Eve Immortal - Prologue: Genesis

Terrified, I ran though the empty town.

The brightly painted row houses and market stalls would have seemed quaint, but there was an eeriness in the air that turned the little coastal island village into something that felt more like a ghost town. Fresh-caught fish and freshly picked produce waited in their sellers’ stalls for buyers that would never come. A small pull-cart holding fresh flowers had been tipped on its side spilling roses and lavender out into the street. Their sweet perfume hung in the air where they had been trampled and mingled with the salty, fishy, ocean air. A woman’s shopping basket had been dropped and abandoned; loaves of bread, new potatoes, and apples now littered the gutter.

The houses were as empty as the streets. A few doors swayed open in the slight breeze revealing half-eaten dinners still left on their tables, as if their occupants would return at any moment. A few lamps had been left lit. Curtains fluttered in open windows. Smoke rose from a few chimneys. The soft tinkling of a lone set of wind chimes hanging from the eaves of one building only emphasized the sense of danger I felt as I continued to flee.

The sun was setting; I had to hurry. I tripped and stumbled on the cobblestones that lined the street, but managed not to fall. I could see the docks where the boat was waiting, the last trickles of orange sunlight sparkling off the calm blue waters. Everyone had already boarded. They were just waiting for me.

I heard it, then. A low, menacing growl coming from the shadows. No! I thought. I’m too late! I’ll never make it! I glanced behind me and saw a mangy dog step out into the dying light.

My heart wrenched. I knew this dog. It was my dog. Part of me thought it was ridiculous that I’d be afraid of my own pet; I had found the stray months ago, taken it in and cared for it, loved it. But the other part of me was truly terrified.

Terrible things had been happening at night these last few months. It seemed harmless enough at first: the butcher was missing a leg of lamb, then a fresh cut of flank steak. But a couple weeks later it was poor Mrs. Avery’s cat. The woman had put her tabby out as she did every night, only to find him dead on her doorstep the next morning. After that incident, things got worse. A goat was found mauled and half-eaten on the hillside behind the town. And then a whole sow went missing. The townspeople grew nervous and a curfew was put into effect.

The first night of the curfew, I had tried bringing my dog indoors to keep him safe from the predator, but he’d whined and complained and scratched at the door until, in an absolute frenzy, he broke through the window, shattering glass everywhere. I cried all night, worried about his safety, but the next morning when I stepped outside, he was sitting there waiting for me, tongue lolling and tail wagging happily. He’d jaunted in through the open door and curled up on the rug by the warm stove.

I’d been so relieved. More so when the word in the market was that nothing had been killed the night before. Maybe my dog was the town’s savior! Maybe he had killed whatever was hunting the animals and livestock!

Weeks went by with no more night killings. Like the stray he was, my dog would come and go as he pleased. Sometime in the afternoon or early evening he’d set out to “patrol the streets,” as I came to think of it, and I wouldn’t see him until I opened the door in the morning. He’d brush past me with a happy doggy smile, and warm my feet while I ate my breakfast.

The curfew had remained in effect, but the townspeople became lax about upholding it. Everything was back to normal, so why should they worry?

Then one evening, I was caught out at dusk. I had been running an errand for the elderly woman next door. She had been ill and hadn’t been able to make it to town to get her medication. I had been delayed at the pharmacy while the herbalist ground the necessary herbs for the medicinal tea, and as I stepped out into the street to return home, a shiver ran up my spine that sent the hairs on the back of my neck bristling. The sun had just set, and stormy clouds were moving in over the harbor, hiding the glow of the rising moon. Behind me, the lights in the pharmacy went out as the shopkeeper closed up for the night and retired to her living quarters upstairs. A sense of panic had swept over me as I glanced down the empty street. I was alone.

I had begun walking briskly towards the edge of town, telling myself there was nothing to be afraid of. There hadn’t been any killings for weeks. But my heart was racing and fear flooded my veins. I broke into a trot, then found myself jogging. The faster I returned home, the better.

I was racing past a dark alleyway when I heard it. An animalistic scream followed by a nasty ripping, tearing, breaking. I froze, my heart pausing as my breath got caught in my chest. From the dark, two yellow eyes glowed as they looked up at me from the deep depths of the narrow backstreet.

