The Summons

He was running. Not to anywhere in particular, unless you consider 'safety' a location. But safety was an ever-more-elusive destination. All that mattered at the moment was to not stop for anything. Not the fallen tree, not the stones, not the bodies. Especially not the bodies. He kept his head up, his eyes forward, and he didn't stop. He ducked, leaned, jumped, rolled, and did everything he could to preserve his momentum, because he did not want to find out what would happen if he stopped.

The crashing behind him was there, it always was. Sometimes, it seemed distant, as though he was actually making progress, and others, it seemed as though a single moment of hesitation would cost him everything. But he didn't dare turn around to see it's source. Such a mistake might mean the difference between survival and the eternal void.

He didn't always run, though. He remembered walking, swimming, jogging, even standing, though those memories were fading. Every thought, every memory was turned towards movement. Always forward, always faster, always one step ahead of the now-distant crunch of underbrush and dead foliage. The only thing that kept him moving were his memories…

'Tom was shy, quiet, and timid. He didn't socialize much, not because he did not want to, but because he never quite found the right moment to speak up or the right words to say. The shows he watched, the games he played, the books he read, were all niche, nothing popular. Nothing anyone he knew would want to talk about or would even know about. Mary was the exact opposite. Talkative, confident, and plenty of friends. And on top of all of that, she was absolutely gorgeous. She was the girl everyone dreamed about, and Tom was not immune to dreaming. But Mary would never talk to him, would she? Well, not without an introduction, at least. And fortunately for Tom, he knew a guy. Tom got in touch with him, and he gave Tom some good advice. Then he went and talked Tom up to Mary until she couldn't help but notice. They got married just after high school, and are currently expecting their second child.'

Remembering Tom always helped him run. If he could help that poor boy talk to Mary, he could outrun the thing that chased him. He had to, because who else was Tom going to call for advice when he needed it? But there were others, too. Memories that gave him the same motivation.

'William was a jerk, always had been. Nothing made him smile more than inflicting a bit of suffering on anyone who caught his eye. If you woke up to find your flowers trampled or your gate broken, you could bet that William was across the street, hidden in the bushes, watching and giggling. No one really knew why he was the way he was- he came from a good home, his parents were loving and met all of his needs without spoiling him too much, and he wasn't bullied when he was younger. He simply enjoyed spreading annoyance, pain, and fear. He wasn't a monster, not exactly. He didn't cause physical harm, not intentionally, although some of his little pranks often had unintended consequences. The incident with the chair was one such occurrence, but he never felt too bad about it. After all, he hadn't anticipated that Mark would be the one to sit in it, and after all, hadn't he always had brittle bones? He'd already had a leg and a few ribs get broken, so an arm really wasn't that big of a deal. But when he dropped Lydia's drawings into the river, he went too far. But fortunately for Lydia, she had friends connections. When she got in touch with him, she asked him to teach William a lesson, to pay him back not just for her drawings, but for all that havoc that he'd been taking part in. And he was more than happy to oblige. A few days later, William took a little tumble down the side of the hill, and that put a stop to his acting out for a good long while. Lydia gave him a drawing she'd made of him afterwards, standing over William's hospital bed. He'd never forgotten it.'

He didn't necessarily like having to be violent, but sometimes it was required. Sometimes, people wouldn't learn any other way. And besides, Lydia was nice to him. The smile on her face kept his legs pumping as he ran.

'A simple delivery. Nothing too major, he'd been called upon to retrieve things numerous times. One of the most common of his odd jobs, he could get a package from point A to point B within a single day most of the time. The only drawback to such work was the monotony, the routine, but it paid the bills, so he didn't complain. This one, though, was unique. When Robert got in touch with him, he was expecting to be asked to pick up a check or retrieve a family heirloom, one of more common requests in his resume. Instead, Robert wanted a journal. But not just any journal, he wanted Jeremy's personal journal. Robert fancied him, and who could blame him? Well dressed, well groomed, Jeremy was a dream. But he was sure Jeremy wouldn't just hand over his private thoughts for Robert to snoop through, which is why he was making his request. It really wasn't an issue, he was accustomed to the occasional breaking and entering job. So, here he was, waiting in the bushes outside of Jeremy's window, waiting for the right time to make his move. Jeremy was going out, as he always did on Friday after work. As soon as the lights were off and Jeremy had pulled away, he moved. Quickly, quietly, he slid through the back door. Jeremy never locked his doors, he didn't feel the need to lock them. He knew he couldn't take the journal in it's entirety, but he also knew he had a few hours before it would matter. So he snagged the journal from the nightstand and slipped back outside, into the trees where he couldn't be seen. Page by page, he snapped a picture, putting them all into a folder in order. When he was done, he crept back into the house and carefully replaced the journal. Robert was very pleased with his results, and though he wasn't aware of it, Jeremy was too when Robert bought his favorite pizza before they even got a chance to discuss favorite foods.'

The crashing was getting closer now. He could even feel the earth shuddering under the weight of his pursuer. He thought that this might be it. Maybe he'd finally slowed enough, maybe his memories didn't give him the edge he thought they did. And as he felt it breathing on his neck, everything went black.

When he opened his eyes and peered through the smoke, he saw the ancient glyphs inscribed in chalk around him. He heard giggling and looked through the darkness at a group of girls who couldn't have been more than fourteen. One was standing against the wall, pale as a ghost, whispering to herself. He thought he could almost make it out, the words "it worked" over and over again, but it was hard to tell. Finally, the tallest girl stood up, stopped giggling, and said in as loud a voice as her tiny lungs could manage, "Balthazar! We have summoned you here tonight for knowledge and wisdom! Does Jamie Brinson have a crush on Sarah Thatcher?" The other girls went from giggling to full blown laughter, except the girl on the wall, who was alternating between the color of milk and the color of a tomato. Balthazar sighed internally. He hated slumber parties, but anything was better than running through the In-Between. He rolled his eyes back into his head as he prepared to retrieve the knowledge he was brought forth to reveal.