The sun has set, dusk turning everything gray, and my breath mists. The Walshes’ lights are on next door, their TV flickering through drawn curtains. The faint sound of their baby crying carries through the closed windows. The reminder of familiar people nearby should be comforting, but it only makes me lonelier.
As the journal disintegrates into dying embers, I grab the broom I used as a poker and turn away, ready to get inside and warm up by the old wood-burning fireplace that’s been by my side since I was born. At least my house can’t abandon me, even if everyone in it has.
I take one step when the flame flares in my periphery. A blast of heat washes over me.
My breath catches, and I spin back to the bonfire.
It’s roared back to life, bright and blazing hot. It hisses and crackles, drowning out the distant cawing of crows.
My heart jumps, and I step back. Did I accidentally toss in something dangerous? Should I get the fire extinguisher?
With another whoosh of light, the flames turn green. The air shimmers around them, forming a haze between me and the treeline.
I cover my mouth and scramble backward. Shit, is the fire reacting to something toxic? Maybe it’s the ink in the poetry book or… Could there be traces of gasoline at the bottom of the cardboard box?
The flames reach higher, casting a green glow across the yard. The haze spreads, and a thick, earthy smell meets my nose. Strands of my hair lift in a gust of wind.
Oh God.Something tells me no household extinguisher or garden hose is going to smother this thing. I have to call the fire department.
But before I can race to the house to get my phone, the fire goes out like someone flipped a switch.
I freeze, holding the broom out as if it can protect me.
Smoke billows.
Silence engulfs me, so absolute that my ears ring.
Then, a rumble. It grows louder, sending a shiver up my spine.
The ground trembles. It spreads outward, rattling the chain link fence and making dead leaves dance across the grass.
A crack appears in the earth beneath the firepit, widening into a jagged line that splits the yard from the fire to the back fence. Smoke pours into the sky, the smell drying my throat and making me cough.
Run. Run. Run.
But my feet won’t move. My chest is tight, my breaths coming fast.
Forget the fire department. Something weird is going on, and this isn’t an ordinary toxic flame.
The smoke thickens, swirling upward in a column that gradually takes shape. It’s the outline of a woman.
In my next panicked breath, she solidifies, stepping out of the firepit. Her presence seems to fill the entire world. She must be about forty, with light skin and wavy brunette hair that catches the moonlight as it falls past her breasts. She’s wearing a long coat that billows open, its dark fabric like a black hole in the twilight.
When she opens her eyes, they’re full of an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. I feel stripped bare, standing alone on the lawn with nothing but a broom. I can’t move. I can’t even tear my eyes away from her. I’m trapped in a nightmare, my legs shaking so hard I’m afraid they’ll give out.
Of all the confusion rocketing around in my brain and all the frantic questions I have, two facts are clear:
First, that thing I burned was not an ordinary journal.
Second…I’ve just unleashed something supernatural in my backyard.
2
Julia
Mymagicisarabid animal inside my chest, clawing and desperate to feed. The hunger is all-consuming, a pain worse than anything I have known.
I gasp, drawing in air that’s all wrong—thick, heavy, and bitter. My vision swims as I try to focus on my surroundings. Like waking from a deep sleep, everything eludes me. What day is it? Where am I?Whoam I?
