My breathing was shallow and weak, eyes fluttering faintly as I fought, second by second for consciousness. Black dots swam tantalizingly in my vision, urging me to give in, to give up.

   With effort, I gritted my teeth, staring unseeingly at the hospital white ceiling above me. I vaguely registered that a girl was beside me, speaking and gripping my hand tightly. I moaned slightly, feeling myself slip just a little bit further into the abyss. I wasn’t going to make it.

   Despite my last, desperate attempt, I lost my handhold on the wall of consciousness and went tumbling into the gloom below.

   Maybe I should have gone, a voice whispered in my conscience. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to die.

I was dying. I had known it for a while now, but I simply had refused to admit it, even to myself. But I was dying, and odds were, I wasn’t going to make it.

2: Chapter #1

I drifted surreptitiously through the high school hallway, having just hastily dropped my school supplies in my locker before hurrying to the lunch room with only my book on philosophy.

   I gnawed on my lip as I slipped into the cafeteria, moving steadfastly through the jostling crowd. Everyone should be nervous on their first day of high school. In fact, everyone was nervous-- everyone, that is, except for me. What was there to be afraid of, anyway?

   There was, of course, that mysterious virus that seemed to have infiltrated the entire world-- it was new, unique, quite common, and deadly. The victim would fall fatally ill, and disappear from the face of the Earth without a trace within a month of its attack. No one knew where they went. I thought that because no one in my quaint town of Heronwing had fallen ill, I was safe.

   Thoughts of such nonsense fell away as I focused on finding a seat. The faint tingling that seemed to envelop my body wasn’t exactly helping-- in fact, if anything, it was making me feel ever so slightly nauseous.

   I dismissed the sensation immediately. It was nothing, although I did bypass the cluster of food vendors. Instead, I made a beeline for a still-empty table, plopped down in one of the crappy, age old chairs triumphantly, and settled quickly into my book.

   The uneasiness didn’t leave me, making concentration hard to come by. It took longer than usual to sink into the philosophical world, and when I did, I was immediately jolted out by an arriving visitor. The intruder didn’t say anything, but only looked at me briefly with an expression torn somewhere between shyness and curiosity. I thought I might have seen a hint of suppressed amusement under the layers of emotion, and promptly threw her a warning glance.

   Deciding that a greeting wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen, I waved mildly at her. “Hello,” I said firmly, my voice holding the stubborn edge I carried with me everywhere.

   The girl blinked at me, smiling back tentatively. “Hi. I’m Ellen,” she told me, biting her lip. I grinned at her reassuringly. She was very pretty, with white blond hair cut off into a choppy, if stylish pixie cut, sparkling grey eyes and long, willowy limbs.

   “I’m Jane, the weird one,” I told her matter-of-factly.

   “The weird one, eh?” She asked me shrewdly, coming out of her shy exterior. “I guess we have that in common.”

   I raised a doubtful eyebrow at her. “As weird as me?” I asked, wondering if this was possible, short of being completely off your rocker, of course.

   Ellen smiled. “That sounds promising. I’m an avid physicist who’s too practical for her own good, talking too much or too little and quoting books about quantum theory that most people haven’t even heard of on a regular basis.”

   I thought on that for a second. “You pass my test,” I say finally, smiling. “I’m more of a philosopher, but I find physics extremely captivating,” I said, lightly tapping the cover of my book as an example.

   Finally, Ellen’s tightly restrained beam broke through and her whole face lit up. She launched forward to hug me and I laughed. It was silly, but it was a tradition I insisted upon.

   “Nice to see you again,” Ellen said heartily, sitting back.

   I rolled my eyes. “Yes, it’s been a whole three days!” I exclaimed, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Ellen gave me a look.         “What? It’s true,” I said. Not defensively, stated only as a fact.

   Now it was Ellen’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yeah yeah. Whatever.” But a grin creeped onto her face anyway.

   My discomfort, which had been momentarily forgotten, returned to my mind in full force, feeling as if each individual nerve ending in my body were tingling. I fought to keep the disarming feeling from showing on my face, letting a mask of stubborn blankness set in. Ellen frowned ever so slightly at my change of expression.

   “Are you alright?” she asked, leaning forward a miniscule amount.

   “Nope,” I said frankly. “I feel terrible. No worries, though, it’ll pass.”

