Inscription in Stone

Chapter One: Scarlett

It's not the first time I've had this nightmare. And, judging by the ache in my throat, I know it won't be the last.

It always starts the same.

I'm standing in a barren field under the light of a full moon. The night is still and the prairie grass is damp beneath my bare feet. The edges of the field melt into a thicket of trees, leaving me completely and utterly exposed. But I don't feel afraid—not yet. That part comes later.

I move forward a few steps, watching my feet. They're smaller—I'm younger, probably four or five. And I'm clumsy. I always trip over my feet.

A small puddle materializes in front of me. I lean over and peer into it. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust before my reflection comes into focus. My eyes are wider, more innocent, and my hair is longer than it's been in a very long time. The golden locks fall along my face. The water suddenly ripples, and I gawk at the shaded figure that stares back at me. It beckons a crooked finger. I fall backward in surprise and bright blue flowers blossom across the backs of my hands until the entire field is glistening with them. I shakily push myself back to my feet. The flowers crumple under my weight as I spin in a circle.

A branch cracks in the trees behind me and I whip around to see a large black wolf some thirty feet away, haunches raised, the pinks of his gums visible even at this distance, his teeth bared in a snarl. His bright eyes glow hauntingly white, and it's at this moment that I start to feel scared. I ease backward, not caring about the slosh of my feet on the cold ground, or the bright powder that cakes them from the trampled flowers. I ignore the chill that comes with the sudden wind, sending my hair into a twisted mess behind me.

The wolf lowers his head as he barrels towards me. I feel my heart stop as I brace myself for the impact—for the inevitable pain I'm about to endure—as its teeth tear into my neck.

The world becomes off balance and I feel myself falling, whorls of black and white blotting my vision. Just before I hit the ground, my eyes flash open and reality slides into view.

I know Mr. Juarez's attention is on me before I'm totally awake. Sure enough, when my eyes flicker open, my history teacher is staring at me from the front of the room, with a look of disdain plastered across his face. But he continues with the lecture, pretending the moment didn't happen at all. I silently will myself to do the same.

It's not like he's a bad teacher; he's probably one of my favorite teachers ever. He teaches in a fun way, doesn't take crap from anyone, and is just a nice, fair dude. Plus I've heard a lot of my peers call him cute and I can't say I disagree.

And I mean, it's not just his class that I've been falling asleep in. I fall asleep in all of them. Except for the ones my friend Cameron is able to keep me awake in. Even then, it's a losing battle. And it's not like I'm a particularly bad student or anything. I just haven't been sleeping well. Or much. At all.

At the thought, I risk a glance at the seat next to mine. Cameron's eyes are on me, his lips set in a thin, straight line. He's worried about me. I've told him so many times not to. If he knew how much the nightmare affected me, he'd be even more concerned. They've been steady for the past couple weeks, but this is the first time I've been in a deep enough sleep to have one while in school. I must have been completely zonked.

And the nightmare... I can't figure it out. It started a few weeks ago after Mr. Juarez began his unit on mythical creatures in history, like lore about vampires, werewolves, and witches. It began with us discussing the Salem witch trials, and then a kid asked him if he thought witches could indeed be real, probably as a joke, but Mr. Juarez decided to make an entire unit about it. Witches from Salem, vampires from Romania, etc. I find it interesting, but spooky. The idea of supernatural entities has always creeped me out.