Incinerate

Chapter 19 - Rain, Part 1

Gray clouds, thick like a winter blanket, creep along the bright afternoon sky. With them comes a cooler breeze, bringing goosebumps to my skin. The sun cannot outrun the dour invaders, and soon her warm radiance struggles to peek through the bleak coverage. In the distance, between magnificent yet brief flashes of electric jolts, the gods' laughter rumbles over the hills and fields.

The tall blades of glass dance in the wind, their waving to and fro giving a light tickle to my ankles. Miniscule droplets tease the oncoming downpour. Rising to my feet, my head narrowly misses a low-hanging branch from the lone tree sitting atop the hill. I look up into the farther branches, finding the white cloth of her flowing robes curled up against the trunk. She looks so at peace there, a tome clutched in her hands as her violet eyes drink in the tale within the pages. Her deep red hair cascades over the white. I almost don't want to disturb her, but the storm cares not for whoever may get caught up in it.

"It's starting to rain," I beckon. "We should head home."

"Just five more minutes," she pleads, not taking her eyes off the book. "This part is too fascinating for me to stop."

"I don't think we have much time left for you to finish," I urge. "We need to go."

"Hold on! The star-crossed princesses are about to confess their feelings for each other for the first time!"

A bolt of lightning blinds us as it strikes nearby.

"Sweet Mother!" she yells as she leaps from the tree, her gray wings expanding wide and carrying her through the air.

My own whites propel me upward and meet her there. Together we make our way back toward the city. The towers have lost all their color, now only charcoal monoliths in the distance. We race to them regardless, the thunder shouting louder and more frequent. Soon, the raindrops fall in larger tears and the lightning puts on a bright flashing display. The lights bouncing here and there all around confuse me, and I lose sight of the towers. I can't tell which way I'm going until it's too late. Far above me, I hear her frightful voice call my name. But my own voice is lost in the cacophony. My body slams into the sodden yet hard earth, sending a searing agony through my veins and out my pores. The sky does not relent as I lay paralyzed.

In the frenzy of it all, through the din of jovial deities and a panicked lover, footsteps in the growing mud approach. With every soft squish, another pained breath escapes my aching lungs. I wonder, as more and more rain splashes against my upturned face, if it's actually the sound of my heart slowly giving up. (Is this how it feels to die? I think so.) A figure looms into my vision then. Illuminated by the brief flashes, its picture comes together: big, shaped like me, and a mane of hair. His sharp gaze cuts what little remains of me, and his rough fingers take a harsh hold of my muddy robes. I can't feel my limbs as he hoists me to eye level; I simply float in his grasp. Vitriolic murderous intent shines in his glare, and his hands find my throat with the might of a hungry, squeezing serpent.

My pillow is wet as I jolt awake, nearly jumping out of my bed. Rain pounds hard against the glass of my window, joined by the noisy heavens and Zeus's weaponry. I look up to the ceiling, expecting a leak but finding nothing. Sweat covers my skin, so I kick off the sheet and blanket. It takes a moment, but my racing heart slows in time. On the bedside table, I expect to see red digital numbers telling me the time, but my alarm clock's face is blank. A large shape sits past the short table; Cujo stares intently out the window at the storm, his paws on the windowsill.

"It's just a thunderstorm, buddy," I tell him with a soft voice. "It's okay. Go back to bed."

Yet he refuses to move. His ears perk up, his tail hangs low, and his big goofy tongue retreats back into his mouth as it shuts. With slow movements, I step out of bed. During most storms like this, Cujo prefers to hide somewhere or cuddle up with either Mom or me until it passes. Seeing him like this, in Watchful Protector Mode, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He doesn't break his gaze as I stand behind him.

"What do you see?" I whisper in the dark.

"Someone's here."

Outside, amidst the rain and wind and lightning, it's hard to see much of anything. The moon waits behind the huge crying clouds, its light barred from shining upon the town. The streetlights stand dead. The rave-like frequency of lightning is all that gives me a chance at seeing to whom Cujo refers.

"Where?" I ask after a few flashes show no interlopers.

"Trees."

My eyes dart there in time for another crash of lightning. At first, nothing seems out of the ordinary. The branches and leaves shake with every gust, empty and occasionally losing the weaker limbs. Those in the neighbors' yards hold no stalkers, as far as I can tell. When it comes to the tree in our own yard, though, I spot it. A black mass lingers near the trunk. Its details are hidden within its shadows, but it seems to crouch in its spot. It's hard to tell which way it faces, but that tick of fear and paranoia tells me what I don't want to be true. Though the demon doesn't show its eyes (if it even has any), it watches me. Its cold, insidious voice from our riverside encounter rings in my head again, and I don't know if it's my memory being cruel or if the figure projects it into my thoughts.

"Hello again, child," it coos through a nasty smile.

Thunder roars louder than ever before. It drowns out Cujo's threatening bark. In less than a second, the demon moves from the tree trunk and smacks against my window, its blood-chilling laughter cutting directly into my gray matter. I fall back and collapse upon Ole Petunia, shielding my eyes from whatever horrors the figure wants to show me.

My alarm clock flashes twelve o'clock. There's too much grogginess in my head, too much heavy fog. It pulls me into my pillow, my mattress, and tells me to fall back asleep. The sound of the storm outside fades back in as my ears awaken, though the tempest has calmed from its thrashing fury. Despite my body's urges otherwise, I reach out and grab my phone. Seven AM. With a groan, I swing my feet over the side of the bed and get up. I pause by the window, checking the tree in the yard. Images from my nightmare are still fresh in my mind, but there's nothing amongst the leaves and branches. I breathe easy, relax back into reality, and get started on my morning routine. I'll have to remember to ask Elliot about local cryptid stories and urban legends at some point.