   It didn’t, though, and although I did get used to the feeling, and learned to hide it over the rest of the day, it didn’t ever ebb in its tide. If anything, it grew, filtering through my body from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. All five feet of it.

~~~

I strode down the aisle that divided the school bus into two sections, my presence going completely unnoticed by the population. I slid into a seat, nestling into the corner, where worn grey plastic met pitted metal before once again flipping open my book. My body tremored slightly on the inside, protesting against the thoroughly uncomfortable prickling sensation that coursed through my veins, as if a thousand pieces of shattered glass were racing through my bloodstream. Quite pleasant sounding, I know.

   I curled up in a ball, stoically resisting the urge to whimper. I dived into my book, hoping to escape the feeling through the magic of written word. Unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky as to receive this luxury. Every bump, every miniscule jerk that travelled through the bus sent stabs of pain through my body, throbbing at the abuse.

   I frowned, grumbling mentally. What was wrong with me? Everyone had aches and pains, but this-- this was a little excessive. I decided to wait it out for another couple days before complaining to my mom; she didn’t appreciate whining of any kind, even if it was warranted.

   So I spent the remaining hour of the bus ride staring out the window in agony, bored out of my mind. Time seemed to grind to an excruciating halt, dragging by in an impossibly slow manner. Spectacular red and orange clad trees flashed by, exquisite in their beauty against the frosty blue sky, white wisps trailing across it, but I barely saw it. I was hardly aware of the frequent slowing and stopping of the school bus as it travelled its bus route, and it wasn’t until the middle-aged bus driver had called my name multiple times that I managed to zero in.

   “Jane? Jane!” He called, looking at me inquisitively through the rearview mirror. I blinked, frowning as his face came into focus.

   “Um, yeah, sorry,” I mumbled, unusually ineloquent, gingerly getting to my feet and carefully setting my backpack down on my throbbing shoulders. Alarm began to shoot through me as I walked up the bus aisle slowly, careful not to wobble and trailed down the steps. At the bottom, I turned and smiled tightly at the bus driver, who I mildly noted was named Phillip.

   I nodded in thanks, and started down the road, dreading the oncoming walk home. My feet dragged over the uneven country gravel, the sun beat down mercilessly on my exposed skin, and the wind whipped my nearly black hair into my face

   I spat a fly-away wisp out of my mouth, tucking it irritably behind my ear, where it was immediately dispatched once again. I scowled, wishing, as I did everyday, that I had a hair elastic. I noticed, with an abundance of relief, that the tingling and throbbing was beginning to fade away somewhat, replaced by a not quite unpleasant buzz. I felt as if my body was trying to warn me of something.

   You’re being ridiculous. What’s wrong with you today?

   It was as I rounded the corner that it happened. It was so profoundly sudden, that I had exactly no time to react before the hands that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere clamped down on my arm and mouth, jerking me ruthlessly into the foliage rich forest that swayed to my right.

   If I’d had the presence of mind, I would have at least tried to scream, even with the hand pressed firmly over my mouth. However, I simply froze in shock, going rigid as if I’d been stored in a freezer for a day, or perhaps two. My thoughts spun through my mind at a dizzying speed, none staying long enough to be considered in the grand scheme of things. Panic fluttered in my stomach, unfurling and spreading like a disease into my lungs and chest, making me feel light headed.

   I felt my mule face come on, as it always did when its illusion of hardiness might be of use. I felt the rough bark of a tree dig into my back as I was brutally shoved up against it. It dug painfully into my back, and I arched my spine ever so slightly in a futile attempt to ease the pain. At least the tingling and buzzing had ceased, or this ordeal might be a hell of a lot more painful. That was one thing to be thankful for, at least.

   My eyes flew up, a defiant light flashing in them despite the fear that churned within me. I met the dark brown eyes of my captor, which at such close range were fringed with unusually dark and thick lashes. He had a slightly mangled, silver scar, marring his face just enough to cunningly disguise his otherwise handsome features. His complexion was strange, a light tan that seemed to carry an underlying pallidness.

   I processed all this in the fraction of the second I had before he let go of my arm to press a knife to my throat. My distress grew, wild thoughts of never going home, dying here swirling frightfully through my panicked mind. I was given no room to even squirm he had my body so tightly up against the tree.

