The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1-30 You're DEAD!

June 6, 12:10 pm

Watching the children in the playground, Richard finally felt his racing mind calm. He'd never had much patience for children, who had seemed mostly to be a source of noise and chaos in a life that he liked to keep neat and orderly. But now, he found some warmth in their laughter and frenetic activity.

Among almost two dozen others, there were a pair of what looked like twin boys on a teeter-totter, laughing as they tried to launch each other higher and higher into the air. A little girl with a doll was stacking blocks by herself under the tricky bars, and two boys were wrestling over a toy truck in the sandbox. But perhaps it was because the little girl on the swing was so silent and still amongst all that activity, that Richard's gaze kept being drawn back to her. Unlike the other handful of kids on the swings, she was almost motionless. She just sat there watching the two boys with their toy truck.

As Richard and the little girl both watched, one boy wrestled the toy truck from the other, and they ran screaming and chasing each other around the swings, before settling back into plowing pathways in the sand. The girl watched them with a strange expression.

Something about the little girl seemed odd to Richard. Was it the pinched and almost angry look on her face? Or was it just the anachronism of the old-fashioned dress that she wore? It truly looked like a relic from a museum. It was not only ankle length but also had long sleeves, all the way to her wrists. There was lace at the collar, with a pattern of red woven into it.

Richard squinted.

No, that isn't a pattern. That looks like a spray of blood—as if she'd had a nose bleed earlier in the day. How strange that her parents didn't change her dress before sending her out to play...

Based on the dress, she was likely the child of a fundamentalist couple, but even that seemed odd. Fundamentalist parents would seldom send their little girl out to play with other children in the park. Richard scanned the parents, looking to see a mother with a similar long, plain dress, or a man in a rough cotton tunic, but could see none.

The little girl watched the boys with the truck digging together in the sandbox. She watched them with that same sad expression, but now tinged with what looked like anger or disgust.

That little girl... What is it about her? Why can't I take my eyes off her?

Suddenly, she looked up. And for a moment Richard thought perhaps she actually saw him. But no, it was only her eyes roaming the park, as if she was searching for something, or someone, that she'd lost. And as her eyes roved the playground, she leaned back in the seat, and swung her legs.

At first Richard wasn't sure what he was seeing, but then it hit him. The girl was leaning forward and back in the rubber seat, the way children do to start swinging. She was using her arms and legs the way he remembered from his own childhood. It was an action that was as natural as breathing, and one that was built into the body memory of any child who had ever sat in a swing.

But after four attempts, the girl stopped leaning back. She stopped pumping her legs.

Because the swing hadn't moved. Not an inch. It didn't respond to her in the slightest, and neither did it move as she pushed herself free of the seat and hopped to the ground. The chain of the swing might just as well have been welded into a single link. The seat might just as well have been made of iron, not rubber.

For a moment the girl turned her back to Richard and stared into the trees to the north of the playground. When she turned back, Richard thought he saw a smile on her face. He tore his eyes from her for a moment, hoping to see what she had focused on in the trees. But that part of the park was in deep shadow, and he could see nothing there that would have drawn her attention.