ungodly. But I haven’t the heart to deny her.</span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i> </i> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The entry trails off and I turn the paper
over. Nothing. Jana crawls under the big desk, searching for anything else but
there is nothing. I pick up the empty drawer and turn it over. Stuck to the
bottom is a half sheet of paper, the bottom half torn and jagged. I lick my
lips and stare at the writing. It has become so thin and disjointed that I can
barely read it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stella has convinced my wife that upon
Lizzie’s death she can bind her to an object, her doll, and that way Lizzie’s
spirit will be with her always, safe here in the house. Belinda and I argued
today. Lizzie is sleeping more and more
and at some point, she will not wake up. I told Belinda this is unholy witchcraft.
It's not natural. At first, I forbid it but when Belinda collapsed, I relented.
I can’t lose my daughter and my wife.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Then several lines down, a final entry.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It is done. God forgive me. It is much
worse than I ever imagined. My daughter’s soul is here but there’s something
else with her. Something insidious and dangerous. I fear for our lives. May God
have mercy on our souls.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jana and I both turned at the same time to
look at the </span>doll,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but she was gone. The only thing left on the chair was the
photograph. “We have to get rid of that doll,” I whispered. A soft growl, like
a panther, echoed down the empty hallway and then the house settled around us
with a sigh. In the arched doorway to the hall, a misty figure of a woman
appeared. Her ashen skin is stretched tautly across her bones. Her hair is
pulled back in a wispy bun and she puts a finger to her lips. Then she
vanishes. A scream, long and primal races up the stairs.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think we need to burn the bones,” Jana
says so softly I can barely make out her words. I arch my eyebrows and then
roll my eyes. I’m not planning to follow some method used in a tv series. Then
again, I don’t have a better idea. But we have no idea where the family is
buried. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jana moves slowly to the </span>worktable<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and
opens up her laptop. She searches several genealogy sites but without the last
name, we have no idea how to find the burial sites. Then an idea pops into my
head. The family Bible. I pull it into my lap and start flipping through the
front pages. Catherine Elizabeth Clark, Belinda Renee Clark, and her husband
Jonathon Clark all died within 9 months of each other. I run my finger under
the entries. Clark Family Cemetery is listed as their final resting place. Jana
types it into the computer. We stared at the screen horrified. The cemetery was
right here on the estate, hidden behind the trees at the back of the house. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sudden
darkness swept through the room. Outside the afternoon sky was black with storm
clouds and the trees swayed in the increasing wind. The cemetery would have to
wait. We couldn’t go traipsing around in a thunderstorm. The rain pounded the
roof and bounced off the </span>windowpanes<span style="font-size: 12pt;">. Jana curled up on the sofa with the
laptop. Swallowing hard I rubbed my forehead where the first throbs of a
headache were starting. “I’m going to find Daisy,” I said. Jana didn’t offer
her opinion. She didn’t need to. I could see it in her wide terrified eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“What are we going to do with her?” she </span>asked,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and the words scratched at our anxiety, leaving deep marks of dread.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bury her,” I said with a certainty that I
didn’t feel. Spirits that remain inside bodies get buried with the people they
inhabited. That hadn’t happened this time and I was about to remedy that
mistake. But first I had to have the doll. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m coming with you,” Jana exclaimed and
bounced up off the sofa filled with nervous energy. I thought she probably
wasn’t suddenly brave. She just didn’t want to be alone. A low growling in the
hallway outside the library door made us hesitate. I peeked around the door
frame but seeing nothing I stepped out. A wave of cold hit me. At the top of
the stairs, the flickering image of the woman appeared briefly and then blinked
out like a light that had been turned off. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jana took my hand squeezing it. We
searched the kitchen first, opening every cabinet door. Then we moved to the
dining room. A blue willow plate that hung on the wall, crashed to the floor at
my feet. I ignored it. I had the strangest thought. Were these manifestations
the temper tantrum of a small child or something more insidious? “Stop it,” I
said, speaking to no one in particular but hoping that if it was Lizzie, she
might heed my command. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the entryway we looked up the stairs,
dreading what we might find on the second floor. Then suddenly I knew where the
doll was. In the yellow room on the third floor. I rushed up the stairs and to
the room at the end of the hallway. Grabbing the metal railing I pulled myself
up, step by step. Pushing into the room, a flash of lightning swept across the
dark sky outside. There sitting on the old bed was Daisy. I should have been
terrified but for some reason, I felt a great way of sadness. Jana was behind
me and put her hand against my back. A dark shadow in the corner caught my eye.
It shifted, serpent-like, long and sinuous. A loud hiss startled me into
action. Grabbing Daisy, we plunged back down the stairs. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The rain had slowed, pattering softly on
the roof. It was early </span>evening,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but the dark clouds made it appear later. We
ended up on the front porch and I looked around desperately. Loud thumbs inside
the house shook the front door. Something was coming. Ignoring the lingering </span>rain,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> we rushed to the backyard. “We need a shovel,” I called to Jana. She
nodded and rummaged in the old shed, finally emerging with a rusted old shovel.
In my hand, the doll warmed as if it was a living breathing child. I looked
down and its eyes blinked at me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The rain stopped </span>altogether,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and we hurried
to the woods. The brush was thick and tangled, grabbing at our feet like some
hungry beast. The vines scratched my arms and blood beaded up on my skin. Jana
was in </span>front,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and she looked over her shoulder to make sure I was still with
her. Something pulled at the doll. There was nothing to see but I could feel
the tug and I tightened my grasp on the old doll. Plunging forward we emerged
on the other side of the trees. A rusted metal fence surrounded a few graves,
maybe half a dozen. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The words engraved in the stones were so
worn that I couldn’t make them out. But in the center of the small cemetery
were three graves. One was large with a towering monument above it and to the
left of the two larger stones was a smaller one. A small statue of an angel
stood guard next to the stone. My feet slipped on the wet </span>grass,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I landed on
my butt right next to the trio of graves. Something snagged my ankle and
pulled. Thick fingers wrapped around my ankle. They were cold and burned into
my skin. I kicked at my invisible attacker. I tucked the doll inside my shirt
and twisted until I could reach around the headstone. I held on tight. Jana
started digging. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mud splattered me as the shovel sliced
again and again into the wet </span>earth,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but I kept hold of the headstone. A musty
smell drifted across my nostrils and another smell. A sweet cloying smell of
decay. How deep was Jana digging? Then I heard the shovel hit something hard.
The top of Lizzie’s casket I guessed. I dig the heels of my boots into the dirt
and looked behind me. The hole was small but deep. I kissed Daisy’s forehead
for some reason and then dropped her into the hole. Jana scooped a shovel full
of dirt and poured it into the hole. On my hands and knees, I helped push more
dirt into the small grave. Behind us, in the trees, something growled a deep
throaty sound. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I grabbed Jana’s hand. Behind the center
headstone, the woman’s image appeared. She was holding the hand of a small
child with honey-colored hair. The woman smiled before a gust of wind blew her
away. The little girl’s face was </span>solemn,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and I couldn’t tell if she was pleased
or not. We stayed there staring at the spot they had occupied for a long time.
We had no desire to walk back through the </span>woods,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but it was getting dark now and
we couldn’t stay outside all night. I was surprised when we arrived on the
porch without incident. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jana ended up staying with me at the old
mansion for the whole year. We worked side by side until all the contents were
sold or disposed of. A strange peace settled over the house and nothing else
happened. We moved Jana’s bed into my room so we would be together during the
darkest hours of the night. On our last day there, Jana climbed the metal
stairs to another of the round rooms on the third floor. I don’t know why she
decided to take another look but when she descended, she held a doll in her
hands. Not Daisy. This one had long black silky hair and rose-colored red lips.
The cheeks were blushed pink with a light dusting of paint. My mouth was so dry
I could barely speak. My heart skipped a beat as I looked at it. I took the
doll without speaking and opened the back door. This thing was going into the
trash. I didn’t care if it was worth a fortune, I wanted nothing to do with it.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As I stepped out into the bright morning
with Jana right behind me, a noise at the corner of the house by the trash cans
caught my attention. Someone was rooting through the cans. An old man with a
scraggly beard looked up at me from under his bushy eyebrows. His eyes
brightened as he spied the doll. He wobbled over to me, reached out, and took
the doll from my hands. “I’ll take Stella,” he said. He retreated so quickly,
lurching with each step that I thought he might topple over. I hadn’t time to
say a word. I reached out toward </span>him,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but Jana pressed my arm down. “Let it go,”
she said. “It’s not ours.” I opened my mouth to speak and then shut it just as
quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I left the house that day, never to
return. I’m not sure if it still stands or if they tore it down as they had
originally planned. Jana and I are still good </span>friends,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and we see each other
several times a week. Mostly my life returned to normal. Mostly. Sometimes I
wake up late at night on the verge of screaming. The air presses down on me
until I can barely breathe. On those nights I just get up. I turn on every
light in my house and sit in the rocking chair. It’s not just at night though.
Some days are strange too. Low-level anxiety hums inside me on most days.
Watching eyes, that I can’t locate burn their stare into my back. I can feel
something behind me, at times rushing at me and at other times creeping so
slowly I think it will never catch me. But there’s something I know with deep
certainty. It will catch me. One day it will pounce when I least expect it. So,
I fight hard to be constantly vigilant. It is an exhausting way to live but it
is the only way to stay alive. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-2441860061239179622022-09-28T17:59:00.052-06:002022-09-30T07:52:17.073-06:00The Trick or Treat Mirror<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWv3Ak1vRPW2_8-CKLSandlwm8RWXdFxigO7Cyr7VZH-xrl1hDD_1gBANisE3ssta07AFCFaP6eiPC8zssOzbqIq1XSil7MESFgrmlYzbyxaFyBoN6dbCQyWDfXiCqCP7aj6qq90zXK8XwCyA5Ri5HaqQGY9mi9tyATx_oq-RjMklTgP-BDF4Z31vaQ/s1080/Trick%20or%20Treat%20png.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWv3Ak1vRPW2_8-CKLSandlwm8RWXdFxigO7Cyr7VZH-xrl1hDD_1gBANisE3ssta07AFCFaP6eiPC8zssOzbqIq1XSil7MESFgrmlYzbyxaFyBoN6dbCQyWDfXiCqCP7aj6qq90zXK8XwCyA5Ri5HaqQGY9mi9tyATx_oq-RjMklTgP-BDF4Z31vaQ/w400-h400/Trick%20or%20Treat%20png.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">September 15th</div><div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The mirror was covered in dust and smelled
slightly earthy as if it had been buried for thousands of years. The frame was
heavy wood with carvings around the edges. Charlene knew it was going to be
hard to clean all of those crevices. She checked the mirror part carefully.
There wasn’t a single crack. Buried beneath the dirt on the top portion of the
frame, Charlene discovered three words, Trick or Treat, and beside the words a
pair of eyes carved into the thick wood. It was at that moment she decided to
bid on the hideous old thing. Of course, she won it. No one else wanted the
very old mirror that would take hours to clean. Charlene smiled. The mirror
would be a great addition to her Halloween décor.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">October
1</span><sup style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">st</sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> and 2nd</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Two weeks later, on October first Charlene
started decorating. The mirror had cleaned up far easier than she expected. It
was leaning against the wall on her front porch with pumpkins nestled at the
base. The glass, at first was murky and streaked, but after washing it several
times and using copious amounts of Windex, it had cleared. She stood back,
tilted her head, and looked at herself in the mirror. Glancing over her
shoulder she bit her lip. This neighborhood was home to several dozen teenagers
and she wondered if the mirror was safe on the porch. Sighing deeply, she
patted the corner and whispered to the mirror, “good luck.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She jerked her hand back as her eyes
widened in surprise. Reaching out a single finger she poked the mirror.
Nothing. For a moment there she had thought the mirror moved, yielding slightly
to her hand. A warmth had raced up her arm along with an odd set of vibrations.
Little ripples of energy pulsed, briefly, just under her skin. Nonsense she
told herself. The scary movies she had already started watching had her
spooked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then shaking her head, she went back into
the house to carry out the Halloween lights. Outside the mirror shimmered and
glowed slightly. It shifted. A single finger with a long nail tapped on the
glass from the other side of the shiny glass surface. Charlene came back
outside, her arms loaded with decorations. She glanced briefly at the </span>mirror,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but the blank surface betrayed nothing. She strung lights, placed a large
stuffed witch near the railing, and lined the steps with pumpkins. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When she was satisfied with her efforts,
she stood in the yard looking up at her porch. The spider webs against the
posts in each corner were a nice addition. She admired the mirror also. The
outer frame featured twisted vines with a few multi-legged creatures peeking
out from their depths. A single set of eyes glared out from one corner. She
considered if she should paint the eyes to make them stand out </span>more,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but she
worried that her artistic abilities weren’t up to the task. As she looked at
them now from the yard, she thought they were quite prominent. They would draw
attention. Just as she was about to walk away, she jumped back. The eyes had
blinked. Shaking her head hard, she rushed up onto the porch. The eyes stared
blankly out of the frame. She was sure they had blinked but in the dim light of
evening perhaps the setting sun had played a trick on her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night Charlene tossed and turned, her
dreams filled with strange flashing images and whispers. As streaks of fall
sunshine filtered through her curtains, she begrudgingly sat up on the side of
the bed. She rubbed her forehead where a headache was building, tiny pinpricks
of pain buried deep in her brain. Standing up, she stretched and stumbled into
the kitchen to put on the coffee. The branches of the tree outside the kitchen
window dipped down scraping against the glass. She jerked at the sound. Sighing
deeply Charlene tried to recall one of the dreams. In it, a scratching sound,
like fingernails against a chalkboard had echoed around her. She had been
terrified at the noise, struggling to breathe, opening her mouth to scream and
finding that no sound emerged. Stop, she told herself. It was only a dream.
Then she poured coffee and sipped it looking out the window at the gold and
orange leaves. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A knock on the front door startled her out
of her daydreams. She rushed to answer it wondering who was calling so early on
a Saturday morning. When she pulled the door open, an old woman with long gray
hair stood outside the screen door. The woman peered up at her with filmy eyes.
Charlene wondered if the woman was blind. Her skin was weathered with age and
bluish bruises ran up and down her arms. The woman reached up, brushing a
strand of gray hair back from her face. The skin on her bony hand was so thin.
Charlene imagined she could see the whiteness of bone beneath the fragile layer
of skin and the blood pulsing in her veins. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“May I help you?” Charlene asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can help you,” the old woman said.
Charlene pushed the screen open and stepped out onto the porch. She shut the
door firmly behind her. She had no intention of inviting the woman in but she
was curious. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m Charlene,” she said extending her
hand out to the woman. The woman shook her hand and Charlene resisted the urge
to pull away. Her hand was icy cold and rough like sandpaper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“No need for introductions dear. I know
who you are,” the woman said. Charlene wondered how she knew her. She waited
for some further </span>explanation,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but the woman didn’t say anything more nor did she
offer her name in return. Instead, she turned and walked over to the mirror.
Looking into it, she smiled a strange sad smile. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I see the mirror is safe,” she offered as
if that explained everything. Charlene bit her bottom lip and joined the woman
in front of the mirror. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I should take it off your hands,” the old
lady said. Her words were sharp and crips as if she had made some monumental
decision. But just beneath the surface was something else. Fear or apprehension
cast shadows on the positive tone the woman tried to portray. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh no, that’s quite alright. I like it,”
Charlene said. But as the words came out, she recognized that they were not
quite true. She didn’t like the mirror at all. It sent ripples of apprehension
up and down her spine. A vague uneasiness tingled through her. She glanced up
at the eyes. They stared straight ahead and didn’t move. It was only your
imagination, Charlene told herself. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She old woman’s eyes were locked on her.
That created another level of dread and she found herself wondering which she
disliked more the mirror or the old woman. “I’m Lorraine,” the old woman spat
out. Charlene stepped back, shocked at the venom in the woman’s words. She
resisted an urge to rush inside the house, away from both the woman and the
mirror. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You have chosen then,” Lorraine said, and
then she mumbled something Charlene couldn’t quite make out, but she thought it
was something like “your fate is sealed.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lorraine hurried down the porch steps
faster than Charlene thought possible of a woman her age and she disappeared
down the sidewalk. Charlene watched until she was gone and then she reached out
to touch the mirror. It squirmed beneath her touch and Charlene gasped, pulling
her hand away. The mirror had seemed alive at that moment, a living breathing
thing. Charlene took one last look at the mirror and went back inside. Jamming
her doubts deep inside, she pushed the door shut and locked it. Then she leaned
against the door and waited for her heart rate to slow. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">October
10</span><sup style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">th</sup></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The two boys stood on the sidewalk in
front of Charlene’s house. Jeb Duncan was a six -foot four junior and it was
yet to be determined if he’d earn enough credits to graduate next year. A
football player, he was broad in the shoulders and muscular. His arms were thick
with muscles, making him a formidable figure. Kevin Kirkland looked short next
to him at a mere six foot. He was delegated to the second string of the team, but he still loved the sport.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They looked at the pumpkins, considering
whether tossing them around the yard would wake up anyone. Neither of them
could afford any more run-ins with the law. It was just before midnight and the
night was growing increasingly cold. They were itching to do something. Jeb
shoved Kevin forward. “Let’s check out the porch,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once on the porch, Jeb looked around.
Typical Halloween crap. Pumpkins, bats, and spider webs. Boring. Then the
mirror caught his eye. “What’s this?” he muttered. The two boys stood in front
of the old mirror staring into the glass. “I wonder if it’s worth any money,” Jeb
said. He grabbed hold of one edge of the mirror and tried to lift it off the
window floor. It was unusually heavy. Perhaps it was anchored to the floor. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey,” Kevin spluttered. Jeb glanced at
his friend. Kevin was staring into the mirror which had turned murky, filled
with misty green fog. The tendrils of fog swirled and shifted inside the glass,
dancing to the beat of some unheard song. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s cool,” Jeb said. This made him
want the mirror even more and he tried lifting it again, putting his shoulder
against the frame and heaving. It didn’t budge. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kevin shrank back away from the mirror.
The mirror was swirling but now the mist was dark, almost black. As he watched
a gray hand reached toward the surface of the mirror. A long nail tapped the
glass from the inside. “What the…” Kevin spoke at the same time as he moved
back several feet. Jeb laughed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t be a chicken shit,” he said. To
prove his point, he stepped closer to the mirror, bent down, and leaned in
until his cheek was almost touching the glass. The finger shifted position
until it was directly beside Jeb’s cheek. Tap, tap, tap. Jeb could feel the
vibration of the nail hitting the mirror next to his face. He pulled back, frowning.
How did this gimmick work? Was the image responding to some sensor? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“How much you think it's worth?” he asked
again. Kevin ignored him. A knot in the pit of his stomach was tightening as he
stared at the mirror. He thought he might throw up. He wanted no part of this
mirror but he wasn’t going to risk Jeb’s </span>ridicule,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> so he kept quiet, ignoring
the question. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeb ran his hand across the surface of the
mirror. It was smooth and malleable. A slight indentation in the glass was left
behind by his hand. As soon as he pulled his hand back the glass became smooth
and unblemished again. He looked at Kevin. He had turned quite green and looked
sick. Jeb shook his head and was about to comment but the finger in the mirror
stopped tapping and now the flat white surface showed a palm, flat against the
inside of the mirror. Jeb leaned down with his nose almost against it. Fine
veins ran through the white palm, He could see blue blood pumping through them.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let’s go,” Kevin urged and then he
twisted and vomited over the porch railing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re disgusting,” Jeb said. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeb reached out his hand and placed his
palm against the palm in the mirror. The mirror rippled like water. Before Jeb
could react the hand in the mirror shot out and wrapped its bony fingers around
his wrist, tugging. Someone screamed and Jeb realized it was Kevin. He pulled
away and the hand tightened like a vice grip around his wrist. A smell of
decaying flesh wafted in the air around the mirror. Jeb staggered and was pulled
closer to the mirror by the hand. The nails dug into his skin as he tried to
yank away from the hideous thing. He was even closer to the mirror now and his
heart beat hard in his chest. Kevin grabbed his other arm and pulled. It was
like a tug of war. First, one step closer than one step back. Jeb leaned back. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“On the count of three,” he said, “Pull
with everything you have.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The countdown was quick and on three both
boys leaned as far back as they could. The hand was pulled out of the mirror
until a whole arm was exposed. The skin was gray and withered, taut against the
bone. Goosebumps pooped up on the flesh. The hand let go and retreated. They
tumbled backward down the steps and jumped up, racing through the yard and down
the street.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Their
breathing came in ragged breaths by the time they stopped three blocks away.
Kevin looked at Jeb. Jeb started to laugh. This puzzled Kevin who thought he
might throw up again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That was some weed,” Jeb said doubling
over in laughter again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What…” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeah man, someone must have laced the pot
with something. We were hallucinating.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wait, we both hallucinated the same
thing?” How is that possible Kevin wondered? He rubbed the back of his neck and
sat down on the sidewalk, pulling his knees up to his chest. Jeb plopped down
next to him. Kevin reached over and pulled up the right sleeve of Jeb’s hoodie.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both boys sat for a very long time staring
at Jeb’s wrist. Bruises encircled his wrist. A tiny hole in his skin dripped
blood onto the sidewalk. They both stared down the sidewalk in the direction of
the house even though they were several blocks away from it. They weren’t
certain something hadn’t followed them. The air seemed alive with danger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Let’s go, man,” Kevin said. He got up
weakly. He staggered a few feet and looked back at Jeb who hadn’t moved. The
minutes ticked by and finally, Jeb responded. In a daze, he followed Kevin down
the street and around the corner. The car was several blocks in the other </span>direction,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but he wasn’t going back to get it. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow in
the light of day after the sunshine chased away the horror. Maybe then he could
escape the feel of the rotten flesh against his skin. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">October
11<sup>th</sup><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Charlene rocked in the wicker rocker on
the front porch with one eye on the mirror. It seemed different this morning.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on what was different. Perhaps it was the polished
wooden frame that had only yesterday seemed dull. Then she considered if the
visit from the old woman had simply planted seeds of curiosity in her. She
hadn’t been able to forget the strange woman and her intense interest in the
mirror. Charlene wondered where the woman had come from and how she knew the
mirror was there.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting her teacup down on the small
table, she studied the mirror. The frame, with its vines and bugs, reminded her
of something one might find in a tale of witchcraft. The eyes at the top were
so lifelike she often felt they followed her movements on the porch. She hadn’t
caught them blinking again so she supposed that one time was just a trick of
the sunlight. She wondered how old the mirror was. She had searched online for
something similar but finding nothing she had given up. Now suddenly she had an
idea. Using her phone, she took a picture of the mirror and went inside to do
an image search. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she uploaded the picture to her
laptop, she noticed something. A strange hand-like smudge on the glass looked
exactly like a palm print. She went outside to look closer. Frowning she bent
down until her eyes rested right on the middle section of the mirror. Sure
enough, a smeared print from a hand stared back at her. She looked around.
Someone had been on the porch messing with the mirror. An image of the woman
with her gray stringy hair popped into her mind. Using the bottom of her shirt
she rubbed the mirror, erasing the smudge. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back at the computer, she looked at the
results that popped up. Oddly there were only two. The first one was from an
estate sale over 60 years ago. The photo was so blurry she wasn’t even sure how
the computer had made the match. A mirror stood next to an old washstand. Was
it her mirror? She couldn’t be sure. It was the same size and shape, but the
details were hard to make out. The second listing was a short story. The mirror
that was used on the title page, looked remarkably like the one on her front
porch. That made her consider something she hadn’t before. Maybe the mirror was
a movie prop. She scanned the story, copied it to read later, and decided she
needed to eat. Off she went to the kitchen, trying to push her growing unease
about the mirror to the side. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Outside a slight breeze blew red and
orange leaves across the porch. The sky had darkened, threatening a fall </span>rainstorm<span style="font-size: 12pt;">. The neighbor’s black cat sniffed at the bottom of the mirror. It arched
its back and hissed before growling and running down the steps, disappearing
around the corner of the house. As soft raindrops started to fall, the mirror
grew misty with condensation and a palm print appeared. This one wouldn’t be so
easily erased. It was on the inside of the glass. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">October
17<sup>th</sup><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Charlene’s front porch was becoming
increasingly interesting to local teens. The story Jeb and Kevin told was
perfect for October. While no one believed them, they all wanted to check out
the mirror for themselves. The kids gathered in clumps down on the sidewalk,
daring each other to go up and see the mirror up close. Most laughed nervously
and stayed firmly on the sidewalk. Kevin and Jeb were mysteriously </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">absent,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> and
the others looked around nervously expecting them to jump out from behind some
shrub and frighten everyone. They didn’t. Neither Jeb nor Kevin wanted anywhere
near the mirror again.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It
was almost midnight when two boys walked boldly up to the porch and climbed the
steps to the porch. They glanced behind them to make sure everyone was </span>watching,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and they were getting an adequate amount of attention. Brandon and Brett were
twins, almost seventeen, and juniors at the local high school. They were not
football players and didn’t run around with the same group as Jeb did. They
were good students, believed in science, and had scoffed the most at Jeb’s
story. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Let’s get closer,” Brandon said. He
looked over at Brett. His twin’s eyes were locked on the mirror and his Adam’s
apple moved up and down as Brett swallowed compulsively. His brother tapped his
foot as if in time to some unheard song. “Knock it off,” Brandon </span>said,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and Brett
doubled over in laughter. When he stood back up, Brandon moved closer to the
mirror. They could hear whispering from the groups on the sidewalk, like
swarming locusts their whispers broke the stillness of the night. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mirror took on a greenish glow. Brett stepped
closer to the mirror. Their reflections were off, slightly skewed to one side.
Brandon raised a hand but his reflection in the mirror didn’t move. Brett tried
and he frowned when the mirror version of himself stood still staring back at
him. “How’s it doing that?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Maybe there’s a camera inside and it
takes a photo and then shows that to us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Brett said
but his eyes reflected his doubt better than the mirror did their images. A
cold sweat broke out across his forehead and nausea swam in his stomach. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brandon held his phone up and took a photo
and then he put the phone down on the small table next to the mirror and ran
his hands along the mirror’s frame. A soft sigh came from the mirror and this
time both boys backed up. They waited a few seconds but when nothing else
happened they rejoined the others on the sidewalk. Several groups of teenagers
still lingered there. A light in the house across the street blinked on and
everyone scattered. There was a curfew and none of them wanted to end up in the
back of a patrol car. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brett and Brandon climbed into their car.
Neither admitted to the other the strange emotions the mirror evoked. Brett
started the car but then Brandon cried out, “Wait, my phone.” He jumped out of
the car and headed back to the porch. Brett looked at his phone and responded
to a couple of text messages congratulating them on their bravery. He heard a
loud welp and peered out into the darkness. Where was Brandon?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After a few more minutes Brett grudgingly
got out of the car. Brandon knew better than to mess around. He didn’t care
about the town </span>curfew,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but he did care about his mom’s and if they didn’t get
home soon, she was going to be waiting for them with a lecture. The night air created
goosebumps on his </span>arms,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and he rubbed them as he hurried up the sidewalk. When
he reached the house, he didn’t see Brandon. The porch was empty except for the
greenish tint of the mirror. It swirled like an eerie fog trapped beneath the
surface. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Brandon, where are you,” Brett whispered
loudly. The night was silent. Brandon did not respond. Brett climbed the steps
to the porch. Brandon’s phone vibrated on the small table as messages rolled
in. Brett frowned. Where was his brother? He picked up the phone and slipped it
into his pocket. A rush of apprehension mingled with his blood, traveling
through his bloodstream to every nerve ending in his body. Every cell was on
high alert.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he turned to leave, the fog in the
mirror cleared, and standing on the other side of the glass was an image of
Brandon. Shaking his head Brett wondered again how the camera feature worked.
He stared at his brother in the mirror and as he watched his brother’s eyes
latched onto his and he mouthed something that carried no sound. Brandon
reached out and knocked on the backside of the glass. Brett watched in horror
as Brandon tried to reach out to him. This wasn’t possible. How was his brother
on the other side of the mirror? He put his hand against the mirror and Brandon
did the same. With their palms against each other’s Brandon mouthed something
and this time Brett understood perfectly. “Help me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Confused Brett tapped on the mirror and a
hand emerged, wrapping around his wrist but it wasn’t Brandon’s hand. It was
wrinkled with age, the skin the palest gray. A faint odor of decay floated in
the air. Brett winced and pulled away. The hand let go with a wet slurping
noise as it released. He backed up and as he stared at the mirror, a bony arm
with sagging skin wrapped around Brandon’s neck and pulled him away. The mist
swirled inside the mirror and then the surface cleared, looking like ordinary
glass. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brett stumbled down the steps and raced
down the sidewalk. Beside the car, he leaned over and vomited in the glass. His
stomach churned. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brandon’s phone still
vibrated in his pocket. He didn’t phone for help. He got in the car and sped
away, heading for the police station. He didn’t want to be anywhere near that
mirror.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">October
18<sup>th </sup><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Charlene groaned and tried to burrow into
the </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">pillow,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> but she kept hearing some incessant knocking. Her brain was heavy
with </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">sleep,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> but she managed to open her eyes. The clock on her nightstand read a
little after one in the morning. The knocking came to her again, louder this
time. “Oh, crap,” she said. It was someone at the front door. She couldn’t imagine
why someone was at her door in the middle of the night. Pulling on her robe she
headed to the foyer and peeked out. Two uniformed officers stood just outside
the door. Her hands trembled as she unlatched the deadbolt.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ma’am, we have a report of a disturbance
here at your house.” That’s the way the officer explained it, a disturbance. The
disappearance of Brandon Kringle barely registered with them. Just a
disturbance. But of course, the officers didn’t believe the crazy story Brett
had told them. They had looked at each other and forced themselves not to roll
their eyes as he rambled on and on about his brother being trapped inside a
mirror. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
haven’t heard anything, officers,” Charlene answered. She stepped out on the
porch and looked around. Nothing seemed to be disturbed. She had fully expected
to see smashed pumpkins but all of them were still intact. Then she noticed the
officers staring at the mirror and a wave of horror crashed into her. One of
the men pulled the mirror out an inch or so, grunting as he did so. He looked
behind the mirror. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Someone reported a prank or some wild
story about this mirror,” the other officer said. Charlene's throat tightened.
She held her breath for a few seconds letting it out slowly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Well, I think he’s pulling our legs. I
don’t see how anyone could be trapped inside this thing,” the first officer
said as he pushed the mirror back in place. “Thank you,” he said and as they
were walking away Charlene heard one of them say, “Well where is he?” Even
though neither officer believed the outlandish tale, they did know the Kringle
family and one of the twins appeared to be missing. The parents were on the way
to the </span>station,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and they felt certain a missing person’s report would be filed
as soon as possible. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">October
29<sup>th</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It had been over a week since the police
had arrived in the middle of the night and questioned Charlene. That night
after they left, Charlene sat on the porch for a long time staring at the
mirror. Rocking back and forth she waited but nothing, absolutely nothing
happened. She sat on the porch every evening after that. Whether to watch the
mirror or to guard against Halloween pranksters, she wasn’t even sure herself.
The nights blurred into each other. Each one was the same. Nothing happened.