   “I’m going to let go of your mouth now, but if you scream, I will slit your throat quicker then you can blink,” he told me, voice deep and dark. I nodded carefully, not letting the audacious spark die from my eyes, my jaw set in a tense, unyielding line. Let me tell you, it was not easy to look like this in the face of imminent death. He slowly took his calloused hand from my mouth.

   “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said without preamble, “you are turning into a creature that you believe to be fantastical, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

   Crap. He’s insane, too. You wouldn’t know it, he didn’t have a mad glint to his eyes. In fact, he would look like a perfectly reasonable boy, for he couldn’t be more than a year older than me, in any other situation. As it was, I was on the verge of nervous collapse.

   I eye him with a confidence I didn’t feel. “Yeah, and I have little fish living in my cornea,” I told him seriously.

   Frustration ignited in his eyes and I felt him press the blade slightly harder against my neck, sending tendrils of pain shooting through it, significantly dulled, no doubt, by adrenaline. A drip of blood leaked down my neck, warm and bright against my skin.

   “I don’t have the time or the patience to mess around.” His voice was quiet and deadly, as if he had no squirmish about killing me. “I’m telling you what advice I must, it’s your choice whether or not you choose to follow it. Now shut up a bit while I do what I must.”

   I glared at him, but kept my mouth shut, lips tightening. However, the most timid burst of hope detonated within me at his words, despite my fear. Based on what he’d just said, he only planned on talking to me, not killing me. Well, I could hope that my life wouldn’t end today, at least, even if I was forever scarred by this experience.

   The boy nodded, apparently satisfied by my lack of withering retorts, although plenty had come to mind. “Good,” he grunted. “I have initiated a Change within your body, metamorphosing you into a creature you don’t believe in. There is nothing you can do about it. In the next two months, all the blood in your body will be completely burned up, and you will die, unless you find me. You will die. Unless you go to 72 Bonewhite Street before the end of the next two months. You got that?”

   I got that you’re a complete lunatic, I thought, but I only nodded grudgingly. It wasn’t like me to cooperate so easily, but then again, it wasn’t as if I was daily shoved into life-threatening situations. My eyes never softened, and my face remained just as stoic.

   “You done yet?” I snapped. The boy’s brow furrowed, his eyes softening momentarily.

   “Yes,” he murmured, stepping back and promptly disappearing into the forest. I wasn’t quite sure if I’d imagined it, but I thought I heard a barely audible “Sorry,” as he melted into the fall shaded vegetation that lined the side of the road.

   Flushed and breathing a little harder then normal, I slumped forward, pressing my hand to my rapidly beating heart. I finally let the agitation I’d been hiding during the encounter show in my body language, eyes filled with fear and body trembling as I gulped in fresh mouthfuls of air.

   “Oh, for the love of all things wonderful,” I gasp, feeling tears spring to my eyes. I studiously force them back, unwilling to show weakness even without anyone present to witness it. Placing my hands on my thighs, I pushed myself into a standing position, my crumpled face regaining its smooth composure.

   Taking a deep, steadying breath, I grabbed my backpack, which I now realized had fallen to the ground beside me, swinging it without grace onto my shoulders.

   This boy couldn’t be allowed to be wandering around, threatening civilians with an unstable mind. Swallowing hard, I decided to report it to the police. Maybe he was an escapee from an asylum with padded walls. Still shaking, I returned to the relative safety of the road, standing consciously in the exact centre of the road, deciding I’d rather take my chances against a car then a madman who seems quite willing to kill me.

   Legs feeling as if they might have turned into a much more delicate substance then skin and bone-- jello, perhaps-- I made my way to the police station, knowing they had a smaller branch out here in the country. I tried, and failed, to pick up the pace, finding my limbs seemed to be in cruising mode, and I couldn’t properly control them.

   My thoughts were a jumbled, disorganized mess, about as far from normal as I could get. I tried to organize myself in an effort to calm down. To sum up my past situation, I had been held at knife point while a crazy, extremely good looking boy told me that I was turning into a fantasy species and that I had to willingly return to him on some creepy-sounding street in order to avoid death.

   Yeah, right. Maybe I do have little fish in my cornea. My muscles, which had been previously taught as a bowstring, began to loosen as I ridiculed my predicament. Without the threat of death hanging imminently over my head, my fear had faded it somewhat, and I found it easier to cope.

