Clouds parted, making way for celestial rays, tingeing the world below in glimmering shades of pink—her own personal rose-coloured glasses. Even with an umbrella of leaves, the full moon made its presence known. Tall shadows formed to the left. Her body responded veering right, legs picking up a tempo she’d never reached before. Even being chased, even with the world as frightening as it was, she’d never felt so free; so alive.
Exercise wasn’t at the top of her ‘favourite things to do’ list. Sweating was the bane of her existence. A few drops of perspiration weren’t a problem, though. The more she ran, the harsher the wind beat against her face, hair flowing freely behind. Any moisture present was instantly swept away, left as a tribute to the land beneath her feet.
Her eyes enlarged. She wasn’t alone. A howl, a growl, she wasn’t sure which, stopped her in her tracks. From full speed to a complete standstill shouldn’t have been possible. Still, it happened.
A crack—a snap—her ears twitched. Something was closing in. Scents in the air muddled: fear, pride, sport, survival. A gun fired.
Clara screamed, shooting up to a sitting position, grasping at her pyjama top. It was soaked. She’d found all the sweat that had been missing in the dream. The lights flickered, buzzing as they warmed.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Fawn panted.
Clara gasped. “I saw a mouse.” Telling either of her parents about a nightmare was the last thing she was going to do. It was always the same. Every little thing required a visit to a shrink. A psychiatrist wasn’t going to help. If her parents were honest with themselves, maybe they’d have understood moving around was the root of all her problems. Kids—teens—they all needed a solid foundation, fertile soil to grow from. A concrete base beneath her feet was the one thing missing from her life and probably always would be.
She wasn’t sure exactly what her parents’ job was or what it entailed, but it involved one government agency or another. Neither was forthwith about the details, and after years of trying, she knew better than to pester either of them about it. Instead, she pieced bits together herself—her own personal jigsaw puzzle. There were still quite a few pieces missing, but a picture was beginning to take form.
The couple only worked in areas where strange and unusual occurrences were reported. They packed up and left the moment people started asking too many questions. In her eyes, that made the Fawns the investigators of the unknown part of unsolved cases—the X-files of X-files so to speak.
“Tsk,” her mother huffed. “I told you to use one of the beds for tonight. Sleeping on the floor isn’t healthy.”
Clara rolled her eyes. As if sleeping in a stranger’s bed was. Who knew what actually happened on that mattress? The thought was sickening.
“At least move to the couch,” her mother pleaded, frowning. “It’s not for long. We’ll have your room set up exactly as always by the time you come home from your first day of school.”
“Great.” Clara rolled her eyes the moment the lights went out. Someone else’s couch was just as horrifying as the mattress. A good night’s sleep was going to have to wait.
Chapter 3
Schools taught more than classes, at least they were supposed to. In that sense, they were more than the sum of their bricks. Each publicly or privately funded building was the same, standing for: logic, creativity, hopes, and dreams. It didn’t matter how big or how small. The basis for all that transpired there was the people inside. Classmates, sharing notes and jokes—laughter in the hallways, the sound of chalk pressing against a blackboard—it was the same and different in every location. One thing that never changed; she was the outsider, never quite fitting in.
Clara inhaled deeply, reaffirming the position of the backpack over one shoulder. There was no putting off destiny. Of course, there was still a good bit of mental preparation to be made before she made it through the front doors. In all regards, this new school was small compared to the other two she’d attended in the past year, coming in at a total student body just over two hundred and fifty. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t stare any less or whisper more quietly as she walked by.
Making friends wasn’t easy. Focusing on faces and names only served to blur the lines between past and present. It was better not to form close attachments. It was better to stay the lone wolf and let the pack have the first pickings. It wasn’t hard to do. She was living proof. A new phone with no contacts—a blank slate for social media—her life before vanished without a trace. It didn’t even register. In a few months, being lenient on the timeline, most of those left behind wouldn’t even miss her. Her name was a whisper on the wind... or a growl.
Clara wiped her palms on the back of her jeans, a cold sweat taking over. Her breath laboured; heart beating in her throat and pounding in her temples. All the reasons why panic shouldn’t be happening rushed through her mind; none could stop it, though. Anyone witnessing the moment would simply classify her as the anxious new girl, even if the dream was really to blame and not first day jitters.
The walk between the front doors and the office seemly went on forever. Every few paces she stopped, gasping for air. No one noticed her clenched fists, nails digging into the upper layers of skin. No one ever did. It was a defence mechanism she used only in the worst of scenarios. The dream. She hadn’t done that. Why?
