Here She Comes

By Nicki Chapelway

“In this town, folks know better than to lie.”

I peer at the scruffy, middle-aged man over the top of my sunglasses. “P-pardon?”

“No need to take offense. I was only giving you some friendly advice.”

“And what happens if I lie? The lie police come drag me off?”

The man grimaces and glances over his shoulder, as if expecting someone. “We tend to avoid sarcasm, too. She can’t discern between them well.”

“She?”

“Windy.”

“Who’s Windy?”

The man shudders and crosses himself. “You should’ve asked that question before you moved in.”

A young man with sandy brown hair and a nice smile approaches. “Dad, she just got here. No need to scare her off just yet.” He turns to me and smiles. “Mason Paterson. My dad and I are your new neighbors.”

I find myself smiling back. “Trinity Josephs.” A chill wind washes over me, and I resist the urge to shudder.

Mason gestures to my car with its wide-open trunk and the boxes stacked inside. “Mind if I help?”

“Mason,” his father warns.

“What? I’m just helping out our lovely new neighbor. You got a problem with me being neighborly?” He winks at me.

Is he flirting? Perhaps this town won’t be so dull after all.

His father shakes his head. “You’re a hopeless cause, boy. One of these days, Windy won’t believe your teasing, and that’ll be the end of you.”

Mason rolls his eyes as his father leaves. “You can’t lie if you pose every statement as a question, now can you?”

I have no idea what to say. Mason steps around me and grabs the top box.

He grunts. “Whoa. What do you have in here? Iron?”

I laugh awkwardly. Iron? “Um, no.”

“Oh, too bad. Windy hates iron. Might want to see about buying yourself some. That and bread.”

I stare at him. “Who’s Windy?”

His face darkens. “Just someone who lives in town. You shouldn’t have to worry about her as long as you don’t lie.”

I’m about to question him further, but he straightens, and the smile is back. “So, where are you originally from?”

“Ohio,” I say, the lie slipping easily off of my tongue just as I’ve practiced. Not a moment’s hesitation. My assignment agent would be so proud.

“And what brought you all the way here to Sunnyvale, California?”

The Witness Protection Program. A new start. Safety from the crime lord father I put behind bars. Before I can reply, a bitter wind picks up and cuts right through me. I resist a shudder—I’m dressed for California weather, not this sudden chill. A cloud must have covered the sun, because a shadow blankets the street.

It’s remarkable how dark it is. And how cold. I pull off my sunglasses and glance up at the sky. Now it’s overcast with the darkest clouds I’ve ever seen.

“Looks like it’s going to storm,” I mutter.

Mason glances over at me, his eyes widening just as a bolt of lightning flashes across the sky. I half expect a thunderclap to follow, but only the howling wind fills the chilled air.

“What have you done?” Mason doesn’t wait for a reply. He grabs my arm and yanks me into the house, leaving my boxes to fend for themselves against the storm. “You lied!”

“I— I didn’t lie,” I say, which is, of course, a lie. As if tattling, the sky once again lights up in a brilliant flash. The storm has to be right above us now, but still no thunder or rain.

“Now you’ve lied twice! Do you have a death wish?”

Three times actually. I duck my head as something loud crashes against the roof, shaking the walls. “What was that?” Did a tree fall on my new house? Except the only things in my backyard are a pool and one short palm tree.

“Windy,” Mason says, his tone dead. “Now we’re in for it. Why did you lie when we expressly told you not to?”

“I—” I hesitate. That’s really none of his business. My true identity is between me and the Witness Protection Program. Instead, I settle for asking, “Who is Windy?”

“We aren’t entirely sure. We think she must be some sort of faerie.”

“A faerie?” I ask with a snort.

“It’s not funny! She controls the weather, can fly, and she knows when people lie.”

“And why are we afraid of a faerie?”

Something crashes above our heads, and shattered glass tinkles over the wooden floor in a nearby room.

“Obviously you need to catch up on your mythology,” Mason hisses, his hand wrapping around my upper arm. “We need to hide.”

I’d much rather call the police since someone seems to have broken into my house. That, or a nonexistent tree branch just flew through my window.

My hand drifts down to where I have a little bottle of pepper spray in my pocket when something catches my ear. It’s a voice, if a voice sounded like the wind. But more frightening still is what the voice is saying: “Katherine, Katherine. Someone needs to tell the truth…”

Tiny icicles stab my heart. That was my real name before I became Trinity. No one should know that name. No one here, at least.

I’m so frightened that I don’t protest as Mason yanks me into the dark alcove underneath the staircase. The entire house groans like it has come alive. Maybe it’s the wind. Or maybe it’s Windy. But I don’t hear any more of the voice. Until, suddenly, a giggle rises above the creaks and rattles.

My spine stiffens, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the proximity of the sound.

“Oh, the staircase,” a voice says from the darkness directly behind us. “My favorite place to hide.”

I should have taken my chances with my father. At least he appreciated a good lie. Well, maybe not the lie that put him behind bars.

Can you guess which song from the 1960's inspired this story? Share in the comments!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nicki Chapelway has been writing since she was eleven years old. She published her first book A Week of Werewolves, Faeries, and Fancy Dresses at the age of fifteen, one year after she finished writing it. She’s a fangirl who loves obsessing over her favorite stories, and characters, and her myriad of fictional boyfriends. Her hobbies include reading, writing, and coloring.

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