Free Experiment in Terror 05 On Demon Wings by Karina Halle Page B

underneath, and the spindly
    trees whose branches bore the slightest hint of green buds.
    It reminded me of being young and pretending I was in fairy
    land.
    By the time I returned back home, I was in better spirits
    and feeling more optimistic about everything. One thing that
    had real y bothered me the past few days was how bad it
    looked for me to take off so much time from work. I know it
    wasn’t like I asked to end up in the hospital but it was one
    of those situations where my absence would have been felt.
    I know Ash and the others would have covered for me (in
    fact, I had spoken to Ash the other day and he assured me
    everything was fine) but it didn’t real y help me in my quest
    to get ful -time employment. Having finicky health didn’t
    make you look like the most reliable employee.
    But I had a plan. I was going to go into work and work
    extra hard. I’d take a mil ion painkil ers if I had to; I just
    wanted to prove that I was someone you could depend on,
    someone who would go the extra mile. Yes, it was just a
    stupid barista job, but it was stil the only way out of my
    parents’ house and down a path al my own, where I didn’t
    have to put up with my parents worrying that their child was
    going to end up a spinster in her early twenties.
    I was almost at my parents’ driveway when I saw my
    neighbor walking down the street with her lab, Cheerio,
    again. I waved at her, and I waved at the dog (as you do),
    giving him my brightest smile.
    At the sight of me, the dog froze on the spot, nearly
    yanking his owner off her feet. His eyes were fixed on mine,
    his legs stiff as boards and shaking ever so slightly.
    I looked behind me to see if perhaps he saw another
    dog or a rabbit but there was nothing.
    “Cheerio!” my neighbor scolded. “Come on, now. That’s
    just Perry.”
    She tried pul ing at the dog but he wouldn’t move. The
    only thing that did was his mouth, as his droopy lips spread
    open, showing perfectly white, pointed teeth.
    A low guttural growl seeped out between them. I nearly
    felt it in my running shoes.
    “Cheerio, what -” she started.
    Before she could finish, the dog leaped forward, ripping
    the leash out of her hands and bringing my neighbor to her
    knees on the rough concrete. She cried out in pain and the
    dog kept running, coming straight for me.
    Coming to kil me.
    I turned on a dime, losing no hesitation, and sprinted
    toward the house, ignoring the pain in my sides as I coaxed
    my legs to leap wider, run harder.
    I reached the door just as I heard the wet, snapping
    snarls a few feet away, flung it open and slammed it shut as
    Cheerio flung his body up against the door. I fel back onto
    the foyer and the door sprang back open, having not
    latched properly.
    Cheerio had fal en too, and there was a brief instance
    where both of us were on the ground, eyeing each other like
    predator and prey, before scrambling to get to our feet, with
    only an open door between us.
    I reached the door first and put al my weight against it,
    holding it in place as Cheerio slammed his body against
    the door repeatedly, shaking me with each throw.
    I kept myself against it until I found the agility to lock it,
    my fingers fumbling as I slid the chain across. Then I curled
    up into a bal at the foot of the stairs and cried until my
    parents came home.

    ~~~

    “You’re not touching your mashed potatoes, honey,” my
    mom said gently, gesturing to the steaming pile of starch,
    which looked as appetizing as a heap of albino crap.
    We were having dinner, and thanks to my incident with
    Cheerio earlier in the day, I lost the wil to eat, even though
    mashed potatoes and chicken parmesan were among my
    favorite foods. I could only pick at it and push the food
    around my plate, feeling on edge and depressed at the
    same time.
    My dad sighed, loudly, and folded his hands, his chubby
    fingers smeared with old ink stains. He rested his chin on
    them and peered at me over the top of his thick glasses.
    I