Authors: Richie Tankersley Cusick
Something ran in front us.
With a moan, Lucy struggled to shut out the pain, struggled to focus her hazy thoughts.
Byron tried to swerve, he tried to miss hitting it, but something ran in front of us …
She wished she could remember. She wished she could remember what it was that had caused the accident. But there was only the briefest glimmer of memory in that last fatal second, only the briefest image of something caught in headlights as the car veered and left the road.
What
was
that?
It seemed so familiar somehow …
But her thoughts were fading … fading … and she knew she was slipping away. In desperation she stared up at the trees overhead, great gnarled branches etched thickly against the black dome of the sky. And then she noticed that moon.
So full and round. So red like blood. Caught in a web of tangled limbs, oozing out through the clouds, wine stains on velvet.
Byron, I’m so scared! Please help me!
And that’s when she heard it.
The soft rustling sound, like wind sighing through grass. Except that she couldn’t
feel
any wind, not even the faintest of breezes, in this heavy night air.
The sound was close by.
Coming even closer …
Oh God!
Once more she tried to lift herself, to call out for help. But the rustlings were in her head now, in her thoughts and in her pain, like so many urgent whispers, whispers of great importance.
As Lucy’s head turned helplessly to one side, she saw shadows all around her, shadows slinking along the ground and through the trees, slivers of black, and pale, pale gray, and sparks of amber light …
Terror exploded within her. Even through the paralyzing numbness of pain and shock, she sensed that these were animals, and she sensed why they were here. Instinct told her that she was surrounded, though one stood closer than the others. She could hear the slow, calm rhythm of its breathing as it watched her from a place she couldn’t see.
Oh, God, don’t let me die like this!
She thought of Byron. The vision burst inside her brain with such force that she choked and gagged and vomited blood in the grass. In that one instant of agonizing clarity she saw his midnight eyes, heard his calm, deep voice, telling her not to be afraid. Now she remembered how he’d turned to her in that last split second of his life, his eyes desperate with helplessness and disbelief as he’d reached for her hand.
Did he touch me?
The thought drifted through her mind, light as a feather.
Did we touch one last time?
But the whispers were louder now, and the fire was brighter than ever, and she was so weak … so tired.
Please … please … just let me die fast …
Night swayed around her. As tears ran silently down her cheeks, something huge and dark leaned in over her, blocking her view of the sky.
She steeled herself for the end. Felt hot breath caressing her throat … smelled the faint, familiar scent of something sweet …
Byron … I’m so sorry…
“Byron has gone,” the voice murmured. “Only I can save you now.”
Who are you?
What
are you?
Down … down she sank into the endlessness of time.
And that voice … fading far into nothingness …
“Oh, Lucy … There’s no name for what we are.”
by R
ICHIE
T
ANKERSLEY
C
USICK
Stalked by an unseen force and plagued by unspeakable visions, Lucy feels she cannot carry on for much longer—especially now that Byron, the one person who understood what she was going through, is gone. No one else believes her. She is still alone. And still in grave danger …