Ravenwood, Chapter 17

Changing the Future, a Story, Part Five:

The woman was white—from her long hair and porcellaneous skin, to her long gossamer gown that revealed a thin but shapely body. White light glowed around her like a bright aura.

“Who are you?” Dave asked.

“Come,” she said, and lifted her arms at the sky. She and Dave vanished. So did Vree’s house and backyard—all of Myers Ridge and Ravenwood until nothing was left of earth and sky but a vast grayness.

Someone knocked at my bedroom door and my mom called me to supper.

I sat at my desk for several minutes, in front of my Remington typewriter, wondering what had happened. My head was full of questions when I went downstairs and ate. It was still filled with questions when I returned to my typewriter.

Ravenwood was there as I remembered it, but the people I knew were gone. No Dave and Amy, no band called ARC, and no Vree. Even their parents were gone.

The sinkhole was gone too.

For several days, I searched Ravenwood, looking for my friends.

I finally gave up and stopped writing. What was the point if it meant starting over and developing friendships with strangers?

By summer vacation, I hadn’t visited Ravenwood for several months, though I dreamed about still searching for Vree, Dave, and the others and not finding them.

One night, I dreamed that an amnesic young woman known as Jane Doe slumped in her oversized wicker wheelchair. Her caretaker, Rachel Pennwater, sister of Dr. Henry Pennwater, had parked her chair again in front of the parlor’s largest window so she could look out at the hilly, tree-lined neighborhood. Rachel took her there every afternoon and claimed looking at the people and gasoline automobiles that puttered along the woodland section of New Cambridge could help bring back memories of her past.

Jane’s mind was blank, though she was coherent for the moment; the regimen of drugs would begin again after supper. She wished to be painless and drug free. The medicine kept her from thinking.

She squinted past the silver-gray skylight stabbing through the large window. It was July, but the city sky looked far from being summery. Thunder sounded. A darkened sheet of low-sailing clouds threatened to pour down rain. Lightning lit up the view outdoors and for a moment, she saw a shadowy figure standing at the tall, black iron fence in front of the house. A young man, a teenager perhaps, was dressed in a long black raincoat and stood looking through the bars at her. Then he went to the entrance gate and started up the sidewalk leading to the house.

Her heart beat faster.

His features became clearer the closer he got to the front door.

He looked familiar.

She balled her hands into tight fists and waited for the sound of the doorbell.

To be continued … maybe.

 

Published by

Steve Campbell

I am an artist and indie-author. I draw and paint wildlife art, draw cartoons, and write paranormal fantasy fiction.

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