The Darkness That Hunts
Chapter 1

I stare down in confusion. My fingers curl around two smoothshafts of wood--a pair of oars. I don’t know where the oars have come from norwhy my hands, littered with cuts and bruises, clutch them so tenaciously. Mygaze slides beyond the oars to the small rowboat in which I sit.

On a lake.

I frown. I don’t recognize this place and I have norecollection how I’ve gotten here. Not that that’s a complete surprise. I sufferfrom sleep terrors and somnambulism--sleepwalking. It’s not unusual for me to wakeup confused, alone, and in an unfamiliar place but it is unusual for me to be surrounded by wilderness and drifting in themiddle of a fog-choked lake. I’m from Atlanta--and the closest I’ve ever beento “wilderness” is Piedmont Park--and this is far from it. I’ve always fearedthe woods and being outside at dusk makes me uneasy.

My frown deepens as my gaze shifts back to my marred hands.Where am I? Why is my body aching? And why do I feel a rising sense of terror,an inescapable need to get the hell away from here?

The rowboat bobs gently as I try to recall what’s happened.I was home, in bed--no, about to goto bed. I was afraid to fall asleep, afraid something might happen; afraid someone was looking for me but I can’trecall whom. My mother threatened to give me sleeping pills if I didn’t go tobed and so . . .

I fell asleep.

Or did I?

I sense the memories are there but a haze of pain obscuresthem. Grimacing, I rub my temples in an effort to massage away my suddenheadache. Be logical, Shari. You cannot--youwill not--panic. This is nothing new.I just have to do what my psychologist trained me to do. Even though I’d onlymet with him a handful of times before my parents pulled the expensive plug, Iremember the essentials.

Priority One: Don’t panic.

Priority Two: Find help and get back home as soon aspossible.

Priority Three: Safety first.

As for the memories, they’ll return at their own pace. Iexamine my surroundings more thoroughly. Fog, a lake, pine trees and spruce. Afew dogwood and oak. No sign of the signature Atlanta skyline. It’s hilly andif I didn’t know better, I’d suspect I was in the mountains of north Georgia,but I couldn’t have wandered that far, could I? Again, I try to remember butpain blocks all attempts.

Alright, Shari, youjust need to replace someone to help you until the amnesia passes. My stomach growls and I clear my drythroat. Right. Maybe some food and water,too.

I dip the oars into the muddy water and pull, draggingmyself across the lake towards a dock I’ve spied. Above me the stars multiplyas darkness settles in. Around me nocturnal creatures stir: crickets, a hoot ofan owl, the screech of birds. Relaxing sounds, ordinarily, but it onlyincreases my fear. Something isn’t right. I’m not supposed to be here.

Wherever “here” is.

I ease up to the side of the dock. As I release the oars, aslip of yellowed paper drifts onto the dingy hull of the rowboat. I pick it up.It’s soft, crumpled. How in the world could I have missed this? Unfolding thepaper, I scan the careful script. My heart jumps into my throat and cowersthere.

You arebeing hunted, Shari.

“Hunted?” Thewords curdle in my stomach and my hands tremble. This isn’t my handwritinggreeting me. I have a habit of talking to myself, sure, but I’d never write to myself in the third person. Idevour the note, growing colder and more frightened the more I read.

Right now you must get as farfrom the lake as you can, and seek no help until the disorientation passes. Iam impaired from telling you who is chasing you and why, but believe me when Isay He is dangerous and must not replaceyou again. He, and those He controls, will try to stop what you have been sentto do. You cannot allow this to happen. When you remember what has occurred,replace the medium that can channel me.

The warning ends with no signature. My mind reels with evenmore questions. Who is “He” and what does the writer mean by “those Hecontrols”?

Pain lances through my head, settling in my eyes and I backaway from the swirling mist barring my memories. Whoever wrote the note isright. I have no idea what’s happening and my not knowing could mean my death.

I was wrong before. This isn’t normal at all.