Shifters

Fifteen Years Ago...

I stared with wide eyes as the streets below my bedroom window began swarming with people in black cloaks.

"Father?" I whispered. "I'm afraid."

"Lisa, look at me," he said with a tone so serious I looked into his eyes right away. Usually my father was a quiet, happy man, prone to smiling for no reason at all. I had only seen him unhappy when someone mentioned my mother.

"You are not safe here. Those men want to kill you. You have to escape."

"H-how?" I asked, my lip beginning to tremble.

My father opened the small attic door in the back of my closet. "Go through there until you reach the end. Enter the blue door. There will be an old couple with grey hair waiting for you. They will help you."

"But father," I protested, tears welling up in my eyes,"What about you?"

My father refused to answer, shedding a few tears himself. "I love you, my little Lisa. Never forget that." He hugged me tightly.

Footsteps thudded up the stairs.

"Hurry! Go!" he said frantically, nudging me towards the door.

I ran inside, the door shutting behind me. I started to run but froze in my tracks when I faintly heard my father say, "Hello. It's been a while, hasn't it."

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Your daughter."

"How could I have a daughter? You killed my mate years ago."

"Then who is the girl?"

"A replacement. Adopted. The daughter I should have had, if it weren't for you."

"Don't you lie to me!"

"Why would I? You're going to kill her anyway, daughter or not."

"Touché. But don't think your fate will be any different."

There was a loud crack from behind the door, and something thudded on the ground. Somehow in my gut I knew that is was my father.

"He's taken care of. Now find her."

Panic overrode my grief and fear, prompting me to weave my way through the joint attic that everyone in the townhouse shared.

Hot tears streamed down my face as I ducked and dodged and tried to make the least noise possible.

I reached the last attic and stopped. There was door after door after door, each a different color. I spotted the blue one and slipped inside, closing it softly behind me. I bolted down the stairs and saw the old couple my father had described, but also eight other children, their eyes red and cheeks wet with tears. I recognized them from the neighborhood, some of them even from the same townhouse as me.

"Ah, there's the last little soul," the woman said. "Come here, little one. What is your name?"

"L-Lisa," I choked out, finding it difficult to talk because of the lump in my throat.

"Come, Lisa. We are ready to take you to safety."

The old couple showed us to a pantry with a floor made with large, flat stones. The man lifted up one of them, revealing a dusty ladder. "Quietly. Climb down one at a time. Sirena, watch the door."

"Of course," the old woman replied.

I was the second one to climb down the rusty rungs of the ladder. As I got further down, not only was the passage darker, but the rungs became slick with moisture. After a short while, the faint glow of a lantern was visible below me. Slowly the light grew brighter until I could see the bottom of the ladder. The boy before me had already reached the ground and was scanning his surroundings.