Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

She added the reflecting half. “S is for—”

“Sadie,” he interrupted. “Sadie and Sam for all eternity.”

With a loud whoop, he jumped on his bike and sped away.

As she watched him, she wiped away a stray tear.

“You all right?” Matthew asked, joining her on the deck.

She smiled. “I am now.”

Unexpectedly, he slipped his warm hand in hers. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Lost in overwhelming emotions, they watched Sam and Cortnie for a long time, thanking the universe that fate had intervened and their children had been brought back to them, alive. They were the lucky ones.

The fate of the other children weighed heavily on her heart. They had not been as lucky and neither were their parents. Except that now they had closure. That had to count for something.

“Mom!” Sam shouted.

She shook away the gloomy clouds. “What, honey?”

“Listen to what Marina taught me. One fine day in the middle of the night…”

“Two dead boys got up to fight,” Cortnie joined in, grinning.

In unison, they chanted, “Back-to-back, they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other. A deaf policeman heard the noise, got up and shot the two dead boys. If you don’t believe this story’s true—”

Sadie smiled. “Ask my blind uncle. He saw it too.”

Sweet innocent laughter wafted in the air, and in that single moment of fate, all was infinitely perfect in the world.

If you enjoyed this book, please consider writing a short review and posting it on Amazon, Goodreads and/or Barnes and Noble. Reviews are very helpful to other readers and are greatly appreciated by authors, especially me. When you post a review, drop me an email and let me know and I may feature part of it on my blog/site. Thank you.

cherylktardif@shaw.ca

Thank you to my early editors and readers: Francine, Marc, Kelly, David and Eileen, who offered wise advice and smart editing suggestions.

A special thanks to Lynn Hoffman, wine expert and author of bang-Bang , who suggested the perfect wine for this story. Cheers!

Thank you to ALL my fans—readers, book clubs, schools, libraries, bookstores, reviewers, etc—for trusting me to provide you with an entertaining and hopefully emotional story.

And my eternal thanks to my husband Marc and daughter Jessica for always believing in me and my work.

Source: http://www.folklore.bc.ca/Onefineday.htm#Onefine

Note from Cheryl: The following version was taught to me by my childhood friend, Cathy Magill, may she rest in peace.

It always began with the dead girl in her closet.

Every night when little Jasmine opened that closet door she expected to see lovely dresses and hangers—not a child her age strung up by a pink skipping rope, her body dangling above the floor… unmoving.

The dead girl had long blond hair. Her blue eyes stared blindly and were surrounded by large black circles. Her mouth hung open in a soundless scream. The pink rope was tied tightly around her neck, a thick pink necklace of death. A purplish-black bruise was visible and ugly.

The most unusual thing about the girl, other than the fact that she was swinging from a rope in Jasmine’s closet, was that her skin and clothing were scorched.

Gagging, little Jasmine stepped back in horror.

When the girl’s lifeless body swayed gently from a sudden breeze Jasmine let loose a cry of terror and raced down the stairs, searching anxiously for her parents.

“Daddy?”

Her throat was constricted and dry.

“Mommy?”

Then she screamed. “Mommy, I need you! Help me!”

In the lower hallway, the shadows quickly surrounded her.

Then she saw them.

Red eyes flashing angrily at the end of the hall.

Jasmine took a hesitant step backward. She tried to run but her feet would not cooperate. Her small body began to shake while the eyes followed her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed a listless form moving toward her, arms outstretched—pleading.

The girl from the closet wasn’t dead anymore.

Blistered hands reached for Jasmine.

The girl’s mouth yawned and a horrendous shriek emerged.

Trapped and terrified, Jasmine began to scream…

Agent Jasi McLellan awoke from her nightmare screaming and drenched in sweat. Irritated by a piercing sound, she turned her pounding head and glanced at the wall beside her.

A technologically advanced video-screened wall, or vid-wall , had recently been added to her daunting security system. The wall was divided into four monitors—each coded for different activities.

The message screen flashed brightly.

Someone was trying to contact her.

“Receive message,” she croaked.

She was rewarded with silence.

Jasi eyed the clock. 5:30 in the goddamn morning. Who the hell would be calling her this early on her day off?

Glaring words flashed across the monitor followed by a voice, deep and urgent. “ Jasi, we need you! Ben.”

She was suddenly wide awake.

“Message for Ben.”

When the system connected with Ben’s data-communicator, she said, “Give me fifteen minutes. End message.”

She glanced at the words on the screen and realized her holiday was over. She wondered for a moment what was so important that Ben had to interrupt her downtime. With two days left, she had hoped to catch up on some much-needed rest.

Crawling from beneath the sweat-soaked sheets, she crouched on the edge of the bed and reached for her portable data-com.

She checked the calendar.

A black X was scribbled over the date.

“Oh God,” she moaned.

Today was her twenty-sixth birthday.

Jasi hated birthdays.

She pushed herself off her bed. In the dark, her toe connected sharply with the corner of the dresser and she let out a startled yelp.