Page 12

Those were the narrative words she had given the dream…. But that wasn’t it. Not all of it. And parts were added and some parts were missing, that much she knew.

She pulled out her black and silver notebook, jotting a few quick notes:
cat, blending, nightfall, river, swamp, the black-bearded man, the floating prisms, the bad-night-things, catwings. catwings.
And closed the book hastily as the phone rang.
“Chroma Media Incorporated, how may I direct your call?”
She waited, listening to a hiss of soft white noise for a moment, and then inquired: “hello?”
A reedy whistle-whine rose, and slowly lifted in pitch. The hairs on her arms pricked upright, and she felt her nipples stiffen.  Her lower lip began to quiver. Then the sound bled into a dial tone.

She let the receiver drop back into the cradle, her hand and elbow feeling like the ligaments had liquefied to icy water. She sat there for a moment, trying to rub the feeling back into her arm while she looked worriedly at the phone. Her lip quiver started to die down. She finally mustered the courage to press the review button on the phone to recall the caller ID, and wasn’t surprised to see the words BLOCKED CALL in emotionless block letters.

She sat back and rubbed her arms, telling herself she needed some coffee and to stop reading so many flipping horror novels, telling herself that this was the result of her everlasting over-active imagination, then asking herself  “What time  is it? Christ, how long was I out?”

Then, “shit! It’s bleeding!”

“Hon?”

She practically leapt from her chair, both knees jarring into the keyboard tray this time, and she squeaked a small, terrified sound. Her beau retreated a step into the hallway, startled himself at this.

Page 13

“Geez Louise, Pie… you have to stop jumping like that every time I come in the room…
I just wanted to know what you wanted for lunch…”

She heaved a few deep breaths, both hands to her collarbone. She was flushed and her eyes were wild. She calmed herself, and swiveled around in her chair.
“Chinese would be nice.”

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She sat silently during the car ride to their latest Chinese take-out of choice while some indiscernible 80’s rock played quietly on the small car’s radio. She held her arms, biting her lip as she looked out the window. She was faintly aware that Devlan had begun singing along with the unintelligible music, when a bus rolled up along side them at a stop light. The sign read “Watch out for motorcycles” in big red, ominous letters. She shuddered a bit to herself. She’d never noticed these signs before two months ago. They’d just started appearing everywhere- bumper stickers, the backs of benches, the odd sign stuck on the rind of a highway- and now…
Well, there was no real reason to feel any Twilight Zone heebie jeebies over something so trivial as a few cautionary signs. Motorcyclists in Florida rarely wore helmets, because the law didn’t prohibit the act. Hell, Bike Week came yearly to the state, didn’t it? And God only knew how many of the reckless souls died in accidents of their own carelessness… any driver in a moderate sedan could accidentally crush a cyclist weaving into traffic, couldn’t they?

She felt that odd sparkling, tingling sensation crawl up the back of her skull like icy-numbing fingers tracing the wrinkles of her brain. She shuddered again. It happened sometimes when she was deeply involved in the plot of some novel she was reading, and it had happened every time she’d seen the trailer for a movie about EVP in theaters about a year ago. It happened every time she’d seen-
No, hush, your imagination’s getting away from you again.
-something before it happ-
dear God, stop thinking that, damn you.