The Origin Stone

Chapter 2-2

Pain seers up my arm from my birthmark. This time it must be bleeding. The covers are wet. I open my eyes to look, but I can’t move.

Brennan is lying on top of me, dribbling all over my sheets. My panic eases and I breathe deeply. It’s not blood, it’s just dog slobber.

Unfortunately, his weight really is putting pressure on my chest, and I nudge him gently to make him move. His eyes open lazily to gaze at me for a few seconds, and then he slowly rolls off.

“Thanks,” I say wryly, swinging my legs out of bed and trudging over to the window.

I open it, letting the night breeze wash over my arm, cooling the still-present sting. It dulls to a prickle, and I relax my head against the wall, thinking about the dream.

Everything happened differently this time. I had been forced up against the door and could see the man working on the machine inside, and the bats attacked instead of just chasing me. Of course, that could have just been the effect of Brennan jumping on the bed, but it sure hadn’t felt like that.

And why does my birthmark always hurt when I wake up? It was never like that in our old house. Sure, it used to tingle, but never to the point of actually causing me pain.

I sigh and glance down into the garden. By the sound of it, Mrs. Swanson’s trying to escape her shelter again. Fat chance she’ll have, dad reinforced the door again just the other day. Evidently, she remembers too, for after another three good thumps, the loud banging she’s making stops, replaced by the sound of her munching hay.

My eyes stray to the old war bunker just to the right of the oak tree. The entrance has long since caved in, it’s impossible to go down there. Not that Ru hasn’t tried. I squint, trying to make out the rubble at the entrance, but then one of the security lights flickers on.

A blurred shape appears in front of the bunker, almost like a heat haze coming up from the ground, but the night air is far too cold for that. The longer I look, the more it seems to take shape. It’s almost as big as the bunker itself now, and it’s moving.

Brennan’s snores stop abruptly. He lumbers off the bed and pads over to me, his ears up and his eyes wide. Without warning, he jumps up onto his hind legs, barking out of the window at full volume, his lips curled back in a snarl.

The blur in front of the bunker shimmers and disappears. Brennan growls for a moment and then drops back down to all fours. He jumps back onto the bed and promptly falls asleep again.

Whatever that thing was, he didn’t like it one bit.