The Phantom of Scranton Hill

10

Justine was riding the bus again, listening to music in the very back row of seats like she usually would. But her senses were botched. Sirens screamed on every turn, every street the bus would drive through. Wooden houses burned, children pleaded for help, parents tried to escape with their lives, and Justine was frozen in place. Her bottom was super-glued to the seat cushion underneath her. Firetrucks raced, parallel.

Suddenly, she was pushed from her seat, catapulted out of the top of the hood, and landed on her feet between two police officers. They conversed with one another as if nothing was happening, as if it was just another Friday, but it wasn't. Justine slowly turned around three hundred and sixty degrees, taking in all of her surroundings.

Road blockades lined the intersection, a car smashed into the wall beside the highway. Flashing red and blue lights nearly blinded her. Two lifeless bodies covered by red-soaked white cloths were carried on bloodied stretchers by paramedics. Tears began to well in the corners of her eyes, but she remained emotionless, like she knew what was going to happen.

Her face was hard and her cheeks wet. Justine's eyes stung and she couldn't stop the tears, but her lips never quivered. It felt as though she wasn't truly there, like she was someone else but with her own mind and body.

Her body began to move toward the accident. Her feet walked unconsciously and she had zero control. Something had to have been possessing her. Her eyes traced the dark red liquid running through thin cracks in the ground most likely caused by earthquakes.

Where was she? Somehow, she knew the answer to that question. But her mind blocked out how. It was on the tip of her tongue, the scenes lay out in front of her to touch, like deja vu, but they were too far. Her mind raced trying to find the answer to a solutionless problem, like an English test asking for your opinion and the teacher marks it wrong.

She froze, memories overcoming her in a wave of nausea and despair. She remembered where she was, his cold, pale body ripped to shreds beside her now kneeling self. She wanted to touch him, to hold him and never let go. Blood dripped from his forehead down the side of his face and his dark brown, fluffy hair was flat and bloody. His skin looked as though it was put through a paper shredder then burned, shards of glass lodged into the crevasses.

Then there was that cut.

It wasn't deep and profound, but glowing. A white light shined from the top left corner of his face just above his eyebrow and grew brighter, making it increasingly difficult for Justine to keep her eyes open.

Something inside of her began to pull her away. Justine's senses were no longer hers and she couldn't feel the tips of her fingers. Her ears stopped and everything was silent, but she knew what would happen next. Somehow, she knew. And she didn't fight it this time, not like every single night before.

She closed her eyes and waited. But the wait was longer than usual. Justine opened her eyes, which she soon regretted. In a flash, brilliant brown eyes met hers, just centimeters away as a razor-sharp blade cut through her gut and she slipped away permanently. The last thing she saw was a sickening grin staring back at her from the face of her best friend as she fell into the blackening abyss.

Once again, Justine woke up with layers of sweat caking her forehead and a twelve foot deep pool surrounding her. For the last week, she had the same exact dream each and every night. Same beginning. Same end. And she couldn't change it. She had tried several times and nothing had happened.

She glared at her clock as it read 3:56 am.

"Well, there's no way I'm going back to sleep," she sighed as she removed the blankets from her bed and trudged toward the bathroom. "Might as well get ready for school." She stared at her graying reflection in the mirror. She was thinner in the waist but more beautiful. Acne hadn't shown its ugly head in months, either. She barely even felt the need to apply any make-up anymore. She grabbed her toothbrush and hovered over the sink to take in her appearance. "God, Monday mornings suck."