Erick Ian Gael
Chapter 2: Birds and Books
Chapter 2 - Birds and Books
I head out the door.
The urge to tear open this bag is becoming torturous. I need to distract myself before I regret what I do next. As soon as the door shuts my fingers start working the ties loose. I have no control. Bag is open, I shove my hand in when I see funny looking marks on the post holding up the outside stairs. They look like they've been there for a long time, worn and faint. They run the entire length of the post. Something about the way the lines flow looks familiar. They draw me in, tempting me to touch them. As my finger comes in contact with them, I become dizzy and my vision blurs and everything goes black.
Did I pass out?
A door opens in the floor and a cloaked man enters and bows down, keeping his face hidden.
"He has made it this far Mi Liege" says the cloaked man with a low tone voice.
Around him is just more darkness. Is he talking to himself? Who is he bowing too? Then a loud hissing sound, as if air is being released, screams out. I want to cover my ears, but it quiets down.
"Is he the one?" a voice whispers. By the way it echoes throughout the room, it sounds like the cloaked servant is surrounded.
The hooded figure shifts with an uncomfort from each word, but keeps his head low.
"I-I don't know. His power is still maturing Mi Liege"
"DEFIANCE!" the voice booms.
The entire room shakes. The cloaked man cowers even further.
Then, I see it, all the darkness moves to one side, as if to pace, giving me a clear glimpse of the room. There are no windows, just burning torches and the single trap door coming in. The darkness shifts back, blending back into the shadows. This dark presence feels heavy, almost suffocating. The hissing whisper speaks again.
"He must never reach that point. The book speaks to him. He must never find the book. Am I understood?!" The words echo throughout the small room.
"Yes Mi Liege."
"Leave me!"
The obedient servant opens the trap door and disappears out of sight, his dark purple cloak trailing behind him. Just as the door shuts, I get the feeling of being the center of attention; as if I'm being watched. The darkness shifts again and in front of me are the red eyes from my dream, staring right at me. The hissing grows louder, calling out my name.
"Scotterick."
"Scotterick."
"SCOTTERICK FINDLAY!"
My hand drops off the post, my eyes readjust their focus, this time on my dad. He's standing in front of me, looking rather impatient.
"Wh...what?" I stutter.
"Are you okay? I've been yelling your name for the last several minutes," he says, his eyes looking worried, "where did you go?"
The hissing still trails in my ears.
"Scotty?!" my dad says, shaking me again.
"Huh?...Uh...nowhere" I finally spit out.
I didn't know what else to say; I don't think he'd understand or believe what had just happened. Talk about extreme daydreaming, this is the first time I've had that happen to me. I look over to see my dad walking away, shaking his head. Every day he must think I'm going crazy, not that I haven't given him any reason to think so.
What is happening? Am I going crazy?
Those red eyes; I'm body shaking. What would I call what I just experienced? A daymare? I remember where I saw those markings before. In my dream, those were the same markings being written; the same marking which installed fear once they touched my fingers. And those eyes, also from my dream. I need to get back inside.
Wait...what am I supposed to be doing? Oh yeah, taking the garbage out.
* * *
I start walking, and then stop. I have no clue where I'm taking the trash.
"Dad!" I yell out.
I startle him. He loses his footing and a book falls out of the top of the box to the gravel below. He looks up at me and I see the strain on his face. I'm guessing that box is filled with all mom's books.
"Um...sorry...where are the garbage cans?" I ask.