A snuffling snort came from the beast as it left its prey and stalked slowly towards me.

It was the dog.

Mangy, frothing, menacing, not at all the sweet, loving, adorable stray I’d come to love and look to for protection. I turned and ran, the package dropped, my errand forgotten.

But the next morning, there was my dog, waiting, tail wagging, as I opened the door to the garden. As I stood dumbfounded, he had trotted inside and took his usual place by the stove. I wondered if I’d somehow been mistaken. But when I heard on the street that something had killed and half-eaten Mr. Morris’ grey gelding last night, I knew it wasn’t a mistake. I secretly sought out the town council and told them what I’d seen.

A sixth sense warned me that I couldn’t let the dog see how terrified I had become of him. So I had continued to act like everything was normal.

Now that the council knew what was behind the gruesome killings, some of the town’s men had tried to set traps and capture the dog, to dispose of it. My heart wrenched at the thought of a former pet being so cruelly treated, especially during the daylight when he was a sweet, affectionate companion, but I was also secretly hopeful the townsmen would be successful.

But the dog managed to avoid all the traps. Worse, he had become wary and suspicious of the townsfolk. He’d begun guarding the docks, growling and snapping at anyone who got near the boats, preventing anyone from leaving. We were trapped.

Finally, a meeting was held and the decision was made to leave our island town. All of the townsfolk would leave, taking only what they could carry. We’d sneak out at dusk, before the sun set, while the dog slept off his dinner. We’d leave everything behind.

As I now sprinted for the docks, every movement seemed to be happening in slow motion. I could hear the dog running behind me, snarling, frothing at the mouth, furious at my betrayal. Familiar faces stepped out of the crowd standing on the boat. “Hurry! Run!” they called, arms outstretched. I was almost there. Just another 50 yards.

The boat silently eased away from the docks, sending me into a panic. “No! Wait! I’m coming!” I shouted. Terror gripped me anew. I was running down the dock now as the boat slipped ever farther away. The last rays of sunlight dipped below the water. I launched myself off the dock thinking maybe I could swim to the boat; I just need to get close enough for them to throw me a life preserver. I hit the cold water and everything went black.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

*  *  *

 

“Eve! Evie, honey, are you alright?” My mom came rushing into my room as I startled awake. I was sweating, crying, and my heart was racing. I squinted my eyes against the light coming in from the hallway. “Did you have a bad dream, sweetie?” Mom crooned as she sat on the edge of my bed. I flung myself into her arms, grateful she hadn’t abandoned me like those who had in my dream. Too upset to say anything, I nodded.

She stroked my hair and rocked me back and forth. “It’s OK now. It’s all over. It wasn’t real,” she soothed. She paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head, buried in her warm embrace. It was always the same; somehow, I felt that talking about it would make it seem more real. There were some nightmares you could talk about and others you just couldn’t.

Mom seemed reluctant to let it go. “Are you sure, honey? Maybe it would help.”

“I’m sure,” I croaked. “I just need to go to the bathroom.” I got up and padded across the hall. When I returned to my room, Mom was still there.

“Feel better?” she asked. I nodded, clutching my teddy bear for security. “Do you want to come and sleep with me and Daddy?” she asked tenderly.

“No, I want to sleep in my bed.”

“Well, let me tuck you in, then.” She held back the covers while I climbed in, then tucked them snuggly around me. She kissed me on the forehead, whispered, “I love you, Evie. I’ll see you in the morning,” and backed out of my room, closing my door behind her. I noticed she didn’t shut it tight. The sliver of hall light that was visible dimmed as she turned the light out and returned to her room.

Despite my shaken nerves from the nightmare, I was a little relieved. This was a reoccurring dream; but reoccurring only once a year, in early spring. I’d been nervous for the past month, wondering every night when I went to sleep if tonight would be the night. At least now I could sleep soundly without worrying about having another bad dream. This was the sixth time I’d had this exact same nightmare. I was eleven years old.

 

*  *  *

 

A few years later, sometime in my early teens, the reoccurring nightmare just stopped. For years after, I’d panic every April and May, expecting the dream to return, but it never did. More years passed by. By the time I was an adult, I had all but forgotten the dream that used to haunt me every spring as a child.