The Stormgale Chronicles: To Dream of Drowning

1

I watched the old woman very carefully, making sure I caught every little movement that twitched or brushed across her face.

She sat a few rows ahead of me, obviously invested in whatever book she was reading, mumbling to herself as she did. The woman was dressed comfortably, with a black turtleneck, dark jeans, and a heather coat to keep warm. Her gray hair was cut into a short bob, ending just around the jawline.

Everything about her looked normal...except for the fact that, just moments ago, I had seen something about her change.

It was quick – fleeting. Part of me was convinced I hadn't seen anything at all. Another part of me, however, was sure that there was something off about her.

And so, I watched.

There were plenty of people around us on the ferry. Men, women, and children were packed in, sitting and chatting in the uncomfortable orange seats arranged in neat rows that ran up the length of the ferry. There were a lot of families, coming from some destination or another, I didn't know. I wasn't paying attention to them. I was too busy lost inside my own head.

The weather outside was dismal. Rain tapped lazily on the window to my left, punctuating the fact that the outside was just as horrible as the inside. At least the air was bound to be fresh out on the deck. Inside the ferry it smelled like mildew, incense, bad eggs, and wet dog. A combination that was as nauseating as it sounded.

I'd been fascinated by the waves. They were so miserable and cheerless in their dark blue-gray colors. Beyond them were walls of fog, obscuring any sort of view that might have been had if the day had been any nicer. It did not get nicer, however. The world outside my window remained dreary, and so I started to people-watch.

That was when I saw the old lady change.

At first, I didn't really know what I was seeing. She was reading and mumbling quietly to herself, looking the perfect, boring picture of somebody's fashionable grandmother on her way back from holiday. My eyes had already begun to stray elsewhere.

Then, something next to her began to stir. A hiccup, a choked gasp, and then the crying newborn let out a wail that pierced the general ambience of the ferry. Several people rolled their eyes and glared her way. I, myself, felt vaguely annoyed that someone had brought a child onboard to inflict the rest of us with its useless displeasure at the world around itself.

The old woman looked up from her book and smiled down at the swaddled infant seated beside her. She lifted a hand and gently rubbed the baby's stomach, cooing softly. It looked innocent enough, that was, until her eyes began to glow. A lavender light radiated faintly as she gazed down at the child, muttering quietly under her breath. I felt my breathing hitch in the back of my throat as I looked around. Was anyone else seeing this? Was I the only one?

Then, as soon as it had started, the glowing ceased.

So, too, did the babies cries. It rolled around a bit more, stretching and gasping, before settling back in for a little snooze. Within moments, the old woman was back to reading her book with everyone around herself none the wiser.

Except me, that is. I, apparently, had been the only one to witness the strange, creepy glow she had when she'd stared down at that baby.

What was strange, however, was the fact that my heart wasn't racing. There was no heavy breathing, no goosebumps up and down my arms, and no hair rising at the back of my neck. My brain and body seemed to take the sheer impossibility of what I'd seen in stride before settling down completely.

Shouldn't I be freaking out? That wasn't a normal thing a human body just decided to do, as far as I knew. Old women's eyes should not just be glowing at random on a ferry in the middle of nowhere.