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Description
It's behind me. What is it? It's not there. But his spine told him different. Tension, cold, electricity, sensation, all spread and torture's my soul. Where? Where? Dear God make it leave. Go away. Go away! Never leaving; always closer. Why won't it leave? Nothing's there, only darkness. Getting closer, ever closer. Nearer, nearer, closer still. Cannot stand it, so much power.  Wants destruction, only hates. Why me, only me?  Too close now, its right here, right there, where? No, leave, no, please, no... A figure appeared, then wavered  into an exponential light.

* * * * *

Troy's eyes snapped open. Holy shit. His heart beat madly, adrenaline made the world more apparent.  Never ever have that dream, again Troy. His fear consumed his mind. That was weird. Hmm, that smells good. I love waffles. Something plopped on a pan in the next room. Damn it, I hate pancakes.

"GOOOOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!" Dad's wakeup call was never pleasant.

"I made pancakes for you."

Helen rolled over in her bed on the other side of the room. "Dad please, some people are actually trying to sleep."

"It's 8 o'clock in the morning. I let you kids sleep in."
The next comment, either rude or complacent, was interrupted by several loud and rhythmic thumps. All eyes turned to the base of the stairs, where a severely hung over Sam was contorted into a jumbled array, that resembled a pile of straw.

"Ohhhh, my head." He moaned.

Dad walked over beside him and prodded him with a foot. "Get up Sam you've felt worse."

"Ow, ow, ow, shhhhhh, not so loud man." Sam whispered not bothering to gather himself. "And can we turn down the lights?"

"Hey," Troy quipped. "He's not dead after all."

"Ow, again with the volume people. You may just kill me yet."
Everyone in the room erupted with laughter, except for Sam who moaned and curled into himself a little tighter.

* * * * *

A deep and rich blue-green hung over the Earth. Wave tips of white cloud crashed against giant spears of pine. Air whipped and swirled through the forest. Needles of green shook and sounded like the ocean as they bounced and brushed into one another. Everything seemed underwater. The ocean surface was far above, always out of reach of the kelp pines. Underbrush became low lying coral; still, perhaps a predator was about. Not a creature stirred. Any noise was washed away by the consuming gusts. Even the stream didn't utter whisper, as if in awe of mighty sea. A wolf's howl penetrated the calm, only to be swept along a strong current created by the wind. Each tree was a barrier to the call, changing its course like boulders in a tributary.

The inside of the cabin remained quiet. Sheltered from the elements the inhabitants kept about their business. Troy wandered around examining the peculiar lamps that littered the lodge. Helen was on the couch arms up supporting her head while she spun her feet in the air crossing them occasionally.  Apparently, there was a high speed chase on the local news.  Dad was preoccupied in the kitchen, meanwhile Sam sat leaned over in a wooden chair sipping coffee and recovering from his hangover. Their world was at peace and life was good. It rarely stays that way for long.

* * * * *

Jason Ritalin hid among the forest ferns. Brown, green, and gray streaked his face and his short chestnut hair was mangled and mixed with mud. He lay prone with a pair of binoculars in his hands and half a dozen knives strapped to his back. He relayed his instructions in his head. His boss's thick German accent, (it was hard not to laugh as he spoke)... "You have four targets. Two are Gifted, two are not. We only have sufficient Intel on the Gifted two. You are paying attention, yah? Good. Now, here are the two case files on the non-Gifted. Helen Silver, age 16, height 5'7" . DNA sample acquired she has the mutation. Troy Silver, age 12, height 5'4". No genetic material  acquired, und (God that accent is hilarious , he can't even pronounce "and" right) believed to posses  the mutation. Now for the Gifted two. Samuel Nash age 25, height 6'1". Gifted with an kinetic affiliation to stone. Currently working for the  Vanished. Also a staggering drunkard who should pose no threat if caught of guard. We recommend you eliminate him before the others as his Gift is quite powerful. Finally Robert Silver, age 35, height 5'10". Gifted mentally with  a superb tactical mind. A valuable Gift but not very effective in actual combat. Still be wary, after all, he is bound to be smarter than you"... That asshole, he should shove it right up his; hello what's this? The targets had converged in the living room in the rear of the house, with large glass windows. Perfect. The predatory lurker slid his way towards his unassuming victims.

* * * * *

He exists in perpetual darkness. At least he was dressed well. His shiny black business shoes always gleamed, even without a source of light. Actually, he was the only visible thing anywhere.  As far as the eye could see, only blackness. It didn't bother him much, he was always busy. Why? Why not? Something had to be done. And nobody else was going to do it. Harboring souls was just something to do. A hobby, or pass time if you will. Not that he had a choice. There were rules to these types of things. From where, who knows? But rules are rules. He sighed, a little disgruntled. Always the same old thing, 'Why me?"  or "but I'm not ready yet!"  Mortals, no imagination. He straightened his dark purple, vertically striped tux. Readjusted his crimson tie, which matched his hair, and put on a short top hat. It was time for reaping.