   I took stock of my physical condition. I could feel that I had quite a few cuts and bruises littering my back, stinging and pulsing in pain. I grimaced; they hurt so much more without the adrenaline coursing through my veins. My neck had a shallow, but bloody cut on it, and I swiped at it halfheartedly, finding it already congealing. I studied the bit of half dried blood on my forefinger with a sort of detached intensity, watching how it shone only dully.

   I wiped it subconsciously on my black jeans, letting my eyes trail over the familiar, breathtaking landscape as I came the the cliff that dropped off into a ravine. The trees in the distance quivered in the strong breeze, flame coloured leaves standing side by side with greenery. Each branch stood in stark contrast with the lightly faded blue sky that extended overhead behind it. Like streaks of white paint, vague clouds drifted.

   I sighed, letting the familiarity wash over and sooth my frazzled nerves like cool water over a burn. My shoulder and neck muscles relaxed just a little bit more and I hovered near the edge, savouring the view. There was only a ten meter gap on the road where the view was visible; the rest was thoroughly blocked by the roadside forest, and I didn’t feel like giving up the grandeur quite yet.

   Eventually, I twisted my lips into an apologetic form and moved on, continuing to trudge on resolutely to my destination. It shouldn’t take me long to reach the police station; perhaps a good, therapeutic ten minutes to think on what had just happened in my normally less than exciting life would be good for me. With that uninspiring thought, I move my feet just a little bit faster, hoping to avoid as much thinking time as possible.

   This is very unlike me, I mused.

   But then again, that wasn’t the strangest occurrence of the day.

3: Chapter #2

I nearly gasped in chronic relief when the police station comes into view, enlarging just a little bit with each consecutive step. Thinking on the ordeal I had just left behind had most definitely not been good for me. I’d had the time to fully grasp the direness of the situation I had found myself in, and I felt myself feeling curiously blank in replacement of the fear. I’m sure it wasn’t good for me, but at the moment I just wasn’t in the state of mind to get worked up about it.

    Although the police station seemed to stay perpetually far away for the longest time, I did eventually manage to stumble into the double doors.

    After convincing a skeptical police man that I was not ‘just tellin’ tall tales,’ a report was filed and I was offered a drive home. I was numb and unseeing as scenery flashed by, and soon my house rolled into view, a delectable sight at the end of a tediously long driveway.

    I looked up to see my mom hurrying outside at the sight of the police car, frowning as she ran with small, inefficient steps. Her curly dirty blonde hair tumbled messily down her back, and her clear blue eyes were wide with concern. I rolled my eyes, already anticipating an overreaction. I was still quite shaken from the lunatic boy in the forest, but I’d recovered enough to regain my sense of sarcasm.

    “Mom, it’s nothing. Wait, scratch that, I was held at knife point and told I was turning into a fantastical creature of unknown origin.”

    My Mom’s eyes widened still further, but she eyed me skeptically as if she wasn’t quite sure if this was my sarcastic sense of humour talking. She looked uncertainly at the officer who had just stepped out of the cruiser.

    “Is this true?” she asked, her tone cool and collected. The officer nodded grimly.

    “Your daughter has been subject to an assault by what seems to be a psychologically challenged boy. Her life was threatened,” he told her gravely, his unprofessional looking beard rippling in the breeze slightly as he spoke.

    I stood still, waiting for the adults to finish their important conversation, about, but not including me. I sighed. Teenagers: expected to act like adults, but treated like children. I tapped my foot, looking up at the small, but adequate house before me. It was quaint and colourful, sporting plenty of bursts of bright colours where multiple flowers grew, the walls painted cheerful, but mellow colours that warmed and welcomed visitors.

    Finally, her eyes dark, my Mom turned away to usher me inside. “Come on. You’re taking a bath. With herbs that heal the soul.”

    I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Healing herbs? Like that was going to help. But the hot water would most definitely be nice, so I followed without complaint. My mom had this odd notion that certain plant fibers could help heal the “soul”, which has no proof yet. There were studies done about it, but I was willing to bet most of the time is was psychosomatic. Because humans are gullible that way. My Mom was chattering away, talking nonsense, as she always did when she was nervous.

    I absentmindedly nodded and murmured assent as I was settled into a bath. I was slightly dizzy, and my skin felt slightly clammy. Maybe I was going into shock, after all.

    Time seemed to melt together, and before I knew it, my mom was settling me down into bed, she was just patting my forehead and getting up to exit my room when I floated into unconsciousness.

