Just like that, she vanished, and it almost felt like I had dreamt everything up — but for the purple-ish, silvery mark on my hand. It looked like a knot, at least half of it. How am I supposed to hide this? I wonder, looking at it in the light. It shimmered in an iridescent way that was both unsettling and fascinating at the same time.
My legs suddenly gave way as I sit at the edge of my bed, the past few hours' events playing in my head. I watched the mark that now branded my skin, made by something that isn't supposed to exist.
I should be terrified. I was terrified — for about four seconds, when she first stepped out of the shadows and threatened to hurt me. But somewhere between then and now, the fear had thinned out into something else. The fact my brain registered this encounter as fascinating, instead of what any other sane person would call a threat, scares me. Why am I not scared of her? What gave me the confidence for that?
I pull out my phone, wondering if I should tell Sammy — that's what I would have done, if I was thinking. He would lose his mind over this. I wonder if I should tell him, but I couldn't be sure what the consequence for breaking my oath would be. I couldn't risk it, especially if it affects who I tell.
I look back down at the mark; the lines catching the light, looking alive, intricate, but incomplete. I thought about the pond, her telling me to run. I thought about why I trusted her, even with the threat. I still did.
I wasn't going to get much sleep this night, and I didn't — I spent it turning over in bed, watching my mark.
The following days moved in a blur of sorts. I realized the mark was only visible to me, and that was okay, as long as I remembered not to just be staring at my arm. With the summer fair drawing closer and the ladies going crazier, Uncle Ben and Uncle Joe planned their camping trip to get away from the craziness, as they called it — them and a few of their friends. I wasn't going. I still had my rotations, and I needed the routine. Sammy wasn't thrilled about that; he loves the great outdoors, he's training to be a park ranger. But he let me off, because he knows I'm not much of an outside person, and I wouldn't have gone because of the hospital anyway.
Three days after they left for the camping trip, I started getting a bad feeling. I can't exactly explain it — it was just there, a nudging feeling that something wasn't right, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. Even after I spoke with Sammy, and then the next day, when I called and nothing — no one picked up. Aunt Nora and Aunt Trish both said I should relax, that I was worrying too much, and I figured I was, because all those men had grown up in those woods, they knew the place well, and they were all together, so nothing would happen. That thought, and clinic runs, consoled and kept me sane for a while — till two days later, even Aunt Nora could tell something wasn't right. The summer fair was put on hold, everyone thinking about finding them, because eight adults don't just vanish.
It was two days later when the first of them started bringing them into the hospital. These were people I had known, and they looked nothing like themselves. They were dirty, confused, and just not like themselves. After we ran tests and got them settled, I realized they were not all here. I had thought maybe Uncle Joe was in a different room, but he wasn't. I had seen Sammy — he was still asleep — and Uncle Ben, but I couldn't find Uncle Joe. There was nothing I could do when Aunt Nora realized that too and burst into tears.
I took her home, and Aunt Trish too, and decided I would come back after dropping them off. I changed and went back, and after an hour, Sammy woke with a start.
"Hey, hey, you're alright, just relax, okay?" I try to soothe him. It took a while, but he eventually calms down. The doctors check him, and then it's just me and him.
"Sammy, what happened?" I asked, trying to be gentle. I shouldn't agitate him, but Uncle Joe was still out there.
"You'll think I'm crazy," he says after a while, and that causes my heart to skip a beat.
"No, I won't," I assure him. He stares at me for a while, and then, whatever he sees must have convinced him, because he started talking.
"Something took him."
"What?" I asked, confused.
"I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. It looked like a shadow, but it wasn't. And our shadows moved funny." And then Sammy went on to describe what, two weeks ago, I would have dismissed as crazy, or him pulling my leg — but not now, when I've seen something similar. He eventually falls asleep, and the room is silent. Now I can think. Did she do this? I wonder, but I couldn't bring myself to believe that she would.
I wasn't sure why I think she's innocent, but one thing was for sure: I believed Sammy. It was different, hearing someone else say something took his friend. I've known Sam most of my life, and even if I hadn't seen Gwendolyn use her strange ability, I wouldn't doubt him. Fear like that couldn't be faked. And I couldn't lose my uncle.
I was supposed to be home. Aunt Trish was at the hospital, and Aunt Nora went with her, because she needed something to do, or she would go crazy, and she wanted to wait in case he was brought to the hospital. I went to the Lancaster house — at least, close to it — then walked the rest of the way. It was hard, looking for a spot to go through the fence, when it was covered in an assortment of poisonous plants. I was grateful for the dark, because I wasn't sure how much of a bad idea this was.
A bad idea.
The house was a huge Victorian, and I am sure it was beautiful in the daylight, or some other scenario — but not now, in the dark, when some shadow-lurking creature is hiding, taking people. I was looking for her room. I doubt knocking on the door is a good idea. Looking at the house from where I am hiding, I am not sure how, but I just felt a nudging toward a certain window, and my mark started pulsing, like it was alive, and a faint lilac glow came once I was close to the window.
"I hope you are right," I mumble to myself as I start the climb up. Once I do get in, I look to see myself in a dark room, with dark wood and purple sheets, curtains, wallpapers — and the walls had vines. Flowering vines, real ones, and as I moved to take a closer look, they started moving.
"What are you doing in my house?" she asked from behind me, as she walks to her door and locks it.
"I need your help," I say.
"That much was obvious, seeing as you're here now. But what makes you think I can help you?" she asks, looking at me. I noticed she has the other half of my mark on her hand, and it's also glowing faintly.
"Some campers went missing."
"And that's my problem, how?"
"They said something took them."
"Can you get to the point?"
"Did you take them?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"They said a shadow took them, and you use shadows. If it's not you, then you are a witch — you can help me."
"What did you call me?" she asks, in a low, dangerous voice.
"W— witch."
"Get out, before your uncle isn't the only one missing," she says, and I know she's not joking. She is angry. So I leave.