08: The Old Shaman

The night was just as it usually was, still and a little bit humid. Thin, gentle clouds fluffed about in the shadow of the dome-like horizon. The stars, with the full moon, twinkled ever so brightly to dispel how darkness may attempt to overthrow the eve. There was not a single sign pointing out to something ominous crossing reality unless you count the crows cawing as they flew in flocks and the loud silence barely broken.

With the wind dancing so chillingly in the air, the trees waving just as much in the corner of the street, a luxurious van drove away. It wasn’t until it took a wrong turn that the once peaceful night had been cradled by a deafening screech, smoke billowing from the crumpled hood. And from one of the doors that had blasted open, a woman nursing a throbbing head crawled her way out, her tanned skin a little paler.

Laura looked around with her eyes wide open, catching a breath. She blinked. She could have sworn they were driving on a bridge-like street, with its cor