Chapter 8

A quarter mile inside the woods and a wind had finally surfaced during the late afternoon. It didn’t feel warm and soothing that the season normally offered, though. Thin and needle-like scratches drew across my cheeks. And the wind had a voice, calling for me. Its hollow whispering inside the canals of my ears demanded of me, Come to me. So much to tell you. Don’t turn back. Find me. You must. We are meant to see each other.

How could an October wind make demands of me? Even I knew that wasn’t possible. Aliens were real, visiting numerous cities of the United States, and across the globe. The government had established proof of such beings and events. But apparitions and voices of the dead weren’t, or so I had convinced myself. Never had I believed in ghouls and the undead from hell. Not once had I told myself such creepy and heart-thumping things graced humans. One could have labeled me na?ve and simple, but notthat na?ve and simple.