Spookychild’s writings

She reached her car hastily. She often backed her vehicle into place, so her driver’s side opening overlooked the grove of trees. Her keys were somewhere in her backpack. She could not locate them. She frantically started to search. Her opened backpack fell to the ground.
She groaned. Stooping down, she started to shove items that had fallen out back into the pocket. Papers were everywhere. The trees appeared to darken. The commotion of honks, shouts, and voices of Katherine’s schoolmates faded away. She suffered from weakness and low blood sugar again. Her keys were someplace. Where were they? There they were. Katherine’s fingers clutched the cold metal near the bottom of her backpack. She yanked the keys out.
From behind her came a disturbance. She listened to the crunch of shoes on the earth and rock that made up the ground beyond the edge of the pavement. She froze, paying attention to the sound. The noise came closer, and the familiar voice spoke.
“I won’t let Brenda hurt you, Katherine.” He uttered. The sound was virtually as quiet as the breeze passing through the leaves over her head.
Katherine snatched the door handle and utilized it to heave herself to her feet. She felt the panic leave. But it was replaced by resentment. Katherine spoke sternly, “how long will you stay? Thirty seconds? A whole minute? How did you know about Brenda anyways?”
She began to put the keys into the lock. Then she stopped, gawking at the car window. Behind her reflection, which she could discern all too plainly, she could see a portion of another person. It was merely the top of his head, his hair. But she could observe that the hair was deep brown or black and cut short. She gulped, abruptly nervous. Here was reality, not a voice in the evening in the back of her mind. Not a dream, not her imagination but a living, breathing human

Available may 5, 2022