He grunts and shoots me a look, his eyes saying, "Really?!", then he nods his head towards a building off to the side. Before I can ask him anymore questions, he walks into the house. I walk over to pick up the book that fell. It's an autobiography by Abraham Lincoln. I remember my mom reading this. She's into those boring, life story type books. I could care less about them. She has tons of them: Albert Einstein, Charlie Chaplin, William Shakespeare, Martin Luther King Jr., Theodore Roosevelt, and even John Lennon. I set it upside-down on the back of the trailer. I am about to walk away when I see on the back of the book, there are small paragraphs and a few quotes from Abraham Lincoln. My jaw drops. I pick the book back up and read:
If given the truth, they can be depended upon to meet any crisis
I must being having a bad case of deja vu. I remember those words, they are from my dream. I flip through the pages and the book opens up to a folded piece of old newspaper. I move it out of the way to find that quote again. It is, in writing, right below a picture of our tall, 16th President. The photograph has him sitting down in a carved chair. Standing next to him is a boy, dressed in a similar outfit as the President. He couldn't be much older than 9 or 10 years old, and by the matching outfits, I'm guessing that's the President's son. The boy is staring down at a book open in the President's lap, as if he is reading it to the boy. The President is getting ready to turn the page, and I notice something odd sticking out of the book, it looks like a book mark. On it is a symbol, but it’s too small to make out what it is. As I stare harder at the picture, I notice something else unusual. Something is just barely peeking out of the boy's jacket pocket. Again, I would need something to enlarge it, but it looks like a pocket watch with some sort of engraving on it. I put the newspaper back and close the book; I'll just hold onto this and read more later. I continue on with my trash expedition when I look in the direction where my dad had nodded.
I could only gulp.
As if straight from a horror movie, I'm staring at a run-down building. The setting sun behind it, just adds to its creepiness, along with the grey tone of the boards, dried out, waiting to catch fire. Spots of yellow are sporadic, and provide the only signs that the two buildings are related. There is a side door facing me. It has no handle, just a lock.
What is up with this place and their doors...or lack of doors for that matter?
Around this handle-less door are a massive amount of scratches. I'd say made from some animal trying to get in, but with the persona of this building, it could have been made by something trying to get out. I walk around to try and see the rest of this disaster. In front are windows, which are either cracked or have been replaced by wood. They seem to be the top part of a normal slide up garage door; except, again, no handle, no latch, just boarded up windows.
Why hasn't this catastrophe been demolished?
Surrounding the garage are four extremely tall trees. They don't look any better; lacking any color to show proof they are alive, as if stuck in a constant state of winter. Each one producing empty branches that extend out over the roof - or what is left of it, interweaving with each other to create a thick wooden web. Just for good measure, , perched motionless on one of the leafless branches, is a rather big single crow. The sight of it would make Edgar Allen Poe smile with appreciation. All it is doing is staring. The white of its eyes are making me feel uncomfortable. I'm so wishing I wasn't here right now.
I weigh my options. I could ditch the bag, scream really loud, and race back inside. Or, I could...okay I don't really have another option, so I did just that. I throw the bag in the general direction of the garbage cans and practice my extreme speed walking back towards the house. Using the red door, I dart inside and into my room. I hear my parents back upstairs. I stop, it sounds like they're whispuing again. Best I stay down here, it sounds like it's about me again. As I eavesdrop, I look over. Part of the wall came open again. I rush over to close it, before my parents decide to come down. But it sounds like they are going to be awhile, so maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a peek behind the panel. I let it loose and the wall shoots open until it hits the box I sat down there earlier. I move it and swing the wall all the way open. I peek in. All I can see is darkness. I consider myself a brave person, but entering a pitch black room is my weakness. Well, that and scary looking garages...okay I have more weaknesses than I can count. I wish I had a light, and I reach into my pocket. Oh yeah. The unicorn light I found. I click the horn. Amazingly, it lights up the room pretty well.
From what I can see, it looks like it was once a small storage room. There are a few stray pieces of bubble wrap and old crumpled up pieces of paper, with the occasional packing peanut thrown in. They became restless when I opened up the panel. Sort of a letdown, to find a secret room and have it be vacant. I shine the light farther in. Maybe it's not as small as I figured. It looks like the room continues on. I walk in, closing the door behind me. The last thing I need is my mom and dad seeing this hole in the wall. The farther I go, the smaller the room seems to get. I'm about to freak out and call it quits, due to a slight case of claustrophobia, when I finally reach the end.
