The fox was back, this time its shadow was larger than it should have been, its legs bent wrongly, I didn’t pet it. And the scariest part was that it spoke. 

Even worse was that it used my dad’s voice, 

“Tick tock, Aven. Just a few more days until it's time to harvest…” In that nightmare I ran, I didn't stop until I reached the rocky outcrop where I’d sunbask with the crunchy leaves. The fox never stepped onto those stones, it paced– more careened, at the edge, snarling and clacking its too many teeth.

I woke up in the dark morning hours and I didn’t fall back asleep. The world outside my door was black and ghostly silent. My father was sleeping just downstairs. There was no fox.

Mrs. Takoda poured tea in silence for a moment, her movements smooth but a little too careful. She placed a cup in front of me, along with a brownie. Then, out of nowhere she asked:

“When is your birthday, dear?”  I blinked, 

“Uhh… this Wednesday.” I replied, running a finger around the rim of my mug. November 1st, the day after Halloween, I’d get to binge on my candy with Lukas and the rest of my friends.

Her hands froze mid pour, for a fraction of a second, nobody would have noticed if they weren't paying attention. She set the teapot down gently, her smile a little too tight,

“Wednesday,” She repeated softly, almost to herself. “So soon.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, unsure if that was the right answer, “why?”

She didn’t answer right away, she instead adjusted the tea tray– unnecessarily– and took a long sip of tea before continuing. 

“Are you absolutely certain of this?” She seemed as if she were about to lunge to grab my shoulders. I nod silently, she was making me feel uncomfortable.

“And… your mother” She began, “what was her name?”  I was starting to lose my patience, why was she asking me this? Dad had always taught me to be polite, so I bore it.

“Celia,” I told her, “why?” 

Still no answer. You could've sworn she’d taken a vow to never answer a question by how stiff she was. She took another long sip of tea before glancing at me again. I was already readying myself to sprint out the door incase she was psyco.

“I- I think we better wait for Rowan to arrive before we continue this conversation.” She set her cup down and proceeded to talk about the weather as if everything she just said wasn’t enough to make me bolt back home. In fact, I was planning on doing just that when a creaking door caught my attention. Rowan shuffled out from his room with sleep still heavy in his eyes and slow movements like he was held down by bricks. 

“Mum, you need to stop inviting people over when I'm asleep.” he muttered, looking mostly at the floor. Mrs. Takoda let out a short breath,

“Good, you're here now.” she ignored him and pensively bit her lip before deciding to forge on, “Aven, there’s something we need to talk about… about your Mother Celia.” My mind was reeling, why did these people have to keep bringing up my mum?

“She was one of us,” Mrs. Takoda continued, her voice lower and more watery. “She fought to keep Sparrow Creek safe, to keep everyone safe,” 

Rowan glanced nervously at the window, before adding, “The yellow… it’s a spirit sickness, I doubt you've heard of it though, no one was there to teach you...” His voice grew even quieter, “When it takes over an animal, it's no longer… what it was,” Mrs. Takoda nodded, as if they weren't crazy and simply discussing serious finances. The Yellow? What even was that?

“Listen,” I say, standing up and preparing to leave, my voice harsher that what I intended, but maybe only half as cutting as it needed to be.

“I don’t know what kind of prank you're trying to pull here, but it’s not funny–”

“Dreams!” Rowan stood up, a slightly desperate look in his eyes. He was absolutely certain I nneded to hear them out. “Aven, have you been dreaming of a badger– a-a fox or–or a deer or something? We can explain it all to you, just let us help. And everything can be fine and safe again,” What he said made me stay.

“What do you mean, ‘safe again?’” 

Mrs. Takoda’s fingers tightened on her mug, “The yellow, it's not just a sickness, it’s a demonic plague, some call it ‘the mimic’s curse,’” Her voice hardened with unsettling rage towards whatever this ‘yellow’ was. “Spirits that feed on the dying, it twists the animal it infects– breaks their bones, changes their minds, devours their souls.” She glanced at her son who nodded grimly, his awkward and fidgety character giving way to a seriousness unheard of by a twelve year old boy.

“They're not around forever, fifty to ninety years is the average lifespan, but there are ways to–uh, cease their undeadness prematurely,” He fumbled through his beaded necklaces, fidgeting again.

Okay, now I was charting the fastest, and closest way to the local sheriff's office. But maybe... I could hear them out at least?

TBC...