make it home if she ran, but could she run? Would they chase her? She didn't know. And the front door always stuck. She always thought as a private joke that it was the movie mistake, but here was the movie situation happening all around her.
“I noticed you, girl. I noticed you - you're fine,” said the one she had looked at, a white boy with dirty blond hair. “I could feel you, baby. Blocks away, yo hotness called to me.”
The other boys chuckled. “Thought he was crazy,” said one of them.
“Wanna go ride the tornado?” asked the first boy of her, grinning, and she feared he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.
They closed in around her, and it seemed the mists were closing in around them, too, heightening the unreal element of the whole situation. It felt like a dream, like a fantasy, as if it didn't exist. It wasn't happening, not to her. Please, not to her!
They were reaching out to her, and it was like there were more than four – dozens of assailants, all reaching out to her - she couldn't face them all.
Then a shadow fell across her eyes, fell across the boys. Just a shadow that flicked past, nothing more, but when the shadow flicked past the face of one of the thugs, that boy's face snapped to the side as if he had been struck, complete with the meaty sound of impact.
The sound was so far away, delayed, as if she was watching the events from a great distance. The shadow flickered rapidly over the boys around her, striking them, pushing them aside, scattering them, sending them fleeing into the mists except for one which was battered down to the ground as the others ran, fled, were gone, into the mist, past the concrete corners of buildings, down the street, even their voices disappearing as they fled the shadow that was now also gone.
No, another shadow came from the mists, except this one was man-sized and it wasn't flitting, it was walking, walking out of the mists and resolving into that young Native American man, the one that had been following her, and now she recognized that he had also been the one at the supermarket, the one that had seemed so confused, as if he had recognized her.
He looked at her, eyebrows lifting. “Huh,” he said in surprise, “I would have thought it was you, not him.” She didn't understand a word he was saying. The words were English, but they didn't make any sense, put together.
He leaned over the groaning boy, the one she had focused on, the blond-haired boy she imagined had made the ground shake with each step. The man shook his head and picked up something from next to the boy, looking at it. “Huh,” he said, again. “Earth.”
What was he talking about?
“Well, I guess that's that,” he said. He reached out his hand, and shadows came from the darkness to flit around him like they had flit around the boys, but instead of attacking they settled into his palm, formed into a overly large knife.
“Ah,” said Tracy, finally understanding. “I'm asleep.” She knew she was asleep - this didn't happen awake - but still she was terrified, terrified of what had almost happened, terrified of a man with a knife of solid shadow. A thrill, despite the terror, moved deep inside her, and the mists reached out for the coalescing shadows and scattered them, tearing them apart, tossing them away.
The Native American man looked at her in shock. “You are!” he exclaimed in amazement.
There was a weight on her wrist, a light weight, but unfamiliar, and when she looked it was a charm bracelet, gleaming silver in the light filtering through the mists, with a single round charm hanging from it. She had no idea where it had come from.
“Let me see that!” he exclaimed, reaching forward for her wrist. She reacted without thinking, her muscles moving before her brain even realized what was happening. She grabbed his elbow, grabbed his hand, the hand that had a dagger of shadow in it just moments ago, and gave it a twist
“I noticed you, girl. I noticed you - you're fine,” said the one she had looked at, a white boy with dirty blond hair. “I could feel you, baby. Blocks away, yo hotness called to me.”
The other boys chuckled. “Thought he was crazy,” said one of them.
“Wanna go ride the tornado?” asked the first boy of her, grinning, and she feared he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.
They closed in around her, and it seemed the mists were closing in around them, too, heightening the unreal element of the whole situation. It felt like a dream, like a fantasy, as if it didn't exist. It wasn't happening, not to her. Please, not to her!
They were reaching out to her, and it was like there were more than four – dozens of assailants, all reaching out to her - she couldn't face them all.
Then a shadow fell across her eyes, fell across the boys. Just a shadow that flicked past, nothing more, but when the shadow flicked past the face of one of the thugs, that boy's face snapped to the side as if he had been struck, complete with the meaty sound of impact.
The sound was so far away, delayed, as if she was watching the events from a great distance. The shadow flickered rapidly over the boys around her, striking them, pushing them aside, scattering them, sending them fleeing into the mists except for one which was battered down to the ground as the others ran, fled, were gone, into the mist, past the concrete corners of buildings, down the street, even their voices disappearing as they fled the shadow that was now also gone.
No, another shadow came from the mists, except this one was man-sized and it wasn't flitting, it was walking, walking out of the mists and resolving into that young Native American man, the one that had been following her, and now she recognized that he had also been the one at the supermarket, the one that had seemed so confused, as if he had recognized her.
He looked at her, eyebrows lifting. “Huh,” he said in surprise, “I would have thought it was you, not him.” She didn't understand a word he was saying. The words were English, but they didn't make any sense, put together.
He leaned over the groaning boy, the one she had focused on, the blond-haired boy she imagined had made the ground shake with each step. The man shook his head and picked up something from next to the boy, looking at it. “Huh,” he said, again. “Earth.”
What was he talking about?
“Well, I guess that's that,” he said. He reached out his hand, and shadows came from the darkness to flit around him like they had flit around the boys, but instead of attacking they settled into his palm, formed into a overly large knife.
“Ah,” said Tracy, finally understanding. “I'm asleep.” She knew she was asleep - this didn't happen awake - but still she was terrified, terrified of what had almost happened, terrified of a man with a knife of solid shadow. A thrill, despite the terror, moved deep inside her, and the mists reached out for the coalescing shadows and scattered them, tearing them apart, tossing them away.
The Native American man looked at her in shock. “You are!” he exclaimed in amazement.
There was a weight on her wrist, a light weight, but unfamiliar, and when she looked it was a charm bracelet, gleaming silver in the light filtering through the mists, with a single round charm hanging from it. She had no idea where it had come from.
“Let me see that!” he exclaimed, reaching forward for her wrist. She reacted without thinking, her muscles moving before her brain even realized what was happening. She grabbed his elbow, grabbed his hand, the hand that had a dagger of shadow in it just moments ago, and gave it a twist
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