_____Hi guys. This happened several weeks ago, a couple of days after Ethan disappeared. I was reminded of it when I read Mr. DarKnyht’s message. And I probably ought to post my encounter. I’m putting it under Agency Voice because nothing really happened, and it didn’t really feel very warlike.
_____But a fight could have happened if they had chosen to.
_____And it still felt like it had turned my blood into green gelatin.

_____ Painted yellow lines broke the field of concrete, and tattered hemp nets hung from the top of spotted and flecked hoops. The sun was shining brightly overhead, and my hair puffed out from the light wind. I was still hiding from the men in sunglasses that had taken Ethan in my dreams, though I had not seen any of them since I ran away and searched all the safe houses he had told me about and shown me. Confusion and fear made an odd mix in my belly, creating an odd taste in my mouth. The men in sunglasses knew about every house, and I had narrowly escaped getting caught myself.
_____I guess the houses hadn’t been so safe. So I had sat in the corner of a concrete field some distance away, with my hands in my pockets and resting my shoulders on a portion of the wooden fence that didn’t have as many splinters; I was pondering on the course I might take now that I was alone. The houses I had checked were stationed with men in sunglasses, and I felt that they ought not to see me. This was a place with balanced emotions; some happy, some not; I spent the morning in contemplation of what I might do, and the sun was riding high before I heard the rubber soles of sneakers squeak on the concrete.
_____“Do you want to play?”
_____I looked up to the voice; it was younger than mine, and the boy it belonged to was likewise younger and smaller than me, or so it appeared. He was dressed in baggy blue levis and a red sweater several sizes too big, with the hoodie pulled up over his eyes and face. His right hand jounced up and down, a basketball bouncing to his motions.
_____I glanced around nervously; the concrete field had suddenly become meeting home to many children coming in through a large space in the fence; all of them were wearing the same version of clothes as the boy who had spoken to me, just differently colored sweaters and hoodies.
_____“Do you want to play?” they asked, the balls in their hands going up and down in rhythmic patterns, untimed to each other. “Do you want to play?” they repeated over and over as they came in through the fence, placing themselves periodically all around me, closing in. “Do you want to play?”
_____“Stop!” I commanded, holding my palm out.
_____They stopped, all except the lead one, the one in front of me, the one wearing the red hoodie. He was so close he could touch me if he held out his hand. But he didn’t, bouncing the ball in his right hand instead, slowly and deliberately.
_____“Are you frightened of us?” he asked calmly, raising his chin. “You should be, you know.” A jagged shard of ice seemed to lodge in my throat as he looked at me. His eyes were completely black, darker than coal, duller than despair. For the faintest of breaths, his gaze reminded me of Eilonwy’s.
_____but then I threw the thought away immediately; Eilonwy didn’t have any eyes; but the darkness of her gaze was warm and inviting, an offering of peaceful sleep and friendship. But the darkness of his . . . their . . . eyes . . . was . . . were wrong. They had eyes, yes; but I wished they didn’t. Unlike Eilonwy and Mr. Ron and Miss Sarah and Hannah, they didn’t have souls. I could see it in their blank, stony looks. I don’t know if they had ever been human, I thought as I backed up a step. But I didn’t feel any desire to help them.
_____“You didn’t answer my question,” the red hoodied boy sneered, slamming his ball harder against the pavement. “I asked if you were scared. I asked if you wanted to play.”
_____“No,” my answer came immediately. My hands shifted, and I was alarmed to see the shadow creeping across the concrete field like clouds covering the entire city. The sun was still bright overhead, but its rays would not touch us.
_____“You should,” he scorned. “It’d be much easier that way.” I whipped my gaze to the children to my right and left. The balls were still bouncing in their hands, heartbeats hammering through chests. They clustered slowly together as if on the defensive. Hatred and bloodlust were stamped with each leap of each ball, the leather striking the concrete like sharpened knives stabbing into living flesh.
_____“We’ll make you a deal,” he started.
_____“No deals,” anger coiled and hissed in my chest, hot and searing and unfamiliar. I felt an urge to lash out at these . . .things masquerading as human children. Nothing good could come from associating with them. For a moment, I thought he nodded once, his chin tucked to his skinny chest and tilted to the side. It took another moment for me to realize his hesitance was due to his attention being focused elsewhere.
_____On me.
_____Because my hands were glowing; smoldering like hot coals. A roiling, rumbling drumroll was beating in my ears.
_____“You stay out of our way and we’ll stay out of yours,” the red hoodied boy offered as though I had agreed to listen to his terms. “It doesn’t have to come to a war. If we fight, it’ll probably end with all our deaths.”
_____“Get out of here,” I growled. They retreated, one by one.
_____“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he repeated, though he drew silent when a figure—a grownup—ambled through the space in the fence. Thankfully, my hands dimmed.
_____“Everything okay, you two?” he asked; I wondered why he didn’t say anything about the half dozen plus children slipping under his arm as he rested it on the fence; maybe they were like the black cat and the snake with wings.
_____The red hoodied boy nodded and paused next to the man, considering him with a mean look in his black eyes. When the boy looked back at me, with my eyes narrowed and my hands still fisted but not glowing, he left with the rest of the kids, bouncing his ball as we went along.
_____“Everything all right, young lady?” the man asked in concern, watching me. “You look angry.”
_____The shadow across the concrete field was already dissipating. I nodded and tried to smile. “Yes, thank you. Have a nice day, sir.”

