The air, it whips past my stone demeanor chilling my bones. What looked like a quaint street only minutes before has morphed into a dark and dismal place. The clouds over head seem to be rolling, marching, hunting after me. I can hear the whispers behind me. I can hear the footsteps coming ever closer like feathers on pavement. Maybe if I pretend they aren’t there they won’t be.

I pick up my pace.

I told them not to bother with me. I told them not to follow, but their kind rarely listens to advice. They are too confident in themselves. They think that they are the master hunters of the world.

My worn down leather boots are held together by duct tape and gorilla glue. I pray they don’t fail me now. My arms beat against the air as they swing, and my mind it races. My mind seems to be my worst enemy. It shows me all of the ways I could die. All of the worst ways I could be ripped apart.

It shows in great detail my skin being ripped from my limbs. In my mind the process is slow and drawn out. One small strip of skin at a time. One stream of blood at a time pouring from my body. Rushing to meet the ground. My own blood rushing to be away from me.

The footsteps behind pick up pace along with mine, and the wind it blows my hair across my face. I haul it behind my pierced ear as I glance behind me.

Bad choice.

They are closer now. They see me look and I see one smile a wicked smile. He knows I am trying to get away. His long fingers pull into a fist as I look away and quickly cross the street.

The neighborhood looks like a place that should have people out and about, but of course there is no one. Why would there be? The rolling clouds are above me now and a boom of thunder sounds in the distance, shaking my duct taped boots, sending vibrations up my spine.

I hear before I feel the rain. It starts behind me where they are, and I have a silent moment of pleasure knowing they are wet when I am still dry. The moment is quickly over when I feel the freezing drops on my arms. I can see the steam roll off of my blazing skin.

Movement catches my eye, and I see a broken swing swaying haphazardly on a tree. Its flies free in the wind holding onto the tree’s bough with one rope. Where the other is I have no idea.

I jump over a fallen branch on the leaf covered sidewalk. Ahead is a corner. The road I’m on ends. I can either go right or left. Right or left. I hate choices. I don’t know where either choice leads. They look the same.

I go left.

Wrong.

I’m surrounded.

I stop as the footsteps behind me turn the corner. I can practically smell the smiles on their faces. I can see their hungry eyes watching, wanting, waiting. Their white hunter’s eyes. No color no feelings only hunger.

There are at least ten around me. They planned it. I wasn’t running away. I was being herded.

Maybe I underestimated their hunting skills. The stories all say they are the best.

I see him, his stretched fingers tapping on his long slender leg. He was the one I told. I told him not to follow me. Behind me I hear snickers.

Above me is an old tree. It’s huge so I guess it has been there for ages. It still has its leaves all golden brown. They herded me here. Their bodies practically match the strong branches of the tree.

Movement catches my eye and in the window of a house I see a child. He is small with brown hair that flops into his eyes. He is looking at the storm clouds, watching for lightening. After a second his dark brown eyes catch onto mine. He smiles and waves.

Pain laces down my arm as a nail scratches. I see the small river of blood that follows and I jerk away only to be scratched by another. It feels like being caught in a bed of razors. Where ever you turn there are more.

I hear the boy scream. He can’t see anything. Only a woman thrashing and bleeding.

The wind picks up again making my own blood smear across my skin mixing with the rain drops. Leaves fall from the tree. I reach my hand up and one lands on my fingertip. It stays there. Perfect and unmoving.

The things don’t notice at first, they are busy feeding off of my life and dreams that are falling from my skin. I pull my hand down and look their leader in the eye.

He knows.

I told them not to follow me. Now it’s my turn to smile.

I blow on the leaf like one blows a candle on a birthday cake. His eyes widen, and I hear his shriek before he tries to run.

One step. That is how far he gets before he bursts, transforming into a pile of leaves. The others barely notice. They are young and naïve. They don’t notice when their limbs begin to change, to disappear.

It takes a second for them to morph, before they are gone. Dead. Dead as a pile of leaves.

I look to the little boy who is still sitting in the window. There is fog around his face from heavy breathing, and his hands are plastered to the glass. Those brown eyes look like disks. Those soft brown eyes will forever be changed.

Once one sees majick they can never go back. He saw the spindly tree looking men drinking my blood. They were drinking my dreams, my hopes, my happiness. He saw their long talon like nails. He saw their white lifeless eyes, and razor teeth of a wolf. He saw the burst of light as each of them transformed into leaves.

He saw my wounds heal on their own. He saw my blood move back into my skin.

He can see me. My black eyes with fire in them. The horns on my head. The red markings on my skin. He can see the monster I am. I see the fear in his eyes before I turn and walk away.

There is always something higher up on the food chain waiting to strike. They may be the best hunters of the day. But I am the best trickster of the night.

I told them not to follow me.

@C. O’Connor, 2018