~~~

When I came round again, sunlight streamed through my window and reflected off of the light hardwood floor, highlighting individual dust motes as they floated lazily around.

    I sat up, groaning. I still felt terrible, like I’d been drained of blood. I walked unsteadily towards my leaf green closet, seeing spots for a minute as I leaned upon it, waiting for them to clear.

    When they did, my breathing a little more shallow and uneven then it should be, I grabbed my fluffy white bath robe, dragging it agonizingly over my arms and tying it with clumsy, uncoordinated fingers. I stumbled out of my room, tripping down the hall. I looked around, taking comfort in the setting.

    It was cozy and as small as can be, yet perfect. In one, circular room was squashed the living/family room, kitchen, and entrance way. I came into the room from the only hallway conjoined to it; the one that held the bedrooms. All four of them, and the bathroom.

    “Hi, Mom,” I mumbled, spotting her washing dishes in the kitchen. Her eyes flashed to me, and she smiled.

    “Hi there, sweetie. I decided to let you sleep a bit. ‘Kay? I’ll make you breakfast, and then you can go to school?”

    I almost wanted to protest. I felt a bit woozy, but I kept it to myself. I could tell she wouldn’t be happy if I asked to stay home, and besides, it was my second day of highschool. I had to go.

    I nodded distantly. “Sure,” I said.

    My mom frowned, looking at me. “You feeling okay?” She verified. I hesitated.

    “Actually, I feel like crap,” I told her matter-of-factly. “But I still want to go to school.”

    She nodded as if she’d expected that. “Okay.”

    With that, she fried me up some eggs, setting them on the table that sat smack dab in the middle of the kitchen. I forced myself to eat them, still feeling queasy. Normally, I would love the meal, with the eggs just the way I like them; eggs over easy with just pepper, no salt.

    Eventually, I choked them down, mystified at my lack of appetite. I got dressed in a skirt and fluffy shirt before realizing what I was wearing, and exchanging them for the more favourable dark leggings and colourful, baggy shirt.

    I made my way to the front door, packed bag in hand. My Mom was standing there, looking irritated at how long I had taken.

    “Sorry,” I muttered, mustering a small smile before heading out the door. I revelled in the greenery and forest sounds, including the cheerful chirping of morning birds, intermittent with the lapping of water against a shore line; the Kimbra Lake.

    I climbed into the small buggy, nicknamed the Fly, shutting the door.

The entire car ride I was utterly silent, unmoving. I was even more muted than usual, not speaking, not even making small noises of agreement or disagreement.

By the time I arrived at the school, Mom had lapsed into quietude as well. I felt guilty for not paying attention to her as I stepped out of the car, murmuring my thanks. I smiled slightly before shutting the door, finding that it seemed to be heavier than usual.

I feel so sick, I thought. Chalking it up to the traumatic experience I’d had yesterday, I walked into the school, signing in at the office before making my way to first period class: math.

My footsteps slapped, overly loud against the tile floor as I walked in late. All twenty-nine pairs of eyes seemed to simultaneously shift from the teacher at the front of the class to fasten on me. Ignoring the looks- of interest, politeness, and even anger- I stalked righteously down the edge of the room to my seat.

The teacher eyed me rather coldly for disrupting his lesson. I glared right back at him. Yeah, ‘cause it’s my fault I was subject to an assault yesterday, I thought sneeringly. I kept my bitter feelings to myself, though, as I quietly rifled through my binder to my math notebook, opening it to the very first page and setting my trusty, two-year old mechanical pencil down neatly on top of it.

Finally, I turned to face the teacher, whose gaze had not left me during my activities. I brushed off his hostility and instead focused on the logical words that tumbled incessantly from his mouth, often pointing out an example on the Smartboard presentation he had prepared beforehand.

I took copious notes, jotting them down with a speed only diligent practice and experience warranted. Over the years, I’d even become able to be neat and speedy.

As I settled into the logic and reason math held, I relaxed, my note-taking coming easily and soothing my confused brain. Life had always been simple for me, and yesterday, that had changed. But I was hoping that maybe now things could go back to normal.

As I thought on this, my mind wandered, for pretty much the first time ever. My mind never wandered. I was a focused person.

“. . . To reach x,” I heard the teacher, Mr. Mapper said as I returned to planet Earth. “Now what would the answer to this question be . . . Jane?”

My head shot up, and I stared uncomprehendingly at the board. Across it was scrawled some sort of equation that I should know, but I couldn’t seem to remember it. The unit must have been towards the beginning of last year, because I could feel it hovering just on the edge of my conscious mind.

