After Midnight

"Flight 541, JFK to Heathrow, is now boarding."

Rising with the rest of the terminal, I grabbed my carry-on and joined the back of the line. I sighed and choked back the tears, as my eyes gazed over the number of families going on vacation. I had lost my parents just three weeks ago in a car accident.

That night, when they didn't come home on time, I just knew something was wrong. My parents were the most punctual people I had ever met, partially due to my father's proper British etiquette. At three in the morning, I got the phone call. From the moment the police officer on the other line confirmed that my parents had not survived the head-on collision with an 18-wheeler cargo truck, my life crashed and burned along with my parents. 

While reminiscing, the tears couldn't be stopped. Just when I thought I couldn't cry anymore. I quickly wiped my wet cheek before anyone could see; I was going to have to be strong now.

My parents' will put me under the custody of my grandmother -- my father's mother -- a woman I'd never met before. The only thing I knew about her was she's very old fashioned, and believes in weird folklore myths, convinced that mythical beasts and creatures walk among us. As if my situation couldn't get any worse, I was going to have to live with some crazy old lady. She apparently is my only living relative; both of my parents came from small families. She lives in Todmorden, West Yorkshire, England, which required me to move 3,000 miles away from my home in Connecticut. 

According to my father, I look just like her younger self. The spitting image, he always used to say. Apparently, we shared the same wispy blonde hair and porcelain skin. The only feature that set us apart were my aqua blue eyes, which I had gotten from my mother.

I was really going to have to move on with my life, and leave everything behind. There was no way around it, and no turning back. My hand reached up to my neck, as my fingers wrapped around my silver locket, a sixteenth birthday gift from my parents. Both of their pictures were enclosed in it. One year later, it held more sentimental value than ever before. 

"Ma'am . . . Ma'am!" The boarding attendant repetitively barked, snapping me out of my daze. "Your ticket, please?" 

Frazzled, I rummaged through my messenger bag. "Sorry," I apologized, as I handed her my ticket.

She glared, then scanned my ticket and let my through.

"Thank you, Miss Mason," she sneered. "Enjoy your flight."

I slugged my bag over my shoulder in a huff, and boarded the plane. I pushed past the chipper flight attendants who greeted me, and scanned the rows for my seat. When I found seat 12B, I got settled in and prepared myself for one dreadful flight, as I popped some of the sleeping pills my psychiatrist had given me. Ever since my parents' death, sleeping had been a rare occurrence. I just wanted to sleep through this nightmare, and never wake up. 

Throwing on my headphones, I blasted my music, closed my eyes, and blocked out the rest of the world.

Eager for the plane to take off, I tapped my foot impatiently. Let's get this show on the roll. As much as it didn't want to, my ass was ready to go to England. I wanted to hurry this process up, and get it over with, rather than prolong my miserable future. It was like I had spent three weeks in purgatory, and my soul was begging to go to hell already. 

The voice of the pilot over the intercom perked my interest, and caused me to open my eyes, pull out my earphones and listen. Halfway through his announcement, something strange out the window caught my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a chocolate brown dog just standing on the runway . . . 

What the hell?

Alarmed, I pressed my face against window and studied it. The animal was too big to be a dog, too brawny to be a stray. Despite the distance between us, I could tell that this animal was massive, almost as large as a bear. My eyes widened in fear as it revealed its big, ivory teeth. The animal began to move closer, walking towards the wing of the plane. 

I rubbed my eyes, hoping that the drug I had just taken was playing a trick on my mind. But when my eyes focused again, the animal was still there. That's when I began to panic. This was not good, so not good. Why was it here, on the runway? How did it get here? How was I the only person who saw it? What was going on? I had to do something. I was about to get up and head to the front of the plane, when all of a sudden, the person who was about to claim the empty seat next to me blocked my path.

It was a tall, yet slim man who had long, shoulder length brown hair, and a tired, worn face with hard black eyes. He wore a tan tailored suit; a relatively peculiar and uncomfortable outfit to wear on an 8-hour flight. 

"Werewolves of London?"

Panting, I crinkled my eyebrows at him. "I'm sorry, what?"  

"Your music . . ." he murmured, as he pointed to the headphones that hung around my neck. I could detect his faint, Irish accent. "By Warren Zevon, right?"  His black eyes peered down at me, sending chills down my spine and giving me an unnerving feeling. 

"Yeah, sure . . ." I nervously answered in a rush. I tried to squeeze my way through, but he wouldn't budge. "Sorry, but excuse me, I've got to go."

This time, the man crinkled his eyebrows at me like I was the crazy one. "Where are you going? The plane is about to take off." 

"It's kind of an emergency," I forcefully answered. "There is this . . . this thing out there on the runway!" I pointed to the window. 

The man leaned over and peered out the plane window. "There's nothing there," he muttered to me. 

My mouth dropped, as I pushed him out of the way to see. The dog-bear-wolf animal was gone. It just vanished.

"But . . . but it was just there! Just a minute ago, right there!" I exclaimed, freaked out.'

The man studied me closely. "Are you feeling alright? You don't look so well."

"I'm fine . . ." I stuttered, recoiling a bit. "I just . . . don't understand."

"Maybe it's best if you sit," the man suggested, as he helped lower me to my seat. "We are about to take off."

I nodded, and closed my eyes: Had I made it all up? Was I losing my mind? Seeing things that didn't exist? Was my mind playing tricks on me again? I asked myself. Letting out a heavy sigh, I blamed the sleeping drugs. I wasn't in my right mind. But it felt so real. 

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