* * * * *

The carpet was warm beneath Troy's arms. The large windows allowed for a large amount of sunlight in the living room.  Every spot on the carpet  the light touched was pleasant, like sun-warmed  grass on a windy summer day. It ran long and smooth as it parted between Troy's outstretched fingers. The distant stream offered an afternoon lullaby, as the calm day combined with the warmth guided the mind towards a peaceful nap, Although everyone was in the room, not a voice was heard as each person softly basked in the appealing rays of the sun. Even the forest was quiet, seemingly sedated by the temperature.
Sam sat in a upright reclining chair, "Oh man, I could get used to this". Nobody disagreed.

* * * * *

Jason laid no more than 30 feet from his targets. He reached backward and slid one of his curved throwing knives. An impossible shot, with an impossible angle. No normal human could make the shot. Good thing he wasn't "normal".

* * * * *
Knife met fingers, knife met air, knife met glass, knife met flesh.
Sam's hand already instinctively curled to the knife. His head bent down and eyes locked on the object of death wedged into his heart. "Oh shit." Another blade silenced him eternally.
The brain couldn't process, only react. Instinct became survival. Troy couldn't move. Robert had the opposite reaction. He grabbed Helen who was sitting on the couch next to him and swung her over the top behind the sheltered side. He moved next for Troy as another blade cut grazing his side. Before another moment passed, all three sheltered behind the couch.
Still only Robert moved. He grabbed Helen's hand and wrapped it around Troy's. Troy had imagined the the last time he would see his father before. He had though of different ways they'd say goodbye. Never was it one word. Never was it "run".

The next few seconds passed in a blur. They where in front of the cabin now, a strange voice howled from inside the house "YOU SON OF A BITTCH! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT." The world spun and Troy was on the ground. "TROY!!" Helen screamed. Troy opened his eyes to see the earth lying on his cheek. Why am I on the ground? The world contorted again. He blacked out.

* * * * *

He saw hair, black as night, but something was... familiar... same color, same length, same caring eyes. Helen. Her face was contorted in terror. What's wrong? What's, oh God. No, please no... A red flower flowed down her forehead. In the center a single silver tip glistened in the sunlight. The world blurred and shifted. Blackness crawled in, and the last thing Troy saw was a pair of gleaming black shoes.

Description
It's behind me. What is it? It's not there. But his spine told him different. Tension, cold, electricity, sensation, all spread and torture's my soul. Where? Where? Dear God make it leave. Go away. Go away! Never leaving; always closer. Why won't it leave? Nothing's there, only darkness. Getting closer, ever closer. Nearer, nearer, closer still. Cannot stand it, so much power.  Wants destruction, only hates. Why me, only me?  Too close now, its right here, right there, where? No, leave, no, please, no... A figure appeared, then wavered  into an exponential light.

* * * * *

Troy's eyes snapped open. Holy shit. His heart beat madly, adrenaline made the world more apparent.  Never ever have that dream, again Troy. His fear consumed his mind. That was weird. Hmm, that smells good. I love waffles. Something plopped on a pan in the next room. Damn it, I hate pancakes.

"GOOOOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!" Dad's wakeup call was never pleasant.

"I made pancakes for you."

Helen rolled over in her bed on the other side of the room. "Dad please, some people are actually trying to sleep."

"It's 8 o'clock in the morning. I let you kids sleep in."
The next comment, either rude or complacent, was interrupted by several loud and rhythmic thumps. All eyes turned to the base of the stairs, where a severely hung over Sam was contorted into a jumbled array, that resembled a pile of straw.

"Ohhhh, my head." He moaned.

Dad walked over beside him and prodded him with a foot. "Get up Sam you've felt worse."

"Ow, ow, ow, shhhhhh, not so loud man." Sam whispered not bothering to gather himself. "And can we turn down the lights?"

"Hey," Troy quipped. "He's not dead after all."

"Ow, again with the volume people. You may just kill me yet."
Everyone in the room erupted with laughter, except for Sam who moaned and curled into himself a little tighter.

* * * * *

A deep and rich blue-green hung over the Earth. Wave tips of white cloud crashed against giant spears of pine. Air whipped and swirled through the forest. Needles of green shook and sounded like the ocean as they bounced and brushed into one another. Everything seemed underwater. The ocean surface was far above, always out of reach of the kelp pines. Underbrush became low lying coral; still, perhaps a predator was about. Not a creature stirred. Any noise was washed away by the consuming gusts. Even the stream didn't utter whisper, as if in awe of mighty sea. A wolf's howl penetrated the calm, only to be swept along a strong current created by the wind. Each tree was a barrier to the call, changing its course like boulders in a tributary.