The mirror’s surface remained just an ordinary mirror.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three more nights and Halloween would be
over. Charlene had decided that she would get rid of the mirror. It no longer
intrigued her. Instead, it caused free-floating anxiety to consume her. Eating
away at her until she was a bundle of raw nerves. Biting her lower lip, she
glanced down the street. Her elderly neighbor, Alice North was walking her
yapping little Pekinese down the sidewalk. Charlene thought it was too late for
the woman to be out. It would be dark soon and the less-than-level concrete
might trip the old gal up. She watched her approach. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The older woman teetered to a stop right
out from Charlene’s porch. “Your house looks lovely as always,” the old woman
called, in a surprisingly strong voice. Charlene waved. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thank you, Mrs. North,” she called back.
She wished the old woman would move on, something about her made her uneasy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman took a few steps closer. Peering
up at the mirror, she frowned. The wrinkles on her cheeks collided with each
other from the effort. “However, in the world does that mirror work?” Alice
asked. Charlene bristled with annoyance. She was sure all the neighbors were
speculating about the Kringle boy’s disappearance and the odd story the twin
insisted was true. She almost didn’t answer but then a stab of curiosity got
the better of her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do you mean?” she called down to
Alice. Alice shifted from one foot to the other as the tiny dog sniffed the
grass around Charlene’s flowerbeds. The old woman frowned deeper and heaved a
massive sigh out from the depths of her chest. Now it was Alice who seemed
uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well sometimes it glows and shows a
little picture show,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A long rope of dread wrapped around
Charlene. A picture show? What in the world was Alice talking about? Did she
have dementia? Charlene was absentmindedly shaking her head no. Then she
thought of something. “You’ve seen it?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh yes, usually in the evenings just
after dark. Sometimes I forget to take Buffy out and it’s getting dark earlier
now. The mirror shows people wandering about inside it. I guess some
prerecorded image?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a second Charlene was so taken aback
that she didn’t answer. It was one thing for some teenagers to fabricate some
silly story. It was quite another for Alice to do so. She stood up and looked
into the mirror. All she saw was her reflection. “That mirror is a cagey thing.
Has a mind of its own,” Alice said behind her. Pulling herself together,
Charlene turned and spoke. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Yes, I suppose you are right. A pre-recorded
video,” she answered. It must have satisfied Alice because she shuffled away,
murmuring to her dog. Charlene wasn’t as easily pacified. She didn’t think
Alice was right about the </span>images,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but she did agree with her about the other
thing. The mirror was cagey. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>October 31<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Halloween dawned bright and sunny. The sun
was deceptive. Outside a bitter wind howled, wrapping its cold arms around
anyone who ventured out. Charlene looked at the massive bowl of candy and
wondered if it was enough. This was the perfect Halloween. Cold and breezy,
spooky with the rustling leaves and waving branches of trees.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wasn’t the only one preparing for
Halloween night. Cassie Howards, Bethany Parsons, and Ron Specks were all
plotting out their nightly itinerary. First the mundane stuff, like stealing
candy from little kids and jumping out from behind bushes to startle the moms.
That part was mostly Ron’s idea. The girls wanted to dress up in sexy costumes
and parade around looking for boys. Well, Ron was a boy but he was just their friend.
They were hoping for a bit more. The last thing on the list was to visit the
house with the spooky mirror. The stories had grown bigger as Halloween grew
closer and they intended to see it for themselves. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bethany didn’t say anything but secretly
she was dreading the spooky mirror part. Her gram had heard the stories and
warned Bethany to stay away. Gram had a sixth sense about these things and
Bethany shivered thinking about the warning. “Now Bethany, don’t you go
anywhere near that mirror I’m hearing about.” Gram said. Her eyes rolled back
in their sockets until Bethany thought she had suffered a stroke. But then Gram
spoke again, and chills ran up and down her back. “That mirror is dangerous. Don’t
play with anything so wicked.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was before Cassie had talked her into
tonight’s adventure. Maybe they would meet up with some cute boys and Cassie
would be so distracted she would forget all about the mirror. Ron wouldn’t
forget. His mind was pulled toward anything dark and sinister. He ran paranormal
magazines and lit black candles under the full moon. Not because he was
worshipping but just because he wanted to see if anything happened. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About seven that night, Cassie knocked on
Bethany’s door and Bethany hurried outside before her mom could see what she
was wearing. The tight black skirt barely covered her butt and the neckline of
the silky shirt plunged deeper than her mother would have ever allowed. She
tripped as they hurried down the sidewalk. She wished she had on tennis shoes
instead of tight black boots. It wouldn’t have matched her outfit though. Cassie
had on a maid’s uniform but the kind no one ever cleans in. It was skimpy and
the top of the white apron accentuated Cassie’s breasts making them look two
sizes bigger than they really would. Ron whistled when he saw them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 11:30 they stood on the sidewalk
looking nervously up at the mirror on the porch. Most of the other kids had
left a long time ago. Sure, they walked along the sidewalk and glanced
nervously at the porch, but none had gathered up enough courage to climb the
steps and stand in front of the mirror. Their nervousness still lingered in the
air and Bethany swallowed the lump in her throat and watched Ron. He looked
first at Cassie and then her. Was he having second thoughts? Cassie smirked and
took a few steps toward the porch. Ron followed. Bethany was frozen in place.
Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cassie looked back over her shoulder at
Bethany and laughed. Her pearly white teeth glistened in the darkness. Mocking
Bethany she said, “Come on Ron, let’s do this. Bethany is so scared she’s about
to wet her pants.” She grabbed Ron’s hand and pulled him up the steps. The two
of them planted themselves directly in front of the mirror. Cassie reached up,
running her finger along the words, Trick or Treat that were embedded at the
top. “Ouch,” she said. A dot of blood appeared on her fingertip and she stuck
it in her mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ron stepped back, looking frantically at
Cassie. She barely paid him any attention until he grabbed her elbow. “What…”
she said but by the time she spoke she had caught a glimpse of what Ron was upset
about. The eyes at the top of the mirror were staring right at them and then
they blinked. Frozen in place they watched the eyes move first to the left and
then to the right. Then they looked right at the two of them. “Bethany, you
gotta see this,” Cassie called back over her shoulder. Bethany took a tentative
step forward but suddenly Ron let out a blood-curdling scream. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The mirror was shimmering a misty green
and a long bony hand was reaching out. The fingers wrapped around Ron’s arm and
pulled him closer. The eyes were rolling around and around at the top of the
mirror. Ron stretched out his hand grasping for Cassie and she tugged at his
hand, The hand from the mirror tugged harder, and slowly step by step Ron was
drug into the mirror leaving just a misty fog swirling in the air where he had
stood. At the last second, Cassie let go and jumped back. Her face dissolved
into </span>tears,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and she stumbled down to Bethany. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the bottom of the steps, the girls
watched the mirror clear and then beneath its surface Ron stood looking out at
them. He opened his mouth in a silent scream and pounded on the glass. The
mirror rippled several times and then Ron was gone. The girls screamed and
rushed away. Bethany was digging for her phone, but she wanted far away from
that mirror before she stopped to call 911. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">November
1<sup>st</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The police arrived thirty minutes later.
Record time for a busy prank-filled Halloween night. The address was linked to
the disappearance of Brandon Kringle and so when the call came in there was a
sense of urgency. The boy still hadn’t been found and as days ticked by it
became increasingly unlikely he would turn up alive. Officers Clayton and Drake
responded. They had been here once before. Bethany was at the station with an
eerily similar story to Brett’s. Now they knocked loudly on the door.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Charlene pulled the door open her
hair was messy and fell over her eyes. She brushed it back. When she saw the
officers, her heart thudded hard and fast in her chest. Officer Clayton took in
her rumpled appearance. He didn’t think Charlene was guilty of anything but he
followed police procedures exactly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry to disturb you but we have
another report about your mirror,” he said. He watched Charlene for her
reaction. She grabbed her throat and peeked around the door frame at the
mirror, her eyes wide with fear. Was she on something he wondered? She looked
spooked. He didn’t even glance at the mirror. He didn’t want to feed her
paranoia. Two boys were missing but he was damn sure they weren’t inside a
mirror. Pulling her robe tightly around her she stepped out on the porch.
Keeping her eye on the mirror she walked to the end of the porch, as far away
from the mirror as she could get. They followed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When did it happen?” she asked as if she
firmly believed the mirror was responsible. The two officers looked at each
other. Officers Clayton looked at his phone. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“About 45 minutes ago,” he said. It was
Halloween and teenage boys were prone to pranks but since the Kringle boy was
still missing he wasn’t ignoring this crazy story. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m going to destroy that mirror,”
Charlene said. On the other end of the porch, the mirror glowed. None of them
were paying any attention and so they missed the eyes as they glared at
Charlene. Neither officer believed that destroying a mirror was going to bring
back the two boys but they had learned long ago not to argue with mentally ill
people. They lived in a world of their own, their reality just as real as the
actual world. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mind if we look inside your house?”
Officer Drake said. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Of course, go right ahead,” Charlene
stammered. She was shaking whether from the cold night or fear Officer Drake
couldn’t decide. After they cleared the house, they looked in the backyard but
found nothing out of the ordinary so they had no other choice but to depart. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charlene’s hands shook as she opened up
her laptop. She needed to find out something, anything about the odd old
mirror. She scrolled through dozens of hits, not bothering to open most of
them. Then an ad caught her attention. Well, it wasn’t exactly an ad. It was a
request. Someone was trying to locate the mirror or one with striking
similarities. There was a pencil sketch of the mirror. Charlene examined it. It
was her mirror sketched in the ad. The ad also listed an email and a warning.
Charlene’s heart lurched as she read the words. This mirror is DANGEROUS. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Copying and pasting the email address into
a new message. She typed a short message saying that she might have the mirror
the person was looking for and wanted to open up a conversation. She pushed
send. It was the middle of the night and she didn’t expect an answer. Her
stomach recoiled when her email dinged. Then she drooped with disappointment.
It was a short message…unable to deliver. The email was no longer valid. She
buried her face in her hands, accepting defeat. No help would be coming from
whoever posted the ad. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She glanced at the locked front door again
and reluctantly got up. Out on the porch she stood in front of the mirror and
stared into the glass. She was reflected there just like a regular mirror but
in the depths of her soul, she knew this was no ordinary mirror. The surface of
the glass shimmered and she leaned in to get a closer look. Her reflection was still
there but something else lurked right at the edge of the mirror. Part of an arm
was visible and before Charlene could react the arm reached out and seized her
lower arm. She stumbled forward, catching herself right before she touched the
surface of the glass. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
long nails of the withered hand bit into her skin, leaving tiny red holes. She
screamed and the lights in the house across the street flickered on. Someone
might have peered out the window but no one came to her rescue. She tugged at
the arm, trying to pry it loose. From somewhere inside the mirror, she thought
she heard a chuckle. Gasping she pushed herself backward until only her heels
met the wooden porch floor. Her left foot slipped closer to the mirror. Putting
all her weight into it she jerked. Then she felt her feet leave the ground and
suddenly she was falling. She crashed down the front steps and landed on the
sidewalk. Her head hit the concrete with a sickening thud. Before she passed
out, she thought she caught a glimpse of an old gray woman bending over her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An hour later, Charlene groaned. The lump
on the back of her head was bloody under her hand. She rubbed at it, looking at
her fingertips covered in blood. Groaning she struggled to her feet. Staggering
she climbed the steps. The mirror sat silently on the porch. Inside she put an
ice pack on the back of her head and tried to think straight. How could she get
rid of the mirror? She couldn’t give it away. The message online was correct.
The mirror was dangerous. She looked at the clock, 2:45. She still had time.
Choosing the back door, she made her way to the old shed in the backyard. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shovel sliced into the dirt as she dug
the hole. Sweating and panting she dug deeper and deeper. How deep should it be
she wondered? It was hard work and blisters appeared on her hands even though
she wore gloves. She jumped down into the hole. It came about to her shoulders.
Four feet she guessed. Was that enough? In the spring she would pour concrete
over this area, making a small patio. That should keep the mirror underground.
Dusting her hands off she winced. They hurt. Nonetheless, she pulled the
wheelbarrow around to the front steps. Taking a thick quilt, she wrapped it
around the mirror and pulled it down the steps. It thudded loudly on each step.
Tilting it into the wheelbarrow the quilt slipped over and a corner of the
mirror was exposed. Greenlight seeped out of it and Charlene hastened to cover
it again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the mirror was in the hole and covered
Charlene felt much better. She could breathe again and although her hands still
ached, they weren’t shaking. She returned to the front porch just as the sun
crested the horizon. She sat down hard in the old wicker chair. Looking at the
empty street. A wave of guilt washed over her. Two boys were missing and now
she did not doubt that the tales the teenagers told were true. A single tear
ran down her cheek. She drifted to sleep with her head against the thick chair
cushion. A slamming car door woke her again a few hours later. The sun had climbed
higher in the sky and she wondered what time it was. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two police officers, the ones from earlier,
walked grimly up the sidewalk to the porch. Officer Clayton waved a piece of
paper in the air. “Search warrant ma’am,” he said. Charlene stared at him
blankly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Whatever for, you looked through the
house last night,” she said and her words trembled in the air between them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two officers looked at each other. The
mirror was gone. The porch had been rearranged. All the Halloween decor was
heaped in a pile at one end of the porch but the mirror was nowhere to be seen.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The back yard,” Officer Clayton answered
and both men disappeared around the corner of the house. It was only then that
Charlene noticed Officer Drake was carrying two shovels. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her heart beating erratically Charlene
rushed into the house, changed her shoes, and headed outside again. They were
standing next to the spot where she had buried the mirror. When she came
outside, they looked at her and then started digging. One of the neighbors must
have noticed her burying the mirror. Charlene had to admit it was rather odd
behavior. It was just November first but the air already seemed colder. She
wrapped her oversized sweater around herself as she watched the two men
digging. Calm down she told herself, There’s nothing there but the mirror. They
will find it odd but it isn’t illegal. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scoop after scoop of dirt piled up beside
the freshly dug hole. As the dirt pile grew Charlene’s heart beat faster and
faster as if she was running a marathon. Goosebumps raced up and down her arms
and they weren’t from the cold. Her breath coming in a jagged gasp drew the
men’s attention. They stood in the hole with only their chests and necks above
ground. Neither of them said anything, they just watched Charlene cautiously.
After a minute or two, Officer Clayton climbed out and turned sideways so he
could observe both her and the hole. Officer Drake continued digging. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you alright?” he called to her. She
nodded yes but she wasn’t ok. She wasn’t ok at all. A thick blanket of dread
covered her and her throat was swollen. Her mouth was so dry she could barely
swallow. She considered going inside to get water but then Officer Drake called
up to them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve got something,” he said. She eased a
few steps nearer so she could see into the gaping hole. She sighed. At the
bottom was a bulky shape, the mirror wrapped in the old quilt. Officer Drake
tugged at one end of the blanket. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is it?” Officer Clayton asked,
shifting his eyes between Charlene and the bundle at the bottom of the hole. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Officer Drake tugged at the blanket. Clumps
of dirt flew in the air. Charlene thought the quilt looked lumpy and wondered
if the mirror would react to being uncovered. When the officer jerked again, a
pale hand flopped out of the folds of the quilt. Charlene gasped. A thunderous
shaking overtook her and her arms and legs were shaking so hard she sat down on
the ground. As she watched the quilt rip away, she cried out in pain. The
mirror was gone and in its place were the bodies of the missing boys. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But I-” she coughed out the words but
Officer Clayton held his hand up. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Best not say anything else, ma’am,” he told
her. He started reading her rights to her. Words that Charlene only recognized
from old television shows. His voice receded into the background as her mind
whirled. Where was the mirror? How had this happened? She stared at the
lifeless bodies in what now appeared to be a grave and cried. Officer Clayton
pulled her arms behind her and snapped on handcuffs. Fat tears rolled down
Charlene’s cheeks as they lead her away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Three years later</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The stories surrounding the house, the woman,
and the mirror grew exponentially as time passed. Some were so out there that
most people ignored them. But a small handful garnered attention and a
following of sorts. Some people claimed they had been there the night Ron disappeared
into the mirror. A few people insisted it was all a Halloween hoax. Others
described an ancient ritual that they swore happened under a full moon in the
backyard of that very house. Most local people weren’t sure exactly what
happened but they stayed clear of the house that was quickly closed and boarded
up. People lost track of the woman, unsure what had happened to her or where
she had gone.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mirror was never seen again. The
police ripped the house apart looking for it especially after the woman claimed
she had buried it in the grave. Her story never changed and yet there was no
evidence that anything she said was true. No one believed her except for the
kids. The ones that had witnessed the mirror snatch up its victims. They
believed the woman. Several times rumors circulated that the mirror had shown
up at an auction in another state, sometimes in the Midwest, sometimes on the
west coast. The rumors could never be confirmed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an 8 by 8 cell, Charlene was still
alive, at least sort of alive. She was on so many psychotropic drugs that the
days blurred into the night. She didn’t mind the lumpy bed nor the tasteless
food. She liked the safety of her new home. It felt snug and the daily routine
kept her anchored in this world. The walls of plain gray concrete comforted
her. Occasionally when she stared at the ceiling a small spider would crawl
across and she took comfort in its mundane existence <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what she liked most of all was that
there were no mirrors in the cell. Had she been able to see her reflection
Charlene would have shrunk away from the creature she had become. Her skin,
almost gray, pulled taut against bones. Her greasy hair, stringy and matted in
places, framed a face with vacant eyes and trembling lips. She mumbled words
over and over again. The guards had gotten used to her litany of Trick or
Treat, Trick or Treat, Trick or Treat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were times though. Times in the dead
of night when she became lucid. She would open her eyes to find the tall mirror
standing in the corner, glowing a strange misty green. Then the screams would
start. The first few times this happened the guards rushed in and the man in a
white coat would stick a needle in her arm, rendering her unconscious. As time
went on, they didn’t respond as quickly. Oh, they would show up eventually but
they were in no rush to come to her aid. She would scream until hoarseness
rubbed her throat raw and she shivered under the thin sheet, staring at the
mirror, waiting for the blessed relief of the needle. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As bad as they were, those were not the
worst nights. No, not by far. On the really bad nights, she woke up
suffocating, gasping, clawing at the air around her trying to breathe. Her hand
would come up against a smooth hard surface and she would tap at it. Her
fingers would bleed from clawing at the backside of the mirror. Yes, being
trapped inside was far worse than finding it sitting in the corner. Those were
the nights that her mind snapped, shattering into a million pieces. Most of the
time she couldn’t remember that night so long ago, couldn’t bring the memories
to the surface but on nights like these, they were crystal clear. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That Halloween night, the air was brisk, and
the moon overhead was as clear as a famous painting in a museum. Every one of
her five senses was activated. She could smell a musty earthy odor, a mingling
of earth and rotten flesh. A bitter taste on her tongue like ashes made her
gag. A harsh barking laugh made her twist her head side to side but she saw no
one. Charlene felt a hand closing around her wrist, the nails biting into her
skin, the warm blood dripping down her hand onto the wooden floor of the porch.
The tug of war, back and forth. But no matter how hard she tried she could
never recall the final seconds. She would squeeze her eyes shut so tightly that
they ached from the force. With teeth clenched tightly together, she summoned the
memory. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A hideous thought stabbed into her. The
idea was so obscene, so real, that she was certain it was true. It slithered
inside her, a giant serpent consuming her from the inside out. She pushed it
away again and again until she was exhausted. Horrifying as it was the idea was
driven in with the force of a hammer pounding a nail. It made sense in its
hideousness. Had she escaped or was she inside the mirror? She opened her mouth
to scream but no sound ever emerged. The silent screams were perhaps the worst
of it all. No one came to jab a needle in her arm. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-33272424655721096372022-09-06T06:23:00.007-06:002022-09-06T06:35:42.331-06:00Mystic Dealings<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViCIsfXwIWVJ_aFlqRCHJpDkdhXiXJLos1_utBSr-mPjYs8XB61yR4UAWLYEApMRLQD_N_PhZGIZNsfAw0kMoySA-RcwuCAxKY-1Ts3FPNTUinQeFSsJ5YZbfa13sqQSNLf3sGYadmrxIUJOr9wzrvmcWMHN7r-HlK62LbOFohkpoV-PWJoRnWC14iw/s1080/Mystic%20Dealings%20Ad%201.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViCIsfXwIWVJ_aFlqRCHJpDkdhXiXJLos1_utBSr-mPjYs8XB61yR4UAWLYEApMRLQD_N_PhZGIZNsfAw0kMoySA-RcwuCAxKY-1Ts3FPNTUinQeFSsJ5YZbfa13sqQSNLf3sGYadmrxIUJOr9wzrvmcWMHN7r-HlK62LbOFohkpoV-PWJoRnWC14iw/w400-h400/Mystic%20Dealings%20Ad%201.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Kindle:<a href=" https://amzn.to/3qcq1OY"> https://amzn.to/3qcq1OY</a></p><p>Paperback:<a href=" https://amzn.to/3Qrp6oV"> https://amzn.to/3Qrp6oV</a></p><p>How does magic work?</p><p><i>“The nature of magic is simple. Balance. The strings that hold the world together are fragile. They are woven and interwoven among all things. The delicate balance between a seed and a flower, the bees and honey, the wind and the rain, all walking the tightrope of life. The tree and the soil interlock as the deep roots of the tree travel into the dirt, burrowing, using the nutrients to grow upward. Such is the nature of magic as it sends spidery roots into the practitioner. One hopes for upward growth. That is not always the case. Therein lies the problem. Magic does not simply exist in the universe. Magic is the universe.” </i><br /><i> From the journal of Katie Brooks, Volume One</i><br /><br />Sophie and Samuel are just starting to understand their own magic when a strange figure outside the house, standing in a raging blizzard, catches their attention. Who is the man and what does he want?<br /><br />“Are you sure someone was out there?” Sophie asked pulling the curtains back and looking out into the evening. The thick falling snow danced in the air. Samuel didn’t even hesitate.<br />“I’m positive. He was just standing there with the snow swirling around him,” he said and then he stopped. A small tingling in his chest started, like an electrical current. It traveled in circles. He pulled his glasses down and looked over the rims at her. His face was suddenly pale.<br />“What!” Sophie asked him, grabbing his elbow and shaking it slightly. He didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t sure of anything. And yet this last little tidbit of memory gave him pause. Finally, he looked at her as he lifted a single eyebrow and tilted his head, puzzled.<br />“The snow, it wasn’t landing on him. His coat was perfectly clean, not a single snowflake on his shoulders,” he finally muttered, then immediately looked abash as if wishing he had never mentioned it.<br />Oberon, the cat, kept silent but he felt a sudden surge of hot energy blast outward from the old carved oak washstand that held the decks of cards. Of course, had the humans been paying attention they might have noticed a shift in the temperature of the room. However as usual, they were lost in each other’s eyes. So sappy, Oberon thought but he didn’t have time to dwell on human foolishness. He had felt the presence several months back. Since then, it had been content to wait patiently. What had changed? Now it was shooting out energy, probing the room, and searching. Oberon knew just what it was looking for, but he remained silent. Best not to get too involved."</p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-16617035143806608422022-08-17T16:28:00.004-06:002022-08-18T06:15:24.076-06:00The First Step (Soul Musing 2)<p><i> </i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq5eJE1AMghtCj_6EnkGseHO_QLsRdtRScKbmMqwFkReztxvwGU42FXKeBXJ_HxSkMp2aDXDHs1nuF8efRUW21x_6cPpZr-8gSkZP3ETsjG40W3_ZRPP1rL0mun6PUuHYTi6jkOP2WQxV04fyy6wY0iKE7Wx0lWHybHTDsyMiOlaASYO8F8EO-ZfyN_A/s1920/foot%20prints.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1285" data-original-width="1920" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq5eJE1AMghtCj_6EnkGseHO_QLsRdtRScKbmMqwFkReztxvwGU42FXKeBXJ_HxSkMp2aDXDHs1nuF8efRUW21x_6cPpZr-8gSkZP3ETsjG40W3_ZRPP1rL0mun6PUuHYTi6jkOP2WQxV04fyy6wY0iKE7Wx0lWHybHTDsyMiOlaASYO8F8EO-ZfyN_A/w400-h268/foot%20prints.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p><p><i>"A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." -Confucius </i></p><p>When you start a journey of any kind, it starts with a single step. A spiritual journey if no different. When you start it and where you head is up to you. Technically your spiritual journey starts the day you are born. Your first breath eases you into the world or perhaps your first screams announce your arrival. Either way you start a journey that is uniquely yours. </p><p>There will be others that will walk along with you at different times. Their presence beside you will provide comfort, direction, and fill that lonely void we sometimes feel. But your path, your spiritual evolution is uniquely yours. No two are exactly the same. As you travel you may get the feeling that you are not alone, even when you quite obviously are. Of course, you are never alone. God is always there. In dark moments, in joyous moments and those moments where you have no words to describe life.</p><p>This journey is one of the utmost importance. It is your life goal. A goal that shapes you. It's easy to get warped, to be a little wobbly, to feel off balance. The stops along the way are not as important as the forward motion. Be prepared to walk backwards at times. That happens. Life is not about a stress filled existence where we are out to prove something to ourselves or others. People and circumstances might give us that impression. You don't have to avoid those situations. You just have to have the right mind set. Our minds can be our best friends or our worst enemies. At its worst the mind plants, seeds of doubt and despair. Especially if we get into a comparison war. You are you and there is nothing to prove, or a level to earn nor a golden prize at the end of some race. </p><p>Do your best, smile more, laugh more and let go of expectations that only serve to frustrate and hurt you. That's not in God's plan. Everything will unfold exactly as it should. </p><p><b>Reflection: </b></p><p>This week just let go. Let go of those predetermined ideas you have about your journey. Let go of criticism. Don't defeat yourself and don't compare yourself to anyone else. They aren't you! Open yourself up to any possibilities. Don't fret over which is better. You don't have to pick. They will present themself to you at just the right time. Change any negative self-talk. That's so limiting. You're doing the best you can, and no one can expect anything more. Take the first step on your spiritual journey by becoming your own best friend. Good luck my friend, and many hugs to energize you and send you on your way. </p><p><i><br /></i></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-26697186401570034922022-04-11T06:55:00.007-06:002022-07-07T14:34:29.910-06:00The Witches of Holly Mead: The Arrival<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydrw8s0ST670UBAH-mtXN4TCdUepStH4TYVc2opSGrGgF76fDdcqcTd2XoTJy9VKM-MBqZ6Bj_BQ9chi_UwyAFoxQi-mIqdcFip9C6Ykb6IQBl3UZ_j8iHEPurcpMCVt9A98RkhnVEZhRyzK_O82UX8dq8vMMlhDDflNv-tZIthvA2tK9VSwIz_wuhg/s1080/The%20Witches%20of%20Holly%20Mead.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydrw8s0ST670UBAH-mtXN4TCdUepStH4TYVc2opSGrGgF76fDdcqcTd2XoTJy9VKM-MBqZ6Bj_BQ9chi_UwyAFoxQi-mIqdcFip9C6Ykb6IQBl3UZ_j8iHEPurcpMCVt9A98RkhnVEZhRyzK_O82UX8dq8vMMlhDDflNv-tZIthvA2tK9VSwIz_wuhg/w400-h400/The%20Witches%20of%20Holly%20Mead.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olive ended up in Holly Mead quite by
accident because she was running away. This was unusual. Most people came to
Holly Mead looking for something. Some deep dark knowledge lurks in the land between
reality and dreams. Some profound sense of peace. They landed here for guidance,
restraint, or perhaps a sense of purpose. People were drawn to Holly Mead for
answers, not for a place to hide. In the end, it made no difference because Olive
did find exactly what she was looking for even though she had no idea of it at
the time. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Digging in her purse for random coins, Olive
balanced her coffee, purse, and a large shopping bag stuffed with the few items
she had managed to salvage the night she ran. She grabbed at a sticky coin in
the very bottom corner of the old purse but couldn’t manage to pull it out as
it lost itself among old receipts and pens. In the corner of Midnight Java, a
small quirky coffee shop, a pair of eyes watched her struggle. Suddenly
appearing beside Olive at the checkout, the older woman, Maude Hook thrust a
twenty-dollar bill at the cashier.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My treat,” Maude said, her bird-like eyes
scanning Olive. The young woman was lean, almost haggard as if she’d missed too
many meals, her eyes sunken with purple skin underneath. The haunted look that
flickered in her eyes was quickly hidden again. “Give her an order of eggs and
toast too,” Maude said. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olive turned to thank the woman but saw
only her back as Maude pushed through the door making the bell jingle as she
disappeared onto the sidewalk outside. The young cashier smiled, adding an
order of eggs and toast as she rang up the coffee and handed Olive the change.
“That’s Maude Hook,” she said as if that explained everything. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olive sat at the tiny green table next to
the big front window looking out on the street. She sipped her coffee as she
waited for the eggs and toast. When the waitress placed it on the table her
stomach growled. The plate was heaped high with eggs and toast cut into
triangles. On the side were small containers of jelly and honey. When the
waitress turned her back Olive grabbed them and stuffed them into her purse.
Then she picked up her fork and dug into the eggs. She thought they were the
most delicious she had ever eaten. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t know where she was going to
sleep tonight. She had no real money, only the random coins she had been
digging for. Now of course she had the change from the twenty but it was
nowhere near enough for a room. Sighing deeply, she took another bit and pushed
the worry aside. She would deal with it later. That was part of Olive’s problem.
She always dealt with things later. At one point she had considered whether
there would be a later or not and that’s when she ran. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olive wasn’t paying attention as she
pushed out the door of Midnight Java and that’s how she came to collide with
another customer. Pepper Vonner landed hard on her butt in front of the shop.
Her eyes jarred by the fall, blurred slightly before focusing on Olive who
looked scared beyond words. Olive’s eyes were round and filling with tears by
the time Pepper gathered herself and stood up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, for heaven sakes, don’t be all
sniffly over a minor collision,” Pepper said without a tinge of sharpness. A tiny
smile appeared that went all the way to her eyes, making them glitter with
something Olive couldn’t identify.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m so sorry,” Olive stammered feeling
her face flushing red. She stared at her feet. The other woman was silent for
so long that Olive glanced up, at which point Pepper spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, there you are,” she said as if Olive
was an old friend she had hoped to run into. “You’re new here. Looking for a
job perhaps?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olive hadn’t even considered a job. She
hadn’t been allowed one for so long that she couldn’t even remember what having
one felt like. She bit her bottom lip. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well here, dear. If you decide to stay,
come on over to Hour of the Bread and I’ll put you right to work,” Pepper said,
handing Olive a card before opening the door and going inside. Olive looked
down at the business card in her hand. Then she looked in the window at the
dark-haired woman ordering a coffee. She had left behind a peculiar smell in
the air and Olive sniffed it. It was an earthy smell, reminding her of dirt. It
wasn’t unpleasant though and Olive sniffed it again before wandering off. She
had no place to go but she wanted to look around a bit before deciding how long
she’d be staying. The bus had dumped her off here at 5:30 in the morning and
she hadn’t a clue about her surroundings. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The center of the city was a square with a
park in the middle and shops lining the four sides. She wandered around the
square before sitting down on a bench. A quiver of fear darted about inside
her. This town was far too small. She needed a big city to lose herself in. One
with dozens of streets, filled with people that didn’t know each other.
