Broken Reflections

Chapter 1

The night wallowed in its deepest trenches, and the only broken pieces of light came from the scarcely visible crescent of a moon as the indistinct figure swept past the sleepy houses neatly lined up on Willow Drive. It appeared to be cloaked, though it was impossible to tell thanks to the lack of light and the way its impenetrably dark form seemed to be constantly shifting, like oil or smoke. It paused for a moment , seemingly considering its options. It moved on, flowing across the ground and coming to an eerily trancelike halt in front of each home. Desperate for some kind salvation from whatever subconscious torture they endured, the neighborhood children cried out in their slumber before settling back down as the creature passed. Reaching the end of the street, the creature abruptly halted in front of house number 268. It reeked of youthful innocence; it could not be mistaken that this was the place. A rattling sound echoed across the empty street as the figure sucked in the smell. The night became frigid, and a shudder seemed to run through the very fabric of reality. The creature exhaled and something dark passed out of the area where a mouth would be. The shadow twisted its way up past the cold layers of brick and cement, hovering above its prey, a tanned, brown haired human already convulsing violently as the thing grew nearer. All at once, the shadowy tentacle wrapped itself all the way around the boy, smothering his mouth and any chance of escape. Simultaneously, an identical tanned, brown haired human in the adjoining bed jerked awake and pierced the night with his otherworldly scream, one of shared anguish and hurt and utter terror. The thing considered this human. He would be taken care of eventually, but time was running out. Clutching its prize tight, the shadow melted back into the night, along with any hint anything ever happened.

6 months later

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Michael barely glanced at the red, angry number scrawled across the top of the paper before shoving it aggressively into his backpack. It didn't really matter. After all, it was just another failing grade in the long procession that had become his academic life in the past 6 months. He scuffed his beat up sneakers on the spotless tile floor, intent in watching the mercilessly slow clock march round and round, mumbling the occasional 'Mmhmm' in fake comprehension. Of course, Michael didn't give a shit

about the Mongol's rise to power, not that he would ever say so to Mrs. Slickett, the 11th grade Social studies teacher. She was a firm believer that he should be 'over' Logan by now. Right. As if losing you're your twin brother and best friend was something you could 'get over' with a little tonic and bed rest. Not that the rest of his life was perfect either. His parents had been drifting slowly away from reality, he'd given up on his once promising athletic career, and in trying to explain what he'd seen that horrifying night, he'd lost his honor. (And in the eyes of everyone else, his sanity.) The worst part was that his twin-tuition hadn't registered the loss. Often, he could feel Logan, scared and, it seemed trapped. His psychologist assured him that it was a reflection of his own feelings, associated with Logan in his absence. He tried to believe her. Tried to. "Mr. Stonewater? Can you tell the class what Genghis Khan's given name was?"Michael looked up at her piercing blue eyes with his warm brown ones. "Ummm................" Mrs. Slickett's eyes focused coldly on her target. "Well? Don't panic, I won't call the shadow beast on you. Oh wait— there never was one." The class snickered, and Michael's face grew hot. He hated her, and desperately tried to hide the tears that were welling up behind his eyes. As if god- sent, the bell rang and Michael half walked, half ran from class, leaving Mrs. Slickett and his classmates behind. His worn out Jordans navigated the pristine, 'perfect' halls of Nordbury Prep on autopilot, leaving his mind to wander back into the dark caves and crannies they'd traveled to hundreds of times before. Michael loathed this snobby, stuck-up school with its snobby, stuck-up students and teachers. Way back 5 months ago when his parents were still in denial, and still relatively sane, they had tried to convince him that this school was the perfect solution to all his problems- A fresh start, a blank slate, no memories of his brother attached to this school, which meant fewer expensive therapy bills. Since the transfer, Michael had had an excuse to join his parents in playing this twisted, screwed up game of 'Everything's Ok.' Like the House wasn't a mess and the pile of unpaid private investigator bills on the kitchen counter wasn't growing continuously. Like the only food anyone ate wasn't Chinese takeout and Wendy's burgers, and Dad wasn't smoking again, a habit he'd quit when Michael and Logan  were born, and Michael wasn't flunking all his classes..... well, denying reality was easier than facing it. Michael reached his bike, and strapped the helmet on his head, as if the flimsy plastic could contain his increasingly dark thoughts. It felt good to have his feet on the pedals. He sped, faster and faster, past his well- off classmates who had 'earned' their brand new SUVS and Chevrolets by turning 16. Michael was happy to stick with his trusty bike, thank you very much. (Not that he really had a choice.)The local forest rushed by on either side, and the sweet smell of pine and cedar permeated the atmosphere. If he closed his eyes he could almost see Logan, racing the wind ahead of him, teasing him about being such a slowpoke, as he had so many times before."You'll never make the varsity team for track if you can't even ride a bike, bro!" It was times like these that Michael could remember the deep baritone of Logan's voice, his sly smile and the twinkle in his eye when he was teasing someone, the way he'd tried to act tough around his buddies, but Michael had spied him holding open the door for streams of Kindergartners at their K through 8 school every morning. Michael was jolted back to reality with a loud thud. It took him a moment to realize that he was involved in the accident, most of him still in the fantasy 6- months-ago world. A bright red sports car, going an easy 10 mph above the speed limit honked loudly as it flew by. He caught a quick glimpse of one of his classmates smirking as he, and his bike, flew off the road. The car didn't even slow down as he hit the forest floor, a good 5 feet from the doge of the road. Michael's blow was partially cushioned by a large pile-up of pine needles. Michael checked the damage. Aside from a couple scrapes, and a persistent throbbing on his left knee, he was relatively unharmed. He scrambled around to check on his bike. His bike.... The red, off-road Schwinn racer he had grown up was completely totaled, unrideable, even. "Fuck. FUCK! All of this fucking garbage!" He kicked the bike to the side, and lay sprawled on the forest floor breathing hard for what felt like a long time. Blood- smeared dirt was smudged across his knee and elbows, but he couldn't feel the pain. Rummaging through the shamefully large piles of gum wrappers and broken pencils in his messy backpack, he pulled out his cell. It was dead. Great. The sun was dropping down ever nearer to that place where the sky kisses the earth, and it cast brilliant colors across the sky. Logan used to love— No. He couldn't let Logan get stuck in his head. Not here, not now. Since his mom didn't know where he was to pick him up, he would have to walk home alone. Probably in the dark. He knew an old short cut through the woods, from years ago when he and Logan had roamed the forest. Michael considered his options one last time. "On one hand, this is always how dumb girls get their lives fucked up in horror movies. On the other hand, it's the shortest way. But......No buts. I'm taking it." Michael took one look back at the setting sun, and marched into the woods.