The inside of the cabin remained quiet. Sheltered from the elements the inhabitants kept about their business. Troy wandered around examining the peculiar lamps that littered the lodge. Helen was on the couch arms up supporting her head while she spun her feet in the air crossing them occasionally.  Apparently, there was a high speed chase on the local news.  Dad was preoccupied in the kitchen, meanwhile Sam sat leaned over in a wooden chair sipping coffee and recovering from his hangover. Their world was at peace and life was good. It rarely stays that way for long.

* * * * *

Jason Ritalin hid among the forest ferns. Brown, green, and gray streaked his face and his short chestnut hair was mangled and mixed with mud. He lay prone with a pair of binoculars in his hands and half a dozen knives strapped to his back. He relayed his instructions in his head. His boss's thick German accent, (it was hard not to laugh as he spoke)... "You have four targets. Two are Gifted, two are not. We only have sufficient Intel on the Gifted two. You are paying attention, yah? Good. Now, here are the two case files on the non-Gifted. Helen Silver, age 16, height 5'7" . DNA sample acquired she has the mutation. Troy Silver, age 12, height 5'4". No genetic material  acquired, und (God that accent is hilarious , he can't even pronounce "and" right) believed to posses  the mutation. Now for the Gifted two. Samuel Nash age 25, height 6'1". Gifted with an kinetic affiliation to stone. Currently working for the  Vanished. Also a staggering drunkard who should pose no threat if caught of guard. We recommend you eliminate him before the others as his Gift is quite powerful. Finally Robert Silver, age 35, height 5'10". Gifted mentally with  a superb tactical mind. A valuable Gift but not very effective in actual combat. Still be wary, after all, he is bound to be smarter than you"... That asshole, he should shove it right up his; hello what's this? The targets had converged in the living room in the rear of the house, with large glass windows. Perfect. The predatory lurker slid his way towards his unassuming victims.

* * * * *

He exists in perpetual darkness. At least he was dressed well. His shiny black business shoes always gleamed, even without a source of light. Actually, he was the only visible thing anywhere.  As far as the eye could see, only blackness. It didn't bother him much, he was always busy. Why? Why not? Something had to be done. And nobody else was going to do it. Harboring souls was just something to do. A hobby, or pass time if you will. Not that he had a choice. There were rules to these types of things. From where, who knows? But rules are rules. He sighed, a little disgruntled. Always the same old thing, 'Why me?"  or "but I'm not ready yet!"  Mortals, no imagination. He straightened his dark purple, vertically striped tux. Readjusted his crimson tie, which matched his hair, and put on a short top hat. It was time for reaping.

* * * * *

The carpet was warm beneath Troy's arms. The large windows allowed for a large amount of sunlight in the living room.  Every spot on the carpet  the light touched was pleasant, like sun-warmed  grass on a windy summer day. It ran long and smooth as it parted between Troy's outstretched fingers. The distant stream offered an afternoon lullaby, as the calm day combined with the warmth guided the mind towards a peaceful nap, Although everyone was in the room, not a voice was heard as each person softly basked in the appealing rays of the sun. Even the forest was quiet, seemingly sedated by the temperature.
Sam sat in a upright reclining chair, "Oh man, I could get used to this". Nobody disagreed.

* * * * *

Jason laid no more than 30 feet from his targets. He reached backward and slid one of his curved throwing knives. An impossible shot, with an impossible angle. No normal human could make the shot. Good thing he wasn't "normal".

* * * * *
Knife met fingers, knife met air, knife met glass, knife met flesh.
Sam's hand already instinctively curled to the knife. His head bent down and eyes locked on the object of death wedged into his heart. "Oh shit." Another blade silenced him eternally.
The brain couldn't process, only react. Instinct became survival. Troy couldn't move. Robert had the opposite reaction. He grabbed Helen who was sitting on the couch next to him and swung her over the top behind the sheltered side. He moved next for Troy as another blade cut grazing his side. Before another moment passed, all three sheltered behind the couch.
Still only Robert moved. He grabbed Helen's hand and wrapped it around Troy's. Troy had imagined the the last time he would see his father before. He had though of different ways they'd say goodbye. Never was it one word. Never was it "run".

The next few seconds passed in a blur. They where in front of the cabin now, a strange voice howled from inside the house "YOU SON OF A BITTCH! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT." The world spun and Troy was on the ground. "TROY!!" Helen screamed. Troy opened his eyes to see the earth lying on his cheek. Why am I on the ground? The world contorted again. He blacked out.

* * * * *

He saw hair, black as night, but something was... familiar... same color, same length, same caring eyes. Helen. Her face was contorted in terror. What's wrong? What's, oh God. No, please no... A red flower flowed down her forehead. In the center a single silver tip glistened in the sunlight. The world blurred and shifted. Blackness crawled in, and the last thing Troy saw was a pair of gleaming black shoes.