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One

It’s happening. First the fog, then the ache in my skull. My mind splinters and then refocuses … somewhere else entirely.

A sharp branch reaches out like a claw and grabs hold, leaving a rip on her face. She cries out but doesn’t slow her pace. The scent of her hair drifts back, comforting me. The trees grow thicker and angrier. The air, cold, frigid, and damp, smells of something foul, something menacing. A long, monstrous silhouette slinks out of the shadows, and two fire-yellow eyes glare our direction. Gleaming white fangs drip with saliva, and the air clouds from the heat of its body. She stops. The rucksack on her back bobs up and down with each frightened breath. “You’ll not take her from me.” Her voice is hoarse and broken. “Never.”

The flames lap angrily at her hand as she pushes her torch toward the creature. It growls and disappears back into the shadows. Once again, the moss-draped trees jumble past as she runs between them. “Don’t worry, my little angel, the passage is not far. We’ll be safe soon.” She stops so quickly, I lift briefly out of the rucksack before settling back into its comforting warmth. Her heart beats so loudly I can hear it. A pair of eyes, glowing yellow like the last ones, moves out from the shadows. Two more follow and then two more. The beasts snort bursts of white air and give off the scent of blood and murder as they surround us. She moves the torch frantically between the snarling monsters. Their pungent smell grows stronger as they prowl forward with fluid, lethal movement. The torchlight illuminates the silver streaks in their thick fur as the beasts inch closer. She steps back cautiously and looks around urgently for an escape. The torch flame sputters as the dreary dampness closes in on her.

A crackling sound breaks the tension. A tall silhouette pours out of the darkness. His hazel eyes land on me, then his gaze breaks away. He’s young, a teen at most. He swings a sharp axe from his shoulder and waves it menacingly at the beasts.

“Run! Go now!” he shouts.

She hesitates, but he tells her again. “Go now!”

“Rafi? Raphael? Everything all right?” Paxton’s smooth voice broke through the misty fog in my head. I shook off the vision and forced a smile.

“Yes, all good.”

Paxton lifted a skeptical brow. “You know you can tell me when you’ve experienced a glitch.”

I shook my head vehemently. Paxton was my only true friend and the only person I’d told about my glitches. I’d come up with the lighthearted way to describe visions that were anything but. A week after my eighteenth birthday, I experienced my first glitch. My mind fogged, my head throbbed and I inexplicably found myself in a strange place with strange people. It was as if I was witnessing the whole thing firsthand, through a pair of eyes, only none of it was familiar. Lately, they’d gotten scarier and more intense, like the one I’d just experienced. The only reasonable explanation I could find for them was that there was something profoundly wrong with me. It was a mental illness that couldn’t be Googled or explained in any of the books I’d read. The glitches were growing stronger and more frequent, as if something explosive and frightening and life-changing was bearing down on me. I hadn’t said a word to Paxton.

I pushed down the heavy sadness that always dragged along with a glitch and reached for the brownie tray. I’d planned a picnic at my favorite place with my favorite person, and I didn’t want anything to ruin it, not even a pesky, ill-timed glitch.

Paxton had incredible intuition when it came to me. He plucked up a brownie. “Want to talk about the glitch that didn’t happen, the one we’re ignoring?” Chocolate crumbs cascaded over his green polo shirt as he took a bite.

“No, I don’t want to talk about the possible glitch that I most definitely want to ignore.”

Paxton sighed. “Fine.” His phone beeped, and he glanced at it. “It’s David. I’ve told him we’re through, but he’s so thickheaded.” He texted back. There was nothing Paxton loved more than some good scandalous, soap opera-style drama, so I knew he’d be lost in the conversation for a while.

I sat back with my brownie and breathed in the heavenly scents of nature. The harrowing glitch was shoved far back in my mind with the other troubling visions. It was the way I dealt with them. I figured one day there would be so many of them stuffed back there, they’d all start tumbling out and float away like threads in the wind, and I would float away with them.

I got up for a stroll. It was early summer, and Dante Fell, a pristine slice of nature at the end of town, was in full glory. Lush ash trees proudly shook and vibrated their emerald green foliage in the gentle breeze, making the stiffer evergreens standing amidst them envious of their fluidity. That same breeze caused the tall, amber-gold grasses that lined the river to sway in unison, and it carried the rich, loamy scent of earth with it. The river, a churning, icy cold channel of water, zig-zagged through the meadow and trees like a frothy blue snake. And the black shale cliffs that lined Dante Fell towered over the entire scene like glowering, impenetrable sentries.

A hundred yards or so off the hiking path was an old stone bridge, the only safe way across the river. A young woman wearing a backpack held the hand of a small girl. The little one was reluctant to step onto the old bridge, but her mom crouched down to smile and offer some encouraging words. Her daughter laughed, and off they went. They even stopped halfway to stare down at the turbulent water below. It took me back to a time when I was a little girl crossing that same bridge.

“Raphael, finish your sandwich first,” Mom called to me, but I was on a mission. I’d told myself on the entire trip to Dante Fell that today would be the day I walked across the ancient troll bridge alone. I was old enough to know that there were no trolls, of course, but the arch of deep green, moss-covered stones that stretched across the water seemed like the perfect place for a fat, ugly troll to rest his stocky bones.

As I neared the bridge, and some of my courage disappeared, I stopped and turned back. Mom was tying her long black hair up in an orange scrunchie. She was wearing the pink sundress that I helped her pick at the store. As far as I was concerned, there was no fairer princess in all the land than my mom.

She picked up a strawberry. “Go on, you can do it.” She knew my plans to cross the bridge alone, because I’d spoken of nothing else all morning.

“You can do it, Rafi,” I muttered to myself. The ground near the entrance to the bridge was slushy with mud, and the cool mist from the rushing water sprayed my bare legs. I couldn’t resist squishing my sandals side to side in the slimy mud. I laughed when the cold brown goo crept over the sandal and between my toes.

I took a deep breath and looked up. The bridge looked somehow longer and taller now that I was standing at it alone. I reached for the wooden handrailing. It was thick and gnarled, but it had been worn smooth as glass by all the people who’d crossed the bridge.

My first step slid a little, and I regretted covering my sandals with the silty mud. I gripped the wooden railing as if letting go would send me off into orbit or into the raging water below. After the first few muddy footsteps, courage filled me up like a thick peanut butter sandwich. I reached the other side.

The shade from the tall cliffs always made the far side of the meadow much colder. I hopped off and spun around in the air with a jump of victory. My gaze shot over toward the picnic blanket, and my shoulders sank. A black raven had landed next to our picnic and rather than witness my incredibly brave trip across the bridge, my mom was staring at the bird. Her white smile glowed as she spoke to it.

“Mom!” I called, determined not to let my big shining moment be overshadowed by a crumb-hunting bird. She smiled and waved and clapped loudly, but frankly, the big moment had passed. Any earlier fear of a troll or some rogue wind picking me up and throwing me into the icy river was gone as I marched resolutely back over the bridge.

The raven took off and flew toward the shale cliffs, disappearing into their shadows, for good, I hoped. The rotten bird stole my moment. “Mom, you missed it. I hopped off and twirled, and you missed it.” I stopped at the edge of the blanket, hands on hips, for effect. “Were you talking to that raven?”

Mom’s eyes rounded. I wasn’t born with her shiny black hair, but we had the same eyes, “violet-blue” was how I’d heard people describe them.

“No, punkin, of course not. I just told him he couldn’t have a cupcake.” She reached behind her and held out a plate with a big chocolate cupcake. “Your reward for crossing the bridge alone.”

“Woo-hoo, my favorite!”