It’s difficult to remember what happened next, I

remember my father’s grief stricken face as he

looked down at me. His tears fell like slow raindrops

on my forehead, while his screams came at me

muffled and inaudible. I remember being picked up,

and as I faced the sun I felt the heat and saw the

orange and red through my eyelids. As I peered

through the slits I opened in my eyes, I saw the most

beautiful sunset I can ever recall. The heat of the

day left a haze in the air that helped shade the sun’s

brilliance as it retired to its home for the evening.

There was a hot wind blowing through the valley,

causing the grass and tree tops to move as if they

were waves upon the sea. As we got further away, I

saw the crater the beast had left, and for a fraction

of a second, I heard my mother’s screams all over

again. Whether from the fever that was taking hold

of me, or my mind closing in on itself, I couldn’t keep

my stomach settled. I retched all over my father’s

back, but I think he was either too panicked or

hurried that he didn’t care. I began to shiver, and

the last thing I remember was my father yelling

“Michael stay with me, don’t do this to me Michael!

You’ll be fine, just stay with me!” After that, the

darkness took me and held me for a long while.

I dreamt during that time, strange dreams that

were jumbled together and difficult for a mind of my

age to make heads or tails of. I saw the eyes of the

beast peering at me in the dark, all the while I heard

the wails of the sick and dying. I saw flames dance

as a man would while onlookers slowly caught fire. I

felt my mother’s touch as fleeting as a gust of air,

there for a second but when I turned around, all I

had left was her smell. I heard voices yelling, and

shouts being raised as one. These things and more

I saw while I traveled through the darkened lands. It

terrified me to the point where I let my bladder go

and I still shudder when I think back to that time.

How long I was under I could not say nor was I told.

What I do know is that when I came to, I was laying

in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. I peered

around, taking in my surroundings. The walls had a

flowery pattern to them with multiple colors mixed in,

light blues and yellows were paired with flowers

while oranges and pinks bloomed in alternating

patterns. They trailed up and down the walls making

intricate designs that pulled the eye here and there.

The furniture was an oak with a heavy reflective

gloss put on it, no matter where you moved your

head you would always see a reflection of light. A

white knitted pattern hung half way over the top

while candles sat on it to keep it from falling. The

windows had only curtains on them, but they were

white flowery things as well which did very little to

keep the light out.

I could see out the window that I was on the

second floor, and that trees surrounded the house I

was in as very little of the sky could be seen. I

moved my eyes down to the comforter that had been

draped over me. Another flowered pattern of pinks,

greens and whites made it look like a rose garden

was covering me. As I lay there, it became more hot

and stifling and the urge to use the bathroom welled

up inside of me like some angry animal. I slid the

comforter off and moved my legs to the side of the

bed. As I looked down, the raspberry red carpet

was full and thick. My feet touched the floor and my

legs began to shake. I placed my hand on the oak

nightstand, the same floral fabric covering was over

most of the top of the nightstand. It was slippery

and when my hand went out from under me, my

head almost crashed into the old bronze lamp they

had set beside the bed. My first steps were shaky. I

wasn’t for sure how long I had been asleep, but my

legs felt like they were rubber. Every step was

unsure, while I used the wall as a brace to help

steady my walk. As I approached the white door, I

saw the paint had been worn and had begun to chip

away in the corners. The doorknob jiggled in my

hand, and the door slowly creaked open.

Thinking back to then it was a very old house, the

floorboards groaned and squeaked with every step I

took. I finally made my way out into the hallway

where the scenery changed. The hallway itself was

of medium length, and at the end, there were blue

curtains that framed a window which overlooked the

yard. Even from where I was, you could see out into

the yard quite a bit. There was a barn, standing tall

with its deep red finish and white trim that outlined

the whole building. A willow tree was just outside of

the window and it’s leaves would cast shadows that

would dance around the walls and the floor. The

carpet was lush and muffled the sounds of my

footfalls as I searched for a room to relieve myself in.

After checking the other three rooms on my floor, I

finally found the bathroom at the end of the hall.

After that release of a large amount of bladder

tension, I flushed and went to wash my hands. I

paused when I saw myself in the mirror, it was

probably at that time that I first encountered the

“pull.” How can I explain the first time it happened?

Whimsical, elegant, flitting in and out of my senses

like a dancer performing on opening night. A better

example would be, when you hear the opening of a

musical piece the first few notes and it catches you

in its grasp and the need to hear more or it will leave

you empty and longing inside. The pull, at least

from my experience, is our innate ability to sense the

elements around us. The Greeks had an inkling of

it, the elements of life that is. They believed that

four basic elements comprised everything. Those

being fire, earth, wind and water. Sadly, they had

only a rudimentary understanding of what it was that

binds everything together. Those elements exist of

course but there is so much more, and to be the first

one to experience the pull at that time moved me

immensely.