_____But now I have a question for you guys, I guess. Now that I think about it again. What do you think happened there on the concrete field? What were they? The children, I mean?

Never dealt with that, but definitely sends a chill down my spine thinking about it.

I hope I never have to deal with something similar.

_____Oh, I think I see now. Thanks, Hannah. And I’ll be careful, Mr. Alpha.
_____P.S. Thanks again, Hannah. I like you, too.

Not everyone you meet with all black eyes is a bad person, Miss Grace.

Have you had any other encounters with these children? I am somewhat curious that there may be some unseen relationships with other occurences.

Sharks are only a concern when you start swimming about in their waters.

Cybermancer wrote:Not everyone you meet with all black eyes is a bad person, Miss Grace.

You're probably not going to find more of a goody-goody then you, at any rate.

Well okay, there's Wie.

And also Clarity.



I can already see I'm not going to win this one.

Here is a thought, What about the Sidhe?

if that could be a posable explanation. it dont sound like one thats been thought of or examend. I not sure why but they spring to mind reading this...

Well not often children there are the old Celtic myths of the Hag in the woods that would ask the knights and or hero's for a kiss, if he refused she cursed them if they granted her a kiss she was transformed into a fair maid. and well not often children the Challenger at the cross roads seems to come to mind..you know this was picked up often in the Myths around king Arther. in a nut shell the hero meets a mysteries knight at a cross roads and he challages him to a quest or a contest of some sort.

If it is something on this line it would not be human children. and given the feeling of dread it would porbly be the unshully. though it could also be a form of possesion. and also rember meany of the sidhee are can and do change there shape.

Vampires are not the only things that can not Cross the threshold of a home. there are quit a few things that must be invited in to cross a threshold... also keep in mind it has to be a home.. and not something like a hotel room

I need ta talk to Filly right away and get her to retell me that story she shared months ago. Didn't think it credible. Maybe it isn't. But maybe we should hear it, anyway.

So, Filly an' I had a nice chew last night after her gig. She heard it secondhand, so it's still about as stable as water in the sky. To start, Filly's a nice girl. Climbed out of the home crib without the devil price, made herself a name without crawling under the way some of the other girls do, and she likes to "pay back" the bevy even though they didn't give her a frozen spitwad.

She heard this little tale while lunchladying a shame buffet lane from a Chuck or a Mack, not sure which, yet. Hopefully, by now, he's a Gary, but we'll see if I can find him, first.

Anyway, he told her how, one night, he was caught in a really bad storm. He tried finding a shellshack, but they were all locked up but good. Condemned and ready to be demolished, or something. He keeps lookin', finally finds a nice paperbox. He grabs a few chew papers that haven't been disintegrated by the downpour, lines the box, and stuffs himself in.

On a night like that, nothing should have been moving. But the Chuck says, while he's shivering and trying to make like a sardine in a box too small, he suddenly felt cold. Not just cold cold, but COLD Cold, with a capital, underlined, big ol' blue COLD

Yeah. At this part in the schooltelling, I'm thinking the same thing.

Then Chuck notices something moving out there, in the dead of bleeding night. A shadow, or something. The rain doesn't quite touch it, like rain should. Or muffle the quiet footsteps, like rain should, too. The shadow comes nearer to him. Nearer. Soon, Chuck can make out a little body. Looks like a boy. He determinedly walks right up to Chuck's feet, though it should have been impossible to see him at that distance. Filly says Chuck swore he didn't make a sound. At that Chuck's about to crawl out and offer the kid the box, when the death chill is sandwiched between two hoagie buns of fear and terror, with a thick slice of paranoia in between.

“Let me in,” says the boy in neutral. “I need shelter.”

At this point, Chuck is shaking from the cold, natural or un, I don't care. You choose.

“Let me in,” repeats the boy in neutral, sternly. “I need shelter.” His small legs shuffle a bit. It's obvious the rain's beginning to get to him now.

Chuck is still paralyzed, but his lips flap uselessly.

“I said, ‘let me in,’” the boy repeats angrily, crouching to stare at Chuck maliciously. “Or you will regret it. Severely.”

Now, the water is pouring all down the little boy's face and body. Filly says Chuck admitted to three things here:

1. He could have imagined the rain, when it touched the boy's face, to turning into blood.
2. He swore he did not imagine the boy's eyes were blacker than pitch, every whit. She says that he said he was as sure they were black as he's sure Filly is black.
3. He admitted to fainting dead away after that.

When Chuck woke the next morning, the kid was gone and he had himself one caramel Macchiato of a story and an even worse cold.