The Bridgwell Chronicles; The Disappearance of Chyla Mai

Prologue

    Thick grey fog settled over the town of Bridgwell. Rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, hidden behind the clouds. While everyone else was fast asleep in their homes, preparing for what was to come, Chyla Mai was wide awake.
     It was the first day of school and she was too anxious to sleep any longer. A small breeze sent a chill down her spine and she pulled her large sweater around herself tighter as she walked down the sidewalk. She could only see a few feet in front of her through the haze. Along the side of the road, streetlights flickered weakly, barely visible from the path.
    The silence around her was deafening. The birds had stopped chirping, the frogs had stopped croaking, even the little wind that whipped through the streets just a moment prior had fallen short before it could reach her. There was nothing. She took a deep breath, the humid air filling her lungs. Cold prickled her skin, dampening the outer layer of her clothing. 
    Behind her, the bushes rustled. In the quiet, it was as loud as a gunshot. She whipped her head around and all that was there was the fog. Even if there was something there, could she see it? Her heartbeat steadied and she continued on her walk.
    Every morning she went out before anyone else was awake. It was nicer when there was nobody else around. Peaceful. But now, a part of her wished somebody would walk by, just so she'd know she wasn’t alone. Strands of long hair clung to her face, getting in her eyes. The purple ends were faded and light compared to the deep black at her roots. She pushed them away and her hands came back wet from the condensation on her face. 
    Out of the corner of her eye, Chyla caught sight of a shadow, deep within the blanket of grey. The tall figure towered over the houses around it, its thin features mimicking the surrounding oaks. She stopped and turned around, but again, there was nothing. She tugged nervously on the ends of her sleeves, pulling them over her hands. It was just her mind playing tricks on her. It was a tree. That’s all it was.
    A crash echoed through the street from nearby; A garbage can fell over, spilling its contents into the road. Chyla jumped, looking around for where it came from, but she could only make out the faint outline of the houses closest to her. It seemed like the fog had gotten thicker. Suffocating.
    Speeding up, she turned down the nearest street. In her haste, she collided with a stop sign, nearly knocking herself off her feet. She gripped the pole tightly, stabilizing herself so she could keep going. Her shoulder ached from where it was hit but that was the last thing on her mind. It was probably a cat or raccoon or something. She knew, logically, it had to be. Maybe it was a neighbor. She couldn’t see. It could have been anything. 
    Wailing, like someone was screaming and crying all at the same time, filled the silence. It was distorted and broken. Nothing human could make that sound. The voice was coming from inside her head. It was all around her.
    Her feet were moving long before she made the conscious decision to run.
    The ground was slick and her shoes kept losing their grip sending her stumbling, but she never stopped. Behind her, she could hear scraping on the pavement. She didn’t turn around this time. She didn’t need to look to know something was there.
    Slowly she started to see familiar houses as she ran by. She was back on her street. If she could just get to her house, everything would be okay. The thing behind her made that noise again. It was sandpaper against her brain. She could feel it reverberating in her chest. 
    Whatever it was, it was closer now. Her thighs and lungs burned. She was never one for athletics, she preferred to stay inside and read. She wished she would have stayed inside that morning too. She could have been under the covers with a cup of coffee and the novel her girlfriend bought her just that past week.
    When she reached her house, she almost wasn’t sure she’d make it. She swore she could feel it right behind her, breathing down her neck. She ran up the old steps and flung the door open, slamming it shut behind her. She turned the lock and sighed, leaning her head against the door, trying to catch her breath.
    She stood up on her tiptoes to look through the peephole. Her front porch was empty. Past that, all she saw was grey. Whatever was out there was gone now. Maybe it was just her imagination. Things like that didn’t happen. They couldn’t. 
    Climbing up the steps to the second floor, Chyla prayed her mom wasn’t woken up by the commotion. She had to get up early and needed as much sleep as possible. It was just the two of them so her mom didn’t have anyone else to help out. Chyla wouldn’t bother her with what happened. This was one thing that she could take care of herself. Besides, she wasn’t even sure what she would tell her if she tried to explain.
    Each stair creaked as she walked. Their place was old, but so were most of the houses in Bridgwell. It was two stories, but not very wide. The top floor only fit her room and a small bathroom. It wasn’t much but she loved it. It was home. Her fears were dulled by the sense of familiarity as she trailed her hand along the cherry wood railing. Home was safe. She opened the door to her room and collapsed on her bed. Her wet clothes sat uncomfortably tight on her skin. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared up at her ceiling. Her chest rose up and down heavily, the only sign that what she went through really happened. At least she was home.
    As she rolled over onto her side, Chyla glanced out her window. A breeze ruffled the sheer lavender curtains that hung over it. She didn’t remember leaving her window open. 
    Another breeze blew the curtains wide apart. An eyeless face was staring back at her.