Another wall...and another disappointment.
I guess I can only wish to find something extremely cool, like lost treasure, or some cryptic message.
Oh well.
I found this room, and it could come in handy for a quick escape when my parents "not fight". I can still hear them out there, so I decide to sit down and read about Mr. Lincoln. As I open up the book it turns back to the newspaper folded inside. It's a lighter color and the print looks really faded, and the paper feels thin. I open it up carefully. I'm a bit surprised to see that it is a piece of newspaper, but the top says current events and articles are on slavery and the civil war. Seems a bit out-dated. I get ready to put it away, when I see his name. Abraham Lincoln. Not only are they in big bold letters, but they are the only two words I'm able to read in a small article just off to the corner of the page. The rest of it is either smudged or gone from age, in other words, a mess. Seems a bit more coincidental to have that book fall before me and now this.
I don't know why, but I remember the markings on the post. I rub my fingers across his name. A sense of dizziness comes over me and everything fades to black. Before I know it I'm seeing the President sitting across from me, in a fancy old chair, with a tall round back and a velvet cushion. Behind him, I notice a small octagon window. He doesn't look real, but more like footage from an old film. Yet still, it looks like I could just reach right out and touch him. I'm tempted. I move my hand out and I notice I'm wearing a suit. I look down into my lap and see a pad of paper and a pencil. I look back up and the President is looking at me with his kind, yet stern face.
I get it.
I'm the reporter interviewing him for the newspaper I picked up. That explains why I'm feeling so nervous. I pick up my pencil and get ready to ask my first question, when I see just behind his chair a staff. It has a crystal sphere on top, and hanging off it is a sign reading "Storage". Then something else catches my eye, looks like a dragonfly,flies from behind the staff and over to a book resting in the President's lap. The dragonfly then vanishes. Not sure what to day I just point to it, and the President only smiles a mischievous grin. He doesn't pick it up, nor does he acknowledge it's there, he just allows his hands to lay on top of it, tapping his fingers. I've seen that book before. It was the same book in that photograph from the biography. The one on his lap. The one he was reading to his son. Sticking out of it is the same book marker with the symbol on it. I can see it clearly. That pit in my stomach is back. I recognize the symbol now. It's the one from my dream. The first thing drawn on that blank piece of paper. The circle with an 'A' and upside down 'U' being separated by a diagonal line. The President reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pocket watch, the same one his son had in the picture. I see the same symbol on it. Call me crazy, but I'm really thinking I should know that symbol; and that book means something; or at least holds some answers. I decide to go for it and lunge to grab it.
Just as I my hand touches the book, the President, the book, everything, grows fuzzy and I fall to the ground. The unicorn light slips out of my hand and I'm engulfed in the dark. I feel around, trying to keep myself calm and not to panic; like I usually do when faced with this much darkness. Finally, I find the unicorn, but wait, what's this? There is something next to it.
It's another book.
No way.
Could it be?
I pick it up, placing it on top of the other, and shine the light on it. The cover is, well, covered with a massive amount of dirt. I try to wipe it off. Small pink and purple flowers begin to show themselves. Not exactly what I figured it would have. I try to open it, but the cover doesn't budge. I look to the side and latching it shut is a rusted lock. A flower cover, a latch and lock, I'm guessing this isn't the book from my dream; or from the President's lap. It looks more like a diary than a book used by a President. I pull on the lock and to my surprise it crumbles and falls off. The first page contains a name in petite, curvy handwriting:
Allison M.
