The Hunt

October is well underway, which makes me all sorts of warm and tingly. The Hunt is gearing up, the veil is coming down and the world is even more crowded than ever before. I love the way the air thrums around me, sending my blood roaring in response. Oh and the whispers, those sweet whispers. I get more written the closer to the Dead Time we get. Why? Because of those whispers, the hushed conversations with the spirits who cross the veil, or the breath-taking beauty when I make the trip.


Maybe I should explain. You see, I’m a witch and I see dead people. Not just people but the Watchers, the Whisperers, the beings who vacation briefly on this side, the echoes of the past, the promises of tomorrows. It’s both a horrible cruse and the greatest gift, but most of the time it’s annoying.


Have you ever driven down a deserted back country road and turned a corner just to see a young girl standing in the middle of the lane and you don’t have time to hit the brakes?

Your body locks up, your heart stops, you clamp your eyes shut and jam the breaks to the floor then wait for the sickening sound of metal slamming into flesh and bone. Vomit jumps to the back of your throat when the car jerks to a stop. All you hear is the pound of a faltering heart, the weak whoosh of chilled blood, and the single gasped sob.


It seems like forever before you can pry your fingers from the wheel, coax your eyes open and draw that finial breath. Braced for the worst you peek out the rear view mirror, just a micro-second’s glance but the road is empty save for the tire tracks still steaming. One more painful shutter in your chest as you look to your right. And there, smiling with a child’s joy and jokester’s eyes, sits the little girl. Maybe she winks, maybe she giggles or blows a kiss, but your heart has stopped, the breath frozen in your lungs. She gives a little shrug as if to say, “Hey, how was I supposed to know you could see me?” then drifts back into woods or field.


Despite these little jokes, I wouldn’t change a thing; I wouldn’t turn my back on this gift even for just a few moments of alone time.


About adsimons

I'm about to embark on the wonder journey of publishing. Come join me as I struggle to get it right, land an agent and get published. All while raising my daughter alone and fighting just to keep my head over water.
This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s