Prologue

A Chapter by Zachary Williams

This sets the scene.

The door slams behind me. I pause. I always pause. I hear the click. There's always a click. I'm not sure why I torture myself each time. It’s my mother locking the door behind me, she does it every time. I listen for it, knowing how much it hurts to hear it.

I keep walking, heading for the park. It’s not really even a park just a patch of grass in the middle of the neighborhood with a swing set and a slide. I mean, also a tree, but there’s trees everywhere around here. There used to be a tree in our front yard. Her front yard. She made it clear I'm not welcome home. There was a tree until she decided she didn't like it anymore and prayed that it get sick and die. Her prayer was answered and the neighborhood association decided that they could justify it being torn down on their expense. I wonder if she prays that I get sick and die.

This tree in the park is different though. Its gnarled roots breach the surface of the earth and curl in and out of the soil. I'm told that means it’s indigenous to a cold wet environment. Certainly not designed for the hard dry clay of Texas, unaware that the water it strives for is much deeper than its roots have grown. It's much taller too, with branches that reach from me to far above the two story houses that surround it. I decide to climb it; it’s close to sunset and the cover of the tree will protect me from the harsh winds. Winter is an odd time here. There's rarely snow, but the wind can bite straight to the bone.

Up in the tree, I'm deciding on a comfortable position about three feet above eye level when I see it. It seems very much like a squirrel. If I wasn't so desperately bored, looking for anything to distract me from the loneliness I feel, I wouldn't give it a second look. But I do. And it’s an odd sight. From where I sit, through a tangle of branches I see a deformed squirrel. Protruding from its mouth is a very long tooth, jutted out and without deterred growth it’s become twisted and oddly sharp. It’s sitting in a strange formation of mushrooms that hadn’t been there before. They've grown in almost a perfect circle. And this freakish thing is sitting right in the center staring at me. I, in no mood to be stared at, lean forward and stare right back.

Quickly a shadow falls over it. I glance over and see a strange woman. Older than me sure, but not old enough to justify her gray skin, or the long stream of gray hair. Her hair is being blown about. Surely the wind is picking up, though I don't feel it. Wildly it lashes and I swear I can see things take shape in her locks. Skulls and people screaming seem to form in the strands of her hair, and when I look her in the eyes, they're pitch black.

She screams, and it is deafening. I, unbalanced and ever clumsy, fall forward. Through the branches, where moments ago I saw that freak rodent, I land on top the ring of mushrooms.

It's dead quiet, and it's night. The woman and the freak are gone. I am alone. Or, I thought I was until I hear a scratching sound behind me.