I'm assuming the author. I flip through the pages and notice that there are no years noted, just months and days. I scan the pages some more, like I do in school, looking for words that either catch my eye, or remember hearing or seeing somewhere else. I wonder. I touch the words on the paper and I get dizzy and everything fades to black again. My eyes become blurry, then suddenly I can see a woman's hand. Wait, it's my hand, no, it can't be. I don't have manicured nails or smooth skin like that. It has to be Allison's, I...er...she starts to write:
7-22
We just moved in today and finally have everything put away. This is exactly the change we needed. Getting away from the pressure of city life, my work in genetics research and Agro's work as an inventor, and get back to the simpler things in life. Remember it's about family. I'm going to try and keep this journal so I can eventually give it to the kids one day to remind them why we moved here. The kids didn't like the initial move, but they seem to be warming up to all it. Zavier actually said he likes his new room, although he hasn't done anything with it yet. Zoee, so, has already decorated her room as much as she can, pink and purple of course. I here Agro calling me, be right back...He was wondering where the key to the garage was. He said there were lots of crows out there. I remember when Agro and I first visited here, I don't remember there being any. In the city you are lucky to see even a single bird, let alone a mass gathering of black ones. Uh-oh, it sounds like my natives are hungry, best go to the store and get some food.
Okay back, finally calmed the wild beasts I call my husband and our kids. It's amazing with what a homemade meal can do. Now I can write in peace. I had a wonderful visit in town today. It just makes me appreciate our decision to move here that much more. I did convince Zavier and Zoee to go with me, to get them out of the house. We met some really nice people. There was Mr. Saint, the owner of the bookstore. He is a nice young man and so full of life, and is really good with words. He reminds me so much of Zavier, which is probably the reason why Zavier and him hit it off so well. It wasn't long before the two of them started talking about a book club. Zavier even suggested that Zoee be part of it too. I don't think I have ever heard Zavier invite Zoee to do anything. It warms a mother's heart. Oh, I can't forget about the nice couple that own the grocery store too. Mr. and Mrs. Alder, the cutest couple I have ever had the opportunity to meet. Mr. Alder had some wonderful stories from around the world, when he was in the service. Mrs. Alder had some pretty cool magic tricks up her sleeve and wasn't shy showing them to the kids. She was so good, I almost started believing she was really magical, the stuff she could do with rocks. She had this one toy. It looked like a small little viking, with wings. Cute, but so life-like. Not sure how she did it, but he was flying all over the store and would disappear and reappear. Zavier and Zoee were glued to their counter, which gave me a chance to shop in peace. I did notice that Mr. Alder had a wonderfully decorated ring on his finger. I asked him where he got that and he told me it was an old family heirloom. I've never seen anything like it and I swear the more I stared at it the more I started seeing letters appear. Mrs. Alder did seem to have some quirks, but she was still nice. When we got home I thought I saw someone standing on our deck. I asked Agro if it was him, but he said he's been working on setting up my lab in the garage since we've been gone.
I lift up my fingers and the vision is gone. That is just so intense, I could feel her happiness when she talked about Mr. Saint and Zavier connecting. I felt her laughter when she talked about Mr. and Mrs. Alder. It is just like if I had actually experienced them myself. I wonder what else she's written. I flip through the pages and stop at another entry. I touch it. My...I mean her hand reappears and it's now wearing a brown form fitted glove. I see snowflakes hitting the pages and evaporating. She starts writing:
12-28
First snowfall of the year. Oh so beautiful, it reminds me of a winter wonderland, and I get to enjoy it with my wonderful husband and kids. I don't know where I'd be without them, especially Agro. It's also nice to have something like this to remind me there is more to life then just research and work. Although, I'm really starting to miss it. Anyways something strange happened, recently I've thought I've seen some random people around our house. Some where wearing reddish garments, others blue, green and even grey. I told Agro and he says he seen them too, but every time he goes out to confront them, they are already gone. It's probably just our imagination. Although, I started seeing them when I started on researching some samples I found right down the road. Something about where we live, it seems different, like it has a secret that I need to discover. I did ask about the cloaked people around town, but everyone seems to play it off like they have no clue. I don't know. To be careful, I did tell the kids to keep closer to the house, just in case. Speaking of around town, the book club with Mr. Rule seemed like it was going pretty well, that was until just a few days ago. Zavier suddenly stopped going. I asked him why, but he doesn't say anything and only gets mad that I asked. I asked Zoee and she says she doesn't really know why he stopped going, just that Mr. Saint and Zavier started arguing over some book. My mom intuition is saying there is something more going on, but I don't want to push too much. I'll talk to Agro about it and see what he says. Oh...it sounds like I'm being called out for a snowball fight. I'll write more later.