Neighbors that looked the other way. Here, people knew each other. They noticed
things. Like the older woman in the coffee shop that came to her rescue with a
twenty. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lump formed in her throat, so large and
dry that she could barely swallow. She itched with a strange sensation. Some
part of her wanted to stay but another part, the one that had lived the pain
knew it was too dangerous to remain here long. She’d take the next bus out of
town. She thought of her credit card. Even if it was still working, she
couldn’t use it. The change leftover from breakfast wasn’t going to get her
very far. Still, even a few more miles might help. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She pulled the business card out of her
pocket and stared at it. Hour of the Bread. The owner she collided with earlier
was Pepper Vonner. Olive estimated her age to be mid-thirties. A tiny tinge of
jealousy wormed its way inside her. Here she was at twenty-eight without a
penny to her name. It was terribly unlikely that she’d ever own anything, let
alone a bakery. Tears tickled her eyes but then she remembered what the woman
had said, “Oh for heaven's sake, don’t be sniffly over a minor collision.” Was
that what Brad amounted to? A minor collision? His fists certainly hadn’t felt
minor but here in Holly Mead, with the miles between them, the memories seemed
tedious and blurry, like an old film grainy with age. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A wave of melancholy swept over her. She
looked one last time at the card and tossed it into the trash can. The bus stop
was on the corner to her right. She pulled the schedule out of her purse and
smoothed the wrinkled paper. The next bus should arrive any minute. Glancing
around, she caught sight of a flash of white. An impossibly tiny white kitten
scampered down the sidewalk and into the grass of the park. It tumbled head
over heels and Olive smiled. It was the tiniest kitten she had ever seen. Its
eyes looked almost pinkish and it tilted its head to look at her. A few cars
rumbled by on the road in front of her and she wondered if the kitten was safe.
Just as the thought popped inside her head, the kitten changed course heading
straight for the street.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gasping, Olive jumped up and gave chase.
The kitten, as all cats are, was an expert at avoidance. It darted behind a
tree, just to immediately reappear even closer to the curb. Olive whispered,
“Kitty, kitty, kitty,” as she stalked the kitten. It scampered under a parked
car and Olive’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. She couldn’t let it get run
over. White anger built inside her at whoever had let the poor little thing
out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A large black van turned at the corner and
roared down the street. “Stop,” Olive yelled. The cat cast one last look over
its shoulder and hopped out onto the road. “No,” Olive screamed at the cat. A
flash of white crossed the street as the brakes screeched. Olive watched the
van wobble to a momentary stop and then it continued down the road. Holding her
breath as it rolled away, she scanned the road. Nothing white lay in the
street. The white kitten was on the other side of the road watching her. Olive
dashed over to it but as soon as she got close it headed down a narrow alley
and out of sight. Furious she was determined to find out who owned the kitten.
It had to be someone close to the town square. To the left, she heard a squeaky
sound, a sign blowing in the breeze. Behind her, the bus rolled to a brief stop
but seeing no one waiting, turned right and pulled away from the square. She
stomped her foot. There wouldn’t be another bus until tomorrow. Then looking
up, she noticed the sign. “Hour of the Bread.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking inside, the first thing she
noticed was Pepper, standing behind the counter with flour in her hair. The
second thing she noticed was the small white kitten perched on a shelf in the
storage room behind the owner. She bit her lip, uncertain. Olive felt the anger
slowly dissolve inside. The cat curled into a small bundle on the shelf and
closed its eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, there you are,” Pepper said as if
she had been expecting Olive at any moment. “Have you come for the job?” she
asked but without waiting for Olive to answer, she said, “But of course you
have.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olive tossed the idea around briefly but
shook her head. She didn’t even have a place to sleep, how was she going to get
presentable for a job? Pepper’s dark eyes widened a bit as she watched thoughts
filter across Olive’s face. An odd vibration radiated out from the center of
Olive as if a tiny earthquake was occurring inside her body. Even her fingers
trembled from it. Her eyes widened as she looked at Pepper. Did she feel it? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, I forgot to say. The job comes with a
sleeping room upstairs. I need someone to get up early to start the dough
before I arrive,” Pepper said. Her words were smooth and silky. Olive felt her
insides lurch. A tingling raced up her spine. Could this woman read her mind?
She had the uncanny thought that perhaps she could. “Come on, I’ll show you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silently Olive followed the woman
upstairs. The stairs were old but clean. The kitten purred as they walked by
but Olive resisted the urge to reach out and touch its silky fur. At the top of
the steps, a single door stood open. The room was small but comfortable. The
double bed was covered with a yellow quilt and the nightstand contained a vase
of yellow and blue flowers. Fresh flowers. The room was ready and waiting for
someone to move in. Olive sat her tote bag down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bed looked so comfortable and she was
exhausted from trying to sleep on the bus last night. She resisted the urge to
crawl in it. Pepper patted her shoulder. “Perhaps a short nap might be in order
so you can think through the offer with a clear mind when you wake up,” she
said. An electrical current shot through Olive. She jerked away from the
contact. Olive sat down on the edge of the bed and yawned. The offer seemed too
good to be true and perhaps it was but she needed to sleep. Pepper left quietly,
closing the door behind her. Olive sunk into the softness of the bed and
drifted to sleep within seconds. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few hours later, Olive awoke with a
start, disoriented. The muffled voice floated up the stairs. She tiptoed to the
door hoping to hear better. The voices were both women and Olive was fairly
certain that one of them belonged to Pepper. The other sounded familiar but she
couldn’t imagine who it might be since she didn’t know anyone here in Holly
Mead. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We can’t just turn her away,” Pepper said
and the other voice scoffed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We very well can but I’m not suggesting
we do. I’m simply insisting that we proceed with caution. With everything
that’s been going on, can we take the risk?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The speaker cleared her throat and was about to say something else when
Olive yelped. The little white kitten had scampered up the steps and scratched
at Olive’s leg. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You little devil,” Olive whispered as she
scooped the kitten up and started down the stairs. By the time she reached the
bakery Pepper was the only one in the place. Frowning she looked at Pepper who
smiled tightly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I see you’ve met Cotton,” she said,
nodding toward the cat in Olive’s arms. “Technically, she’s not supposed to be
in the shop but all the customers ignore her. I guess she’s invisible.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I thought I heard you talking to
someone,” Olive said, sitting the white kitten down on the floor in front of
the bakery case. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, just a customer stopping by to order
some muffins,” Pepper said. She looked down at the counter in front of her and
wiped it. Then she straightened the canisters and slipped measuring cups onto
small silver hooks hanging under the cabinets. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The glass case by the register was filled
with muffins, apple and cinnamon ones, as well as pumpkin bread and molasses
cookies. Olive’s stomach growled loudly. Pepper waved her hand at the case.
“Help yourself to a snack,” she said. Olive slid the case open and removed
three cookies. She nibbled one as she watched Pepper. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So, are you taking the job?” Pepper asked
watching Olive out of the corner of her eye. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes,” Olive said, surprising herself with
the answer. She hadn’t known she was going to accept until the word was already
out of her mouth. Pepper smiled. The air in the shop grew cold suddenly and
Olive shivered. Seeing the shiver, Pepper frowned, pulling her sweater tighter
she looked out the front window and into the darkening sky. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is only an hour before the shop closed so
Olive pulled on an apron and swept the floor. Something about the repetitive
motion eased her nerves. Who would think to look for her here in a quaint
little bakery in the middle of a small town? Pepper chattered about the bakery
and how it had belonged to her mother. She hadn’t expected to run the bakery
but when her mother grew ill, she had taken over out of necessity. After her
mother’s death, she had never left. Something about the doughy bread and the
sweets made her feel safe and at peace. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she swept, Olive let this idea drift
around in her mind. This concept that a place or a job could make a person feel
whole. She hadn’t felt whole in a very long time. She hoped that the bakery
offered her the same respite. The yeasty smell of the bread lingered in the
air, comforting and promising. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they were finished Pepper
flipped the sign to closed. Standing with her hands on her hips, she checked
the room. Earlier she had walked Olive through each step of preparing the
dough. She bit her lip now, considering the delicate nature of yeast, she hoped
Olive could handle the prep work. Shrugging she reminded herself there was more
at stake here than loaves of bread. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Here’s the key to your bedroom upstairs,”
Pepper said. You might have noticed the little door next to it. That’s for
Cotton. She likes the bed so she just may join you later. You don’t have
allergies, do you?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, it will be fine if she wants to come
into the bedroom,” Olive answered. Secretly she hoped the little kitten did
venture into the bedroom. It would be nice to have company. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was only 6:00. They ate sandwiches out
of the small refrigerator in the corner of the shop. Washing the thick slabs of
bread down with large mugs of herbal tea. When she had asked Pepper about the
tea, she had winked at her and said it was an old family secret. Olive could
taste peppermint but whatever else the tea contained she had no idea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was mid-October so when Olive locked
the door behind Pepper, she stood at the front window admiring the fall
decorations that twinkled in most of the shop windows. Across the street in the
center of the park was a display of cornstalks, pumpkins, and fall foliage.
Leaning against it was a scarecrow dressed in overalls and flannel. Olive
frowned. She didn’t remember the scarecrow being there earlier. A tiny flicker
of fear twisted inside her. She hated Halloween. It had been the perfect time
for Brad to torment her and then insist it was all a joke. You’re safe here,
she told herself as she climbed the stairs, walked into the bedroom, and locked
the door behind her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the corner was a door leading to a
small bathroom. Pepper had placed large fluffy yellow towels on the hooks
inside. Olive climbed into the shower and adjusted the temperature. The
lavender soap smelled wonderful as she lathered her body. Washing away the
strain from the last week, she relaxed. The hot shower had calmed her nerves in
ways the tea had not. She dried off and sat on the edge of the bed. On the
opposite wall, the window looked out onto the park. She stood up and walked
over to the window.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking outside she gasped and jerked back.
She pulled herself away from the glass, letting the thin curtain fall back into
place. Her hand flew to her mouth and she stood frozen in place. With her other
trembling hand, she pulled back the curtains, just the tiniest bit. Looking out
across the street and into the increasingly dark park, she confirmed what she
had glimpsed earlier. The scarecrow was gone. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olive couldn’t shake the feeling of dread
that suffocated her but she managed to pull on some sweat pants and an old
t-shirt. She was chilled to the bone. She glanced once at the window but
refused to go near it again. Perhaps the angle was wrong and the scarecrow wasn’t
visible from the bedroom window, she told herself. Her fingers trembled as she
smoothed the pillowcase. A loud clatter made her cry out. Then Cotton jumped up
on the foot of the bed and she smiled. It had been the cat door, flapping
against the wooden frame as the cat charged into the room. Petting the white
furry creature, she felt immediately calmer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kitten snuggled down on the bed beside
Olive. She was calmer but she still couldn’t close her eyes. Instead, she
stared at the window and wondered what the village was like at night? A bit of
moonlight filtered through the thin curtains and brightened the room a little.
The shadows that had danced on the walls grew still and the cat started to
purr. Olive’s muscles became less tense and she found herself drowsy. The
kitten’s ears perked up just at the moment Olive drifted off. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cotton stopped purring and listened
intently. Was that a noise downstairs in the bakery? The cat was intimately
aware of the creaks and groans of the old building and this sound was
different. Stealthy and purposeful. She considered for a moment jumping down
from the bed and trotting down to take a look. She glanced up at Olive’s face,
relaxed in sleep. Her orders were clear. The kitten walked to the end of the
bed, sat down, and stared at the door. She sat, unmoving, like a tiny sphinx,
guarding the room. The minutes ticked by. The noises grew slightly louder
before disappearing. Only then did Cotton return to her spot to curl up next to
Olive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was still dark when Olive woke up. She
slipped on the clothes she had laid out, pulled on her shoes, and descended
into the bakery. Grabbing a clean white apron from a hook she put it on and
goes to the covered dough on the countertop. It has risen and needs to be kneed.
She slipped on the plastic gloves and buried her hands in the soft dough. The
flour puffed up from the countertop and she remembered what Pepper said. Don’t
use too much flour or the bread will be stiff and awful. She pushed the extra
flour away from the dough, making a little pile of it away from her work area. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She avoided the front window but now
she paused, tilting her head and thinking about the scarecrow. Brushing the
flour off her hands, she walked to the window. Looking out she released her
breath in a deep sigh. She hadn’t realized she was holding it until just this
second. The grayness of the morning sends a shiver up her spine. The scarecrow was missing. She hadn’t imagined it. Unless? Could she have been mistaken about it
being there at all? Her throat was dry as she turned away. She sipped her
coffee and waited for the dough to rise for a second time. Then Olive formed it
into balls to make the rolls. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-78782710361066729302021-11-15T07:48:00.004-06:002021-11-15T07:48:27.638-06:00600 Cliffside<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAxUGF6tbbNoRtBKAw0mNL8T9w2uAMLbUwiM-pUlPDkfHalk3yMcAwCQQYdQE6RzDy98yt722dPya14lf8hT6BbrmPPmlZ9lf2y8dUwtY_oplCYK5xRDguXwkF1ETuaACd_mQGZSxvB9l/s1342/scotland-g7e5105012_1920+house+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1342" data-original-width="1257" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAxUGF6tbbNoRtBKAw0mNL8T9w2uAMLbUwiM-pUlPDkfHalk3yMcAwCQQYdQE6RzDy98yt722dPya14lf8hT6BbrmPPmlZ9lf2y8dUwtY_oplCYK5xRDguXwkF1ETuaACd_mQGZSxvB9l/w375-h400/scotland-g7e5105012_1920+house+.jpg" width="375" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The house was empty
except for a small red ball that rolled aimlessly around the empty rooms when
the wind gusted through the cracks in the walls and broken windows. Poorly
patched walls, hammered over with thin slabs of wood, they failed miserably to
keep out the wind. Had a realtor stopped by, they might have caught the wisp of
a child’s laughter carried by the breeze, echoing through the rooms, or heard
the faint sound of footsteps. They stopped by less and less nowadays as no one
wanted to see the grayish-blue Victorian house that sat on the edge of a cliff,
much less buy it. This house was a lonely house, solitary, its beauty hidden
just beneath the surface of the weathered boards—a home filled with memories of
awful events, twisted, defying logic, and lacking explanations. The whispered
questions had eventually ceased, leaving only the desolate house. It had been
ten years now since the tragic events of that summer, a summer that started
with sunshine and carefree laughter but ended with screams and blood. It wasn’t
the first summer, but it was the last.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Ten Years Ago<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
A sizeable gray van pulled up in front of 600 Cliffside, having
wound its way up the steep driveway, carefully maneuvering the corners and
occasionally pausing for the occupants to gaze out at the bay below the cliff.
To say the view was breathtaking was the understatement of the century. The
blue water of Castaway Bay glistened in the bright June sunlight. The bay did
not attract many boats anymore; the huge rocks hidden just beneath the water’s
surface had a long history of wrecking the vessels, at times resulting in
deaths, particularly at night. Occasionally one still might be lured into the
beautiful water that looked deceptively innocent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Inside
the car, Justin Kelling looked over at his wife, Cindy, who smiled back at him
brightly. The tension of buying the massive house evaporated as they basked in
the beauty. The twins, Gabe and Grace, seven years old, looked out the back
window at the steep hill they had just driven up; a blackbird fluttered across
the road right at the back of the van, and startled they whelped. Then looking
at each other, they dissolved into laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> They
just sat in the van looking at the massive house they currently owned, well
technically the bank-owned. The old house had been slightly out of their price
range and needed significant repairs, but the view and the possibilities had
convinced them to stretch their budget a bit and invest in the future they had
both dreamed of for years, a bed and breakfast. The view alone would surely
draw visitors, and the winding path down to the small isolated beach was an
amenity no one else in this area offered. They wouldn’t be ready to open until
next summer, the repairs were already underway, but there was so much to do.
They had decided not to rush things. They only had one shot at a grand opening.
They wanted it to be spectacular.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Let’s
go,” Cindy called out, her voice vibrating with excitement as she pushed the
car door open wide and stepped out onto the cobblestone walkway that extended
the entire length of the enormous house. She thought about the floorplan of the
house again, trying to make up her mind whether they should take the bedrooms
available on the first floor or the ones on the second. The place was three
stories, each one different but exquisitely detailed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
first floor, with a spacious living room, foyer, kitchen, dining room, three
bathrooms, and a sleeping suite with three bedrooms, was a complete house all
by itself. It was certainly more spacious than the tiny ranch house they had
lived in since the twins were born. It would be nice to use the main floor here
as their home, although, of course, they’d use the living room as a lobby. The
dining room would provide space to serve meals to those not wishing to take
them in their rooms. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
second floor had seven bedrooms, all with an attached bath, and tucked on the
landing above was a little area that would be perfect for a lounge. Each room
was unique, two were rectangles, three were square-shaped, but the two that
Cindy loved the most were on the back of the house, circular, with a whole wall
of windows that looked out over the water.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
third floor, only accessible by the old curving staircase, had five additional
rooms. They were smaller, basic bedrooms, but the ones on the back of the house
offered breathtaking views of the cliff and the bay. Cindy wondered if they had
been servant quarters. There were two massive bathrooms at each end of the hallway,
but she knew the lack of private baths might be a problem. She wondered about
the climb up and whether their guests would think the smaller rooms with the
awe-striking views were worth the climb. They would leave the repairs on the
third floor till the very last, possibly opening without them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Well,
do we take the bottom floor bedrooms or save them for handicapped
accessibility?” Justin asked, looking around the large foyer and trying to
envision it with a check-in desk. They had discussed this on the ride here, but
both of them still felt uncertain. They had added a ramp to the construction
plans that would make the second floor easier to access. Now Cindy looked
around. The children ran about in the living room, sticking their heads inside the
massive stone fireplace. They wouldn’t need it for a few months. Cindy could
envision a blazing fire inside it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Let’s
take this floor,” Cindy decided, and Justin nodded, carrying the first load of
suitcases down the hallway into the bedroom suite. The children raced after
him, their footsteps echoing on the wooden floors and disappearing into the
high ceilings above. Under their feet, the dusty dark wood needed polishing.
Once they completed the construction, they would bring new life to the old wood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> A
cold burst of wind swirled around Cindy, and she looked up the steps. It swept
down from the upstairs, icy cold. She hoped the air conditioning wasn’t being
glitchy. She rubbed her arms, coated with goosebumps, and looked up the steps
one more time, wondering. Then she hurried down the hallway to join her family.
The laughter echoed toward her from the bedrooms, but she stopped abruptly,
looking over her shoulder. She could swear she had heard a giggle behind her,
child-like and quite close. Old houses that were almost empty carried echoes in
all directions, she thought and shook her head. Brushing aside the feeling,
Cindy walked into the first bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
kids were jumping up and down while Justin was unfolding sleeping bags. They
planned to camp out here, in the master bedroom, until the furniture arrived.
Grace pulled at Cindy’s hands. She allowed herself to drift behind the little
girl to the bedrooms down the hallway. Yellowed double doors connected the two
rooms. Cindy made a mental note to pick up white paint soon. The wallpaper was
old and hideous, with large pink and white roses. She was surprised Gabe wasn’t
complaining, but he seemed so excited by all the space and the connecting doors
that she thought he’d ignore the wallpaper for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Sunlight
streamed through the filthy windows, but Cindy felt that odd chill again,
brushing against her skin like an invisible cat. A sigh drifted on the air next
to her, and she flinched. Ignoring it, she walked to the window and looked out.
These windows looked out over the side yard. The gardeners had already cleared
weeds from the flowerbeds. New plants dotted here and there, filling the yard
with colorful reds, pinks, and yellows. Cindy felt a hand push at her back, and
she turned, expecting one of the kids. Instead, there was only space behind
her. While she had daydreamed about walking in the garden, the children had
hurried back down the hallway to help Justin carry in more boxes. Now they
tumbled into the room and dropped boxes against the wall, digging in them
looking for one thing or the other.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Let
me dust the bookshelves, and then you can put some things out,” Cindy said.
Each room had a full floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelf, perfect for their
books and toys. She hurried to the bathroom, grabbed a roll of paper towels on
her way, and wet them in the sink. Returning, she gave a hit-and-miss scrubbing
of each shelf, and then Grace happily started putting her books on one of the
lower shelves. Gabe followed his mother through the enjoining door into his own
space, where she repeated the quick cleaning. Then he started rummaging through
his boxes. Instead of books, he pulled out dinosaurs that he placed on the
shelves lovingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Leaving
them on their own, she walked briskly down the hall and into the main bedroom.
Justin wasn’t working. He was taking a break, sprawled on a sleeping bag, his
head resting on his arm. Cindy laughed and collapsed on the floor next to him.
What an adventure they had gotten themselves into. He pulled her against him,
smoothing her hair, hugging her so tightly that she had trouble breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Cindy,
are you happy?” he asked, and she nodded her head vigorously. This place would
soon be gorgeous, and once they had the bed and breakfast up and running, the
income would be enough to survive on. They had wondered why no one had
capitalized on this place before.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> As
she snuggled against him, she heard a slight scratching in the walls and
grimaced. Mice. Damn it, next they were going to need an exterminator. Of
course, old houses in the middle of nowhere were going to attract rodents.
Nothing strange about that. Justin shivered and thought about how chilly the
house was even in the hot summer days of June. They weren’t going to have to
waste much money on air conditioning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> They
rested for a while, listening to the children down the hallway. Cindy’s eyes
fluttered shut. It had been a long trip. When she woke up, about an hour later,
she was alone in the room. It was darker now that the sun was sinking below the
horizon. Yawning, groggy and irritable, she clamored up and went in search of
her family. She stopped at the foyer, listening; the house was silent, offering
no clues to their whereabouts. Then she caught a glimpse of movement in the
living room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
room was empty except to the left was an arched doorway leading into the dining
room where the children were setting the table with paper plates and
plasticware. Justin came in from the kitchen carrying a huge pizza pan containing
a pepperoni pizza, covered in gooey cheese. He deposited it on the table and
disappeared into the kitchen again, returning with cold bottles of soda.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “The
freezer is working,” he said, and Cindy noticed that some of the bottles were
partially frozen. Shaking herself to wake up a bit more, she picked up the
pizza cutter and started cutting pieces, putting some on each plate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “You
could have woken me up,” Cindy told Justin, feeling guilty for sleeping while
he had finished unpacking the van and preparing dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “No
worries,” he said, smiling at her. His blue eyes always melted her heart. She
knew the children looked just like him, and she was easily manipulated by them
also. Cindy couldn’t complain, though. She had the life she had always dreamed
of with even more beautiful things on the horizon. This house, their new
business, the new baby, that Justin didn’t know about yet. She placed her hand
protectively on her stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Let’s
eat,” she said, but then she realized the kids had already started. Picking up
a thick slice of pizza, she swallowed the odd sensation of dread that had crept
inside her, chalking it up to the move and all the work they still needed to
do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
sipped the soda Justin had sat in front of her, and she was glad it was clear soda,
her stomach felt a bit queasy, and she nibbled small bits of the pizza, more
crust than cheese. Her other pregnancy had been easy, without morning sickness,
but this one, even though early, was more troublesome. She worried something
was wrong. Then a loud thud above them interrupted the meal. Grace jumped, and
a small yelp escaped Gabe. Justin raised an eyebrow and looked at the ceiling.
“Probably a mouse, we heard scratching earlier,” he said and stuffed more gooey
pizza into his mouth, chewing noisily and washing it down with soda.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
children looked nervously at Cindy, who maintained a blank face but inside, she
cringed. The sound had been loud, too loud, she thought for a mouse. She
remained silent but made a note to talk more with her husband about the strange
noises in the house. The children watched her closely, but when she didn’t
speak, they went back to chewing their slices of pizza.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
next morning, Cindy busied herself washing the front windows, looking out
across the front of their property, the circle drive, the circular flowerbed
that surrounded the faded sign out front, and the winding drive. Soon they
would replace that old sign with one of their own, and she wondered what name
they would decide to use. Cindy could see the children balancing on the stone
landscaping, arms out as they walked the short stones like a balance beam.
Humming, she scrubbed the grime from the windows, round and round until the
glass glistened.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Justin
climbed the stairs to the second floor, looking for mouse droppings, a package
of traps in his hand. He opened closets, looked under sinks, and along the
baseboards, but either these mice were immaculate, or there weren’t any. Justin
glanced up the stairway leading to the third floor, shrugging, he started the
climb. Stopping at the top to catch his breath, he looked around, three of the
five doors stood open, but two were closed, the ones to the back of the house
that looked out over the bay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> He
walked to the first closed door, pulling the doorknob, it opened quickly enough
with the hinges screeching in protest. The room wasn’t empty as he expected.
Someone had left several boxes inside the room, stacked in a corner. A whoosh
of wind swept around him, frigid, clinging to him like a blanket. It wasn’t
meant for warming like a blanket was, though, as it chilled him to his very
core. He examined the windows, all firmly sealed. He had no idea where the
draft was coming from.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Standing
by the boxes, he looked down at the contents, old books, letters tied with
ribbon, a couple of toys, an old brush with a mirror. He picked up the mirror.
Was it an antique? The handle and frame dulled from time looked old with a
trailing vine that wrapped its way around the handle. The mirror was so dirty
that it reflected nothing, but he took it with him, carrying it down the steps.
In the front room, he handed it to Cindy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Can
you clean it?” he asked. “There’s a brush that goes with it,” he added.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
dipped the mirror into the cleaning water, scrubbing the mirror with the large
sponge that floated in the bucket. It glistened when she removed it, buffing it
with a cloth, she handed it back to Justin, and he smiled at his reflection.
Turning it over, he examined the back, silver with a continuation of the vine
pattern. It looked ancient, yet he couldn’t be sure. Flipping it, he held it up
to his face, suddenly jerking, he turned around and stared at the empty room
behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What’s
wrong?” Cindy asked, her voice rising a little with her alarm. The color had
drained from Justin’s face, and he twitched nervously. He licked his lips,
biting the bottom one. His eyes darted away from her gaze, and beads of
moisture dotted his forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Nothing,
I thought I saw something,” he answered her, walking across the room and
peering first into the foyer and then into the dining room. The emptiness
stared back at him, mockingly. Not only had he caught a glimpse of a man in the
mirror, but he had sensed him standing behind him. That tingling sensation
comes from someone being too close. His heart thumped hard against his ribs,
but he didn’t want to alarm Cindy. After all, perhaps it was just a play of the
shadows against the old walls. He frowned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy
had stood up, and now she rested her arm across his shoulders. She couldn’t
imagine what could be wrong. Justin’s face slowly returned to normal as he
talked himself into believing that the man he had glimpsed in the mirror was
simply flickering shadows. He ran his hands through his hair nervously, telling
Cindy he was checking on the children. She watched him walk out the front door;
uncertainty drifted through her. She had no other choice but to return to her
work. Then she saw the mirror; Justin had sat it on a wooden table that she had
been using for her cleaning supplies.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
picked it up, gazing into it, only her face looked back at her. She heard
footsteps behind her and quickly turned to find the room empty. Grimacing, she
looked from the mirror to the room and back again. A tingling sensation started
in the pit of her stomach, and she suspected it had nothing to do with her
pregnancy. Her legs were shaking as she eased herself down on a small box.
Bending over, she put her head between her knees and tried to compose herself,
quieting her thoughts and her stomach. After several minutes she heard the
front door and jerked upright. She didn’t want Justin to ask what was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Mommy,
who is the man upstairs?” Gabe asked. Her wide eyes met Justin’s, but they
didn’t say anything. Perhaps he had observed his father when he had been on the
third floor, but it didn’t seem likely as he had been at the back of the house,
not the front.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What,
man?” Justin queried. Gabe looked at Grace for support.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Yep,
I saw him too, looking out the window in the middle bedroom,” she said,
supporting her brother, but that didn’t surprise Cindy. If he said the moon was
purple, Grace would have insisted he was right. Still, a vague uneasiness
settled over Cindy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What
did he look like?” Justin asked, bending down to Gabe’s level. Cindy wondered
why he was encouraging this. Their overactive imagination could spell trouble
here in a big rambling house. Gabe hesitated, frowning slightly, exactly like
Justin did when he was puzzling over something.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “He
was tall, bigger than you. He wore a hat, or maybe it was just his hair. It was
hard to tell. That window is high.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> No
matter how much more Justin pushed him, those were all the details Gabe could
provide. Grace was even less enlightening. She had only caught a glimpse of the
man at the very end before he pulled back from the window. Justin was
frustrated and hoping to distract him, Cindy hurried into the kitchen to bring
them all icy cold lemonade. They sat on the floor, sipping it. After a few
minutes, Justin seemed to relax; but even so, he kept casting glances toward
the stairs as if expecting the man to walk down and join them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
undefined anxiety and uneasiness lingered with Cindy all afternoon and into the
evening. They were preparing to crawl into the sleeping bags, but Grace wanted
one more trip to the bathroom. Cindy waited outside the bathroom; she tilted
her head to one side, listening. She could just barely catch the far-off
giggling that seemed to be coming from the room above them. Suddenly her dry
throat hurt. She jumped when Justin put a hand on her shoulder. Stifling a
scream, she glanced up at him. His eyes were dark and confused, she wanted to
ask if he heard the giggles too, but her mouth was so dry; she couldn’t speak.
Then Grace came squirming out of the bathroom, and they all hurried to the
bedroom, slipping into the sleeping bags.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy
couldn’t go to sleep for a very long time. She lay silently listening to the
creaking sounds of the big old house. She scolded herself for being so silly.
Old houses made all kinds of odd sounds, and this house was no different.
Justin’s eyes were wide awake when she looked at him. She considered again
asking if he had heard the giggles. For some reason, she didn’t want to hear
his answer. She wondered about his strange behavior in the living room. He
looked at her; briefly, she thought something flickered inside his eyes, that
he might be about to speak, but he merely closed his eyes and rolled over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Hours
later, in the deep of night, jerking awake, wondering the time, Cindy reached
out for Justin, but his sleeping spot was empty. Sitting up, she could see his
outline in the doorway, he stood looking out into the hallway, and as Cindy
watched him, the sound of giggling traveled to them from somewhere above.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What
is that?” she whispered. Justin turned, shaking his head, as startled by the
bizarre giggles as she was. He started to say something and then stopped.
