NIGHT WATCHERS (An original story by Lawrence A. LeBlond)

-Chapter Two-

“Rise and shine.” Zane was awakened by the sound of his mother, Lorraine’s, calling. He peered over at the small football alarm clock on his night stand. It was just after eight in the morning. He reached up behind his bed and pulled the shade outward, catching the morning sun on his face. He squinted and smiled.

After his morning rituals, Zane plopped on the dining room chair downstairs and began digging into three pancakes sitting on his plate.

“You were pretty quiet last night,” Loraine pursued. “Is everything okay?”

Zane was not sure how to explain what happened. He was sure someone else must have witnessed what he saw, but was sure his parents were not any of those people. “Everything is fine. Just got a little wet on the walk home last night.”

“Wet?” His mother was confused. “I didn’t know it was raining.”

Zane drew a look of perplexity. It rained quite hard for at least a few minutes and the chill was plainly evident… at least in his eyes. “You didn’t hear it? It came down pretty good for a little bit.”

“Sorry, honey. I guess we were too wrapped up in the news.” Loraine tossed a few sausage links onto his plate and smiled.

Zane couldn’t shake the oddity of the previous night. He had never seen, nor felt anything quite like what had transpired. He wolfed down the rest of his breakfast and shot up from the table. “Sorry, mom. I have some things to do today.” He kissed her on the cheek and darted out the side door.

The warmth of the sun was not taken for granted this morning. He held a light jacket in his hand as he perused the garage for his bike. He felt like he had to connect with his friends to see if anyone else had an experience similar to his. Wayport was a fairly sleepy community and it was readily acceptable that the majority of the townsfolk were planted in front of their TVs instead of out on the town on any given night.

Zane pulled out of the garage and hopped up onto the seat of the old bike. The back tired rubbed against the frame as he rode off down Wagner Street. It was only a short jaunt to Tabitha’s house and he was excited to see her. However, as he placed the bike on the lawn just to the edge of the driveway, he was immediately greeted by Tabitha’s father, William.

“I am sorry, Mr. Staples, Tabitha is not feeling well and won’t be able to see you today.” The older man stepped onto the first step of his house, keeping Zane at bay.

“Oh.” Zane glared into the man’s eyes. “Do you know what’s wrong?”

The man pointed to the skies. “I guess last night’s weather kind of got to her.”

“So you know about it?” Zane drew some interest. “What do you think about it?”

“Actually, I don’t know anything. Tabitha just explained that the cold air got to her. She said it was almost winter-like air. I am not sure if that is why she is feeling lethargic this morning, or not. I do know that she seems under the weather and she will be resting for at least today.” The man stepped back up to the door.

Zane stepped back. “Can you please tell her I said Hi?” He stepped down onto the lawn and started to turn toward his bike, stopping and turning back. “Oh, and please tell her to get better fast.”

Zane rode hard to Dylan’s house, which was on the other side of town. The old farmhouse actually sat well outside of town in the country. However, Dylan’s family had a lot of acreage and Zane hoped he would find his good friend hanging out in the tree house as he normally spent his weekends there. It seemed like any other Saturday as he raced down Main Street toward Route 5. People were out and about and there seemed to be no concerns of the previous evening’s cold snap. Although it seemed like normalcy in town, in Zane’s mind, there was nothing normal about what happened.

At the edge of town, Zane found the trail into the woods near an orange-painted pole marking the edge of Dylan’s property and the town’s wildlife refuge property. Zane walked his bike into the woods and parked it near a mossy stone. The walk in to the treehouse was rough and would only be harder to traverse with a bike in tow. He slowly guided himself through the trees, pushing occasional limbs out of his way and hurdling small rocks and rotten stumps.

As he neared the treehouse, Zane could smell the smoldering remains of a campfire in the air. The woods slightly cleared and a small opening greeted Zane. The treehouse sat in two large maple trees at one edge of the clearing, surrounded by several smaller trees of various species. In the center of the clearing a small fire pit was releasing small plumes of smoke into the air. Zane searched the area from his vantage point. It seemed eerily quiet. He stepped into the clearing and trod past the fire pit. A few empty soda cans were littered around the ground along with an empty bag of chips.

“Hey, Dylan,” Zane hollered out. He walked toward a rope ladder, hanging down from the bottom entrance of the treehouse, which was about fifteen feet up. Zane felt that Dylan was either out in the woods or made a trip to the house as his call went unanswered. It made it seemingly more evident that he was gone due to the fact that the rope ladder was down. Dylan never kept it down when he was in the trees.

Zane climbed about halfway up the ladder before coming to a dead halt. A foul odor emanated from above. He could not place it, but it was unlike any smell he ever faced before. He could only explain it to himself as the smell of wet dog with that of burning plastic. He slowly climbed a few rungs and tried to peer up into the home’s main floor. He was sure he would meet some kind of animal and did not want to be startled half to death.

A few more steps up and the horror graced Zane’s eyes. He immediately lost balance on the ladder and fell backward nearly ten feet to the ground.

Chapter 3 to be posted on Monday Sept. 21, 2015