Out of Breath

Chapter 1

A frigid wind passes over me, causing chills to move along my spine. Is this cold real? I shiver at the eeriness of the temperature drop. Rarely is there a hint of coldness in my Florida swamp. Before I blink twice, the cold dissipates, replaced by the infernal sauna of the South. My tightened skin relaxes as it instantly heats up again by the sweltering day.

Had that just happened?

The heat of the sun returns to broil my skin. Where had the unnatural cold come from? My stomach churns in apprehension, but to what, I don't know.

I wipe the sweat from my bronzed arm and shake as if to release the anguish I feel. My fingers return to rolling a fat worm between my fingers before I stab it with my hook. Its rubbery body flips out.

I better have luck fishing today.

With pride, I gaze at my small pond. Algae floats on top while a great white egret fishes at the edge. Contentment radiates within, relaxing me into tranquility, dismissing the cold that had just happened. Man, this is living! I have fished this same pond my whole life.

I take a swig of Ener-Fiz, my energy drink. Carbonated bubbles tickle my throat. I love that feeling; however, I think I have an addiction problem. I don't always feel the effects of the caffeine from one Ener-Fiz. Sometimes it even makes me sleepy instead of stimulating me.

A roseate spoonbill spikes its beak into the pound, sending a small ripple toward me. It better not steal the last fish in here. The spoonbill's pink feathers remind me of a flamingo. A little flamingo. My gaze returns to the trees, unmoving. I must have imagined the cold wind that had sent the branches swaying just moments before. The air is as solid as Jell-O. No breeze. Just thick, thick humidity. My shirt sticks to my thin chest, and I can smell my masculine-putrid odor.

I cast my fishing line out. The red bobber sinks under the surface and bounces back up. That was a good cast. As I lean back, a nippy breeze ruffles my shaggy hair into my face. I sit up as if the air electrocuted me. What? The chill has returned. What is going on? Even though I like the cold, my heart races to the point it hurts. Creepy! The cold wind is not natural, and this freaks me out. I don't know why, but it's ominous. Then just as quickly, everything stills — no more wind. The air feels laden with a heat you could fry an egg on. There is something unholy about the passing of cold air. I look around, and I discover her.

I can't take my eyes off those red beady eyes peering out of a young girl's hollow sockets. Just looking at them flash freezes my blood. I have to glance away. But curiosity controls me as I sneak another look. Who is she? Hers is a face so ashen it's ghostly. Strands of stringy gray hair cover half of her ghastly features. Her hair almost looks like the Spanish moss that hangs in the swamp, spindly and mangled. Her penetrating cold reaches my bones, and I shiver. I can't make up this type of freaky weather. It's real. Her once-white clothes are shredded rags, gray and dingy with yellowing fringes. They look a million years old. I have no doubt she is a part of the Skitler Clan- a family of witches who has lived in this swamp for the last thousand years.

The witch girl seems young, maybe ten or so, possibly making me a good four years older than her, so why should I fear her? I am bigger. I am older. But she freaks me out. What is she doing here? I thought the Skitlers only came out at night. Maybe they aren't witches. From the look of her pasty white skin, maybe she is a vampire, but then, she wouldn't be out in the day either. I can't make sense of this. Her eyes lock onto mine and trap me. Paralyzed! My limbs are nonresponsive. I have lost control. I fight to look away, giving it everything I have, but my eyes won't move, captured by her ray of evil. Doom enters in. Tears slip out my burning eyes as I struggle against her overwhelming power. My lungs seize up, wheezing, as I try to get the air in.