That’s when Cindy saw his hands shaking. Although the soft moonlight barely
illuminated the room, his hands were visible. The trembling was violent and
unrestrained, his hands jerking in spasms. When he sat down, she grasped his
hands in hers, silently urging him to tell her what was on his mind. He
swallowed hard then spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Today
or I guess it was yesterday now when I looked in that mirror; there was a dark
silhouette of a man standing directly behind me, in the doorway into the
foyer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
didn’t see anything,” Cindy said but then added, “Do you think he is who the
children saw? Is he a ghost?” she whispered; her voice quivered as the words
came out. She swallowed the lump growing in her throat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
don’t know,” he answered, quite honestly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I’m
going into town in the morning and find a priest to bless the house,” Cindy
said firmly. She assured Justin that she wasn’t planning to reveal the events
of the last two days, merely ask for a visit and a blessing. They wouldn’t want
to scare off future customers. He nodded in agreement.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Take
the children, please. I’m not sure I can keep a good eye on them while I work.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy
nodded in agreement. The town was a small village nestled at the foot of the
cliffs, and she might as well acquaint herself with it because it was the only
place to buy groceries or other supplies for at least forty miles. The children
would enjoy the outing, and perhaps they could find a local ice cream shop. If
so, Cindy would indulge them with a treat. She looked over at their sleepy
forms, so angelic in slumber. Twisting back into her bed, she tried to get a
few more hours of sleep before morning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Gathered
around the table with coffee, juice, and cereal, Cindy noticed the dark circles
under Gabe’s eyes and worried he was getting sick. “Gabe, are you feeling ok?”
she asked. He turned his face toward her and sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
didn’t sleep much, the man kept waking me up,” he said. Cindy gasped. Justin
grabbed Gabe’s arm, frightened, but it was anger that surfaced.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Stop
that right now,” he shouted, and both the children flinched. Their father
didn’t get angry very often. His face bunched up, with his lips pushed tightly
together as he tried to suppress it. Cindy, desperate to stop the direction of
all of this, jumped up and called out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Who’s
ready for a trip to town?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Both
the kids raced to their bedrooms to get dressed, and Cindy looked at Justin
with a little admonishment on her face. He hung his head sheepishly. They
couldn’t let their doubts and fears affect their relationship with the
children. Justin frowned, looking at his hands. His nerves were on edge, and
for the first time in his life, he had no plan, no idea how to proceed. They
couldn’t just dump the house. They had invested everything in it, and the bed
and breakfast idea had to come to fruition.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Gabe
came into the room, hugged his father, then announced he was ready. Cindy
laughed and walked toward her bedroom to get dressed. As she was finishing up
brushing her long blonde hair, she heard a scream and thump, thump, thump, then
a loud thud. Like a typical mother, racing into the foyer, fear overwhelmed
her. Grace lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing her head
and glaring up the stairs. She was sniffling and wiping her tears away quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “He
pushed me,” she said accusingly. Cindy was shocked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Gabe,
get down here right this minute,” she yelled, the anguish filtering through her
words. Nothing moved at the top of the steps, not a whisper of sound. Hearing a
noise down the hallway in the children’s room, she swiveled in that direction.
Out of the bedroom, hopping on one foot, Gabe came toward her, a perplexed look
crossed his face when he saw his sister.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What
happened,” he asked, squatting down beside her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “The
man pushed me,” Grace answered. Cindy was horrified, looking up the dark steps
toward the second-floor landing, she thought she caught a wisp of movement.
Justin? It couldn’t be. He would never hurt the children. Just as these
thoughts crossed her mind, the front door swung open, and Justin entered carrying
a step ladder. He paused, looking at the scene before him. His questioning eyes
shifted to each of them, but no one answered. Gabe helped his sister up and
cast a cautious look at his father as they went out the door together. Cindy
grabbed her purse, kissed Justin quickly on the cheek, and hurried after them,
avoiding his question altogether.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
car slowly descended the steep drive and swooshed out onto the little blacktop
that would take them a mile and a half before finally dumping them into the
small town of Crescent. It was like stepping back in time; the little shops
lined the streets as people strolled along, doing more chatting than shopping.
She found an open spot and pulled the car in; the children rushed from the car
before she even had it entirely in park. They had spied a large display window
filled with toys and chased each other over to admire it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy
had observed the church looming over the town as she had reached the city limit
sign. She was anxious to find the priest and request a blessing for their
house, but the children jumped about excitedly. She knew there was no hope of
having an adult conversation with the priest unless Cindy let them explore the
town and calm down a bit first. An old shopkeeper came out of the toy shop,
handing each of the children something, she hurried over. It had been drilled
in their heads over and over, not to accept things from strangers, so she
rushed forward to introduce herself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Cindy
Kelling,” she said. The older man looked at her oddly, a flash of fear trailing
through his eyes. She swore he almost recoiled. Then slowly, he stretched out
his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Ben
Cast,” he answered, shaking her hand with one that was wrinkled with age and
trembled in her grasp. She looked down at the children, happily opening the
small yoyos that the man had given them. When she looked back up, his bird-like
eyes were accessing her and feeling mildly uncomfortable; she tried to get away
from the exchange, but his words stopped her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “You
all move up on Cliffside?” he asked, and something in his tone made her shiver.
He licked his lips, and his dark eyes darted back and forth. Buried in the
depths of those eyes, she thought was a flicker of something. Like a hidden
secret, it flashed only briefly and then slipped away again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Yes,
yes,” she answered while pulling at Grace’s hand, trying to move them down the
sidewalk and away from the odd man. He seemed kind enough, but something in his
demeanor unsettled her. His eyes looked like they knew all about her, hidden
secrets, and deep thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Do
you only have two children?” he asked as if an afterthought. She stared at him,
wondering if he knew. But how could he? Now she thought his smile more a smirk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Yes,”
she answered while silently adding, for now. His next words stopped her escape.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “It’s
haunted, you know, that’s why it’s been empty for years. The last family that
lived there,” he stopped closing his eyes and tilting his head to the side.
“The Jacksons, they didn’t last long, no not long at all,” he said. “There’s
been a lot of families through the years, and none of them last long,” he
finished as cloudiness filled his eyes. Distant memories tugged at him and
something else too, grief? Falling silent, she believed him done, but then he
spoke, his voice husky with emotion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “My
son built that house…he was disturbed. It wasn’t his fault…” he said, letting
his words trail off into the air. Tears filled his eyes, threatening to spill
over, but he shook his head, fighting off an overwhelming sadness. What wasn’t
his fault, Cindy wondered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy
considered what he had said about the families. How many had lived in the big
house over the years? What had happened to them? Had they moved? Perhaps
something more dreadful happened to them. She swallowed, wishing she had a
bottle of water; her throat was parched. Somehow, she finally managed to squeak
out her question.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What
happened to the Jacksons?” she asked. The man’s eyes filled with a faraway look
and brimmed with tears again. He blinked twice and opened his mouth, a fish
gasping for air.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Let’s
see now, Mr. Jackson jumped off the cliffs. The wife ended up in the Highland
Sanatorium after her little boy was found dead at the bottom of the stairs.
Sad, real sad,” he answered his words, light and airy, almost a sigh. Then he
turned abruptly and hurried inside the shop, leaving Cindy standing
open-mouthed with the picture of Grace whimpering at the bottom of the stairs
firmly lodged in her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Gabe
and Grace ran back to her, they had wandered down the street to look at the
small sidewalk merry-go-round, and now they were yammering for ice cream. She
was glad they hadn’t heard what the strange man had said. Cindy tried to brush
his words away, but they kept buzzing around her, stinging her, demanding
attention. She found herself, swatting the air in front of her as if invisible
gnats swarmed there. Following the kids down the street into the bright and
colorful ice cream shop, she pushed away from the thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
teenage shopkeeper scooped chocolate brownie ice cream into cardboard bowls and
stuck a small red plastic spoon in each one. As she rang up the purchase, she
darted a quick look at Cindy. She started to say something, changed her mind,
and took the cash from Cindy’s outstretched hand. Suddenly changing her mind,
she spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “You
all live out at 600 Cliffside?” she asked, and Cindy wondered if everyone in
the small town knew more about them than they knew about the town folk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Yes,”
she answered without elaborating. She had planned to walk while the children
ate the ice cream, but when she turned around, they were already seated at a
little booth with a Formica top and red leather bench seats. Slipping onto a
bench with Grace, she could feel the cashier’s eyes on them. As Cindy looked
up, directly into the eyes of the girl, something flickered in the teenager’s
eyes. Sympathy, pity, perhaps? It sent shivers up her spine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> After
finishing the ice cream, she hurried the children up the hill toward the church.
The massive structure loomed over the little town, almost out of place among
the small houses and tiny shops. Suddenly she realized she was dragging them
and slowed down to let them catch their breath. As they rested next to the
front gate, a priest walked out of the double front doors and stood looking out
at them. Perhaps he had observed them rushing up the street and had come out to
greet them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
grabbed the twins’ hands and started again at a brisk pace, glancing up, the
priest remained unmoving, watching them approach. The children scrambled up the
steps, and he knelt to greet them, shaking their hands solemnly. Cindy breathed
in slowly, trying to calm her pounding heart. The priest greeted her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Mrs.
Kelling, it’s good to meet you,” he said. Cindy twitched, startled that the
priest knew her name. Everyone in this town appeared to know them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Father,
I wanted to ask if you’d come to bless our house,” Cindy responded, shaking his
hand warmly as she spoke. She thought perhaps a dark cloud passed across his
countenance. He gripped her hand slightly tighter before speaking. He looked
sad as if a distant grief-filled memory had crept up on him, unaware.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Yes,
of course, I will come,” he said, but Cindy noted a hesitancy in his words. An
uncertainty, as if perhaps he had wanted to say something different altogether.
She even wondered if he had wanted to refuse, although that hardly seemed very
priest-like. They stood together uncomfortable on the stoop. Finally gathering
shaky courage, he spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Mrs.
Kelling, I want you to know this will not be the first time I blessed the
house,” he said, his words soft and ominous. Was there a warning hidden there
behind his words? Were his words simply words or something more?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy’s
heart beat faster in her chest, thumping against her rib cage, a rhythm of
fear; she trembled slightly in the hot June sun and waited for him to say more.
At first, he didn’t, looking down at the children, he suggested they walk a bit
in the side yard of the church. His suggestion puzzled Cindy, but she agreed,
and as they stepped around the corner, the children raced to a small
playground. Then she understood his intent to remove the children from the
conversation. As they started to swing, they were far enough away that their
words couldn’t reach them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Mrs.
Kelling, the house you live in, perhaps you’ve heard of the last family, the
Jacksons?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Yes,”
the single word was barely a whisper. The priest looked at her carefully,
unsure whether to proceed. His obligation to assist her forced him to continue.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “The
family, I blessed the house for them too, right before the husband fell from
the cliff,” he told her. His voice quivered with some emotion that Cindy
couldn’t identify. His words perplexed her as he clutched the heavy cross that
hung around his neck. Cindy was puzzled because he said the husband fell from
the cliff, whereas the shopkeeper had called it a suicide. Was the priest just
being sensitive for the family’s sake? But why? None of the Jacksons resided in
the area any longer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “The
house has a dark past; many have died there or on the cliffs behind it. I
sense, well, I hesitate to call it this, but I have no other word for it. I
sense an evil there, seeping from the walls, polluting the minds of those that
live inside. I know you probably think I am overly dramatic, but please, if you
notice anything, please leave immediately.” His words rushed out like the air
from a balloon. “It may already be too late,” he added his words a mere
whisper. She strained to hear him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> He
gazed into her face as they locked eyes for a few seconds; she wondered if he
could see the horror dancing in hers. She didn’t tell him of the events that
had transpired in just the couple of days they had been in the old house. She
didn’t want him to warn her again. Fear seeped into her pores, and she felt
light-headed. They were stuck financially and needed to make the best of it. An
urgency filled her, and she wanted to leave as quickly as possible. After she
received his promise to come at four o’clock to bless the house and meet her
husband, she bid him goodbye.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Justin, she thought, and the image of him alone
at the house, made her call frantically to the children. She rushed down the
hill as she pulled the children behind; the priest watched their exit with some
concern. Still holding onto his cross, he turned and disappeared inside the
church.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> They
tumbled into the car and headed home. The children bounced against the doors as
Cindy took the corners too fast. The car careened up the hill and slid to a
stop in front of the house. Justin was tending a flower bed on the left side of
the massive steps. Cindy breathed an enormous sigh of relief at the sight of
him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
children, slightly alarmed by Cindy’s driving, ran to play in the grassy front
lawn on the east side of the house while Cindy hurried inside, desperately
attempting to calm her nerves. The furniture truck had delivered the living
room furniture. She could see they were going to need to add new pieces. The
massive room swallowed up the few they had. She sank into the cushions of the
olive-green sofa, tossing a throw pillow to the side, burying her face in her
hands.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> When
she looked up, she noticed that Justin had cleaned out the boxes from the third
floor as he had promised. On the oak coffee table, there were several pieces he
had not thrown away. She reached out, touching the ornate mirror with the
hairbrush sitting beside it. There was a clear glass bottle that might have
held perfume at one time and, next to it, a stack of photos. She picked them
up. The first was a photo of the house. It stood much like it did today, lit by
the bright summer sunlight, leafy trees on either side of the drive. Cindy
slipped the picture to the bottom of the stack, gasping at the next photo. A
family, a tall man with dark hair, and a woman who was pushing her hair back
from her face. The little boy between them grinned up at his dad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
Jacksons stared back at her from the rest of the photos, various pictures of
their short life here at 600 Cliffside. The little boy on a tire swing, the mom
setting the table, dad painting, none hinted at the awful ending that lurked
just ahead of them. Just as she started to put them back down, she caught a
glimpse of something at the edge of one photo. She pulled it closer. It showed
the father painting the railing on the second floor, and directly behind him
the dark trousers of a man, only half of the figure was captured in the
picture, but Cindy shuddered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> A
little before four o’clock, Justin looked out the front door; seeing the blue
car winding its way up the hill, he called out to his family. “He’s here!” The
old priest climbed out of the car and shuffled across the stone drive, looking
up at the house as he moved closer to the front steps. He stopped once, gazing
up at the third floor. When he reached Justin, he extended his hand, and they
exchanged pleasantries. Then Justin ushered him inside. Father
Duncan stood at the bottom of the massive staircase, first looking down at the
floor and then tilting his head back, letting his eyes linger on the
second-floor landing. He fumbled inside his shirt and pulled out a large cross,
silver and rather old-looking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> In
each room, the priest sprinkled holy water into each corner, chanting something
that Cindy vaguely recognized. It took longer than she had expected. The house
had many rooms, but she didn’t hurry him. They needed to cleanse the house; it
was their only hope. On the third floor, the priest spent extra time inside the
two rooms at the back of the house, the ones with the spectacular view of the
water. Then he paused and looked out the huge windows facing the bay. Next,
using chalk, he wrote a verse on the back of each door, and they prayed
together in the third-floor hallway. When the priest finished, he looked about
nervously and hurried down the stairs. In the foyer, he grasped Cindy’s hands,
struggling to find the words he wanted. Finally, he just advised her once again
to leave the house. As he spoke, goosebumps raced up and down her spine, and
cold air drifted down the stairs. He said his goodbyes quickly and
casting a last glance over his shoulder and up the stairs, he left the house.
Just as the door closed behind him, giggles floated across the second-floor
landing and disappeared into the air above them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> As
they crawled into bed that night, Cindy felt somewhat mollified by the house
blessing, which perhaps was the whole intent to calm people’s fears. She was
thankful that the furniture had finally arrived, but she glanced nervously at
the doorway. There had been some security in having the children with them. She
worried that they were down the hallway. She longed to reach out a hand and
touch their small backs, letting her hand linger there while they slept. Kevin
must have been experiencing the same thoughts because he walked to the door and
looked into the darkness outside their bedroom. Everything seemed eerily quiet.
It was almost eleven, and the children had been in bed for hours, since
nine-thirty.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Tired
from the day, Cindy had drifted off to sleep immediately only to be awoken, a
few hours later, by screams, echoing in the hallway outside their door. They
both jumped up at the same time and rushed to the door, flipping on the room
lights, and found Grace shivering in the hallway. Her pajamas were wet, and a
puddle of urine pooled around her feet. Gabe stood in his bedroom doorway,
staring at the back of his sister, his mouth slightly agape, trembling and
blank-eyed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> That’s
when Cindy looked further down the hallway toward the front foyer; something
dark splashed against the walls drew her attention. Justin hurried to Gabe,
picking him up and flipping on the hall lights as he scooped him up. Then it
was Cindy’s turn to scream. The walls, near the foyer, were drenched in blood,
splattered across the newly painted walls, garish and macabre. The blood ran in
streaks down the wall, coating the baseboards and forming puddles on the floor.
In places, it was mere dots, splatters that covered the wall like the spots on
a Dalmatian. Justin reached out, pulling both Cindy and Grace into the master
bedroom. The smell of blood and urine permeated the air.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Justin
put Gabe down on the bed, and Cindy swiftly changed Grace’s pajamas, pulling
one of her old tee shirts over her head like a nightgown. Then she plopped her
in the bed beside Gabe. Justin was looking around frantically for a weapon, but
there was none in the bedroom. The lavender-colored accessories and plants lining
the window sill weren’t much use.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
minutes ticked by, and after hearing no sounds for about twenty minutes, little
footsteps pattered across the floor overhead, a light giggling drifted through
the house above them, soft and lilting, back and forth across the whole length
of the house. Cindy, wide-eyed, stared at Justin. The two of them sat on the
edge of the bed, patting the completely unresponsive children, hearing only an
occasional whimper from them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy’s
heart tightened as the noises above them continued for about thirty minutes,
and then the house sat dark and silent. Justin peeked out the door; the walls
were pristine, the new pale gray paint unflawed. He tiptoed down the hallway a
few feet, but when he heard Cindy call out, he returned to the safety of the
bedroom. They had no reason to believe the room protected them in any way, but
they were together and taking small comfort in that ill-advised
belief. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Don’t
leave us,” Cindy whispered to him when he stepped back into the room. And he
rushed to her side. They sat with the children in the center of the bed until
the first pale rays of sun filtered into the room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I’ll
call the bank Monday, see if there’s anything we can do,” Justin said so softly
that Cindy could barely hear him, but she nodded, her heart dropping.
Financially they would be ruined, but what other choice did they
have? With shaking hands, she pulled clothes out of the dresser in
Grace’s room, casting a glance over her shoulder repeatedly. Then she moved to
Gabe’s room and did the same. A beach towel flung across the rocker in his room
gave her an idea. She snatched up towels and swimsuits too. She wanted to get
out of the house, take the children somewhere safe, the image of the little
path leading to the secluded beach had popped into her mind. She thought
perhaps a day outside, away from this house might help.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> When
she returned to their bedroom, Justin was hunched over a book at the desk,
scribbling something with forceful strokes onto the white page. Cindy thought,
at first, it was a ledger, and he was examining their finances before calling
the bank, but when she looked over his shoulder, the page covered with spidery
handwriting, trailed off the page in places. He jerked when she put her hand on
his shoulder, turning his clouded eyes to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Come
to the beach with us; we need to get out of this house,” she urged him. With
glassy eyes, he looked at her without seeing. He didn’t seem himself and
brushed her hand off, grumbling something incoherently under his breath. She
wanted to argue with him, but the last thing they needed right now was a
marital fight. Instead, she shrugged it off and went to the kitchen to pack a
light lunch while the children scrambled into swimwear, anxious to be away from
the house at 600 Cliffside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “When
they walked down the front steps with the tote bag and large picnic basket,
Justin was sitting in the old rocking chair, looking out at the lawn. He didn’t
speak, and when Gabe tried to hug him, he pushed the small boy away roughly.
Cindy bit her tongue; Justin was worried and not himself after last night. Who
wouldn’t be she reasoned? His eyes glinted at her when she suggested he join
them later. He didn’t answer; he just rocked back and forth. Cindy wasn’t even
sure he saw her; perhaps his eyes just stared at something she couldn’t see.
She felt an uneasiness building in her as she cautiously herded the children
away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> As
they carefully climbed down the narrow path to the beach, the children’s
spirits lifted, and Cindy’s did too. Perhaps they would find a way to either
get out of this commitment or make the best of it. Her memories of last night
faded until they were misty and clouded, surreal, and she wondered if perhaps
she had dreamed some of it. She pulled out the little shovels and buckets,
handing one to both Gabe and Grace, then while they busied themselves in the
sand, she selected a smooth piece of the beach and, unfolding the colorful
blanket, she spread it out. The colors, lime green, purple, and pink, made her
smile and brought back to mind their delight when they had first visited the
private little beach. Gabe chased Grace to the water’s edge, splashing there
while Cindy lay on the blanket keeping a careful eye on them. Their squeals of
delight lifted her mood even more<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Don’t
go too far out,” she called. The water was only about up to their knees, but
she hadn’t walked out in the bay and wasn’t sure if it got deep quickly. There
could be sudden drop-offs. They obeyed, but Cindy knew she best stay alert
because after all, kids are kids, and they don’t always watch out for
themselves. She sat up, shielding her eyes with her hand, and watching them
romp along the edge of the water.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
shifted on the blanket, looking up at the looming house on the cliffside above.
It looked normal enough. The home was gorgeous, and she wondered again if they
had other options. Sighing, she knew she was naïve. Last night was a distant
memory now, washed away by the beautiful day, but even so, she knew there was
something off about the old structure. The realtors had whispered on the
sidelines while she and Justin had discussed the possible purchase. At the
time, she had assumed they were anxiously discussing their chances for a sale,
but now she wondered. Had it been something else? Something more sinister?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> As
she looked at the house, she noticed a figure walking along the back part of
the property, close to the cliff’s edge. His head down, watching the ground at
his feet, he paced back and forth, at times throwing his hands about in the
air, as if arguing with himself. By the gait, Cindy felt sure it was Justin.
She’d recognize that walk anywhere. Her heart tightened in her chest as he drew
closer and closer to the edge. As he stood at the very edge of the cliff, his
body swayed back and forth slightly, like a sleepwalker lost in a dream.
Suddenly she thought of the Jackson family, the man plunging to his death off
the cliff. She wanted to scream, but fearful it would startle him, putting him
in even more danger, she watched silently. She held her breath, and after a few
minutes, Justin turned and walked back toward the house. Breathing a sigh of
relief, she called the children over for lunch. They could play a little
longer, she was in no rush to return to the house, but she was in a hurry to
check on Justin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Umm,
these are so good,” Gabe said, biting into the peanut butter and jelly
sandwich, making Cindy smile. Neither of them had mentioned the events from
last night, and she hoped after they had finally collapsed in sleep, their
minds had closed around the bloody scene, diluting it and making it seem like
just another nightmare.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Eat
some carrot sticks,” she prompted them, and Grace crunched one between her tiny
white teeth, giggling. Gabe frowned, he much preferred the sandwich to the
vegetables, but he reluctantly picked up a carrot stick and bit off a large
chunk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “After
lunch, you can play another hour or so, and then we need to go back,” she said.
Their groans were instantaneous. But to their credit, they didn’t argue,
munching on their sandwiches and sipping the icy lemonade.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy
cleaned up their trash, stuffing it back inside the picnic basket while they
scampered off with sand molds, and after they had settled down by the wet sand
near the water, she pulled out a magazine flipping the pages idly. This is how
it was supposed to be; this was the dream the house had offered, not
blood-stained walls and giggling. The time passed far quicker than she had
hoped, and with a sense of dread, they trudge back along the little sandy path,
climbing higher and higher and closer and closer to the house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Justin
was not in the front yard, so perhaps he was working in the back or inside.
Grace climbed the steps on her pencil-thin legs, looking tired with dark
circles under her eyes and a slight sunburn across her nose. Cindy chastened
herself for forgetting the sunscreen. Gabe stopped on the top step looking out
across the yard. His little mouth puckered in a frown as he tugged at his mother’s
arm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Where’s
dad?” he asked. Cindy wished she knew the answer. She didn’t reply; just patted
his shoulder and guided him toward the front door. Grace had just stepped
inside when the screaming started, high pitched, vibrating around the eaves of
the house. Cindy ran toward the door, leaving Gabe standing frozen in his
tracks, terrified and uncertain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Inside
the foyer, Cindy saw immediately where the screams were coming from, Grace. She
couldn’t believe the loud, subhuman noises were coming from her daughter, but
they were. Grace gulped air repeatedly, and each scream was more deafening. The
walls ran with blood, thick and gooey, drizzling down the gray surface,
trailing onto the old wooden floor. Cindy stepped in front of Grace, blocking her
view.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Justin,
Justin, where are you?” she yelled for her husband, but the words just bounced
off the walls. The house was silent except for Grace’s sobbing and Cindy’s
calls for help. She looked up the stairs; bloody footprints and drops of thick
blood dotted the stairs. She didn’t see Justin. She turned to push Grace out of
the house. Grace was gone. Was she outside with Gabe? When Cindy looked again,
Justin stood at the top of the stairs, coated in blood. Whose blood, whose
blood? Cindy wondered, the words echoing inside her head, bouncing around like
ping pong balls.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Justin
stood silently at the top of the steps, hovering right at the brim of the
second floor, grinning down at her, droplets of blood dripped off his face,
plopping on the wooden floor. His eyes darted around, he flinched and ducked,
swinging the ax he held in his hand at some invisible creature. The blade of
the ax was buried in the wall from the forceful swing as he looked around
manically. Cindy stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs. Then some strong
force pushed him from behind, Justin staggered, tripping on the first step and
plunging down the steps, head over heels, landing with a sickening crash on the
floor at Cindy’s feet. She stepped back, horrified, looking at her blood-splattered
shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
bent over her husband, shaking him, nothing. She felt for a pulse frantically,
but his wrist covered in slick blood was not offering any. She couldn’t tell if
he was breathing but heard a whimpering behind her and turned. Seeing Gabe in
the doorway, she called out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Go,
take Grace, and get in the car,” she screamed at him, her words grating on the
air.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Where
is she?” Gabe asked, staring at his father’s body, and it was in that instant
that Cindy knew her daughter had not left the house. She lurched into the
living room, glancing first to the right and then to the left. She heard a
slight gurgling coming from the fireplace. The fireplace? She tilted her head
inside and looked up. Grace had somehow managed to lodge her small body against
the walls of the fireplace. Clinging there, thick globs of blood dripped down
from inside the chimney and splashed against her face.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Grace,
come down, immediately,” Cindy called, and Grace looked down, her face so white
against the dark interior.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
can’t. He put me here,” Grace whispered, and each word chipped at Cindy’s soul
like an ice pick chinking away the ice. A bitter wind swirled around them, and
Cindy grabbed her daughters’ small foot, tugging with all her might, but the
little girl stayed lodged, held tight by some unseen force.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “He
doesn’t like you here, he doesn’t like people living in the house he built,” a
small voice said behind her. A little boy of three or four stood in the living
room watching Cindy’s fight. His tousled dark hair fell across his face and a
large bruise, purple and black, covered almost half his crushed forehead. He
ignored her and reached down, picking up one of the photos off the table, a
crooked smile appearing on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Please
help me,” Cindy pleaded, and the boy looked at her before disappearing into
thin air. Cindy started to cry, but then she heard giggling from the fireplace,
high up, and Grace landed with a thud, covered in ashes and soot, she scrambled
out of the fireplace and into Cindy’s arms. Her face covered in deep scratches,
frightened Cindy. Blood ran down her chin. In the foyer, Gabe started howling,
a careening noise, high pitched and eerie.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy
pulled Grace with her, rushing to Gabe. He stood in the same place, but now his
face was bleeding, covered in deep claw marks. He had wiped at his face,
smearing tears and blood together in a grotesque finger-painting on his flesh.
The foyer was frigid with misty cold air rushing down the stairs at them. She
pushed the children out of the front door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Get
in the car,” she whispered, and as she was just about to slip out the door
behind them, she heard Justin moan. She rushed to him, droplets of frost
covering her face as she edged closer to the stairs. He tried to roll over as
she desperately pulled at his hand. She didn’t know how badly he was injured,
either physically or psychologically, but he was her husband. She was desperate
to get him out of the house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> He
opened his eyes, looking up at her, she could see his clear blue eyes, no
glaze, no misty lost look, just the clear blue eyes of the man she loved. He
couldn’t speak, his mouth was bruised and swollen, his lips crusted with blood,
but he seemed to know what she wanted. He scooted a few inches toward the door,
and Cindy pulled again. Inch by inch, they moved closer. Now the frigid air was
so cold it froze her nostrils shut, and she breathed through her mouth. Her
arms ached, her head pounded, but somehow together, they managed to get out the
door. Justin shifted, groaning, getting his bottom planted on the top step, he
gritted his teeth and descended with Cindy’s help.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cindy
bolted for the car; the children were hiding in the back seat, looking up
fearfully as she opened the door. They pulled back when they saw her, shaking
their small heads no. “It’s me,” she reassured them and twisted the key in the
ignition.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
pulled alongside Justin, who had somehow managed to get even further away from
the house, sitting bloody and in pain right in the middle of the driveway. She
opened the door and hoisted him inside just as a forceful wind rushed from the
house, encircling their car and making it impossible to see. The children
recoiled, pushing themselves as far away from their father as they could. Cindy
pressed the gas pedal to the floor and roared blindly out of the driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Put
your seatbelts on,” she screamed at the children, who obeyed immediately. Even
Justin tried to pull his over his chest, but he had lost too much blood and had
no energy left for fastening a contrary seatbelt. He groaned, slumping in the
seat. Cindy glanced at him, thinking his neck at an odd angle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
fog across the steep road diminished visibility until Cindy felt forced to slow
the car. The gusts of winds pelted the car, the sky had darkened, and lightning
was flashing in front of them while sleet bounced off the hood. They drove into
an impossible mix of winter and summer as the temperature plunged. The
windshield, coated with ice, added another impediment to sight, like driving
blindfolded. The right tire of the car slid in the gravel on the shoulder of
the road. She jerked the wheel, barely managing to get them back on the road.
As they escaped further down the cliffside, the air cleared, and the wind,
though still gusting, was less forceful. Cindy didn’t stop at the bottom of
their driveway; she turned left, away from the house, away from the small town
nestled in the other direction. Justin needed a hospital, and she had no
intention of asking for help in the small village at the foot of the cliff.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> No
one spoke. The miles hummed under the car’s wheels as Justin drifted in and out
of consciousness. The whimpers in the back of the vehicle gradually decreased,
and Cindy thought perhaps they had fallen asleep. While they slept, she tried
to come up with a plausible story to tell the ER doctor, maybe just that Justin
had fallen down a flight of stairs. The clouds parted in front of her, and the
sun blossomed in the sky. The more miles she put between them and the house,
the better. They’d deal with the bank on Monday, and if it came down to it,
they’d file bankruptcy. Not the best choice financially, but at least they were
alive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
love you,” a small voice from the passenger seat whispered. Justin’s blue eyes
were clear now, alert, normal, and looked at her from his bloody face. She
gasped, looking at him. The massive bruise on his head, sunk in at the center,
and she thought his skull appeared crushed. She was amazed he was still
functioning at all. Frowning, she looked at the wound closer, tiny pieces of
his skull protruded from it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
shifted her eyes to his and held his gaze for a moment, not wanting to alarm
him, she remained silent. A kernel of fear grew inside her, and she felt the
baby move for the first time. She had never told him about the baby, meaning
for it to be a surprise once things settled down. She swallowed and started to
speak.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Then
something slithered through the deep blue iris of his eye, something worm-like,
squirming in the center. It reminded her of maggots in rotting meat. She
thought his face shifted, growing a bit cagey, with just a whiff of something
sinister. Although he smiled, his face seemed frozen, cold and calculating.
With a sudden realization, she knew this wasn’t her husband. Nevertheless, she
reached out and patted his hand, with a calm she didn’t feel. Cindy thought of
the children and knew she couldn’t panic.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
looked back up at the road, just in time to see the massive sixteen-wheeler
coming right at them. She had crossed the centerline of the narrow highway. The
truck plowed into their van. Ripping metal screeched, tires squealed, and the
glass shattered. The shards of glass cascaded into the car, biting into Cindy’s
face. She thought she heard whimpering from the back seat as her head slammed
against the door, and she lost consciousness. The head-on collision tore the
vehicle apart, crumpling it like a wad of paper. The truck jackknifed, blocking
the road while their car plunged off the hillside into the raging waters below.