Okay, now I know something is going on with Zavier. He used to love a good snowball fight, but instead he disappeared for an hour or so. When we finally found him he was irritable. Maybe he's going through the change all teenage boys go through. I've tried talking to him about it, but he gets mad again and barges off. Agro said he's tried talking to him, but still no answers. Instead he throws nasty temper tantrums, breaking stuff, and disappears again. I've even seen stuff around him either break, or fall down. So far, Zoee seems to be the only one that can get him to calm down enough, but there is still a hatred growing in his eyes. I can see it. I really worry about him, I might see if we can get him to an counselour.
I remove my touch. That calling this Allison got for a snowball fight, was an actual snowball. I felt the coldness as it hit me...I mean her. And what is up with Zavier? I can tell Allison is really worried about him. I wonder if they work it out, but there has to be hundreds of entries in here. It would take me forever just go through each one, I'll try somewhere in the middle. Her hand reappears, looking much older:
2-14,
Happy Valentines' Day. Well not so much. I feel like Agro and I are drifting apart. We are fighting more and more. I hate to say it, but I think it has to do with what is going on with Zavier. Agro's words say that he doesn't know what is going on, but his actions speak different. Almost like not only does he know, but he is indeed actually frightened of him. Tonight I thought the two of us would have a chance to talk about it, but instead we spent the night looking for Zavier. He's not being himself at all anymore. Zoee seems to be the only person to get through to him. I asked her where he went, but she wouldn't say. He finally came home the next morning. Agro was so mad, especially on the stress it caused me. They started arguing. This is the worse one yet, I tried to stop them, but Zavier kept going on about another world with Crafters and a book. Agro was refusing to listen to him. The two of them trying to talk over the other. Zavier's face became bright red and his hand was spasming, then he throws his hand towards Agro yelling something at him, then the wall right behind Agro exploded leaving a fist size hole. The room fell silent as we all stared.
I jerk, my fingers slipping off the words. I can feel my heart racing in fear. This Zavier kid is not someone I want to run into...ever. I want to find out what happened between Agro and Zavier. I notice the dates in entries are months apart. The words look shakey, I hesitantly touch them:
4-10
I saw something no mother wants to ever see, or should see. I went to the store only for a short bit and by the time I got home I heard Agro and Zavier fighting once again. Zoee raced out and met me at the car. She said it had just started, I told her to get the groceries as I tried to stop them, but it turned into an actual fist fight. The two of them came tumbling out the door. No matter how much or how loud I screamed, they weren't hearing me. Then Zavier's face went red again, like it did before and he screamed those words again and threw his hand at Agro. A burst of purple light shot from Zavier's hand and hit Agro square in the chest, sending him flying off the deck. Agro didn't wake up, we had to call 911. I looked at Zavier and his eyes were pure white and his face showed no expression, like he was in a trance. When he came back and saw what he had done, he took off. The doctors said Agro has some internal complications, and they put him into a medically induced coma. I wish I knew what Zavier did, I know I could fix Agro...make him better. I hope Agro wakes up soon, I need you my love.
Tears are rolling down my face. Allison's feelings for Agro are extremely intense, like nothing else matters intense. A bit overwhelming. I have to feel bad for Zavier though. I couldn't imagine losing my dad or being the reason why I lose him. I decide to flip to the end of the book. There is no date:
We had a funeral for Agro today. Those doctors didn't know what they were doing, I know I could have made him better. I'm empty. I feel nothing. Zavier came home and told me everything.
The vision is gone. Whoa. That was scary. I don't know what Zavier told her, but what she felt is what I'm guessing has to be evil. My finger slips off the horn of my unicorn light and I sit there in the blackened passageway. I think I hear something. I tuck the LED into my pocket and head out, before my parents realize I'm gone. It's probably best I don't show my parents this. I tuck in the back of my pants and throw my shirt over it.
