Nolander

Prologue and Chapter 1

Nolander

Emanations, Book 1

Copyright 2012 Becca Mills

Prologue

The great beast slid through tall, dead grass. The wind had led him here. It had things to show him.

His once-paws sensed broken asphalt and the hardened earth of early April in the northlands, the damp soil still mixed with particles of ice. His crystalline coat moved as the evening breeze greeted it.

The wind was getting reacquainted with him, here. He had not visited the north during the long years of ice, when the storms scoured the surface of the glacier, and the land beneath was remade. When the ice drew back, the fresh place attracted him. He had spent many days here, of late.

The humans brought newness as well, of course, but that interested him less. It had come so quickly. Surely it was ephemeral.

I would know this beast as Ghosteater, though that was not his name. I can’t say his name. No living thing in this world remembers it, though he’s far from the oldest of creatures.

He gazed at gray clouds, watched as they pressed and crowded one another across the sky. There would be a full moon tonight, but its light would be dim.

He lowered his eyes to the broken place that stood before him. In days past, the humans had used it. Now other creatures came and went — bats, owls, mice, coyote.

But tonight, something here would change, the wind whispered in his ear. No, that wasn’t quite right, he thought, sifting through the wind’s strange language, seeking understanding. Tonight something would change, and it would begin here.

The wind suggested it concerned him. He could not imagine how. Nevertheless, change was interesting. He settled down to wait.

Chapter 1

I kept my face turned to the window, so Matt wouldn’t see I was still crying. The streets of Dorf were largely dark — only a few folks around here stayed up this late, even on a Friday night. I watched the houses slide by, picking out the ones with the bluish glow of a TV on in the living room or a warm yellow light upstairs. One in five, maybe.

The silence from the driver’s side was oppressive. Matt was really pissed. And probably embarrassed. I wiped quickly at my face. Everything was damp — my neck, even the top of my shirt. It was like I’d sprung a permanent leak.

Finally Matt shifted and took a deep breath, performing his patience for me.

“I just don’t see,” he said in a gritted-teeth voice, “what could possibly be so scary at T.G.I. Friday’s.”

“I know.”

My voice sounded rough and choked.

“So what happened?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t explain it.

I’d been having panic attacks all my life, and I’d never understood them. They tended to happen more often when I was in a crowded place, but sometimes they happened when I was sitting alone in my house. Sometimes they even woke me out of a deep sleep. There was no consistency, no predictability. It was some unknown thing that lurked just under the surface, and when it got hungry, it sank its teeth in and dragged me down.

“I don’t know, Matt. I don’t get it either. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything. I guess “I’m sorry” doesn’t make up for having your date start shaking and crying, clutch her chest, and then fall out of her chair and barf in the middle of a busy restaurant.

We pulled up in front of my house, and I got out of the car.

“Bye, Matt. Thanks …”

I couldn’t very well add “for a lovely evening,” so the sentence just petered out.

“Bye, Beth.”

I knew finality when I heard it.

He pulled away, leaving me standing on the terrace. I sighed and tried to push back the tears. Matt Kelsey had lasted longer than most. I’d been going out with him for about three months.

I’d been really excited about him at first. It wasn’t all that often that someone moved to Dorf, Wisconsin. Only about three thousand people lived there, so everyone pretty much knew everyone, or at least knew about everyone. What they knew about me was that I had fits. That didn’t exactly put me at the top of Dorf’s datable-women list.

But Matt had just moved to town — he’d been hired as a gym teacher at the high school in Frederick, the next town to the west. So he didn’t know about the list, and he didn’t know about me. And he was a hottie. With a steady job and no kids, even though he was twenty-seven. Quite a combo.

But with the excitement came worry. No one I’d gone out with had been able to put up with the panic disorder. Standing there on the terrace, I felt the last tendrils of hope withdraw. Three months had been enough time to have four attacks in his presence. I guess he’d reached his limit.

I turned toward my house. The porch light should’ve been welcoming and cheery, but instead it seemed white and harsh.

I let myself in and saw my camera bag sitting on the entryway table. I immediately felt a little calmer. What I needed was a good photo session. Tomorrow. It would make me feel better.

For now, my bed was waiting for me. I climbed the creaky stairs and dropped my vomit-splattered clothes on the bathroom floor. I showered briefly, then got in bed, tucking Sniggles the bear under my arm. He reminded me of happier times.

Things hadn’t been perfect back when Sniggles was a young bear. There’d never been enough money, and I’d always been the kid with the weird problem. But I hadn’t been alone. Not like now.

Now I could hear the emptiness all around me. The quiet house was full of it. I lay in my cold sheets and listened. Emptiness sounded like the hum of the furnace and the soft brush of air. It sounded like people turning away and thinking of other things.