The vehicle plummeted into the ocean, bobbing, then disappearing, and childish
giggles drifted over the hillside and up to the highway—the car filled with
water quickly as they sunk into their watery grave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
silence lingered for a very long time until the sirens sounded in the distance
and moved toward the wreck. Only those in the small village would ever
associate their deaths with the house. Over the years, they had learned to look
the other way. Let the house be, they whispered to each other. Fearful that
some way, the house might come for them. The nervous priest, anxious to escape,
hadn’t bothered to explain. He had neglected to tell them the most important
fact. No one had ever escaped 600 Cliffside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-34709108810119855712021-11-07T06:36:00.005-06:002021-11-07T06:36:46.385-06:00Cranberry<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0eJRUBiEAzvAegfZJyc3FcBdvCaSpkQu7WWHSFj7UBC2l6jyfbhI59yuIZSNfPj1cR3VEZrkduZRFhBH3Hoz_yJJ8IPxTTbQZezDEWfoyzlw-KJNM6jTikDH5bEubhsFxNI3NYTGgiGz/s1080/Cranberry.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0eJRUBiEAzvAegfZJyc3FcBdvCaSpkQu7WWHSFj7UBC2l6jyfbhI59yuIZSNfPj1cR3VEZrkduZRFhBH3Hoz_yJJ8IPxTTbQZezDEWfoyzlw-KJNM6jTikDH5bEubhsFxNI3NYTGgiGz/w400-h400/Cranberry.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The sun glowed, a bright ball in the sky overhead but a
gentle breeze played through the trees, shaking red and yellow leaves loose,
making them drift to the ground. The weather was that delightful mix that only
autumn can bring, crisp and warm. Suddenly a small pile of leaves trembled and
toppled over. Out of the center popped a turkey’s head. It was Cranberry,
Thanksgiving Turkey Extraordinaire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cranberry tilted
his head to one side and listened intently…nope…no new sounds in the woods that
might lead to danger. Sounds like crackling leaves, snapping twigs, or a
cough: all meant something was afoot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now he stood up,
ruffled his feathers, and strutted about. A sudden rustling of leaves caused
him to jerk in surprise, but it was only Timid. The rabbit thumped his foot on
the ground and glared at Cranberry. “Where have you been” he demanded, in a not
very timid way. Perhaps as a newborn, he had displayed some timid tendencies
but Cranberry rarely saw them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Sleeping” Cranberry stated. Timid snorted. The two
were fast friends and spent a great deal of time in the forest together.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cranberry
was pondering something he had heard the previous day while eavesdropping on a
gathering of the older turkeys. They had been gobbling about Thanksgiving…and
although Cranberry wasn’t quite sure what Thanksgiving was, he thought it
sounded delightful. However, when he had piped up to say so, the others had
rolled their eyes, wobbled their heads, turned their backs, and strutted off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cranberry, who
loved to eat and as a result was round and plump and waddled when he walked,
thought Thanksgiving dinner sounded particularly yummy. Pumpkin pie, mashed
potatoes, and an assortment of other delicacies seemed like paradise. You see,
Cranberry did not know about the main dish. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was so deep in
thought that he failed to notice the red fox lurking behind the shrub quite
near him. That fox was thinking about Thanksgiving dinner too. And with one
last look at Cranberry, the fox scampered away toward her den, mouth-watering.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Timid
thumped his foot impatiently. He did not like being ignored. Shaking his
head, Cranberry looked at Timid and suggested that they head down to the edge
of the creek, for a drink of brisk cold water.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The creek swirled
and pushed at the banks for the heavy autumn rains were barely being contained.
The water swirled past carrying twigs, colorful leaves, and
acorns. Cranberry’s head wobbled as he looked at the creek. It looked
really full and really dangerous. But the day awaited and so with only a
backward glance at the creek the two hurried off for their day of adventure.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The day passed quickly as the two scampered here,
there, and everywhere around the forest, visiting with other forest creatures.
It was late afternoon when they found themselves next to the creek again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Stop” Cranberry cried out at Timid who was ahead and
almost lost from sight in the lower branches of a huge fir tree.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Timid stopped so
quickly he almost flew head over tail into the pine needles. He had never heard
his friend quite so distraught. He hurried back as quickly as his feet would
carry him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look” Cranberry
shouted above the roaring water. And it was then that Timid saw what had caught
Cranberry’s attention. The rising water was lapping at the door of the skunk's
den and three tiny baby skunks were squealing in panic.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without a
moment's hesitation, Cranberry stepped into the water and although shivering
with cold, he trudged toward the den. The water was deeper than expected and
soon Cranberry was waist-high in the cold swirling stream. Timid could only
watch his progress with his mouth open and heart pounding.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tiny skunks
begging for rescue cheered him on. When he reached them, feathers soaked, he
tucked one under each wing and hoisted the third upon his head. Back through
the icy water Cranberry slowly and carefully carried them toward the safety of
the higher bank.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Timid grabbed the tiniest skunk baby from Cranberry’s head
as soon as he was within reach. Then he bustled all of them to the fir tree and
under the branches for protection from the colder afternoon breeze. Huddled
together, the warmth from their bodies was comforting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unbeknownst
to Cranberry, the crafty fox had observed the entire rescue from the safety of
some high boulders on the opposite bank. For some reason, that fox just didn’t
have the heart for a “traditional” Thanksgiving dinner after watching the
heroic rescue. And so she hurried back to the warmth of her den with a
different dinner plan in mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the days
passed, all the animals in the forest heard the story of the rescue over and
over again. Along with the story, the other turkeys passed along Cranberry’s
fascination with Thanksgiving. When Thanksgiving finally arrived, it's been
told…that all the animals gathered with a feast of potatoes, sweet potatoes,
corn, and pumpkin pie to celebrate: Cranberry Thanksgiving Turkey
Extraordinaire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And some
say…even the crafty fox brought a dish…Cranberry Pot Pie with a golden crust
and a delightful combination of cranberries and grains. Without an ounce of
turkey, of course!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Copyright 2007 by Ginger Schenck ~ All Rights Reserved<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-75875755128837303992021-11-02T16:20:00.002-06:002021-11-02T16:20:20.660-06:00The Quest (Soul Musing 1) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfjZyHcG4TYDv7YGWTNgbeOLpQJlbRYCpN9GTX6CmezULuryTxmgnQYZw4e3dF4k-f18ZNSFdupy56JNWcgHC9lFoZuRbO65Gas3pH8OgLouuMCNN7g5nQfsGQUjU74pVUng5HjKhpCLe/s1920/the-wanderer-3306972_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1363" data-original-width="1920" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfjZyHcG4TYDv7YGWTNgbeOLpQJlbRYCpN9GTX6CmezULuryTxmgnQYZw4e3dF4k-f18ZNSFdupy56JNWcgHC9lFoZuRbO65Gas3pH8OgLouuMCNN7g5nQfsGQUjU74pVUng5HjKhpCLe/w400-h284/the-wanderer-3306972_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p> <em><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"In the attitude of silence, the soul finds the path in a clearer
light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal
clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth." Gandhi</span></em></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
<br />
Life is a journey, a quest so to speak. One in which we
wander, sometimes finding a path we seek and sometimes being lost and
frustrated. We seek meaning, truth, and all matter of other things throughout
our lifetime. Depending on the stage of life, we may seek different things. It
can be overwhelming and bittersweet to search for something that is often right
in front of us. But lost in the busyness of daily life we miss it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> I've often pondered that the most important
thing we seek during our journey through this world is not truth, for what is
truth? Instead, that which calls to us is our authentic selves or our soul. For
it is in discovering self that we are drawn into a deeper spiritual connection
to all that is and will be.</span><br />
<br />
Think of the soul as a fragment of God, created in his image,
small but powerful. This fragment is drawn toward the light and in the end,
becomes one again with the Creator. Yet in the quest, in this human world,
there are often hardships, temptations, and human folly that inhibit, distract,
discolor, or damage the soul.<br />
<br />
Truly listening to yourself and acknowledging the most
important thing in life, your soul, you will gain insight, satisfaction,
contentment, and the ability to maneuver the twists and turns that life
inevitably throws in your path. Your soul knows the path. Listen. <br />
<br />
So step forth on this quest, wander here and there but always
with a desire for a deeper spiritual connection. Embrace things that create
profound joy and contentment, Acknowledge your inner wisdom. Seek others.
Be kind. <br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Reflection:</strong><br />
This week reflect on the idea of a quest, a long or arduous
search for something. Think about your journey through life. Recognize that
sometimes you travel "internal" paths and in doing so reach new
destinations as surely as if you moved forward physically. These paths can be
more important than the ones underfoot. <br />
<br />
Journal this week about an internal path you have traveled.
If journaling is not your "thing" how about writing a poem or
sketching a picture to represent it? This is also the week to decide how you
will document your soul musings journey. Some people like bound journals or
sketchbooks, some people like to use the computer or collect their
"work" and store it in a binder. The choice is yours but your quest
will be deeper and more meaningful if you explore more and the weekly
"assignment" is one way to do so.Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-54448330647023005602021-10-29T08:41:00.006-06:002021-10-29T08:45:12.450-06:00Skeleton Dance<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0CZK68xORWaMOpzBuZze8FPIg3Yu3FGDzeL56j2K9Q_yWunRlYOnfg4hnJ2GIpBeDzYCDeqC2lRNFMAH-eFl1cUI0M0thB5PLzCmK9v8-OH-lbT6EbxXZtmOLdM52-xs9QroEW8ULtod/s1920/Halloween.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1920" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0CZK68xORWaMOpzBuZze8FPIg3Yu3FGDzeL56j2K9Q_yWunRlYOnfg4hnJ2GIpBeDzYCDeqC2lRNFMAH-eFl1cUI0M0thB5PLzCmK9v8-OH-lbT6EbxXZtmOLdM52-xs9QroEW8ULtod/w400-h300/Halloween.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">The
moon</span><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Smiles<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A
beacon in the night<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mysterious<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
bare branches</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Dancing
in the brisk air<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Tree
skeletons<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Casting
shadows on the ground<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Old
owl<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Perched
high<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Feathers
ruffling<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Hoo,
Hoooo<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Clouds
drift,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
night sky a backdrop<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Perfect
autumn night<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Halloween<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-30318662439367427162021-10-25T06:21:00.005-06:002022-08-08T08:13:12.507-06:00Patient 56's Door<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeM6_juG9XZg7foOHeDpYjPbr6SdLTtNGU9-pkHZQt06qnEoik5rdWDpVCdfl_6Qf6FIBMVb2qWqIpsI3gEQCrJi4gkFfMwsLMwiDcNaYLm1799GeM6X_9T4L77_rGmLz-FEj9mN7QhyLJ/s1080/Patient+56+Blog+pic.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeM6_juG9XZg7foOHeDpYjPbr6SdLTtNGU9-pkHZQt06qnEoik5rdWDpVCdfl_6Qf6FIBMVb2qWqIpsI3gEQCrJi4gkFfMwsLMwiDcNaYLm1799GeM6X_9T4L77_rGmLz-FEj9mN7QhyLJ/w400-h400/Patient+56+Blog+pic.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Patient
56: Session 1</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dr.
Ebbs<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Clinical
Notes: Patient presents with amnesia, disturbed sleep patterns, intermittent
explosive disorder. Patient presents as a well-groomed, approximately 20
something-year-old female. Poor eye contact and hesitant speech patterns were exhibited
throughout the session.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i> </i> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The nurse opens the door for me and I slip
into the doctor’s office. My hands are sweaty and I twitch with nervousness.
The man sitting behind the desk, the doctor who is to help me, is slender with
dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses. His hands are folded neatly in front of him.
He offers me a slight smile. The nurse closes the door behind me. The chair is
waiting there in front of his desk. I know I am supposed to sit down but I itch
with nervousness. This place is new to me. I’ve only been here a few days and
before that? Well, before that I’d prefer to forget and that is the problem,
isn’t it? I tiptoe across the room and sit in the chair facing the massive oak
desk. The doctor nods.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello,” he says as if it’s a perfectly
normal social situation. “I’m Dr. Ebbs.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t look at him. I can’t look at him.
I want to or I guess I believe that I want to. He is here to help me, whatever
that entails. He plans to recover my memories, to discover who I am, to put my
life back together. I don’t mind not having a life because I have no idea what
my life was like back when I could remember who I was. It seems a distant
dream. Perhaps it was boring and mundane or perhaps it was ugly and filled with
pain. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello,” I finally mutter, looking down at
my hands. I can hear him shuffling some papers around and then he speaks again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I see you were found by the police on the
edge of the Crescent National Forest. Can you tell me about that?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shrug. I do remember the day. The
flashing red lights of the police cruisers flashed against the dark treetops.
My bare feet, cut and bleeding as I walk along the edge of the woods. The
breeze was icy against my skin. Wearing only a pair of underwear and a man’s
shirt I stagger back into the trees. Then they pull me and I scream as the two
officers grab me. I do not want to be touched. They manage to drag me away from
the dark tree line, out into the sunlight which burns my eyes. I close my eyes
tightly, against the sun, against the tears that leak from the edges of my eyes,
and against the horrified faces of the men holding me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well?” Dr. Ebbs prompts me, and it is then
I realize that I am in my head. I haven’t spoken a word. He scratches something
down on his pad of paper and looks at me across the tops of his steepled
fingers. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I swallow around the large
lump in my throat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was afraid,” I finally manage to
whisper. Dr. Ebbs doesn’t comment. He simply waits for more and I wonder is
there more? Do I have a story to tell? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Of course, you were afraid, very normal
to be,” he finally said. I peeked up at him from under my dark eyelashes. I know
what he is trying to do. He is trying to reassure me that I am normal. That
other women react just as I have. I tilt my head, considering. I have no frame
of reference, perhaps because I have no idea what it is I have experienced. How
can I know what other women might do when I don’t know what I have done? Then a
spider of thought crawls into me. “You do know,” the spider says. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the next thirty minutes, I piece
together the story for him. Offering him brief, cold, emotionless descriptions
of the morning I was found. Most people say rescued but I don’t. What was I
rescued from? Where am I now? Is it any less of a prison? The words are raspy,
my voice hoarse from disuse. My sentences, short and choppy, offer a sanitized
version of what I recall. I don’t talk about the repulsion that suffocated me
when the police officers wrapped their arms around my shoulders. There’s no
attempt to describe my heart that throbbed with a strange ache as the car
whisked me away from the woods. I make no mention of the searing pain in my
feet that called to me to run. Get away from these men, this car, this world.
Danger. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Ebbs is silent. He nods a few times
but mostly he watches me. By watching my movements does he think he might
unravel some deeper meaning? My mouth is so dry I can barely swallow. I chew on
a fingernail and wish for the session to end. Dr. Ebbs picks up a pitcher and
pours water into a glass before handing it to me. I gulp the cold liquid. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I want us to work with a metaphor,” he
says. “Do you know what that is?"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I nod. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good, good. All of your memories are
behind a locked door inside your mind. A door that you have probably locked for
very good reason. Each of our sessions will take us closer and closer to the
door until eventually, we will stand before it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A coldness plunges into me and sweat beads
up on the back of my neck. I shiver. He pauses. I pull my sweater around me
closer. My hands flutter back and forth from my neck to my lap. A wave of
emotion crashes down on me. Squeezing my hands together, I force them into my
lap. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You won’t be alone. I will be with you,”
he says but it does little to stop the rising panic inside me. “Then when we
are at the door, we will find the key,” he adds. The panic, like a tsunami,
crashes over my head. I hunch down in the chair and sob softly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Ebbs stands up but he doesn’t approach
me. As my sobs soften and then disappear entirely, he stands gazing at me. When
I manage to glance at him briefly, interest flickers in his eyes. He is curious
about my story even if I am not. The nurse knocks on the door at just that
moment and opening it she looks at Dr. Ebbs for direction. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s ready to go back to her room,” he
says. The nurse helps me up from the chair. Her hands are like cold handcuffs
around my wrists as she leads me down the hallway. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she closes the door behind me, I hear
the sound of the key in the lock. I think of the metaphor. Will unlocking that
door in my mind, provide the key to this door also? A dark foreboding, filters
inside me. It beeps a warning as my brain throbs with sharp pain. I hold my
head in my hands as silent tears ran down my cheeks. Don’t open the door, I
silently scream. The pain grows so strong that I collapse into the bed, curl up
in a fetal position, and long for my afternoon medicine. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Patient
56: Session 2</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dr.
Ebbs<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Clinical
Notes: Patient continues to sleep poorly. Increased medications were necessary
after the last session. Trauma-induced amnesia is highly likely. Police have
identified the patient as Mattie Cooper, 22. Reported missing 8 years ago.
Mother now deceased. No known family. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I tell the nurse I am too sick to attend
the therapy session but she ignores me and prods me down the hallway. A ball of
anger grows inside me as her finger pokes into the softness of my back. I grit
my teeth together. A worm of something wiggles inside me. It slithers and twists
until it almost bursts forth but then we arrive at the office. She opens the
door and practically shoves me inside.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello, I hear you aren’t feeling well
today. Please sit down,” Dr. Ebbs says and he hands me a glass of clear liquid.
“Soda,” he says. “To calm your stomach” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sip the soda even as I seethe with
anger. It does seem to ease the jittery feelings inside me. I know Dr. Ebbs is
staring at me, silently watching. My eyes are sunken and dark circles under
them paint my face in shadow. I look sick. If he is shocked, he does a good job
of hiding it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tell me a story,” he says. “Any story,
just make something up.” He looks at me with such intensity that I can feel his
gaze burning into my skin. I feel a jolt of something, dark and hot in my gut.
Tilting my head back I meet his gaze. My lips pull back in a sneer. The good
doctor takes a step back. Retreating behind his desk, he sits down. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lick my lips, tasting the sweetness of
the soda there. Smacking, I twist my neck, hearing the vertebrae crack. I close
my eyes and let tiny tendrils of thought circle inside my mind. A story? He
wants a story. Well, I guess I can give him one. It might be easier than
talking about me. The police have visited me. I am Mattie Cooper, age 22,
missing for eight years. What does that mean? Missing? I’m still here. I tilt
my head considering this. I’m no longer missing. I’m here but where have I
been? That I suppose is the question that intrigues everyone. I open my eyes
and Dr. Ebbs is still watching. His hawk-like eyes unnerve me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, let’s see, A story. Hmmm,” I say
and then something quivers inside me, trailing along my insides like a pen to
paper. A snail slowly moving, leaving the trail of a story behind it. The hesitant
first words of a story pop into my head. I take a sip of soda and begin. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The little girl lived on the second
floor of a very old building. A building that by all standards shouldn’t still
be standing. The years should have crumbled the bricks into dust. The
first-floor apartments were </span>tiny,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> but the second floor was one large loft
running the entire length of the building. The basement of the old building was
used for storage and laundry. The laundry room contained multiple washers and
dryers available to the tenants. </span><o:p style="font-size: 12pt;"></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was only the girl and her mother so
there wasn’t much laundry but when the basket was heaped high it was the young
girl’s job to carry it downstairs and wait for it to wash and dry. The girl could,
even years later, hear the thump, thump, thump of the laundry basket as she
maneuvered it down two flights of stairs. She always stopped outside the
laundry room door. Listening for what she wasn’t sure. Eyes followed her once
she entered the large corner of the basement which was the laundry room. Eyes
lurking in the dark shadows of the room and trapped behind the brick walls.
Eyes that knew more about the girl than she knew herself. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Etched in the bricks along the east wall
were about a dozen crosses. This didn’t surprise the girl because the ancient
building had once been a church. Although when she thought about it, which she
didn’t very often, she did wonder about those crosses and why they were here in
the damp spider-filled basement. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">A sharp stabbing
pain scratches behind my eyes. It takes my breath away. I look up for the first
time noticing the horrified expression on Dr. Ebb’s face. My eyes itch and I run
a finger over them and come away with sticky red blood coating the tips. I open
my mouth to speak but my head jerks back. My eyes roll into my head and the
last thing I see is Dr. Ebbs frantically calling for help. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Patient
56: Session 3</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dr.
Ebbs<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Clinical
Notes: Patient started the narrative of her lost memories last session.
Religious overtones to delusions. Possible childhood sexual or physical abuse.
Session discontinued due to her eyes bleeding. Upon examination, blood
originated from cuts/scratches on the inside of her eyelids. Patient’s room has
been searched and cleared of any sharp objects. Poor sleep patterns are worsening.
Meds increased by 20 mg. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s time for another session with Dr.
Ebbs and a part of me withers inside. I have no chance for growth or change.
The tiny ray of hope sparked during my first session with him had long since
been extinguished. There is nothing here, nothing anywhere in this world but
darkness. My hands tremble with defeat. The story I started during the last
session has plagued my dreams, making me cry out in anguish in the darkest
hours of the morning. No one comes, no one comforts me. I don’t blame them.
Something teases my mind, weaving itself inside like a spider weaving a web. Is
the story real? Or is it merely something I invent to satisfy Dr. Ebbs?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sit primly in the chair in his office,
fold my hands in my lap like a proper lady and wait. I can feel his eyes
watching me. What does he hope to discover? The key to my soul? That was lost
long ago and even I can’t unlock that door. I float in a cocoon of darkness,
silent and compliant. Finally, he speaks. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mattie,” he starts using a name that
makes me wince. Am I Mattie? Or am I someone else? Tethered to this reality by
a single thread I float like a balloon in the chilly air in my head. I feel
afraid. I don’t like heights and loosely bobbing above the floor makes me
quiver. He calls me back with his voice. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Last session, you did very well, I’m
proud of you. You took a few steps toward the locked door. We aren’t there yet
by any means but a bit closer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His words are soft and gentle. They grate
on me like the rough surface of a large rock, scraping my knees. Why is he
proud? He doesn’t understand. No one does and that might very well become their
undoing. They will see. If the door is flung open, they will see. It is best
not to unlock that door. I have spent years building it, finding just the right
lock, and then slamming it shut at the perfect moment. The silence stretches
out, thinning until it makes me squirm. I want to tell him but there are no
words. In the end, it doesn’t matter because he isn’t ready for the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look up, meet his gaze and a strange
mixture of emotions float inside his eyes. Professional curiosity, worry,
uncertainty, and something else. Fear, I think. Just a touch of fear lingers
there before he wins the struggle to hide it. Subconsciously he recognizes that
there is something to fear here. Some unknown quantity that isn’t in his books.
Isn’t explained in psychobabble. Isn’t a part of his world.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>That laundry room is something the girl
comes to dread. Sometimes it becomes too much and she pushes her face down into
the piles of freshly dried laundry. Pulling the smell into her nostrils, trying
to erase the odor of decay and death. The basement is a cemetery for lost souls,
gnashing their teeth and clawing to get out. She feels them around her and she
begs her mother to go to the small laundromat down the street. Her mother
laughs. They can’t pay for laundry when the building offers perfectly good
machines for free. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later she discovers that something else is
caged in the basement, something ancient and evil. She only becomes aware of it
after she quiets the spirits there. She lights candles that she steals from the
Catholic church down the street. She wonders if it’s a sin to steal from the
church. But the church is beautiful and filled with lovely things, surely a few
candles can’t do any harm. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">I open my eyes, not even realizing I had
closed them. I cast a sideways glance at Dr. Ebbs. His facial features are
tense, and he quickly lets them settle into a more neutral expression. He clears
his throat and the sound echoes in the room. My lips are pressed together in a
deep frown, pulling the edges of my mouth down. I cannot understand where this
story is coming from nor what purpose he hopes to achieve by unearthing it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A few more steps. You have managed a few
more steps,” he says this as if it’s a good thing. I know it is not. I look
down at my clenched fists and open them, revealing imprints of my nails in my
palms. I rub my hands together trying to erase them. He doesn’t see. Dr. Ebbs
leans back in his chair. So far back I think perhaps he will fall over. But he
doesn’t. A tiny laugh drifts inside me, teasing. It is emboldened by my telling
of this story. It senses an opening. I place my hand against my stomach, like
the door it is flat and hard. “Never,” I mutter. Dr. Ebbs frowns, runs his
finger around the rim of his coffee mug, and dismisses me. The nurse meets me
at the door to take me back to my room. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Patient
56: Session 4</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dr.
Ebbs<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Clinical
Notes: Patient exhibits odd twitches and movements. Withdraws into herself for
extended periods. Decreased appetite. No interaction with nurses or other
patients. Headaches have increased. CT Scan negative for bleeding, brain injury,
or fractures. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Something different happened today. The
nurse never showed up to take me to Dr. Ebbs’s office. Instead, the doctor
appears at the door of my room and knocks gently. I look up but I don’t invite
him in. I don’t want him here. It’s not safe. The pressure behind my eyes has
increased so much that I’m sure my eyeballs are going to burst from their
sockets. I rub them now as Dr. Ebbs sits down in the hard uncomfortable chair
next to my bed. He clears his throat and I wait for him to speak but he
doesn’t. We sit together in silence.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m tired,” I say so softly I can barely
hear myself. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I know. That’s why I didn’t make you walk
to the office.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smooth the white sheet around me as my
hands shake. I think about the sheet, clean and white, unblemished, and how it
is nothing like my life. The tiny wrinkles blur as tears fill my eyes. I stare
so long at the whiteness of the sheets that they are like a screen reflecting
the story that wells up inside me. I do not want to continue it but my resistance
slips away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>The laundry room looks like a church
when the girl is inside it. Rows and rows of candles sparkle and glisten in the
gloominess. The spirits sigh and whisper but there is one, a young boy, who
screams. The screams of the damned are awful to hear. When he opens his mouth
to scream the girl catches just a word or two. Run, get away, the little boy
says but the girl knows there is nowhere to go. She can’t resist any more than
the chosen in the Bible could. <b>“</b><strong><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-weight: normal;">The</span></strong><span style="background: white; color: #111111;"> LORD your God has<strong> </strong><strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">chosen</span></strong> you out of all the peoples on
the face of <strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">the</span></strong> earth
to be his people, his treasured possession.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is
that her? A possession? She’s young but she knows she is bastardizing the
scripture. What is happening to her is nothing like God. Yet she is a
possession and she is owned by the entity that the boy so fears. It didn’t
happen quickly, this realization. But she is certain it is so. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
girl closes her eyes briefly and the words painted inside the church, on the
wall on the entry wall filter through her thoughts. “For many are invited but
few are chosen,” Why was she chosen? What dark element of herself called her to
this? She trembles under the weight of her thoughts. So, the little boy’s
spirit screams and she stands like a brick wall against the force of him. She
has no other choice. It is her burden. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
the girl makes this decision, to stand strong, a soft wet hand reaches out and
strokes her bare arm. It slithers like a serpent from her shoulder to her
wrist. Vibrations inside her, like a massive earthquake, pull at her, ripping
into her soul. The girl falls to her knees and chokes. Her nostrils are filled
with the odor of decay and filth. The girl is deafened by a buzzing noise, the
noise of a thousand flies swirling around a rotten corpse. She is suffocating
as if some specks of the rotten flesh have crawled inside her nostrils,
burrowing in and nesting just inside her. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
stop, grab the pan that sits on the nightstand and heave into it. Over and over
again the waves of nausea crash through me. Dr. Ebbs doesn’t move. I give him
credit for that. The stench of vomit is overwhelming and his nose twitches
slightly but other than that he is still. When I finish, he hands me some
tissues. I wipe my mouth and sip lukewarm water from a glass on the nightstand.
My eyes, red and gritty stare at him. He has to stop. I have to stop. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“That’s all for today,” Dr. Ebbs says as if reading my mind. I sigh in
relief. Then fear and a white rage grow inside me. Today! He is giving me a
brief reprieve before destroying the tiny sliver of sanity I have left. The
little morsel of my humanity that I have managed to hold onto. I have no name
for what is behind the locked door but I have blocked it for good reason. It
will destroy me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr.
Ebbs reaches out and his cool hand pats my arm. I am reminded of the soft wet
hand from the story and I recoil. Pushing myself into the mattress as hard as I
can, gaining only the briefest of distance from the hand. He looks down at his
hand as if it has offended him. His gaze rests on me for a moment and a flicker
of sadness there reminds me of the candles. He turns and walks out of my room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once
he is gone, I can breathe again. The breaths, shallow and ragged, calm me
slightly. The doctor is a good man, I think. He is only trying to help. But he
has no idea. Something deeply unnatural and intensely resentful is consuming
me. Smacking its lips in delight at the sweetness of my soul. Tiny pieces of
memory burst inside my head like the hot glowing particles of a sparkler on the
Fourth of July. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Patient
56: Session 5</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dr.
Ebbs<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Clinical
Notes: Patient experiences brief episodes of anxiety. Story elements are highly
indicative of abuse. The spirits represent those around her that did not help. Marks
on her wrists and ankles at the time of her discovery in the woods likely
indicate captivity for a long period. Affect: blunted. Prognosis: Fair but
guarded. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The door that I have spent years
constructing shakes as if hit over and over again with a strong clenched fist.
The wood hasn’t splintered yet but I know it will and when it does, I must be
far away from this place. Far away from the hospital and people. Where are the
restraints? Where are the handcuffs? My eyes must look feral I think as they
desperately sweep around the room. The nurse comes to the door and I close them
quickly. She thinks I am pretending to sleep.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I know you’re awake. Come on. Today is a
big day. You get to walk to Dr. Ebbs's office all by yourself,” she says. I
open my eyes just the tiniest bit. A snarl curls back my lips. She is taken
back and looks behind herself before backing out into the hallway. I feel it
inside me, behind that door, crouching like a large tiger, waiting to leap at
her. My jaw tightens as I push it back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I climb from the bed and walk across the
floor and gingerly out into the hallway. She stands back and I turn in the
direction of Dr. Ebbs's office. I consider bolting, racing down the hallway and
outside. I know I can’t. The double doors at the end of the hallways next to
Dr. Ebbs's office are locked at all times. I have watched people coming and
going. They punch in a code that I have yet to figure out. When they do, the
door slips open. When they make an error, a loud alarm sounds, and a red light
flashes. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have arrived at the doctor’s door and I
knock lightly, hoping he doesn’t hear. Of course, he has been waiting for me so
he gently calls for me to come in. I push the door and enter. He is behind his
desk and he shifts the papers under his hand and gives me his full attention.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ve walked the hallway and entered the
door on your own. That is good progress. Soon you will stand outside your inner
door. You will unlock it and enter.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can barely breathe. Enter? Entering the
room inside me isn’t my biggest fear. It’s not what makes my breath come is
sharp ragged gulps. It’s not what makes a cold chill race up my spine. It’s not
even what makes my heart beat so rapidly I think it might burst. No. I am not
worried about going inside. I have been inside. Locked there by the other.