I open the door and peek around the corner. The coast is clear, they are still upstairs. As I'm shutting the panel again and getting ready to hurry back to my bedroom, my dad calls me.
"Scotty!"
I hear the stairs creak and I spin around to see him halfway down the steps. I felt my cheeks starting to get warm. I tuck my hands behind me to hide the diary.
"What where you just doing?" he asks.
Quickly thinking I say the first thing that pops into my mind, "Nothing dad...I thought I saw an ant over there...sooooo...I was trying to kill it...and..."
"Ants?!" His eyes widen as he looks around. He gets close to me and whispers, "Do not tell your mother! She'll have all the boxes repacked and back in the truck. We have spent waaaay too much time unloading for that to happen." He quickly glances around his feet for any evidence to my white lie.
He then remembers, "Wait. I came down to tell you I found that garbage where you left it."
Oops. I forgot all about that.
"Guess what you get to go do now?" he says with a sarcastic smile.
I know he's not expecting me to answer that. He hands over a flashlight and I make my way back to the door.
* * *
It isn't completely dark yet, but the night is setting in fast. I've always enjoyed the colors of a setting sun, provides a quick and sudden calm. Although, so it could be seen as the calm before a storm. Even though, as strange as it sounds, I can't help but think its not rising at the same time. I know it's weird. I'm easily distracted as an orchestra of crickets, frogs, owls and other nightly creatures are warming up for their symphony. The darker it gets, the louder the noises become. Then I get a chill. Realizing its going to be utterly and completely dark, and the flashlight my dad gave me doesn't look too dependable, I'd best finish the job quickly. It's not too hard to see where I dumped the bag. The yellow drawstring sticks out like a homing beacon.
Stupid garbage bag.
I turn on the flashlight and shine it over towards the creepy garage. Yup, still looks terrifying. The light flickers on and off. I knew that was going to happen. Why did my dad think it was a good idea to put the cans over there? I know I'll be yelled at if I go back in now without tossing this bag away. My dad will check. I just need to do it. I'll just sprint over, dump the bag, and race back in. Yeah, that's exactly what I'll do. I think I'm a fast runner, so nothing will get me. Besides, my dad says whatever is out there is bound to be scared of me. I start warming up, jogging in place, and working up the courage to do it. I should have just thrown it away earlier. No need to dwell on that now. I inch a bit closer to the garbage cans. Okay it’s now or never. A twig snaps.
I feel a surge up my arm, coming from the bracelet. I let out a loud CAW! Okay, didn't expect that.
I clear my throat and ask, "Whose there?"
No answer. I look towards the ground. My eyes adjust, I notice my surroundings grow a bit more brighter, more visible. I turn off the flashlight. Under my foot lies a broken stick.
"It’s just me, Scotty, king freak" I answered my own question.
I glance back towards the house, seeing if I'm putting on a comedy show for my parents. Nobody at the window. With everything in better view, I relax. I pick up the bag and stomp towards the garage.
I hear another snap. I quickly look down. That one is NOT me.
I hear what seems like thousands of flapping wings coming from just past the plastic garbage containers.
CAW!
That sounded much closer than the garage, like right-behind-me close. That is the push I need. Trash cans in sight, I take off in a dead sprint toward them. Soon bird calls come echoing. The closer I get, the louder they become. They sound like they are coming from everywhere. I try to keep my focus on the cans.
I'm not going to look. I'm not going to look. I'm not going to look.
I look.
Stupid. Black flying shapes with pure white eyes circle the sky. I stop. Partially in terror and partially in pure curiosity. There are hundreds of trash eating crows. As if being commanded, they perch themselves on the roof of the garage, on branches, of nearby trees, and even on the ground.
You got to be kidding me. Seriously?!
