It obliterated any view I might have had and I slammed on my brakes.
The wheels lost their grip and spun around in a wide arc.
I slammed my feet on the brakes again, screamed, and shut my eyes.
The pick-up jerked violently as it came to a stop.
For the longest time, I just sat there, staring out the windscreen, my hands clenching the wheel so firmly my knuckles turned white.
My breaths came in short shallow panicked bursts and I must have struck the indicator at some point as it flashed, casting sporadic pools of orange light across the muddy surface of the lake’s edge.
And there, poking out from the water’s surface, a tall shard of metal that appeared to be the tail of an airplane.
It slowly sank beneath the surface.
I should get out and jump in the water, I told myself. I should get out, swim down there, and rescue the pilot.
But I wasn’t a good swimmer and knew without a shadow of a doubt that if I tried to rescue anybody from the depths, I would only add an extra tally to Death’s quota for the evening.
The shard inched further into the lake, displaced by bubbles of gas.
And within moments, the shard disappeared beneath the surface.
Rain patted my pick-up’s roof and the window wipers continued to slash at the windscreen.
I reached down and turned them off in an attempt to wipe the memory from my mind as easily.
Stupid!
I turned the wipers back on.
I reached into my pocket and came out with my cellphone.
A single bar of signal, but it was enough.
I thought carefully about what I was going to say.
An airplane crashed into Phoenix Lake and the pilot is still inside.
Even saying it now, it was hard to believe.
I dialed the number.
Suddenly, a new disturbance erupted on the water’s surface.
Not bubbles of oxygen, but a solid lump.
A figure.
He tossed back his head and spurted a mouthful of oxygen.
Then he reached toward the shore, wading weakly toward it.
My call was answered:
“911. What’s your emergency?”
I dropped the phone and leaped out of the pick-up.
I ran to the edge of the lake.
The figure was male, I thought, and flailed, struggling to reach the shore.
I kicked off my shoes and waded into it.
I reached out and snatched his arm.
He was heavy and almost took me under with him.
Luckily, my feet were still on solid ground.
It slipped beneath my feet but together we inched up the shallow incline.
Later, I would wonder how I managed to pull him up there, him being so much bigger than me, but I did it.
My strength didn’t last as he slipped from my grip and hit the shore.
He gasped deep lungfuls of oxygen.
“The Shadow!” he rasped. “The Shadow! Beware of the Shadow!”
He turned quiet after that, slipping unconscious.
I checked he was breathing and laid him in the recovery position.
I ran back for my phone and called for an ambulance.
The Shadow? I thought.
It was nighttime.
Shadows were everywhere.
But those weren’t the shadows he was referring to.
Neither of us would fully understand his warning for quite some time to come.
Ras
The screeching of metal roared in my ears and I could hardly think.
I wasn’t sure I was even capable of thinking.
Searing white light blinded me and I couldn’t even recall where I was or what I was doing there.
And in the single blink of an eye, the bright lights and rushing roars disappeared in an instant.
The bleached white of my vision gradually faded, picking out the sharp angular corners of cheap desks and plastic round-backed chairs.
I was five years old and I was at school.
I stood at the front of the class and everyone was staring at me.
I clutched my favorite thing in the whole world—a cuddly toy called Jirax.
I was meant to give a presentation about why I liked him so much.
“Tell us about how you met Jirax,” the teacher said helpfully.
I felt the eyes on me, judging me.
No one clutched their toy close the way I did.
I shuffled foot to foot and wet my lips with my tongue.
I looked them each in the eye, and when I opened my mouth to speak, I felt the words right there, fully formed and ready to be birthed.
But the words wouldn’t come out.
They were trapped on my tongue and wouldn’t allow themselves to be born.
I tried again.
My lips moved but no sound came out.
That’s strange, I thought.
Even in my dream state, I knew something was up.
I tried again but once more, the words refused to become audible.
Then I noticed something even stranger.
My classmates stared, unblinking.
A couple at the back froze in place while they probed at their favorite toys’ inner working parts.
“I think something’s wrong,” I wanted to say, but once again, the words never escaped my lips.
I turned to the teacher.
She aimed her pleasant smile down at me, her lips curled and eyes crinkled with kindness.
I waved a hand in front of her face but she still didn’t shift her eyes from mine.
I clicked my fingers and still got no response.
I reached out for the teacher and gently tapped her on the leg.
She felt as hard as wood beneath my soft fingertips.
Terrified, I clutched Jirax closer and shuffled back to my seat.
Were they playing a game on me? I wondered.
I hoped not.
I didn’t like being the center of attention.
I peered around at my classmates.
They still hadn’t moved a muscle.
“What’s wrong with everybody, Jirax? Why can’t anyone move?”
When I looked down, I found Jirax was gone.
I jerked back and teetered on my chair.
Had I dropped him?
I leaned down and checked under my desk.
I peered around for his fluffy white fur but saw no sign of him anywhere.
“Has anyone seen—?”
I looked up into the eyes of my closest friends but their chairs were empty.
Shocked, I bolted up onto my feet and found no one else in the classroom.
Empty seats lined rows of irrelevant desks.
Then, a creepy white mist seeped into the concrete and papers pinned to the walls, turning them fuzzy, then invisible.
My heart hammered in my chest and I backed away.
“What’s