Inside I am afraid but not for myself. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I fear so greatly is that the
monstrosity trapped in the room will get out. Once the door is open, even just
a crack, it will shove it with such force that the make-believe wood will
shatter into large jagged strips of wood. The door will bounce hard against my
bones. What comes out will not be stopped again. I’m certain it would kill me
except for it to thrive, I must live. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dr. Ebbs, I don’t think we should go any
closer. It is not safe to open that door you say is locked inside me.” The
words come out fast, so fast there’s almost a stutter. I bow my head, praying
but I learned long ago that prayers alone are not enough. Dr. Ebbs's eyes are
watching. I can feel them hot on my cheeks as I shiver in the chair. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mattie, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I
will be here,” he answers so softly I strain to hear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There it is again, Mattie. That name
belonged to me long ago. Am I Mattie, I wonder? I’ve asked myself this question
millions of times over the last eight years. Do I still exist? Is the soul
named Mattie still inside me or has it been evicted? The part of me that still
has conscious thought grieves. I bite my lip hard until I taste the salty
blood. Finally, I decide the long-ago Mattie no longer dwells inside me. She is
gone. Replaced by another version, one that quakes in terror at the beast
crouched inside. A wave of sadness, knocks me down, threatening to overwhelm me
as I realize that at some point even that sliver of Mattie will fade away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly I am aware that I have collapsed
in the chair, pulling my arms over my chest protectively, rocking back and
forth. My shoulders are hunched and shaking. Dr. Ebbs stares at my
transformation. I know he thinks I am afraid of the memories that he believes
are locked behind the door. He doesn’t know that I remember. Have known almost
since arriving at the hospital. But there are no words to describe it and no
one would believe me anyway. Oh, there are parts of the eight years that are
cloaked in darkness. Ones perhaps I refuse to remember. Ones coated with blood
and torn flesh. Then a voice inside me reminds me to continue the story. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“The little girl can’t escape the
scratching on the wall. It’s gritty and persistent, calling to her. The sounds
of sharp bony fingernails clawing against brick and cement echo in her ears.
She shoves a load of clothes into the machine filled with water and white foamy
suds. She pushes the clothes down, leaning over so far into the machine that
she almost tumbles inside. She has started wearing earplugs on her trips to the
laundry room but they do little good. The sounds are muffled but they still
filter into her ears. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scratches are a lingering melody
inside her head and she can still hear them even hours after she leaves the basement.
The others have fallen silent, perhaps afraid of what is to come, or maybe they
have just given up on her. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her mouth is dry and she licks her cracked
lips. When she is in the room, the air is bitter and arid. The very moisture
from the machines should creature humidity but she always feels parched inside
the suffocating room. Once she read a novel, describing a place as dead and she
thinks the laundry room is dead. There are no living plants or animals here.
And she thinks perhaps when she is in the room, even she is dead.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scratching hurts her ears and echoes
inside her head. Next time she will bring a crowbar or a hammer. Next time she
will dig into the bricks. She will target the exact spot of the scratching and
she will destroy the bricks, silence the scratching once and for all. Later she
will look back and realize how totally stupid she was. In the end, she suspects
that the idea wasn’t even her own.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stop talking and find myself back in the
office with Dr. Ebbs. He is so still I wonder for a minute if he is even
breathing. His elbows rest on his desk and he is leaning forward. His eyes are
troubled. I realize he is struggling to construct psychological meaning from
this vague and disjointed story. His eyebrows furrow. He gazes at me like I’m
an incomplete puzzle. Where are the missing pieces? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ll never understand it,” I say. My words
are filled with bitterness. “You have to be there to comprehend it.” The words
of the damned hang there in the air between us. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He pulls back, sits up straight, and nods.
He doesn’t disagree. How can he? Dr. Ebbs has worked with many patients and
what I say is often true. The horrors visited upon them whether real or inside
their heads can never be fully understood. He can bear witness to their stories
but he can never feel the atrocities. Never smell the fear that congeals around
them. Something inside me laughs a shrill hysterical laugh. The laugh reminds me
that he might soon know, might soon understand the story I am telling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> P</o:p></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">atient
56: Session 6</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dr.
Ebbs<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Clinical
Notes: Patient frequently experiences episodes of disassociation. Confuses story
with reality. Sleep patterns are erratic. Microexpressions aroused during
sessions signal concealed emotions. CT shows no signs of damage in the
subcortical areas of the brain yet leakage is occurring. The rate of change is
fractional, about 1/30 of a second. Patient can display dozens of conflicting
microexpressions during the span of a session. Prognosis: Fair but guarded. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The nurse lets me walk to the office alone
again but I can feel her eyes following me down the empty hallway. She is
distrustful and I don’t blame her. So far, she is the only one I haven’t
completely fooled. I can’t sleep, instead, I pace my room as the energy inside
me grows. The pressure expands in my core and I know the time I have is
limited. Therapy will not cure what ails me.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I enter Dr. Ebbs's office I am lost
in the view outside the window. My session is late today so the night is
already falling outside. A big, almost full moon hangs in the sky behind the
tree branches that scrape against his window. I stare at it. I’m fascinated by
the moon and its power over the oceans, the ebb, and flow of massive amounts of
water. I’m not afraid of the full moon. The thing inside me is not a werewolf
subjugated by the moon. No, if only it were that simple. I tilt my head
considering the old horror movies I once watched when my mom wasn’t home. Being
a werewolf would simplify things. There’d be an end. A silver bullet that would
pierce me, ending the agony of my existence. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
look away from the window to find Dr. Ebbs examining my face, looking perhaps
to read the thoughts behind my eyes that are sunken and surrounded by dark
purplish skin. I have no will to eat and therefore I survive on sips of clear
soda and bread. My stomach lurches even from that. I sit down and look at the
clock facing me. Almost fifteen minutes have passed while I watched the moon
and Dr. Ebbs watched me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you like the moon?” he asks. I bite my
bottom lip, considering my answer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mattie,” he prompts. There it is again.
The name no longer belongs to me. Yet it is mired in the roots of all of this.
I wonder now if I made mistakes. If choices I made as a young girl in the
corner room of the basement, had set all this in motion. Or was it fate,
unavoidable and cruel? I had certainly coaxed the spirits, the young boy and
the others but steadily they had grown weaker and abandoned me even before the
release. I think that is answer enough. I ignore the question about the moon
and plunge into the story. I feel a timer ticking inside me and I know there
isn’t much time left. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“The next time the girl went to the
basement, she took three things, a hammer, a screwdriver, and a crowbar. She tapped
the screwdriver into the cement around a brick. It was harder than she thought
it would be and it took her the whole laundry time just to loosen the brick.
She stood for a moment and looked at the dust on the floor underneath the
brick. She got the dustpan and brushed the tiny fragments into it and dumped it
into the trash can. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A growl from behind the wall stopped her.
She looked at the wall, considering. “Next time, I promise,” she said to the
bricks. From behind the wall, a softer growl emerged, and then there was
silence. Whatever was there, waiting, was satisfied with her. She doesn’t even
consider going back on her promise. She has started something and she knew she
must see it through. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stop and bitterness inside my mouth
makes me wince. Telling this story is not therapeutic. Dr. Ebbs hands me a
glass of Sprite. It is full of ice that rattles against the glass as I sip it. My
stomach revolts but I calm it with another sip. After several, I stop and Dr.
Ebbs asks why I haven’t been eating properly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My stomach won’t let me,” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you control your stomach or does it
control you?” he asks. My eyes dart around the room looking for a place to
hide. This question is close, too close. My pale eyes first rake over him and
then look straight through him. He flinches as if feeling the slice of my sharp
gaze. Shifting in his chair he waits for an answer. None is coming. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What am I to tell him? That I control very
little of my life right now? I’m not even sure I have a life. Haven’t had one
in years. When I first disappeared, I hid in a cave deep in Crescent National
Forest, existing on small game, rabbits mostly, but occasionally a deer. I
flush with embarrassment as I remember the hot sticky blood on my hands. Then a
hunter or two would come upon me. Then, I would feast. The unexpected gorging
kept me satisfied for days. An urge to leave the woods and hide in the alleys
near some bars overwhelmed me. I did it several times, always awakening the
next day with a full belly and a nasty taste in my mouth. It sickened me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The call was too strong and I drifted
miles in all directions, hoping to wear out my physical body. Deep in the woods,
I found the perfect location, a very old house owned by an even older man. I
killed him, of course, and then assumed his identity. It wasn’t clever. It was
very simple to do. He never ventured out and food deliveries arrived quite regularly.
Thick steaks and whole roasts dripping with blood, as well as other things that
I tossed aside. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, I had chained myself inside
with just enough room to reach the foray where the food was placed each time. I
had to. The voice inside me prompted me to kill and kill again. My wrists and
ankles were raw from pushing against the restraints. Sometime during those days
of captivity, I had built a door. I hadn’t called it a door then. No, that was
Dr. Ebbs terminology but it was as good of a descriptor as any. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One morning when I woke up, the links of
the chains that bound me were mysteriously melted, my skin raw and burnt. I
gasped in terror. The darkness hummed inside me and I staggered away from the
old house, finally emerging at the edge of the forest, my mind disoriented. As
weak as I was, I had immediately picked up the scent of the police officers. I
could smell them and I could hear them. The blood pumping through their hearts
echoed as they approached me. I struggled to get away but, in the end, weak
from hunger I collapsed. When I woke up, I found myself in a bed here at Westwood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now here in Dr. Ebbs’s office, I look at
my hands and tears run down my face. Drip, drip, they land on my hands which
are folded in my lap like a normal person. I am not normal. I cry quietly for
several minutes then I stand. The room sways around me but I manage to get to
the door, down the hallway, and into my room. I hear them lock the door and I
am glad. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Patient
56: Session 7</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dr.
Ebbs<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Clinical
Notes: Patient is deteriorating. Forcing her in sessions to open the door,
confronting the past may be her last hope. Significant weight loss. Forced
feeding may need to be considered. Almost no sleep despite increasing meds.
Skin is coarse and dry. Prognosis: Critical<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The end is near. I know this. The nurse’s
fingers tremble as she helps me out of bed. She jerks her hands away as soon as
possible, not wanting to touch me. I see the cross swaying around her neck and
think she must be Catholic. I remember the church down the street from where I
lived with my mother. The stolen candles hadn’t helped. I walk slowly down the
hallway, my bare feet slap across the hard tiles. The nurse watches. I stop
once and turn to face her. She is several yards away but when my eyes glisten
red and the snarl pulls back my lips, she makes the sign of a cross and rushes
back to the nurses’ station. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I open the door to Dr. Ebbs's office,
I feel a surge of sadness. I like him. I know he means well but he is not
equipped to save me. No one is. He isn’t behind the desk. He is across the room
at the coffee maker, and he turns his head briefly to look at me. Then he goes
back to filling his mug, adding both creamer and sugar. I see on the edge of
his desk, partially hidden under some papers, a pair of scissors. I creep
closer and grab them burying them in the folds of my robe. I want to stop
myself, but I can’t. I don’t even need the scissors, but it will make it quicker,
more humane for the man. I start the story immediately. My words are
surprisingly strong and steady. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“The next time the girl returned to the
laundry room, she hammered into the cement around the loose brick and pulled at
it. The roughness of the brick cut into her fingers until they were spotted
with blood. Moving the brick, inch by inch she removed it. She expected to see
yellow eyes and white blood-covered fangs but all she saw when she peered into
the hole was darkness. Then a slight breeze, so mild she could barely feel it
started. Just a whisper of air, swirling from the opening, dancing in the air
around her face. Crawling up her nostrils the air gagged her with its putrid
odor. The smell of rotting flesh and decay clung to her throat. Dizziness
pounded inside her head, tapping against her skull, rhythmic and foreign. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few hours, she woke to find
herself stiff and cold on the floor. She considered whether she had died and come
back. Rubbing her arms, she sat up. It will be three weeks before she recognizes
the changes inside her. The heightened sense of smell, the deep hunger, the
strength, all of them converged on her in unison. Then she disappeared.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You are at the door, unlock it,” Dr. Ebbs
interrupts me. Coaxing. I look at him in horror. I can feel the sharp metal of
the scissors in my hand. I close my eyes and the door he has imagined is right
in front of me. As I watch a thick claw emerges through the keyhole and twists,
scratching the metal of the lock. I lick my lips, trying to delay. The claw
scratches again and seems to point at me. I touch the rough wood of the door,
avoiding the searching claw. I grasp the doorknob. It is hot in my hand like
the fires of hell burn behind this door. I jerk it open. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes flash as I look at Dr. Ebbs.
Reflected in his eyes I see my own, yellow and snake-like. Something reptilian
squirms in them. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. I tilt my head and
widen my eyes. Can he see deeper? Can he see the evil festering in me? I don’t
give him much time. I leap at him, swiping the open scissors across his throat.
Hot blood gushes and I catch a look of disbelief in his eyes. Just briefly.
Then he slips away, quicker than my normal kills. I leave him there, his blood
soaking into the papers strewn across the desk. I cannot bring myself to lap it
up. I toss the scissors to the floor. I won’t need them. I am hungry. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out in the hallway, I approach the nurses’
station, and someone has pushed a button because the red lights swirl a warning.
One nurse tries to run but she only makes it a short distance before I grab her
neck with my teeth, gnawing the flesh and ripping open the veins to gulp the
sprays of blood. Two more come for me, with syringes full of liquid but I throw
one against a wall and his skull shatters. Blood and brain mingle on the wall
behind him. I rip the throat of the second, draining as much blood as I can but
the alarm is sounding. Loud and shrill. I must escape. The receptionist steps
in front of the double doors as I push through. A mistake she soon discovers as
her blood splatters against the walls. When I am finished with her, I toss her
behind a shelf. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside the air is cold against my flesh
but their blood coats me like a blanket breathing warmth into my skin. I look
at my feet. They are bare but I race across the parking lot and into the woods.
The moon is full tonight, and I can only imagine the tales my escape will birth.
Once inside the forest I stop and groom myself. Licking the blood from my hands
and arms. I drink out of a small stream, and I see my face reflected there. It
is so pale I wonder if I have died and am now a ghost. My eyes sparkle with a
bright yellow, my pupils long and oval, reptilian. I whimper. I am not Mattie.
I do not know what I am. I sniff the air like a dog and lope further into the
woods. The night falls silent.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">On the other side of town: </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Hey chief,” Ronald calls out as he walks
into the chief’s office. The chief barely looks up. Ronald stands, shifting
from foot to foot, and then clears his throat. “Chief, people are calling in
about the Westwood Psychiatric Facility.” He finally says, louder than he has
planned to. The words grate on the walls of the small office.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What about?” the Chief finally asks,
looking up and acknowledging his presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No one is answering the phones,” Ronald
explains but then he realizes how lame it sounds. People nowadays think you have
to be available 24-7 but that isn’t always the case. To his surprise, the chief
looks mildly concerned then Ronald remembers that the chief’s daughter is a
nurse at Westwood. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Take Cliff with you and check it out,”
the chief says and then he looks back down at the stack of papers in front of
him. The chief’s words remind Ronald of something.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A trickle of dread cascades down his back.
Cliff had worked the Mattie Cooper case with him. The woman was now at Westwood,
and he hoped whatever was going on he didn’t have to see the strangely
beautiful and highly disturbing woman. He walks out of the office with his
dread following him like exhaust from a car on a cold night. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has nightmares almost every night about
the woman by the edge of the woods. He can feel the tingling starting in his
fingertips just as it had on the day they found her. They had struggled to pull
her away from the tree line. It wasn’t just tingling in his hands then though. It
had been searing and painful. Great ripping tears that made him look to make
sure his flesh wasn’t ripping apart. And the smell, the god-awful smell. Like
he had inadvertently fallen into a carcass ripe with decay and full of
slithering maggots. Now he tried to swallow but his throat was dry and he
barely managed even a tiny bit of saliva. He gagged.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Cliff,” he calls to the other deputy and
motions toward the door. The other man hops up and follows him outside. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The darkness of the early evening is
filled with a dense fog. Ronald drives slower than usual. Not just because of
the fog but because of the dread that sprouts inside him. The nearer they get
to the hospital the more certain he is that whatever has happened, whatever disruption
that has occurred, involves the woman, Mattie Cooper. He licks his lips and
looks at Cliff whose pale face gleams in the lights from the dashboard. They haven’t
talked about the day when they found the woman but Ronald suspects that Cliff is
experiencing something similar to him. A dark swirling pit of rotting flesh and
slithering creatures that now somehow crawls inside them. Or at least it feels
that way. As if a dark pit is now part of him, somehow contained within him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As they pull into the circle drive at the
front of the small hospital, all the lights are on. Every single room is
beaming. The front door, normally locked after visiting hours is slightly ajar.
A few dry leaves rustle on the concrete next to the door, occasionally floating
into the air like tiny birds. They approach the door, guns drawn. Slipping
silently inside they glance at the reception desk. The perky little redhead
that normally sits at the desk is gone. A single fly buzzes over the desk,
swirling in circles above the cluttered surface. A spray of blood splatters the
white wall behind the desk. Thick gobs of blood glistened on the papers spewed
across the desk and floor. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Call it in. We need back up,” Ronald tells
Cliff. His words are curt and filled with raw energy. He senses the wrongness
here and it stabs his guts with panic. Cliff immediately pulls his radio off
his belt and calls in a code for backup. He arches one eyebrow and looks
questioningly at Ronald. What is their next move? Ronald motions toward the
double doors that lead into the locked ward. The doors are wide open and on the
other side, they can see several bodies in the hallway. The overpowering stench
of blood and feces drifts to them from that direction. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without a sound, they creep closer to the
bodies. Blood is slick on the floor and Ronald points at it. Cliff nods, with a
flash of annoyance. He isn’t a rookie. He’s not going to step in it. Ronald
clenches his teeth so hard, his jaw locks. He rubs a finger across his nose, but
it does little to ease the cloying smell of blood and guts. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first door on the right is an office
with a nameplate. Dr. Ebbs. The door, partially open, beckons. Luring them in.
Ronald’s guts twist into an angry ball. He struggles to pull air into his lungs
as a sensation of being squeezed engulfs him. A flash of sharp teeth covered in
blood pops into his head. The lamp inside is flickering, casting shadows like a
haunted house entrance. Using his foot Ronald pushes the door open. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man is slung across the desk, Dr. Ebbs,
Ronald assumes. His white shirt is dotted with thick gobs of blood, one of his
fingers, rests at an impossible angle, and a white bone protrudes out of his
right leg. The leg has been snapped like a brittle tree branch. The papers
under him are almost completely saturated with blood. His head tilts off the
side of the desk. The large, ragged gash across his throat drips blood onto the
floor below. A thick and ever-increasing puddle of blood forms below his head.
His eyes, wide open, glare an accusation at them. Ronald doesn’t move. A thick
claw of terror grabs at him. Cliff backs up a couple of steps and then pulls at
Ronald’s arm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let’s wait out front,” he says. There’s
nothing they can do here. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside they lean against the red bricks
of the building, trying to look calm and undisturbed. Ronald takes a deep
breath, letting it outs lowly. Red and blue lights flicker across the treetops
leading to the hospital. Their backup is almost here. He wonders briefly if
they will find Mattie Cooper’s body among the dead, but he doubts it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s that awful stench?” Cliff asks.
Ronald shakes his head. A flash of memory haunts him. Pounces on him like a
beast after its prey. It is something that he has wondered about every day
since they found her. The look Mattie Cooper gave them when they shoved her
into the back of the patrol car. Something inside her had snarled, lips curling
back in disgust. Then her face had shifted, her eyes filling with sadness. It
was then, at that moment, he caught the glance, the one that seemed almost
human. As if she was finally seeing them for the first time, her eyes locked on
him, and it made Ronald’s heart lurch. The look was full of pity, brief and
fleeting. Then she had passed out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-83959787956851190202021-10-23T08:40:00.008-06:002021-10-23T08:42:35.575-06:00Even the Fairies Cry<p> </p><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: -webkit-center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkxKJs4mbvosOEaQJ5Grw1BPeY6fBTHmxIjmN2elWBn3qyBO58VKNmvKIhwOn-SOkM-2u-fo5BDjdCSSWTILK66NhiZTbcmaY7wtfPudPKqc5U_HkTL63II3uCWhwtIdO3BuhkHvK5hKV/s1600-h/sad+fairy.jpg" style="text-align: -webkit-center;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366682523640432066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkxKJs4mbvosOEaQJ5Grw1BPeY6fBTHmxIjmN2elWBn3qyBO58VKNmvKIhwOn-SOkM-2u-fo5BDjdCSSWTILK66NhiZTbcmaY7wtfPudPKqc5U_HkTL63II3uCWhwtIdO3BuhkHvK5hKV/s400/sad+fairy.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 400px;" /></a></span><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"></span><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> Even the fairies cry </span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> From missing you, </span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> Dewdrop tears, </span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> Flower petal kleenex,</span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> Bowed in sadness.</span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> Drooping wings,</span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> Lost flutter, </span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> Sun no more, </span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> Only the rain,</span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"> On fairy pain. </span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-align: -webkit-center;">Copyright 2009 G. Schenck, Do not reprint without written permission,</span></div>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-65550817401096384232021-10-18T11:20:00.002-06:002021-10-18T11:20:16.725-06:00300 Whispering Oaks<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4dYUYC0RSwZhohaBOhDQ4jScXvJYkccTpXB3w7Us1seDqHpWGISU48W2bLAQDViGQDGEj3lxuWf34f4d8xRCNCQmU1tr1CK-ajY_VBEwLIepW-1od8-FFF55xL8Zr5TvDF7mgI87vVRN/s1920/300+whispering+oak+voctorian+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1276" data-original-width="1920" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4dYUYC0RSwZhohaBOhDQ4jScXvJYkccTpXB3w7Us1seDqHpWGISU48W2bLAQDViGQDGEj3lxuWf34f4d8xRCNCQmU1tr1CK-ajY_VBEwLIepW-1od8-FFF55xL8Zr5TvDF7mgI87vVRN/w400-h266/300+whispering+oak+voctorian+house.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> The house
was a large two-story Victorian-style home, 300 Whispering Oaks, nestled on a
corner lot in an old neighborhood, one with massive oaks even older than the
house. When the wind blew through the trees, the leaves whispered in the
breeze. It had stood empty for several years, part of a family dispute over
ownership. As soon as it was available for sale, they had slapped gray paint on
the exterior and placed giant ferns along the front railing, making it more
attractive. The price dropped twice before an offer was made. The sellers had
been very flexible. For them, the house contained terrible memories, a family
full of jealousy and distrust, broken promises, and lost dreams.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Bethany stood at the window, looking out at the enormous
backyard with the shrieking from the family room echoing in her ears. Sighing,
she turned as Josh; her twelve-year-old stomped into the kitchen. She braced
herself for what she knew was coming. More complaints. Sure enough, he yelled
at her from the doorway. He wasn’t even a teenager yet, and his demands grew
each day.<br />
“Mom, make Marisa stop, she’s whining and whimpering so much I can’t
concentrate on my game.” His voice climbed in volume with each word until, by
the end, he was shouting. Bethany turned, steeling herself against his hateful
looks, and walked over to where he stood, stifling the overwhelming urge to
slap him soundly across the face. Even as she silently counted to ten, she
imagined it in her mind, the resounding slap, the red handprint on his smooth
white cheek, his wails. She thought perhaps she’d enjoy his cries the most.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Instead, she moved past him across the dining room and into
the large family room, nestled at the back of the old two-story house. They had
fallen in love with the house because of the peaceful neighborhood, with the
massive oak trees and the back yards that provided plenty of room for outdoor
play. Too bad friendly neighborhoods did little to ensure peaceful families.
She winced at her thoughts. Her whole world had shifted over the last few
months, her marriage was crumbling and her children were out of control. The
amount of bickering she endured daily was a constant reminder of her failures.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Marisa was quietly sobbing on the sofa, curled up with her
arms wrapped around her, she cast a woeful look at her mother. Bethany tried to
calm her irritation, sitting next to the little girl and patting a small bare
leg. Marisa was still in her pajamas even though it was almost noon. The pink
baby doll pajamas were slightly damp and she wondered if Marisa had wet the bed
again. Bethany was so perplexed by this new behavior. Her daughter had never
wet the bed until they had moved into this house. At first, she had chalked it
up as a reaction to her new surroundings, but it had been five weeks now, and
she was annoyed that it continued. A four-year-old should not revert to such
behavior over a simple move. She mentally noted that she needed to find a new
pediatrician here in Baytown. Her daughter needed to be seen, just to rule out
any medical condition.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
There was an eight-year age difference between the
children. Just at the moment when she had given up hope of another child, she
had found herself pregnant. Her joy had burst forth, and she had bought far
more baby things than any little girl could ever use. Kevin, her husband, had
been less enthusiastic, having grown used to it being just the three of them.
Life had been simple, easy to manage. They were quite accustomed to life as a
threesome, but a foursome was more challenging, dividing their attention
between two children, budgeting money for both needs and wants, and dealing
with the never-ending loads of laundry.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Marisa climbed into Bethany’s arm, sucking her thumb,
another new behavior. She whimpered and clung to her mother. Josh’s dark eyes
glared at his sister, snorting, he returned to his game now that his mother was
handling Marisa’s outrageous behavior. Bethany stood up, carrying Marisa into
the library at the front of the house, sitting in the overstuffed rocker,
rocking her gently, she peered down into Marisa’s eyes. They stared back at her
blankly. Fear leaped in her chest, and she shook Marisa slightly. She felt her
forehead.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Are you ok? What’s the matter, baby?” Bethany tried not to
let her anguish color her response. Marisa snuggled into her arms and hid her
face. Bethany could feel her hot breath against her. Finally, after several
minutes she looked up. Something scurried across her eyes, dashing back and
forth like a small rabbit chased by a predator.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“It’s in my closet, scratching at the walls,” she
whispered, and Bethany paused. It was not the first time Marisa had mentioned
the scratching noises, and although she had not heard them, Bethany wondered if
they had a rodent problem. Sighing, overwhelmed, Bethany just added a rodent
inspection to her mental list of a thousand things that needed to be taken care
of. She had hoped Kevin would become more involved with family matters once
they had settled into the large house, but he seemed as disinterested in his
family now as he had over the last two years. She didn’t know if that would
ever change, and she wasn’t sure how long to hold out hope.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
The move had added about 45 minutes onto his commute. From
the apartment, it had only taken fifteen minutes, but they had decided it was
worth it for all the extra space plus a yard. The schools were better here too.
She paused for a minute, had “they” decided it was worth the commute, or had
Kevin even participated in the decision? She couldn’t remember, but he hadn’t
seemed opposed to it, so they had negotiated a very favorable contract on the
house. It was only after the move that Bethany realized her mistake. If she had
suspected an affair in the city, how much easier would it be for Kevin to see
another woman an hour away with her none the wiser?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
She pushed those thoughts away and hugged Marisa. She took
her by the hand, leading her up the winding staircase to her bedroom. She
needed a quick bath and some clean clothes. The little girl's sleep habits had
changed after the move too. She used to wake up bright and early, ready to bounce
into a new day. Now she slept until late in the morning and woke up tired and
disgruntled.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Marisa pulled back at the door to her room, refusing to
enter, and Bethany frowned. The room was every little girl's dream, painted a
light shade of pink with a canopy bed topped with a darker pink gingham topper
and bedspread, but Marisa had never seemed comfortable in it. Furry pink
pillows dotted the floor where they had landed, casually tossed from the bed
during the night. When Bethany ran her hand across the sheets, they weren’t
wet. Perhaps the dampness was sweat. The white shelves on the right side of the
room ran from floor to ceiling. The opposite wall was the closet and the door was
slightly ajar.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Pulling the door wide, Bethany peered inside. There were a
few pairs of shoes on the floor and a half-full laundry basket. She pulled them
out and getting on her hands and knees inspected the baseboards. It was dim
inside the closet, but she could easily see there were no gnawed mouse holes in
the walls. From prior experience, she knew the little rodents could be
especially noisy at night, sounding like much more than tiny little critters.
Frowning, she started to stand up; then, her eyes caught a darker shade to the
pinkish walls here inside the deep closet.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
On her feet, she stepped inside the closet, running her
hand along the very back wall. About four feet up from the floor, deeply gouged
marks marred the wall. She felt sure they had not been there before. The
inspector had not mentioned them, nor the painters. She had not noticed them
when she had hung Marisa’s clothes inside the closet nor when she had removed
her laundry weekly.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
She shut the closet door firmly. Turning she noticed Marisa
hovered in the hallway outside the door, her eyes round and staring. A sudden
chill filled the bedroom, Bethany’s breath fogged in the air in front of her
face, hanging suspended like breath on a frigid winter morning. A shiver
coursed through her. Turning she clicked the thermostat up, then taking
Marisa’s hand she grabbed clean clothes and took her down the hall to the
master bathroom. The pipes rattled a little when she turned on the warm water.
Using the spray nozzle, she improvised a quick shower for the little girl then
dressed her in the clean purple shirt and jean shorts.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Let’s get some lunch,” she said, her cheerful words
belying the dread that had crept into her. A suffocating black mist filled her.
She swallowed hard. She shook her head, dispelling her worrisome thoughts, and
hurried to the sunny kitchen. She was going to show Kevin those scratch marks
when he got home.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
By six o'clock, Kevin was still not home, and Bethany felt
the anger brewing inside. Either he wanted to make this work, or he didn’t. He
was so hard to read that honestly, she had no idea what he was considering.
Then she heard the car pull into the driveway, and she relaxed slightly, ever
hopeful. She vowed not to start a fight. Commuting meant traffic, and she had
no idea what had delayed him. She managed a smile to greet him when he walked
into the kitchen, sniffing the air. At least the meatloaf smelled divine, and
she mentally patted herself on the back.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“That smells wonderful,” Kevin said, sitting down at the
table and looking around for the kids. Bethany immediately called them from the
family room to dinner, silently praying they were not bickering again. They
tumbled into the kitchen without much grumbling, and Kevin tasseled Marisa’s
hair as she hugged him. Bethany’s heart lightened, but her happiness appeared
short-lived as Josh started complaining that the potatoes were lumpy. Kevin
tossed a disgusted look her way.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Here, let me fix them for you,” she said, taking his plate
and mashing the potatoes with her fork. Kevin watched her with a sarcastic
smirk playing across his face. She didn’t know what to think of him. His mood
the last year or even longer had been hateful and critical, mixed in with
occasional bouts of compliments and niceness. He seemed to continually look for
something to criticize even when the mistakes were minor, at times, not
mistakes at all.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
She had hoped the move would revitalize them, give them a
fresh start, but now she worried that it had only increased the tension.
Regardless she still planned to show Kevin the marks inside Marisa’s closet.
For some reason, they worried her even more than Kevin’s foul mood. Luckily
Josh seemed satisfied with his potatoes now, and Marisa was chattering at
Kevin, telling him about some new cartoon. Bethany sighed and took a few bites
of her food, but her stomach roiled with anxiety, and she only managed to eat a
small amount.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
The kids had scampered from the table quickly after eating,
and Kevin was digging into second helpings while Bethany rinsed the dishes. A
sound in the ceiling made them both look up. Whatever it was scurried across
the ceiling, back and forth several times before settling into a location
directly above Kevin. There it scraped incessantly at the drywall, first slowly
then faster. The noise vibrated through the kitchen, and Bethany trembled.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Do we have a mouse?” he asked, his voice quiet, but she
knew underneath that quietness was loathing anger that lay just beneath the
surface, held in check perhaps by the children.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“I don’t know, but that reminds me there is something I
want to show you,” Bethany said, drying her hands with a small towel and
walking out of the kitchen. This time Kevin followed without a complaint.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
She opened the closet door and shone the flashlight inside.