I watch them, just waiting for a sudden slasher movie attack. I'm going to have to protect myself. In one hand, I have the garbage bag. Okay, that's not going to work. I look for something with a little more substance to it. A stick. I need to grab a stick. It's probably best I don't make any sudden movements. Their beaks look razor sharp, ready to chow down on my flesh and bones. I slowly start checking the ground, while keeping my eye on the swarm. My hand finds a nice big one. I grip it tight and get ready to lift it when the crow’s caws start sounding like words. All them, saying the same word over and over.
"Twift! Twift! Twift! Twift!"
This is just to freaky, I pull up on the branch. Wait. The branch is not budging. I turn around.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," says a boy standing on it.
Instinct says let the branch go and swing the trash bag frantically and run away screaming. Reality is, I just scream. I think I've created a new high pitch note, or it's time to feed on me, either way the birds stir around and take flight.
The boy releases the stick and covers his ears.
"Stop that!" he demands.
"What?" I ask, between screams.
"Stop screaming!" the boys says in pain.
I quiet down. Standing there in front of me, is the creepiest boy in the history of creepy boys. He's a bit taller than me. I'd say about a couple inches or so. From head to toe, he's covered in black. I'm not just talking about his clothing, or his black combat boots either. He's literally wearing black make-up. Black eyeliner, black finger nails polish, even his lips are black.
"Who...who are you?" I ask, my voice cracking from all the screaming.
The boy bends down to get closer. I catch a glimpse of a black spike collar around his neck. The crows begin landing, one by one, close by. He holds up his hand. His wrist also carryies a smaller version of his collar. This is it. I protect my face.
In a last ditch effort to save myself I blurt out, "I come in peace!"
It becomes eerily silent. I peek. The boy is still there...and he's smiling. I drop my arms and watch him closely. After what feels like forever, the boy finally speaks.
"Well good, me too. I just came to get my charm back."
I stare blankly, totally confused.
"So you're not going to kill me?" I ask wearily.
He shakes his head, "Don't plan on it. I'm Twift."
His hand is still out-stretched, waiting.
"Um...hi?" I reach out and shake it. With his hand in mine I notice underneath his spiked wristband black feathers being shed off. I let go and step back. He looks down.
"Yeah, how embarrassing. That's why I need my charm back."
"Charm?" I ask.
"The one the man picked up outside your window. It fell off when you threw that small gold plastic statue at me."
I blush, "That was you?!"
"Yes. I didn't mean to scare you. I was just curious on who was moving in. Sorry." He says. With each blink, his eyes fade between normal and all white.
"I should apologize to you" I say, "sorry about the trophy."
Then as if watching a sci-fi movie, his nose extends into a beak, then retreats back to his nose. He quickly grabs it.
"Can I please have my charm back?" he begs with a sinus muffle.
I look at him confused.
"Do you mean this?" I say holding out my wrist. My stomach lets out a roar. I'm hungry again. I shake my head to try and get rid of the thought.
"That's it!" He excitedly blurts out. He sees me grab my stomach, "Hunger pains?"
I nod.
"Yeah, I forgot that Typicals...or Crafters tend to...temporarily gain some of our Shifter traits when wearing our charm. You get used to it."
I pull it off and give it back to him quickly. The growls from my stomach silence and my thoughts of food stop.
"Wait. Typicals? Crafters? Shifter?!" I ask, just realizing what he had just said.
"Yeah, that’s what I am, a Shifter" he says giving me a confused look, "This charm allows me to control and maintain my ability."
"Ability?" I ask.
He shakes his head, gives me a wink and latches his charm around his ankle. He spreads his arms open and right before my eyes, feathers start covering them. Then they extend downward into wings. Soon, his body, clothes and all, are also covered in black feathers. His legs and feet shrink into claws, one of them still carrying the charm. His eyes white over, his nose shoots outward into a beak. His spikey black hair slicks back and feathers pop in place. All this happens fast and before long a giant crow is standing in front of me. . He flies off and the other crows join him. He dive bombs me, with his feathered posse right behind. I dive to the side. He circles the garage and lands right in front of me. His claws shift back into leathered boots. His eyes fade back to brown and his beak shrinks back into his nose. He finishes shifting back into his boy form and stands in a pile of feathers.