I remember looking in the mirror and feeling the

pull for the first time and it brought tears of joy to my

eyes. I was confused, being as young as I was I

couldn’t for the life of me understand why I was

crying, looking back however I understand that I was

beginning to grasp the intricacies of magic. I

brushed away my tears, rubbed the back of my

sleeve against my nose and made my way down the

hall back toward the room I awoke in. Just past it

were stairs leading to the ground floor and I started

to make my way down. I reached about the fifth

step when I heard raised voices coming from

downstairs. One of them was shouting, which I

quickly identified as my father’s voice. “I know damn

well what I saw! Don’t tell me that...that I imagined

that thing that killed my wife! You were close, you

heard it. You probably saw the damn thing

yourself!” An older man’s voice responded, “That

may well be true, but I wouldn’t go tellin’ people that

I saw some giant bird snake die and come back to

life only to kill my wife in the process. Think about it

son, people all over will ask about yer sanity and

that may lead to questions of a diffren’ sort if you git

mah drift.” It was deep and had an echoing quality

to it, that somehow reached down inside of you and

shook around. An older woman spoke as well, “You

bess listen to him, folks already talkin round these

parts what with you bein an outsider an all. You

start talkin bout that creature and you’ll be hauled up

to county leavin’ your son behind faster than you can

blink.” She had a tenor voice that went throughout

the house but fell oddly flat and rarely cast an echo.

She continued, “Hush nah, no mo tahlk o’ this I

heard a rustlin’ upstairs I’m sure tha boy will be

coming down soon.” I was found out, I had no

choice but to go down the rest of the way. I entered

the kitchen, it looked to be from about 20 years ago.

Coverings on the walls depicted roosters and

baskets of eggs all along a backdrop of a mild tan

bordered by dark brown. Cupboards that were a

light blue added a splash of color to the room with

the plain white walls being backdrops for them. The

elderly were seated around the table while my father

was obviously pacing around shortly before. He

looked at me, and tears welled in his eyes.

“Michael? Oh god Michael you’re alright!” He ran

toward me, picked me up off of the third step and

spun me around the kitchen. “I was so worried

about you, you’ve been asleep for days! Are you

alright? That thing didn’t touch you did it?” He

examined every part of me while he asked that. He

lifted up my shirt, looked at my arms, the bottoms of

my feet, my legs, anything that might show him

where I was infected by the creature. The old lady

looked at me, “You chalrigh’ boy?” She was

covered up in a pink shawl, had gray hair with a

bluish tint with eyes the color of charcoal. She

stared at me over pink rimmed glasses waiting for an

answer. I looked at her, and shook my head. “No

ma’am, that thing didn’t touch me.” The older man

stared at me up and down to make sure I wasn’t

going to pass out at any minute. My father looked at

the two of them, “Thank you for your hospitality but I

think we’re going to have to leave.” He turned

around and opened the door, grabbed me by the

hand and started to lead me outside. “You

remembah wha we tol ya now, you keep tha all to

yahself o’ there be trouble.” The old woman said as

we left their place. As we walked toward the car, I

looked out along the horizon. The sky was crystal

blue with clouds as pure white as the cotton balls my

mother used to use. There was a spot on the

horizon that looked as if the sky had a line drawn

down a section of it, and that area was then dropped

as if it were an offset shelf. “Dad?” I asked, my

voice sounded scratchy to my ears. I pointed toward

the direction of the rip in the sky, my arm shaking

barely holding my hand up. “What’s that?” He

turned his head up, stared for a few moments.

“That’s where we had to leave your mom.” He

lowered his head for a moment, shuddered as he

held back a sob. “Son, I’m going to have to ask you

to do something very hard...do you think you can do

this for me?” I looked up into my father’s eyes, I

nodded unaware of what I was agreeing to at the

time but trusting my father as only a child can trust.

“Do you remember what happened?” He asked me.

I retold all I remembered, it was more difficult

recounting it for the first time and so soon after it had

happened. “Now son, I need you to promise me

something. I need you to promise...promise that you

will never talk about what happened there to

anyone. We will figure out what to say about your

mom, and why she isn’t coming home with us. Can

you do that for me?” I thought about it, while my dad

stared at me. “Please son, I really need you to do

this for me.” I looked to the sky, and back at him

“Okay, I promise.” He took my hand and we finished

walking toward the car. He buckled me into the

back seat, “If you’re hungry we’ll stop later when we

get into town okay?” He closed the door and walked

around the back. I heard him put a hand on the roof

of the car, sob “Bonnie, he’s alive, but you’re

gone...oh God what am I going to do?” He took

longer getting back into the car than he normally did.

When he did, he looked back at me, his eyes had a

red ring around them. “You okay bud?” I could see

the tears gathering in his eyes. “I’m fine dad.” I

reassured him as I put a smile on my face. He

nodded, “You’re strong, like your mom was.” He

turned around, and started the car. The engine

roared to life and then settled down into a low

rumble as he turned the car around and drove down

the little dirt road away from the farm. Trees lined up

like a fence on one side of us, the breeze blowing

that day made it look like they were waving goodbye

to us as we left that quiet little farmstead out in the

middle of nowhere.

Next Chapter: Chapter Three