The scratch marks stood out in sharp contrast to the delicate pinkness of the
wall. Kevin stepped inside, running his hands over them. They were about three
feet long, not something either of them would have missed before. His dark eyes
were puzzled, doubt floated in them. He seemed genuinely afraid.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“I thought maybe they were cracks caused by a shifting
house, you know how older homes are, but no, they are large marks made by
something sharp, like claws…” His voice was low, not menacing as it was sometimes.
His dark eyes met hers, and she saw something there, a foreboding thought, a
hidden truth that he wasn’t prepared to speak.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Marisa said something was scratching in her closet. That’s
why I looked.” As Bethany spoke, he ran his hands across the long claw marks,
muttering under his breath. She sensed something there that she had not
witnessed in months, an interest. It was a situation that no matter what, they
were in together, their home and their children. The sudden chill from earlier
was back in the room. Kevin rubbed his arms. The air misted from their
breathing. Bethany felt a push against her back, hard and sharp, she stumbled,
catching herself with Kevin’s arm. Bethany turned, expecting to see one of the
children playing a prank on her. The room was empty except for the two of them.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Kevin didn’t speak, but he knew something was wrong. Now he
waited, turning slightly sideways to have a better view of the whole room. The
white shelves filled with books and toys, some neatly lined up, and others
jumbled in piles. The nightstand with the tiny music box and small crystal lamp
beside the table seemed harmless enough. Then the music box started playing,
the notes tingling across the air, sending goosebumps up their arms. Kevin
walked across the room, picking it up and looking at the bottom. The little
metal cylinder that wound up the box was strangely still even as the music
flowed forth.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Lightning flashed across the window; a brewing storm
threatened a downpour. The music stopped, and the room was eerily silent. Kevin
placed the box gently back on the table, walking out into the hallway with
Bethany following behind. As she exited, Kevin pulled the door shut and put his
finger up to his lips, motioning down the steps. She thought it quite odd, but
she followed him. At the bottom, he turned to her.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“I think Marisa better sleep in our room until we figure
this out,” he said, his words awkward and uncertain. Bethany had never seen him
this unsure of himself. His hands shook as he ran them across his face,
massaging his neck. She nodded and went to the laundry room, thankful she had
left Marisa’s clean laundry on the table there.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Marisa was delighted, squirming between them in the
king-sized bed. Even Kevin smiled at her antics, losing his normally sullen
mood. Josh had been a bit curious about why she was getting this privilege, one
he had been denied for several years now. He had reluctantly settled down in
his room, and Bethany could see a slight glow from his nightlight shining in
the hallway.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Marisa giggled and squirmed but eventually went to sleep.
Kevin, his sleeping face creased with a frown, snored softly, but Bethany
tossed and turned for over an hour before drifting off to sleep. Ever since
moving, she had felt exhausted daily and usually was asleep the moment her head
hit the pillow, but tonight anxiety tingled inside.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
About 2:30, a scream vibrated through the house, and
Bethany bolted upright instantaneously. She glanced at Marisa, who squirmed in
the bed, her eyes still shut, so Bethany assumed the scream had not woken her.
Kevin was already bolting out the door and down the hall toward Josh’s room.
Bethany remembered how nightmares had plagued Josh almost nightly when he was
about Marisa’s age, but a shiver raced through her now as his screams floated
away finally disappearing altogether. She slipped out of bed, managing not to
awaken Marisa, and padded barefoot down the hallway, meeting Kevin and Josh
about halfway.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“A nightmare,” Kevin said, but Josh jerked away from him
scowling. A wave of anger swept across his face, and he pushed past them,
calling back over his shoulder. A bit of something else appeared too, the
tiniest of smirks.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> “It was not a nightmare; there was someone in my room. The
person growled.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Bethany looked at Kevin, who shrugged, and then she walked
past him, standing in the doorway to Josh’s room. She listened for a few
minutes, but hearing nothing; she returned to her room. Kevin had given Josh a
blanket and pillow. He was huddled on the floor on the far side of the bed,
scrunched up grumbling about the floor. Bethany breathed a sigh of relief. She
was glad they were all together.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Something felt wrong; a thick impregnable
layer of uneasiness engulfed her. Now that she thought about it, she wondered
if it had felt wrong from the first day here. The complaining, the
irritability, even Kevin’s distant behavior had increased over the last few
weeks. She had pushed it aside, trying to focus on the good qualities of the
house, unpacking, striving to create a home.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
They had barely managed to get back to sleep when Bethany
awoke again. In the quietness of the night, she could hear scratching, distant,
like someone running their fingernails across a chalkboard, grating against her
ears, she pulled the covers up, muting the noise. Bethany didn’t go back to
sleep for a very long time. Instead, she found herself staring at the open
doorway, waiting for something to appear there. She lifted her head once
imagining she heard music. It was early morning with sunlight filtering in
around the edges of the curtains before her eyes fluttered shut in sleep.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Unexpectedly, Kevin decided not to go to work the next morning,
insisting that he wanted to try working from home, sitting up the computer in
the little office next to the family room. Bethany was worried that his mood
would sour when the children started bickering, but surprisingly they seemed
well-rested and in a rare good mood. They clamored out the patio doors, across
the yard to the old wooden swing crammed in the back corner of the yard. They
laughed together, her heart lifting at the musical sound of their giggles. The
thought made her remember again the odd lilting music playing through the
darkness of the house last night.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
She hadn’t mentioned it to Kevin, perhaps she had dreamed
it, but bringing him a second cup of coffee, she lingered at the office door.
He looked up, his eyes gentle for once, and expecting a dismissive quip, she
turned to leave, but he called her back.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Is there something wrong, Bethany?” he asked. Tears
started to roll down her cheeks, and she fought them back, He hated weakness,
and it would be the perfect opportunity to criticize, but instead, he pointed
to an empty chair and invited her to sit down. He didn’t ask another question;
he simply waited.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Last night, after everyone fell asleep, I heard something,
yes scratching, but also music,” she said, the words bursting out before she
lost her courage. He didn’t speak for a few minutes, and she felt her face
turning red.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“I wasn’t asleep. I heard it too.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
His words startled her. She hadn’t known he was awake, or
she would have reached out to him. She wondered again how they had grown so far
apart. They had shared so much, and there were times where she couldn’t imagine
any other life. But he had started to react cruelly, and she wasn’t sure
anything about her met his approval anymore. Suddenly a loud banging interrupted
them, and she hurried to open the patio door, thinking the children had
accidentally locked themselves outside. However, when she reached the door, the
children were still at the back of the yard, swinging back and forth. She
jumped at the movement behind her, but it was only Kevin.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“What was that noise?” he asked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“I have no idea,” she said, and out of the corner of her
eye, she saw a dark shadowy figure slip past the door and into the dining room.
She gasped, and Kevin quickly turned, catching just a slight movement of the
shadow figure, floating past. He walked out of the room, looking both right and
left, but the shadow had merely evaporated. In its place was a strong smell,
like ashes, lingering in the air and burrowing into their nostrils.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“You saw it too?” Bethany asked, her voice quivered. Kevin
didn’t answer; he just looked at her with dark, brooding eyes and nodded. They
searched the entire downstairs, even opening cupboard doors and the linen
closet. Discovering nothing, Kevin appeared even more agitated. Bethany thought
it looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He walked back to the
door and looked out at the children.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“I don’t like this one bit,” he said, the words clipped and
sharp, making Bethany flinch, Well, she didn’t like it either, but she hadn’t a
clue what was happening or why. Kevin paced the floor and ran his hands through
his hair. Puzzled, she watched him, fearing that he was going to fly into one
of his rages. He muttered some words occasionally, under his breath, and then
nodding to himself; he walked back and forth faster.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she reached out her
hand, pulling at his arm, pointing at a chair. He didn’t argue, He sat down and
put his face in his hands. As his shoulders started to heave and buck, she
realized he was sobbing, great gasping sobs that he muffled with his hands. It
shook her to the core. She didn’t like his meanness, but she thought she hated
the crying even more. This vulnerable side was new, hard to process. She waited
for it to subside, considering whether she wanted to hear what he had to say.
When he spoke, his voice was gruff and husky with emotion.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“This has been going on for a while,” he started, his voice
quivering, hanging in the air between them. Bethany felt her heart drop. She
certainly hoped he wasn’t coming clean about some affair, for she wasn’t sure
she could take it just now. Her heart like a frozen chunk in her chest ached,
and Bethany collapsed in the chair next to him. It wasn’t what she was
suspecting, it wasn’t that at all, and she thought that made it all the more
horrible.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Something has been stalking me.” There he had said it, and
the tears stopped flowing as he watched for her reaction. She pondered his words
for a moment, noting that he hadn’t said someone was stalking him but rather
something. A slow tingling started at the base of her skull and traveled along
synapses exploding in a brilliant display of fireworks inside her brain. She
remembered the changes in him over the last couple of years.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“How long has this been going on?” she asked, at the same
time wondering if this was a psychotic episode, or perhaps symptoms of a brain
tumor. Kevin’s father, after all, had disappeared years ago when Kevin was
about ten. He had never been heard from since. Most people assumed he was dead,
but now Bethany wondered. What if he had simply slipped into madness and ran
away, living his life in a squirming horror-filled reality.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Almost two years,” he answered, then added, “at first it
was just a glimpse of something in my peripheral vision, for almost the whole
first year it was peculiar but ill-defined. It spooked me sure, made me edgy,
but it never frightened me. When we moved here, I thought it would leave me
alone, but the first day during my commute, I glanced in the rearview mirror,
and there it was sitting in the back seat, right behind me. I almost wrecked
the car but managed to pull to the side of the road. When I looked again, it
was gone. It followed me here, Bethany, it followed me, and now it is after the
children.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
His voice bordered on hysterical, and Bethany was wondering
if he needed a hospital. Then she remembered the deep gouged marks in the
closet. Had Keven made those? Had he used a knife or a hammer and carved out
the claw marks? Why? Did he want to scare her? Was he so warped that he was
tormenting her, hoping to break her?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
She had her hands clasped in her lap, and as she stared
down at them, she considered how to respond. Mentally ill people could be
dangerous, and she needed just the right nuance. Calm and helpful, no
questions, let him think she believed him. Taking a deep breath, she looked up,
and everything she had planned in her mind evaporated.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Standing in the kitchen doorway, directly behind Kevin was
a hulking black shadow, a human-like form but without skin or muscles or bones,
just rippling dark shadowy features. The arms were long and dangled by its
side, the hands thick and sturdy with grotesque fingers. Those were the worst
because each one ended with a long scraggly nail, sharp and twisted. In her
mind, she could see them digging into the wall of the closet. Her fear, thick
in the air, drew the creature’s attention.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Bethany’s throat was so dry she couldn’t speak. She just
stared at the creature, and its gleaming red eyes stared back at her, crazed
and demonic. Kevin was frozen, realizing that she saw something but too
frightened to turn and look for himself. A bizarre staring match ensued between
the creature and Bethany. Finally, he put one foot forward, and at just that
moment, Marisa charged into the room, hot and sweaty, begging for a drink of
cold water. Kevin caught her up in his arms, pushing her face into his
shoulder, shielding her view. He need not have bothered because the dark
presence had filtered away, leaving a smoky trail that hung suspended in the
air for a few minutes before it drifted toward the ceiling and disappeared
altogether.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Bethany walked to the sink on trembling legs and brought the
little girl a tall glass of water. She sank into the seat and stared at Kevin
in much the same way she had stared at the shadow. She thought it much more
than a shadow, far more menacing, but she had no name for the apparition. Kevin
stared back. Little flecks of uneasiness drifted through his eyes, and Bethany
could almost smell the fear wafting in the air.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“It was here? You saw it?” he asked as he absentmindedly
patted Marisa. Bethany closed her eyes for a moment. If Kevin was
hallucinating, then she was too, and she wondered if that was even possible.
Was there something wrong with the water? Perhaps a gas in the air of the
house, or mold possibly. Was there some naturally occurring reason this might
be happening? Suddenly she realized that Kevin hadn’t told her what his monster
had looked like, and she made a mental note to ask him later, away from the
children. If it was the same as what she had observed, then it had to be real.
Right? They couldn’t both have the same hallucination.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Both of them ran on autopilot the rest of the day, fixing
sandwiches which they ate in the family room, and then the children exhausted
from all the outdoor play settled down to watch a movie and soon drifted off to
sleep. If not for the beast that stalked them, it would have been an idyllic
day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“What did it look like when you saw it?” Bethany whispered
across the room at Kevin, and he flinched at her words. He had spent so much
time over the last two years trying to block out the image of the creature that
it pained him to conjure it up in his mind.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“I don’t know, like a black shape, tall with long arms and
claws, really sharp claws,” he answered, letting his words trail off into the
air. Bethany felt the last ray of hope vanish inside her. The description,
while crude, was in line with the beast she had stared at just a few hours ago.
An idea flickered, and she rummaged in the bottom drawer of the large desk in
the corner. Sure, enough stuffed at the very bottom was a bundle of white sage.
She waved it at Kevin, and he shrugged.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Worth a try,” he said.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
They left the children sleeping and taking the white sage
into the basement they started in one corner and circled the basement, trailing
the smoke behind them as they climbed the stairs. As they worked their way
around the main level, the smoke drifted into the family room. Josh stirred
slightly, raising his head; he looked alarmed, but Bethany shushed him and said
everything was fine. Yawning, he settled back into the cushions and closed his
eyes. Josh wasn’t asleep, though. What he had observed frightened him, the fear
surged through him. He didn’t jump up to follow his parents; he simply waited
for them to return. They had disappeared up the stairs, and he could hear them
moving along the landing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
They returned shortly, minus the sage. Both Bethany and
Kevin’s arms were full of sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows. Josh pretended
to be asleep. He wasn’t ready to ask about the strange smoke or what they were
trying to accomplish. Josh was so still and quiet that soon he drifted back to
sleep, and it was an hour before he woke up again. He sat up and looked around.
Kevin was at the door, paying the pizza guy, and his mother carried two boxes
into the family room.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“We are going to camp out here tonight. Won’t that be fun?”
Bethany asked. Josh nodded, but he didn’t think it sounded fun at all. Marisa
was already reaching for her first piece of pizza, and Josh joined in, stuffing
the gooey cheesy slice into his mouth.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Josh almost reconsidered his opinion of his parents. This
evening felt nice. Back in their old apartment, he had dreaded his chores,
especially the laundry. Each week he’d lugged the basket down the steps into
the dark and musty basement laundry room, letting it thump down each step,
thump, thump, thump. Spider webs brushed his face, and he choked on the
stagnant air. Some weeks a mouse or sometimes even a rat would scurry along the
wall, staying close until it reached the machines, and then it would turn its
beady eyes and peer at Josh. He’d stomp his feet and the rodent would disappear
behind the machines. He would load the washing machines and slip the coins in
the slots, sitting on top of a table until they finished. Then Josh would
transfer the clothes, all of their clothes not just his, into the dryers, and
the process repeated itself. While he waited, the rage would grow inside him, a
bright ember of anger and disgust.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
He shook those thoughts away and took a big swig of the
cold soda. It was crisp and delicious with the gooey pizza. They had even
gotten his favorite pepperoni, which Marisa usually whined about, but tonight
she was silent, rubbing her eyes. He stuck out his tongue at her, but she
didn’t take the bait, didn’t call to his parents, she just curled up on the
sofa, sucking her thumb.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Josh watched a movie sandwiched between his parents, and
when his dad ruffled his hair, Josh felt just the smallest morsel of guilt for
his thoughts. Bethany made a bed on the floor for Josh and gave him two throw
pillows to cushion his head. Near the end of the movie, he dislodged himself
and plopped into his makeshift bed. He felt a chill settling over the room, and
he suspected the creature wasn’t gone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
As he drifted off, he could hear Bethany complaining about
the bitter cold. Kevin curled up next to her, covering them both with a thick
purple comforter. Trembling, they finished another whole movie before they
clicked off the tv, leaving the small light on in the corner, they tried to
sleep.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“We are leaving tomorrow,” Kevin whispered to Bethany as
she closed her eyes and drifted off. She murmured something he couldn’t quite
catch. He stayed awake for a while longer, listening to Marisa’s steady
breathing with just the tiniest of snores. His heart was heavy, and a tingling
thought kept nagging at him. Where had the creature come from, and why was it
here? What had shifted? What door had opened that could let such a beast into
their everyday world?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
The hours slipped by, minutes ticking steadily in the dark
hours. Tick, tick, tick. Sleep blotting out fear. Marisa stirred in her sleep,
cold; she wiggled under the blankets until just the top of her blonde hair was
exposed. The shadow stood in the doorway, a silent sentry to the room. He
waited. Waiting was nothing to him. He had paused for a very long time before
the words had called him forth, unleashing him from his prison, encouraging his
ravaging nature. The coldness of the room did not affect him; his skin was
coarse, rough, and dimpled beneath the shadows that clothed him. Like a
chameleon, the shadows camouflaged him.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Josh suddenly sit up in bed, looking around the room,
stopping for a moment to peer in the direction of the door, his eyes didn’t
linger there, they simply skimmed across the shadows cast on the walls by the
moon shining in through the enormous picture window. He yawned. Then he curled
back up in the sleeping bag, smiling to himself as he drifted off to sleep. All
was well.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Bethany came fully awake about fifteen minutes later; the
air was so frigid that her nostrils were dry, frozen, stuffy. She didn’t move
at first. Bethany could sense the presence like a heavy blanket, pressing her
into the cushions. Taking shallow breaths, she pretended to be asleep. It was
no use; the fear made her breathing ragged and rough. She slowly, inch by inch,
moved her hand over to Kevin’s shoulder, nudging him gently beneath the covers.
He shifted slightly, and she realized he was already awake, feigning sleep as
she was.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
They both let their eyes scan the dimly lit room, but it
was impossible to know what lay behind them without turning. Bethany shifted
toward Kevin, pretending to sling her arm over him in sleep. It didn’t fool the
shadow beast. He knew, and he waited. He was in no hurry, nor should he be, the
orders were to extend the game until the fright was suffocating. Now in the
darkness, he gnawed at his lower lip, slivers of sharp teeth extended from the
bottomless mouth. A tiny tendril of salvia slid down his chin, but the shadows
covered it. No details of the beast were visible. The shadows did their job
well, hiding his pure form.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Kevin turned over, the doorway fully viewable to him now,
and his breath caught. The shifting shadows there in the space between the
family room and the dining room were ominous. As his eyes focused, he was sure
he could make out a human-like form that stood, silently watching them sleep.
His first thought was of the children and then Bethany. What should he do? It
had never attacked him before, but he had noticed a difference in the weeks
since they had moved to this house. It was becoming more dangerous.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
He didn’t have time to form a plan because when Bethany
turned over next to him, she could make out the creature hidden in the shadows
quite easily. It wasn’t an accident or some sensory advantage on her part; it
was intentional. The beast let the cloak of shadows slip just for a second. He
wanted her to feel the terror, to see his massive arms and his sharp claws. He
even licked his lips at just the right moment, so his pointed white teeth were
visible. She screamed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Kevin leaped to his feet, planting himself between the
creature and the children. Marisa wailed, but Josh sat silently watching the
scene unfold like it was an episode of a horror show. Bethany jumped up, frozen
in place slightly behind Kevin, her arm extended in a futile attempt to ward
off any attack. The creature moved to the left, and they had to shift also to
keep themselves facing it, ready for any forward motion. This dance went on for
several moments, Marisa whimpering and Josh watching silently.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“We have to lure it away from the kids,” Kevin whispered
over his shoulder at Bethany. Without thinking, Bethany bolted from the room,
leaving Kevin as the only barrier between the monster and the children. The
creature looked from Kevin to the door Bethany had disappeared through as if
considering. Should he follow or stay here? The beast snorted, ignoring Kevin,
looking instead at Marisa, her feet dangling off the loveseat, hovering over the
floor, waiting for an opportunity to bolt. Then he looked at Josh, calm and
unyielding, slightly nodding his head as if daring the beast to attack.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Bethany appeared in the doorway, banging a hammer against
the door frame, chunks of wood flying across the air, tiny missiles. The
creature turned in her direction and loped toward her. Kevin charged, throwing
himself through the air, clinging to the creature’s back. It was but a sliver
of a distraction but enough for the beast to miss grabbing Bethany. She slipped
away from his grasp and charged up the stairs. Shaking Kevin off, the shadow
beast followed. Kevin's head thumped loudly against the floor, but he shrugged
it off and clamored up, following them upstairs.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Josh looked over at Marisa; her feet still dangled close to
the floor. She shivered, her mouth open, gasping. Her round eyes focused on
Josh, and he returned her stare. He pondered this for a minute. What should he
do with her? He thought she was much like a rabbit, trembling from the threat
of danger but immobile and uncertain.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Run,” he finally whispered, and like a thoroughbred horse
bolting out of the gates for the first time, her tiny feet slapped the floor as
she reacted. He heard her footsteps on the stairs and thought it odd that she
had chosen to descend to the dark, almost empty basement. It wasn’t a perfect
place to hide. She’d be like a cornered animal. His heart thumped, fast and
hard in his chest, but he didn’t run, nor did he hide.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Upstairs, Kevin stood in the hallway outside the master
bedroom, through the door he could see Bethany on the balcony outside their
room, the bright full moon suspended in the night sky behind her. Her blonde
hair shimmered in the moonlight. She stared at something in the room, transfixed. Kevin could not see what she was
seeing, but he could see the horror that coated her face, making her trembling
violently.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Stepping inside the room, he kept close to the walls,
frantically scanning the room, but the shadow figure had blinked off, like a
burned-out street light. He was gone. Kevin rushed to Bethany, pulling her into
his arms. His head pounded, and the fear threatened to suffocate him. They
needed to get back to the children.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Bethany’s eyes grew wide; hysterical whimpers emerged as
she looked over Kevin’s shoulder, back inside the house. Kevin only managed to
partially turn before he felt a giant steely grip on his arm, twisting it, the
bones snapped. The pain almost made him pass out. Perhaps it would have been
better if he had because the beast tossed him over the railing like a rag doll.
He landed with a dull thud on the red brick patio stones below. The sickening
sound of his landing echoed up to Bethany and bile rose in her throat.
Terrified, she moved to the left, her back pressed against the railing. She
didn’t want to look, but she did, and the gleaming red eyes of the creature
pierced her as surely as a dagger might.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
The beast reached out and stroked her cheek with its claw,
scratching her skin, leaving a bloody trail behind. It leaned in closer, its
eyes close to hers, and she wondered about the flicker she saw there. Was it
regret? If it was regret, it didn’t halt its actions. The beast did indeed feel
disappointed that the game was ending, but a new one would start soon. There
was time to contemplate that later. The current plan was already laid out; he
would finish the task at hand. Grabbing her by the throat, choking, he crushed
the small bones in her neck, then he slung her over the railing, and she
plunged to the ground.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Below, the two figures lay close together, their
outstretched hands touching whether by accident or as the result of a small
last conscious act. Their necks twisted at odd angles, as pools of dark blood
puddled around their heads. He stood for a moment on the balcony, satisfied
that he had accomplished his mission. He walked into the hallway and descended
the stairs slowly, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet house.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
The beast shifted its form slightly. He didn’t want Josh to
see his true nature. It was best that way. Mortals craved power and position,
they let anger and resentment fester, but if they knew the truth, the depth of
the bargains they made, perhaps they’d reconsider. So, as he slipped into the
family room, his shadow form was firmly in place, concealing the squirming,
loathsome—wormy body. Josh stood up as he entered, watching as the beast moved
closer.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
“Well done,” he said, a slight smirk caressing his mouth.
The creature didn’t react immediately, but then slowly, a large gaping black
hole in his head revealed double rows of glistening white fangs, pointed and
razor-sharp. Josh thought it was the first time he had ever seen an emotional
response from the creature he had summoned in the musky basement of the old
apartment complex.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
All those weeks in that laundry room, dodging the mice,
folding the princess’s clothes, the rage had grown inside him. Early on, he had
discovered a loose brick, a hiding hole that contained an old yellowed scroll,
tied shut with black twine and a tiny silver square charm. The charm itself had
some strange lettering, but the manuscript was in English. Each week it had
called to him, and he had pulled it out of the hiding place, examining it,
wondering what would happen if he kneeled and read the words aloud. But each
time he had returned it to the hole in the brick wall and carried the baskets
upstairs begrudgingly.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Then one week, that all changed. Josh remembered the day
vividly. His rage had overflowed like the quick hot lava of a volcano. It was
the day his mom brought home an enormous dollhouse for Marisa. He had begged
for weeks for a new video game, having played all that he owned, month after
month, repeatedly. She had refused and instead bought the princess a luxurious
towering dollhouse, with plush furniture and a plastic family. That’s the
moment he started thinking of his family as plastic, a fake family.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
The next day when he lugged the laundry to the basement of
the old building, he let the baskets hit each step with a loud thump, his anger
growing with each thud. He had added detergent to the machines, stuffing
laundry into each one and inserting the quarters. The water poured into the
washing machines as he perched on an old metal table looking again at the words
on the paper. He hesitated for a moment, wondering what he was invoking. The
sentences were vague, almost senseless, but they lured him in with promises of
power and control.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
He had drawn the circle on the dirty concrete floor and
kneeling, chanted the words three times. Then he waited. Nothing happened,
nothing appeared. No blinking lights or swirling shapes materialized.
Disappointed, he shoved the paper back inside the hole and folded laundry,
grumbling even more than usual.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
It took almost a year for Josh to meet the creature he had
summoned, but it had started doing his bidding almost immediately. Tripping
Marisa when Josh was annoyed with her, following his dad around after he had
yelled at Josh, making his dad say cruel things to his mom. Josh chalked all
this up to karma until the night he came face to face with the shadow beast.
Then he knew. He realized the power that was at his command. Then the real fun
began.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Now the monster stood docilely before him, awaiting his
next decision. Marisa. Josh tilted his head to one side, his heart hardened
inside him, and he considered the possibilities. Tormenting his sister just
might be the highlight of the night. He knew where she was. She hadn't had a
reason to hide it from him. She suspected nothing. Josh opened the door to the
basement, waving his hand at the beast, they descended the steps, softly,
making as little noise as possible. He didn’t need to catch her unaware, it
just added to the fun. Inch by inch, Josh crept down the stairs, the overhead
light at the bottom cast eerie dancing shadows across the walls.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Josh placed his foot, softly onto the basement floor, the
creature was still about four steps behind him. He could see the small leg,
protruding from behind the furnace. A tiny fragment of pink pajama leg peeked
out against the whiteness of her skin. </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-decoration-line: none;">Sli</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-decoration-line: none;">ding his feet
across the floor, shuffling so she could hear him coming but not knowing what
it was, he approached. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As he drew nearer,
tantalizing thoughts about her fear tingled inside him. He could hear her
breathing, wispy, the small gasp, hanging in the air as she awaited whatever
was coming.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
When he peeked around the furnace, looking down, she
jerked. The floor around her was moist, the light layer of dirt turning to mud.
She had wet herself. Mud clung to her bare legs. When she saw it was him, she
almost plunged into his arms, and a wicked flash of joy sprung up inside him.
Her relief was short-lived. As she moved from behind the metal frame of the
furnace, she caught a glimpse of the beast. He leered at her, and she caught
her breath, holding it, afraid to let it out.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Josh stepped back, opening a path for the creature. Marisa
cast an innocent, puzzled look his way. She was confused by him. As the monster
glided toward her, Marisa pulled her body as far back into the crevice behind
the furnace as she could. She held her breath, frozen in terror while the
smokey black figure wrapped around her. Swirling in ropey strands, jerking her
from the hiding place, it glanced casually at Josh, who nodded. As its hold on
her increased, it trapped her small, frail body, squeezing her tighter and
tighter until there was no more breath to hold. She lay without moving on the
filthy floor, her white face smeared with dirt as Josh smirked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
The hate inside Josh had consumed him, twisting and
squirming inside like maggots. At some moment during those lonely hours spent
in the laundry room, he had given way to a profound evil. A cunning beast had
arrived, one skilled in distorting the truth. Having called forth the creature,
he now controlled it. Or did the creature control Josh? Was it even possible to
control it, or did it merely slither inside one and linger there, biding its
time? Would the beast eventually tire of the games and turn on him?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Josh stood alone in the basement staring at the frail body
of his sister. The creature had left without a sound, evaporating, but he knew
it wasn’t truly gone. It merely waited for his next call. Looking at his
sister’s lifeless body, he turned and ran lightly up the steps. He didn’t even
bother to look at his parents’ bodies. He was tired. He climbed into bed,
falling into a deep slumber, sleeping soundly. Calling the police could wait
until the morning after he had a coherent story prepared.<br />
<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-10951824538905970402021-10-14T10:00:00.015-06:002021-10-14T10:31:18.630-06:00Journey of Regret<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWLrHZ8Eauyoz9qLd1m7amhXLLuIuEgqHay-EBUZt0TwWEkg7u4kCm8UahbIB7gRqnmQ6FXMEW9DjBiCsf3XqE2C1mfvJ6XyoPx-3Fvy_mHxeVQxsnrNF1pUBlev_3TRNDiB3JCSs_ujp/s1920/ostrich-gf1bcdcb5e_1920.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWLrHZ8Eauyoz9qLd1m7amhXLLuIuEgqHay-EBUZt0TwWEkg7u4kCm8UahbIB7gRqnmQ6FXMEW9DjBiCsf3XqE2C1mfvJ6XyoPx-3Fvy_mHxeVQxsnrNF1pUBlev_3TRNDiB3JCSs_ujp/w400-h266/ostrich-gf1bcdcb5e_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>Deception,</div>
Like a muddy river<br />
Pollutes the soul<br />
Creates doubt<br />
<br />
Words,<br />
Lies or Real<br />
Spoken<div>Twisted</div><div>
In subtle ways<div><br /></div><div>Real or</div><div>Hidden behind </div><div>A mask</div><div>Pretending to breathe</div><div><br /></div><div>A life, </div><div>Falsely lived</div><div>Offers a journey</div><div>of regret</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
<br />
<br /></div></div>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-6727069887987106452021-10-13T06:52:00.006-06:002021-10-14T07:51:11.518-06:00The Absent Door<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOW6kAmzxlWYpiNLrjm5IBji50SbpeLRYW3DRucEbrt7olQK-XaVkJf5iNYNrqqg0_xBi_wQaUuH-hxYkF24KLWNZ2C4vGA4GfHdqKLE8zETYZqJ8JP3ODQ7TMstnA3TRB28MMv-m0MyW2/s1920/larger+pink+bedroom.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOW6kAmzxlWYpiNLrjm5IBji50SbpeLRYW3DRucEbrt7olQK-XaVkJf5iNYNrqqg0_xBi_wQaUuH-hxYkF24KLWNZ2C4vGA4GfHdqKLE8zETYZqJ8JP3ODQ7TMstnA3TRB28MMv-m0MyW2/w400-h266/larger+pink+bedroom.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby pulled her car into the driveway, climbed
out, and stood admiring her new home. The house itself wasn’t new but she was
proud of her purchase. The two-story home just outside the city limits of the
tiny town of Turner sat on an acre and a half and had been remodeled top to
bottom. It was freshly painted white with a bright red door and shutters.
