Sanctuary

Part Three: The Dweller

When I peel my eyes open, it's not raining. There are no droplets on the windows. The sun is high overhead. I jolt up and look at the windows. I'm in the—passenger seat? Wasn't I just in the driver seat? My gaze switches to the backseat with worry. In the dull car light, I see my backpack glistening. It's in my arms within seconds pressed tightly against my chest. I stare out into the woods but I don't see anything. No cloaked figure.

I was dreaming. It was an extended, vivid dream, but still only a dream. As I tell myself this, I hear a car pulling up. It's the tow truck.

I quickly get out and swing my backpack over my shoulder. I could cry right now but I hold back the confused yet relieved tears instead.

"Told you we wouldn't be long," my mother sings as I open the door. I sit in the seat next to her, still a bit unnerved.

"I see you didn't get caught in the rain," I laugh. She looks at me confused.

"What do you mean?" Mother looks lost. Huh, maybe that was a part of the dream too. Still, the entire drive to the gas station then to school, I sit fidgeting with my damp hair that I'm positive I blowdried.

•••

The rest of the day seemed to pass in a blur. My mother enrolled me at Willow's Creek Preparatory Academy where I met a few kind people. I've never really had a lot of friends so I was fine going through the day alone.

Finding my classes was pretty easy.
In English, Mr. Slade introduces me to the kids. "Just B? What kind of name is that?" Some girl says in a quiet snicker. Before he introduced me, he asked if I had a nickname. I told him I'd rather be called B. People don't call me by my real name.

Ever.

I chuckle under my breath.

"Knock it off," the boy who I came to find out goes by Nate said. The snickering ceases and I take my seat quietly.

"Well B, on Thursdays the homework is to write a poem about whatever you want and on Fridays, we use the period to read our poems aloud," Mr. Slade says and I nod. "Who wants to go first?" A few people raise their hands but he keeps his eyes trained on one person. His hand isn't raised but he calls on him anyway. "Nate, let's hear yours."

Nate groans and stands near his desk with his paper in his hands as his friends laugh teasingly. He begins in a hypnotic voice.

"It doesn't breathe, nor does it eat

When it's flesh is torn, the thing doesn't bleed

Some call it myth, others believe it to be true,

But you only see it before your time is due

It tears off your flesh piece by piece

Then it disappears away with the leaves

Very few if any live to tell the story of this thing,

The dweller they call it before they are slain," he finishes.

The dweller?

The class applauds louder than he deserves as Nate smirks haughtily and takes a seat.