Alternatively

Fences

There was a fence on the edge of the back field.

It was a crooked fence with worn out barbed wire and rotting wooden posts and it leaned so far to the ground at some parts it might as well be collapsed, but it's what separated his family's farm from the land on the other side. At first glance, the properties didn't look much different. Both had wide fields that used to be well kept, but had fallen to housing wild flowers and overgrown grass. A patch of trees hid both main houses and barns from the road and property lines, but one could see glimpses of them if the sun was just right on the horizon.

No one ever told him not to go near the fence, why would they? His mom always told him to go outside and play when he was younger, urging him to run his energy out. The neighbors weren't a threat, not to her or his uncle, but there was something that made him wary. If he really looked, messy fields were divided by an indiscernible system. There grew an air of mystery impossible to explain and inspired an impulse to stay away.

So he began to walk along the edge, touching each post as he passed. He always raced back to the house at sunset, though, because at sunset, figures would walk the length of the fence on the other side. Rain or shine, at least two people could be seen wandering at the same time every day.

Patrolling.

He used to watch from the kitchen window, crouched low, as if they could possibly see all the way to the house. His mom had smiled, ruffling his hair as she worked around him, prepping for dinner. She never told him he was overreacting, which was nice, and his uncle suggested other places he could watch instead of right by the fridge.

"Sit on the porch with me," he had said. "We can play pinochle."

"Uncle Brunner," Percy just groaned. "You always win, it's no fun."

"Practice makes perfect."

So he sat on the porch, distracted every evening at sunset and always losing to the old man in a tweed jacket.

He gets closer and closer over the summer before his seventh grade year, almost proving to himself that his uneasiness made no sense. It was just a fence, he had driven past the drive way on his way from the airport. He didn't think about it during the day, but when the sky turned golden, he was out there. Watching. Waiting. Smiling at the old farm dog that followed him around, chasing crickets and squirrels.

(Yeah, he kept behind the trees when the figures got close, but that's just because he didn't like the sun in his eyes.)

It's always girls, he noticed. Different ages and none of them look alike. Adoption, he figured; that was the only thing that made sense for a family like that. At night, when he accidentally thought of the fence and his neighbors, he wondered if there was some sort of government conspiracy going on. If he actually summered next to Area 51 and Area 51 was defended by legions of girls.

That made him laugh, but he couldn't let it go. Below the repulsion he felt was a strange counterpull, an allure he couldn't shake.

Closer and closer because he just couldn't help it. The girls were silhouettes and he's always blinded by the sun, always just behind the trees. He wanted to know who they were, what they were looking for each and every day.

And then one of them looked straight at him.

He stumbled over a root; her eyes were like fire. They burned into him and for a second, he thought the fire somehow caught in his blood. Everything was scalding and he could practically feel his brain melting in his skull. He couldn't say anything, he couldn't even scream.

But she tilted her head and the pain vanished. He could see...confusion? As though she wasn't expecting him to still be standing there. Her three companions kept walking, but she stared at him, hair drifting in her face like molten gold. She was younger than he thought, even if she acted otherworldly; she looked his age.