Smiling Abby picked up her small overnight bag and hurried into the house. As
she inserted her key into the lock, she heard a rustling inside and a soft
voice. She hesitated. The movers had deposited the boxes hours ago and she
couldn’t imagine who might be inside. Stepping into the foyer she looked up the
staircase and considered calling out but there was no one there. Walking room
to room all she discovered was an empty house. Shaking her head, Abby pushed it
aside. Probably just the wind. Old houses are known for their noises and even
though this one looked brand new it was old. So old in fact that she had almost
walked away from it but when the agent came back with an even lower price than
she had first been told, she simply had to buy it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boxes stacked in every room brought a
wave of anxiety. Climbing the stairs Abby decided to unpack her bedroom first.
It would become her haven, a place to retreat when the rest of the house
overwhelmed her. At the top, she turned right and started down the hallway but
she only made it a few feet before she paused. Reaching out, she ran her
fingers lightly around the door frame. That’s all it was a frame. This room had
been sealed. The beautiful white frame still outlined where the door should be.
The first time Abby viewed the house, the realtor had told her the small
bedroom had been sealed a long time ago because the brick chimney of the added
fireplace downstairs ran right through the middle of it. She loved the
fireplace so the sacrifice of the small bedroom seemed worth it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of hours later Abby, with hands on
her hips, looked around the master bedroom. Her clothes were in the closet, the
bed was made, and the television hooked up. It was not just a livable space, it
looked nice. Two paintings rested against a wall that she would hang up later.
The stack of cardboard boxes folded flat was still at the top of the staircase
waiting to be carried out but other than that she thought the room was perfect.
Resisting the urge to collapse on the freshly made bed she hurried down the
hallway to carry the boxes outside. As she passed the sealed bedroom she
stopped. She could have sworn she heard a melody, humming perhaps, coming from
the room. Impossible. She angled her head so her ear was close to the wall. She
bit her lip as she listened. Nothing. Shaking her head, Abby moved down the
hallway. She had left the bedroom window open and perhaps it was coming from
there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After stuffing the boxes into the recycle
bin, she made iced tea in the large and not so tidy kitchen. It was delightful.
The cold tea soothed her burning throat. The dust had clogged up her sinuses
making it hard to breathe. She felt so itchy that she wanted a shower. Heading
upstairs with the tea, she heard a loud crash. What in the world, she thought? She
rushed toward her bedroom. On the floor were the two paintings that had rested
against the lovely lavender wall. Frowning she looked at the open window. A
gentle breeze blew the curtains but nothing so strong as to knock over the
paintings. Picking them up she placed them against the wall again and closed
the window. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the shower, the hot water felt
delicious. Abby used the lavender shower gel to wash away the filth and to
soothe her tattered nerves. The house represented more than just a change of
residency but a change of life. She had inherited a great deal of money from
her grandfather. It gave her the luxury of taking a year or two off work. Some
people might use the time to travel but she was using it to write. She had
started a novel at least three times before and her hectic daily life had made
it impossible to get more than a few chapters completed. She was scraping those
attempts and starting a new book. Fresh. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wrapping the thick towel around her, she
walked barefoot into the bedroom. The writing desk in the corner of the bedroom
was white with a large drawer in the center. On the left-hand corner under a
massive lamp was a stack of books. On top of the books was a large coin with
writing around the edges of it. Abby had found the coin, embedded in the dirt by
the front steps on her first visit to the house. After finding it, she had
cleaned it to discover it wasn’t real money. Instead, it was a novelty from
some vacation. The token with a mermaid engraved on one side perhaps came from
an ocean resort. It certainly looked like something that might be tucked inside
a pirate’s treasure chest. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pulling on a tee-shirt and a pair of
capris she looked out the window. The backyard faced a large field and, in the
distance, she caught just a glimpse of an old pond. She appreciated the
loneliness of the house’s location because the solitude would be nice for
writing. No cars buzzed by. No people walked along on sidewalks chatting. Now a
tingle of fear crept up her spine. She was truly alone here and yet as she
stood by the window, she swore she could feel eyes watching her. Shivering she
hurried downstairs. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fixing a sandwich and another glass of
tea, Abby ignored the boxes in the living room and sat down. She looked up the
stairs as a strange foreboding pushed at her. She ignored the feeling. A house
was simply a house, nothing more. Taking a rather large bite, her cheeks
puffing out like a chipmunk, she thought about her new book. She felt a tiny
tug of defeat. She had scribbled numerous ideas into her journal but none of
them excited her. They were just ideas on a page, flat and ill-defined. None of
them sprang to life in her mind or tugged at her emotions. She didn’t know
whether to just go with one of them or to keep searching.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she went back to her bedroom, she
heard an odd metallic ringing. She glanced at the desk. The mermaid token was
spinning on top of the books. As her eyes locked on the coin, it slowed and
eventually fell over. She walked over and ran her fingertips over the token and
then the journal. Her fingers trembled. A chill bounced around her. A gnawing
fear clawed at her insides. What was happening to her? Was the illness that had
overcome her mother now haunting her? She thought of her mother’s screams of
terror and pushed down the memories. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forcing herself to remain calm, she
straightened the pens and looked at the large desk calendar trying to distract
herself. Tomorrow she would pull off this page and start a new month, October.
In the morning she’d brew coffee and plant herself in front of her computer and
start writing. Maybe a good night’s sleep would clear her head. She turned on
the television and crawled into bed. She watched a couple of episodes of her
favorite show before switching off the light. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, with coffee in hand she
sat down, staring at the blank screen. She sipped the brew with a generous pour
of hazelnut creamer in it and chided herself. The cursor wasn’t going to move
unless she started typing. She put the mug down and aligned her fingers with
the keys. Should she write the story of the couple on the sailboat? Or perhaps
a mystery with a handsome detective. A chill skated up the back of her neck. A
visceral surge of emotions coursed through her. A great sadness filled her. Then
she started to type.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“The
little girl in the pink bedroom was waiting. She didn’t even know why she was
waiting. The man hadn’t been here in days. The door never opened and time
blended into an endless seam of days and nights. She was hungry. So hungry that
she had eaten the dead flies.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Abby stopped typing and picked up her
coffee taking a large sip. She rubbed the back of her neck. Her head spun with
dizziness that she couldn’t explain. Her fingers tingled with an energy like a
weak electric shock that tickled her hands. What was this story she wondered?
She opened the journal and looked back several pages. There were no notes about
a little girl nor a pink bedroom. Her fingers rested suspended above the
keyboard and then slowly she tapped out more words, more sentences, entire
paragraphs. It was a dark and twisted story. Instead of being pleased with the
word count, she was horrified an hour later. Her fingers felt sore and she
rubbed them together and massaged her hands. They ached. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sighing she read the words on the page
before her. A desperate feeling overwhelmed her. Hugging herself, tears
moistened her eyes. She reached to close the document. The cursor hovered over
the save or don’t save buttons, swaying slightly as her mind envisioned the
scenes she had just produced. Reluctantly she clicked save and leaned back in
her chair. She had written off and on since middle school but never had a story
been birthed onto a page like this one. Usually, she took notes, plotted,
planned, developed characters, and outlined chapters before writing them.
Pursing her lips, she frowned slightly. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that
was why she never finished anything.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She heard a sigh behind her, over by the
bed. She jerked around. The bedroom was empty but the covers were slightly
disturbed as if someone had sat on the neatly made bed. Reality blurred
momentarily and she was clinging to her mother, begging her to stop. Shaking
her head, she chastened herself. Old houses make noises she reminded herself.
Something clawed inside her, a lingering sense of something amiss, but she had
no idea what it was. She thought again of her mother. October, the month of her
father’s death had always been hard for her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She started down the hall to the stairs,
realizing the sealed-up room was in the same location as the room in the book
she was writing. She looked at it. Surely her subconscious had created the door
in a parallel spot. She wondered about the little room behind the wall. Was it
pink? Laughing at herself she moved down the stairs and outside to the front
porch. Abby sat in the large rocking chair slowly rocking back and forth. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late that night a little girl stood at the
foot of Abby’s bed. She didn’t know whether Abby was friend or foe, not having
much experience in her short six years. She liked Abby’s blond hair strewn
across the pillow. It was like hers. The little girl walked over to the desk,
running her hand over the closed laptop wondering what it was. She touched the
stack of paper beside it. Everything was different now. Abby was the first
person to live in the house for a very long time. The last owner had died
suddenly and the estate was tied up for years before finally, it had been free
to sell. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Biting her bottom lip, the girl returned
to the foot of the bed to watch Abby sleep. The girl was named Emily a long
time ago by a mother who snuggled her. Emily remembered the loving arms that
held her until she disappeared. She wanted to wake Abby up. She wanted to crawl
into bed with her and cuddle against her back. But then she thought about the
realtor that she had spoken to. The woman had screamed, charging from the house,
never to return. No, she couldn’t risk it. She was tired of being alone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning Abby climbed the stairs
balancing her coffee in one hand and a muffin in the other. The downstairs
boxes were still waiting but she wanted to get into the habit of writing every
morning first thing. Sitting down she opened the laptop and then the document
she had started earlier, the story of the girl in the pink bedroom. She felt a
chill course through her. The girl needed a name but so far as she typed none
had popped into her mind. It was a twisted tale of perversion and evil. She had
no doubt it would sell well in today’s world. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>“The man emptied the toilet bucket
while keeping a close eye on the girl. He didn’t know why she sobbed every time
she saw him. The room was a lovely shade of pink, the bed covered in soft
linens with lace edges. She had books and toys and puzzles. Not a television
though. A television made noise and although visitors hardly ever came here, he
couldn’t risk it. He ran his meaty hand over the little girl’s blonde hair
murmuring to her but she pulled back into the pillow, her eyes wide. A surge of
red-hot rage played inside him and he wanted to start a lesson. He enjoyed the
lessons although he was sure the girl did not. He didn’t have time now though.
He looked at the walled-up door. Clever he thought, I am so clever.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Abby stopped typing. It was obvious now
that the hidden room was influencing the story but it didn’t matter. The story
unfolded in a way that felt so real it took her breath away. She gasped,
pulling in a lungful of air and looking at the screen in front of her. She once
again had the urge to delete the whole thing. It was awful. Oh, not the writing.
That was pretty brilliant. It was full of emotions in ways she had never
written before. But the story itself, the subject of depravity made her stomach
twist. The sheer ugliness of it created an urge for a shower to wash the filth
away. But again, after hesitating briefly she chose to save the document. She
closed the laptop.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She stared down at the desk. The story felt
alive, pulsating with energy. She didn’t like it. No, she decided she didn’t
like it at all. It scratched at her mind. It flipped her sideways and forced her
to see the underbelly of something evil and hideous. She knew such things
existed but this painted the horrors so vividly that her heart ached. A single
tear rolled down her cheek. The story seemed eerily important. It demanded to
be told. It was a tale that someone needed to bear witness to. She tried to
swallow but the lump in her throat made it impossible. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A hand stroked her long blonde hair and
her heart lurched. It was a soft gentle movement but goosebumps raced up her
arms. The air around her warmed slightly, a tenderness pressed against her. She
sat perfectly still but it didn’t happen again. She shook her head. Surely, she
had imagined it. Something about this story was digging into her, shredding her
nerve endings and making her jumpy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She thought of the words she had typed,
shivering. She had hovered the cursor over the save pop-up. A part of her
wanted to erase this story. It was hauntingly awful. But in the end, she had
finally pushed save and closed the laptop. Down the hallway, she heard a
giggle. She froze in place then raced out of the room. Her heart thumped so
loud it echoed in her ears as she searched every closet and room upstairs. Each
one was empty. Her breath ragged with worry she collapsed onto the floor
sobbing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Worry crept into her. She still remembered
her mother’s cries of fear as she swatted at invisible things. The lines of her
mother’s face had been etched in confusion making her look like a different
person. When Abby tried to wrap her arms around her mother, she had pulled away
unable to tell Abby apart from the hideous things her mind had birthed. Abby
was vulnerable, sobbing on the floor. She knew deep inside that this wasn’t the
same thing as her mother. Or perhaps it was and she was only fooling herself. Would
the descent continue until she wandered the house alone, screaming in madness? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stop it she told herself. This is
different. Now she asked herself if it wasn’t the madness then what might it be?
Behind her, the shadow of a little girl bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to do
this. The woman was terrified. Abby grabbed her jacket and rushed out of the
house. She needed to get away from the suffocating air inside the house. Her
heart lightened as she walked along a weedy path to the small pond in the
distance. Alone in the house, the little girl felt a surge of anger. She didn’t
want the woman to leave. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time Abby returned home, she had
rationalized away the oddities. The book she was writing had her mind
overcharged and sometimes imagination can overpower one’s sense. This was her
new home; one she had paid plenty for even if it was a bargain in the current
market. The house was silent now, the air unmoving and stifling. It was a sunny
fall day and sweat beaded up on the back of Abby’s neck. She busied herself
hanging up clothes. The little girl was hiding. She was both angry and happy.
The feelings competed with each other. She shivered while wondering which one
would win the struggle. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A thought nagged at Abby, leading her to some
questions. Who had lived here before her and what had happened to them? She
carried the laptop downstairs and sunk into the soft cushions of the sofa. She
googled the address. A few hits popped up but nothing unusual. Ghosts meant
death she thought. Trying several combinations of words, she finally pulled up
two newspaper articles about the house that involved deaths. One was almost fifty
years ago, an older woman in her eighties had slipped and fallen down the
stairs, dying immediately. The other, more recently but still several years
ago, was a man, 55, who died in a fiery car crash. Grimacing she imagined the
body, trapped in the burning car. Two deaths probably didn’t mean anything.
Besides she was sure the spirit, if there was one, was much younger, a girl. No
matter how much she searched she couldn’t find a reference to a girl living
here. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The days fell into a predictable pattern.
Every morning she would make coffee and retreat to the bedroom upstairs to
write. The words flowed as a creepy story unfolded. She certainly hadn’t
planned to write a psychological thriller but here it was. Suddenly she tilted
her head, considering. Was it more like horror? She wasn’t a fan of the dark
genre. Yet she couldn’t have stopped writing any more than she could stop
breathing. The story like a balloon filled too tightly with air burst out of
her and onto the page. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day the little girl grew more
impatient. She wanted the woman to understand. She needed her to pay attention.
This was important. She had felt lost for so long and now she wanted to be
found. She wanted to be found so badly that the longing tasted like the dredges
of a bitter pill in her mouth. The feeling reminded her of the last day. The
day or had it been night? Time had blurred and without a window, there was no
way to tell. She remembered sinking into the bed with her mouth so dry the tiny
cracks on her tongue felt brittle. She wasn’t going to be left again. This new
purpose spurred her on. She had to do something drastic or the woman, growing
weary of the place, might leave. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A crash sounded down the hallway and Abby
jumped up. Her heart racing, she hurried out of the room. Down the hallway,
disappearing around the corner she caught a glimpse of pink. Cautiously she
crept down each step, watching the bottom of the stairs closely. She was
halfway down when it happened. A small hand pushed hard into her back and she
lost her footing, tumbling down. Landing with a loud thud, she groaned. She
rubbed her head and looked up the steps. No one was there yet she thought she
heard a whispered I’m sorry. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She felt the strangest thing, a
disturbance in the air and she jerked around to look behind her. The air
shimmered with fluid energy. Coldness moved through her. Not around her but
actually through her. Her mind crashed into foggy disbelief. This house, a kaleidoscope
of memories, breathed like a living creature. Inhaling and exhaling, a life
force gasping to survive. Suddenly the home she had imagined shifts until it is
devoid of warmth or comfort. Flashes of someone else’s memories mingle with her
own. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby sits there for a very long time on
the floor at the bottom of the staircase crying. Words spill out laced with
panic. Her voice pitches higher. “What do you want?” she screams into a void.
No voice answers her. The house is silent but Abby thinks she hears it sigh. A
calmness settles over the house, a peace. A comforting embrace wraps itself
around her and her fear evaporates. She snuggles into it and stays that way for
several minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally collecting herself, she makes a
new mug of coffee and the caffeine rushes through the fog in her mind. The
silence is deafening, so complete that she can hear the slightest sound, the
branches of a tree scratching a window, the whisper of the coffee maker as it
settles, the drip of water from the leaky faucet. The memory of the fall down
the stairs made her swallow. The taste was sour and bitter, and the coffee
choked her. Her dry throat was blocked as if something was lodged there. She poured
the coffee down the drain. Filling a glass with tap water she managed several
small sips that soothe her parched throat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had no doubt now. She’s completely
convinced. There is a ghost. Where did it come from? What does it want? Abby
considers for a moment whether she is losing her mind. After all her mother
had. What is true? First, the novel flowed effortlessly from her fingertips and
onto the white screen of the laptop. The book was full of pain and fear much
like a madman might write. The beautiful pink room, a stage on which scenes of
depravity and horror unfold, was it real? The soft shades of pink make a
mockery of the events in the story. Second, the giggling that she heard on more
than one occasion. Was it real or only buried deep inside her mind? Drifting
through the house, the laughter was like an invitation to a game of hide and
seek. Teasing her. The pats and the cold air were harmless, she supposed. But
now the push stands in stark contrast to the lighthearted laughter. It was not
playful. Yet she senses the desperation in it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her mind flashed to the memories. At the
end of the fall, they had pushed at her, weaving together with her own, tipping
her into a dark void. She had fought against them as they threatened to
overpower her, to consume her until she is gone. The strong emotions, the
agony, the loneliness, heartwrenching sorrow, all of it, dancing through her
faster and faster like a waltz of evil. Now she believes it is real. With a
certainty born of anguish, she knows it. Yet she is paralyzed. What can she do?
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wanted to go upstairs and delete the
awful story immediately but she can’t move. What is the story’s purpose? Each
time after writing when she closed the document, she felt a squirming inside
her, the overpowering desire to erase the words, to hit the button and remove
the document from her computer. Yet every time she saved it. The words of the
story, testimony to evil, might play a key role in something. But what? It’s a
story she doesn’t like, one filled with a desperate need to be heard. A shiver
crept through her and she can’t shake a growing sense of unease. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What am I going to do?” she said, her
words unusually loud in the silence of the house. No one responded but then she
hadn’t expected an answer. She stopped, considering her options. She could find
a way to live peacefully with the spirit in the house or she could move.
Selling the house would require finding the perfect buyer. Frowning some tiny
thought scratched at her, something she had read or heard. Was there a third
option? A way to get rid of the spirit? She fiddled with her empty mug, running
fingers around the rim. Feeling a surge of energy, she goes back upstairs to
get her laptop. She held tightly to the railing this time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Opening the laptop she searched for
ghosts, hauntings, getting rid of a spirit, all sorts of combinations. She felt
foolish but she delved into every article, searching for clues. Her eyes grew
grainy from reading. She thought about the “type” of ghost and frowned in
puzzlement. She can’t be sure. Abby jotted notes in the little notebook beside
her. Although the push down the stairs had been frightening and painful, Abby
wasn’t convinced she was dealing with an evil spirit. Her fingers itched on the
keyboard. A powerful desire to work on her novel consumed her and her stomach
churned from the idea. Bile rose in her throat but she pushed it down, sipping
the glass of lemonade sitting near her. Without conscious thought, she found
herself typing away with no memory of opening the document.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>The man hasn’t visited the room in days
and the small pitcher of water is empty. The little girl’s stomach rumbles with
hunger. Through her fear, she goes to the shelf of toys. Somehow the man opens
and shuts the shelf every time he enters or exits. The girl has watched him.
Curious every time. It is the only way in or out. Her head is spinning but she
manages to climb up on the small stool and push the toys aside. She runs her
fingers along the edge of the shelf. She pushes hard on the back panel. Nothing
happens. She lets the stuffed animals fall to the floor and taps the wood along
the side of the shelf. This is something the man does. She breathes in slowly,
concentrating, trying to remember the pattern of taps the man uses. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tap, tap, pause, tap, tap, tap in rapid
succession. Nothing. She tries again and again. On the seventh attempt, the
sidewall moves slightly, springing open a crack. She wedges her fingernail into
the tiny crack and pulls. The small door opens revealing a keypad. She starts
to cry. Her stomach growls from hunger. She tries some combinations. She hasn’t
a clue how many numbers are in the code and she finally gets down. Sobbing, she
walks to the bed, past the stench of the bucket used as a toilet, and crawls
under the soft pink blanket. She is weak and thirsty. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby took a sip of lemonade and her
stomach gurgled. Leaping up she ran to the bathroom and heaved into the toilet.
A tiny hand patted her shoulder and she doesn’t even bother to turn. Silent
tears trail down Abby’s cheeks. After several minutes she stood, walked into
the foyer, and looked into the box next to the door. There was a crowbar there.
She picked it up. Upstairs she stood in front of the absent door. Her mouth was
so dry she can’t manage to swallow. She punched at the wall but the plaster was
hard and barely dents. A sound down the hallway caught her attention, a soft
subtle noise like a child sighing. Pausing she turned in that direction and
tilted her head listening. The sound came again like a whisper. It was near the
door of the large walk-in closet. The closet in the hallway was still empty,
dark, and dusty. She hasn’t yet added linens and towels to the little room. She
opened the door and peered inside. A blast of frigid air blew out of the
closet, the air misty with the chill. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby stepped inside and looked closer at
the shelves that line the wall next to the boarded-up room. She tapped the
drywall behind the shelves and listened. A hollow sound echoed back at her. The
wooden shelves are perched on brackets and she pulled one down. She tapped the
wall. Taking a route, first high and then low, she worked methodically.
Nothing. Just as she was about to give up, she tapped in the top left corner
and a small panel opened. Inside was a keypad. Gasping, she dropped to the
floor, huddling there, frightened by the find. Her fingers trembled. She must stifle
the urge to run. Just as the thought of running crossed her mind, the door
slammed shut, leaving her in darkness. A cry escaped her dry mouth and she
pushed at the base of the door. It doesn’t budge. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowing her breathing, she rattled the
doorknob. On the other side, she heard a giggle. Trapped in the darkness Abby
struggled to calm herself. Her heart beat frantically against her rib cage. She
wanted to scream but there was no one to hear. She grabbed the doorknob again
and pulled hard. The door refused to budge. Think, think, Abby told herself. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t know the combination. I can’t get
in this way,” she said out loud. Her words were raspy with fear. “Please, let
me out. I need to break down the wall.” Her throat ached with anxiety.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door opened, a brisk fluid movement,
creating a rush of warmer air from the hallway. Abby shivered and stepped out.
To her right at the top of the stairs, a young girl of about six watched her.
The girl was thin and her body hazy, almost transparent but not quite. She
wavered in the air. Her eyes met Abby’s gaze with a strange mixture of
emotions. Then she vanished. So, there you are, Abby thought. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby picked up the crowbar and pounded the
absent door. The force shook the walls and echoed throughout the house. Over
and over again she hit the drywall inside the door frame. After she made a
small hole, she could see the interior of the wall, the exposed two by fours. She
worked on the drywall on the other side of them. The walls of the hidden room were
easier to break through, the drywall cracked and crumbling. When the first
small hole appeared on the other side, she placed her eye against it and peered
inside. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chimney blocked the view somewhat but
she saw dusty cobwebs lining the corners of the pink room. In the right-hand
corner was a small white bed, piled high with pink blankets and lacy pillows. A
tiny table sat in the opposite corner near the floor-to-ceiling shelves.
Cobwebs coat the dolls and stuffed animals lining the shelves. About a dozen
are scattered on the floor near the shelves. Board games, covered in a thick
layer of dust, are piled in a heap on the floor. As the dust wafted out of the
hole, Abby rubbed the grit of it from her eyes. Biting her bottom lip, she
looked behind her. The girl is nowhere to be seen. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In about twenty minutes the hole is big
enough. Abby slithered through it. Inside the room, the air was stale and
dusty. Her nose was stuffy from the dust and Abby breathed through her mouth.
The taste, dry and musty, makes her stomach roil. Stifling the urge to vomit,
Abby felt a small hand take hold of hers and tug her toward the bed. She looked
down but saw nothing. Tentatively she walked forward, stopping at the bed. The
blankets were filthy with dust, piled high. Her fingers trembled as she reached
for them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gently pulling them away she took a quick
step back. On the bed were the skeletal remains of a child curled in a fetal
position. The musty scent of death still lingered, captured there by the
blankets, it wafted up into Abby’s face. Dusty and pungent. She pushed her fist
against her mouth in horror. The air in the room grew colder and strange energy
pulsated around her. There were some stands of blonde hair nestled on the
pillow and reaching out her finger Abby touched them. Even covered in dust the
hair was silky smooth, soft in the way only a small child’s hair can be. She
stroked it tenderly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After she crawled back outside the room,
she phoned the police and waited on the porch. She caught the first glimpse of
the flashing lights almost a mile up the road. They swirled in bright red
against the trees. Abby was numb, filled with a sadness that words couldn’t
describe. Her hands still smeared with dirt, rested on her knees as she watched
the cars turn into her driveway. The officers burst out of them. She wanted to
cry but she found her eyes oddly dry. She stood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This way,” she said and she led the
officers up the stairs and through the absent door that wasn’t absent anymore. Once
inside the officers removed their caps and stood silently beside the small bed.
The sight of the remains stunned them into reverent silence. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you think?” the taller man spoke
first. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It has to be….” the other one responded.
“I’ll call the chief.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby went back downstairs to wait for the
next arrivals leaving the men standing guard over a child they couldn’t save.
One needing no protection in her current state. The house was awash in activity
over the next few hours. The driveway was crowded with cars. People lined the
road straining to see what was going on. Some stood outside their cars,
whispering, and talking. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is it the Jackson girl?” one of them
called to Abby when she wandered out onto the large porch to escape the
suffocating house. The house was holding its breath and she could feel a
burning sensation from its efforts. Her dark eyes pooled with tears. It was
indeed the Jackson girl. She had pieced together small bits of conversation
from the detectives inside. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl, Emily, had disappeared a few
years ago. The search for her was frustrating and futile. The man who owned the
house kept her captive for almost a year before perishing in a fiery car
accident only a mile from here. Locked in the room and unable to escape little
Emily had died. Biting her bottom lip Abby sunk into a chair in the corner of
the living room. She felt again the tiny pat on her shoulder but it no longer
frightened her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took almost a week for the forensic
team to finish with the room behind the absent door. Silently they carried out
everything contained within it. The little bed, the dusty blankets, the
untouched games, and the unread books were ushered from the house by solemn
strong men who suddenly looked vulnerable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three more days passed before a man
arrived to repair the damage. Abby was rocking on the front porch when he pulled
into the driveway. He started to unload the new drywall. Abby swallowed hard. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, I’m afraid there has been a mistake,”
she called to him. “I want a door.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
man stared at her, his face rugged and lined with deep wrinkles. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Lady, you can’t use the room with that
big chimney in the middle of it.” His eyes, birdlike watched her suspiciously. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m not going to use it but I want a
door. A door that can be opened and shut properly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shaking his head and muttering to himself
the man climbed into his truck and leaving a trail of dust behind him he went
to get the new materials. Abby stood guard on the porch waiting for his return.
He was back soon enough with a brand-new white door which he carried upstairs.
His eyes widened when he saw the room. It was freshly painted pink and white.
There was a new bed in the corner with pastel blankets in every color
imaginable. A large white unicorn sat right in the middle of the bed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You can’t use the room, fire code,” the
man said. Abby looked at him from underneath her eyelashes. She felt a small
hand grasp hers. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I won’t be using it but I wanted it to
look nice,” she offered by way of explanation. The man shrugged his shoulders
and set to work installing the white door. The air in the hallway was chilly
and goosebumps raced up his arms as he worked. His back itched as if invisible
eyes were watching his efforts, critiquing him. He worked quickly, wanting to
be out of the house. Rumors had been circulating and he knew exactly what had
happened here. It didn’t take him long to finish. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gathered his tools and left, looking
back at the woman on the porch as he drove away. “Nutty,” he muttered. He swore
he saw a flash of pink, a small girl perhaps, moving on the other side of the
large window behind her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later that night Abby climbed the stairs
and stopped at the new door. She put her hand flat against the pristine surface,
pausing for just a moment before opening it. She flung it wide open and the
door bounced against the wall. “Go to sleep,” she said into the dark room and
she thought she heard the slight squeak of bedsprings as if someone had turned
over in the new bed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In her bedroom, she stopped at the desk
and opened her laptop. Locating the novel, she opened the document. Her fingers
lingered above the keyboard. It was brilliant. A novel full of graphic
descriptors, filled with terror and strong emotions. The emotions were so
powerful that they brought tears, overwhelming grief, and a deep sense of loss.
She hesitated for only a second before clicking the x in the corner and when
the save screen popped up Abby tapped “don’t save”. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lightness inside her wrapped her in
peaceful comfort. She brushed her teeth and crawled into bed. The night shifted
about inside the house and as she slept the sound of small feet pattering down
the hallway drifted in the air. Emily stood beside the bed. The woman was
silly. She didn’t have to sleep now that she was a ghost. She patted Abby’s arm
and then pulled the blanket up around the woman to keep the chill off. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599748231901576699.post-12323942520561154222021-10-04T08:14:00.002-06:002021-10-04T08:14:33.710-06:00I Shall Find You<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21ota1PgjUx5Is6V8LkYx4cZZzvRPUlnZVHRL8duHSUFAzCyeU9PFdopMO2JARoM5qEePFw-Vo7fFrWzqBqEBRwPiIgAidcNsb7V6EQX8AJsuTnycCNse6wX-4EqQtfy4Pe-wiJyX0utR/s1280/blue+flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21ota1PgjUx5Is6V8LkYx4cZZzvRPUlnZVHRL8duHSUFAzCyeU9PFdopMO2JARoM5qEePFw-Vo7fFrWzqBqEBRwPiIgAidcNsb7V6EQX8AJsuTnycCNse6wX-4EqQtfy4Pe-wiJyX0utR/s320/blue+flowers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Words said, left
unsaid.<br />
<span class="textexposedshow">Time passes,</span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">Sharp pain fades, love remains. </span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">Then I shall find you.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I shall find you in
the dawn, sun-streaked sky<br />
Bright, brave new beginnings<br />
In the first flowers of spring, colors of beauty.<br />
Reaching upward, secure in the warmth of the sun<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I shall find you in
the books I read.<br />
Word and deed, small phrases that catch,<br />
Untangle memories of conversations.<br />
Characters, strong, yet strangely gentle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I shall find you in
the rain.<br />
Soft, sweet nourishment of earth<br />
Blustery, howling winds of winter<br />
Whispering, cooling breeze of summer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I shall find you in
the birds, soaring<br />
Not caged, daring, brave and free.<br />
Anticipating breathtaking escapades <br />
Adventures, real and imagined.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I shall find you in
a snuggly puppy<br />
Warm, soft, trusting<br />
Unconditional love<br />
Comfort<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I shall find you in
the music I play.<br />
My heart will dance, delighted.<br />
Reminded that wherever you may be,<br />
The dance goes on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I shall find you in
the dusk of evening,<br />
Day fades into night<br />
Earth cloaked in darkness,<br />
Still and waiting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">And I shall find you
in eternity<br />
Our souls will sing<br />
Rejoicing<br />
The circle complete.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 108.75pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Gingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338824525339714588noreply@blogger.com0