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It wasn't long before the sky descended into darkness, and Michael had no kind of flashlight, thanks to his dead phone. Thank god the moon was full, or he wouldn't be able to see the faded footworn trail at all. It was still fairly visible, even after 2 years of neglect. It was around the middle of 9th grade that boys' love of the out doors channeled into a love of all things running. Michael smiled for a brief moment, lost in the memory, before it abruptly vanished like a soap bubble being popped. He continued to trudge through the dark undergrowth. It was getting late. Michael considered himself fairly brave, but he was beginning to feel his confidence quake. He and Logan had always tried to out do each other on spooky stories about what lurked in the woods, but it was never really scary for Michael with his brother by his side. Now, he didn't have that luxury. A chill was definitely setting in, and Michael swore he could feel his body temp drop. He began moving sluggishly, like some sun-deprived reptile. The ground became muddier, and the undergrowth became thicker. He remembered this part of the trail. He and Logan could never quite clear away the thick straggles of bramble trees in this area. Their roots traveled deep into the ground, and their thorns tore at their hands if they weren't careful. On the bright side, this landmark meant he was almost home. There was only one more patch of forest to get through. Logan pulled his thin wind breaker tightly around him. It was probably only 6 or so, and school got out at 4, but in the midst of the Virginian winter, the sun seldom was up after 5:30. Logan moved cautiously through the thick stands of trees. He knew he had less than a fourth a mile to go, but no one the wiser would be able to tell. He was approaching the eighth mile mark. The air became colder. Logan felt the odd sensation something was creeping up behind him. He refused to look back and then- for a split second, a figure hovered above him, blocking his path. It appeared to be male, but it was dressed in an old fashioned toga and hovered at least 4 feet above the ground. Whatever it was, it radiated brilliant golden light, and gave the impression of immense power. All this, Michael noticed in less than 4 seconds. The figure looked Michael right in the eye, and flashed him a quick smile before diving at something right behind him. Michael heard otherworldly screams and the distinctive sound of something being cut. Without looking behind him, Michael fled, as fast as his legs would carry him. He sprinted down the path towards his house, and exited the woods  with out taking a single glance back.

Michael was genuinely going insane.