Frustrated, I scowled. “You tell me. I thought you were teaching,” I snap at him dryly. “I’ll answer your question for you when I know the answer.” I raised an eyebrow in a challenge for him to deny me.

He looked at me, taken aback by my answer. “Of course,” he mumbled, and went on to show us another example.

Most of the class guffawed silently at my smartass comment, and I noticed Ellen twisting around to wink at me. I managed a grin in return.

I listened attentively, systematically running it through my mind until I was sure I understood. When I did, I wrote the equation he had asked me, which was still conveniently on the board, on a new page in my notebook, easily scribbling through the answer now that I knew what was expected of me.

When I was done, I raised my hand, most likely only a minute later, perhaps less.

Startled off in mid sentence, the teacher looked at me. “Yes?”

“Three hundred and eight point zero five four,”

Mr. Mapper frowned slightly. “Excuse me?”

I sighed. “The answer you wanted? It’s three hundred and eight point zero five four,” I explained slowly, as if to a small child. He scowled at my tone of voice, but he seemed now to at least understand. It wasn’t as if I was explaining quantum mechanics or something.

I half expected him to say “Whatever,” but he didn’t. At least he was mature enough to withhold such bitterness of defeat.

Instead, he nodded stiffly. “Correct,” was all he uttered before resuming his lecture.

I smirked down at my notes, but remained silent, going back to my precise note-taking. Mr. Mapper droned on, and I had to give him credit; even if he had an attitude, he knew his stuff, and taught it well. Unlike a lot of math teachers, he articulated his knowledge in an easily conceivable way.

I survived through the remainder of class before transferring, drifting through the hallways like a shred of dream. The hallways were a blur of a multitude of creatively decorated lockers and the rancour that rose in a din.

I weaved through the chorus of conversations, taking part in none. No one noticed me, my frame light and bird-like in both its small stature and the way I constantly leaned forward just slightly.

I slumped into my chair in [insert appropriate class here], organizing and shuffling my work. The rest of the day passed in a vaguely discernible blur of motion, activity, and learning. I zoned out more than I knew I was capable of accomplishing, and I mean this in the most inconvenient way. I found it quite annoying to miss even a portion of the teacher’s lesson, for it was only a small portion, as it was, after all, knowledge that I might not come across again for who knows how long.

I ruminated on this on the way home on the bus, hoping I would get over it soon. I didn’t want my stellar marks to plummet because of some crazy jerk that I’d been lucky enough to come across on my walk home from school.

Spending the entire bus ride home just thinking seemed to be good for me. I had convinced myself that the inability to concentrate would fade, and that I’d soon be back to my everyday-is-boring life.

I nervously descended the steps of the bus when my stop came, unable to help the apprehension that filled me. It’d probably be awhile until I could feel safe and secure walking home by myself ever again. In fact, I’d probably have to turn down my Mom’s offer to either consistently drive me to school, which I knew would be difficult for her because of her work, or even hire someone to meet me here. Neither of which I wanted.

The crisp autumn air nipped playfully at my cheeks, laughing in the wind, which had picked up considerably since yesterday. The trees moaned in complaint, bowing over slightly like old men, while leaves were picked up in a flurry of activity and whisked away.

I sighed, enjoying the sensation of the cold air bursting into my lungs, all freshness and hope. Smiling, I let the tight knots of stress located in my shoulders and stomach loosen. I loved days like this; cool, and not without a bite to remind you how great it is to be alive.

With a hint of a smile still touching playfully to my lips, I continued down the red and orange rimmed road, a new spring in my step. Once again, I stayed to the centre of the road, counting on my notably good hearing to warn me of a motorized vehicle that might kill me long before its appearance.

I couldn’t help but feel my muscles invariably tighten every time there was a slight rustle in the bushes across the road, or I had to walk too closely to the edge of the forest to avoid becoming roadkill. I suppose it’s only too likely that insane people will continue to tell me insane things. Who knows, maybe I’ll be trying to suck someone dry of blood next time I came across them.

At an unnatural swish of foliage, followed by the crunch of an unpaved, gravel country road underfoot, my head jerked in that direction, my face curiously blank to still fear.

Only this time, I seemed to have cause for fear. For standing not twenty feet down the road from me, was the boy who had ambushed me yesterday.