I know my jaw is dropped, I feel a bit of drool drip down. That had to be the weirdest and coolest thing I have ever seen. He walks up to me shaking off some rogue feathers.
"Um...that was...different. How did you do that?!" I ask, circling him, like I'm looking for a magic button.
He just shrugs his shoulders, "Don't know, always could."
"Could I have done that...that is if I wore your bracelet longer?" I ask, now poking at his arms.
He let's out a laugh, "Stop, that tickles" he says swatting my hand away, "I don't think so. Since Crafters can will the elements, I think they can only just get some of the traits, not all them."
I look at him, "Crafters?"
"Yeah, my mom said you have the bios of a Crafter." He then quickly looks away, like he just said something he shouldn't have, "here let me help you with this." He quickly walks over and grabs my garbage bag. He throws it up into the air and the swarm of birds circle it. Twift takes a running start, shifts back into crow form and joins the rest. If he wasn't so much bigger than the others, I would have lost him in the bunch. The white of the bag slowly blackens out, until a few small pieces are floating to the ground. Then the swarm flies off and disappears into the night. Twift lands close to me again and shifts back.
"Crows love throw-aways." Twift says licking his lips. He notices my look of disgust, "What? We do!"
Suddenly he, just like a true bird, jerks his head back and forth. His ears perk up. Then his face grows stern.
"Scotty, you need to go" he says looking around.
"What? Why?" I ask, trying to follow his glances, "wait, how did you know my name?"
"You said it earlier," he says, still looking around as if he's looking for someone. Shallow caws escape his throat, his fingers twitching, his legs uneasy, he definitely looks nervous, "when you broke that first twig, but there is no time for me to explain...trust me, you need to go back inside."
He grabs my arm and starts pulling me towards the house, "Please go." With that he shifts, and flies off. I can still hear his caw echoing, until finally they are gone.
That was odd. Something seemed to spook him. I wonder if I'll see him again. I head back to the house and am about to open the red door when...
Scotterick Findlay
A voice whispers. Maybe Twift came back. Sounds like it is coming back from the garage.
Scotterick Findlay
I hear it again. I walk out by our van to listen for it again. A fine black mist, floating close to the ground, seeps over me. It surrounds my feet, then before I can react, it wraps around my body, like a boa constrictor, squeezing me tight. As it releases, I gasp for air, breathing the mist in.
Next thing I know I'm picturing my mom, but she's younger. She's walking out of a house I don't recognize. For some reason I have this feeling I haven't seen her in a long time. I watch as she kneels down and is waiting for me to run over to her.
I do.
I have to.
She wraps her arms around me tightly. Then she passes me to another lady, an older lady. Her face has no features, purely blank. She is wearing a lab coat with a name tag, but like her face, it is blank. As soon as she has her arms around me she squeezes tighter. I close my eyes, about to pass out. Then her grasp grows even tighter. It’s starting to hurt. I open my eyes and my mom, and the other lady, are gone. I'm surrounded by that cold, evil purplish-black cloud. I can' breathe. I'm on the verge of passing out again. The mist starts dragging me past the garage, toward a group of trees. Like quicksand, the more I fight, the tighter the squeeze. As everything around me starts to fade and I'm about to black out, the wall of the garage begins to glow.
Then I feel my symptoms coming on and I couldn't be happier. My eye twitches. My throat dries out, leaving me with cotton mouth. A loud ringing fills my ears. The sides of my head ache, as if being pricked by a million needles. My stomach is twisting and turning until the pain shoots a coldness throughout my entire body. I'm about to throw a fit. I open my eyes and everything is white. I let out a scream with the last bit of air I have left in my lungs and I feel the release. The hold on me lets go. I'm completely drained and as my eyes slowly start to close, I watch the mist evaporate.