The Shadow Sisters

[E2] Chapter 9 - Sheriff Wilson

Sheriff Wilson exited the rough of Slate Woods, though it left its mark on him. Pungent damp was stained to the bottom of his trousers. His boots were saturated with mud and leaves.

Slowly, he approached the old industrial site. During the nightly hours, it made the Pearson Place seem like a funhouse, but here, in the afternoon light, it was slightly less intimidating. But only slightly.

The buildings were worn and dilapidated. Most were boarded up and had rotting rooftops to match their rotting floors.

He rounded a large, chain-link fence which ran along the entire perimeter of the area and he entered in through a gap. That same gap had been there for thirty-years now and he was pleased to find that he still fit. Although, it was a much closer call these days.

As he marched through the lanes between old factories and warehouses, he scanned through the windows that remained open to the world, as well as giving a thorough search of every alleyway and crevice.

Periodically, he touched the holstered handgun at his hip, to remind himself it was there, as if the weight itself wasn't enough. He was trained with it, of course, but had never actually had to use it on anyone. He'd come to think of it more as a decorative item, like a watch, or a symbolic sign of station, like a badge, but today and for the foreseeable future, he'd have to start thinking of it in different, more practical terms.

"I need to speak to someone," he called out.

At first there came no answer, unless you counted a few scraps of cardboard blowing in the breeze.

But eventually, as he walked, he spotted shadows rushing across rooftops, jumping from one to the next, faster and further than any human could move.

In no time at all, he was halted from proceeding down one of the lanes by a big block of a boy.

He'd seen young adults with a fair bit of muscle before, on the Willow Wood, Starkmore, and St. Jude's rugby teams, for example, but this lad was on another level, like a wall with legs. His traps were so high that they gave the illusion of him having no neck. He must've spent all day lugging about heavy industrial equipment or something.

He loomed large and stared with eyes that had a slight orange glow to them, like heating coals. "What do you think you're doing here?"

Sheriff Wilson rested his hand on his holster, but not the gun itself. He was still confident, because his target stood ahead of him, in a straight line, and he was sure that even his unpractised hand was capable of hitting it.

But that confidence dissolved when another being emerged from the building behind him.

It was a girl with silky blond hair, tied up into a ponytail. Her eyes were like amber traffic lights as she tilted her head to one side. "He must be lost."

The big block of a boy said, "He must be." Then he made a sound like a whale releasing air from its blowhole. It may have been a laugh, because a large smile appeared on his face afterwards. "Looks like he's brought us a toy." He motioned to the gun.

"Ooooh." The girl clucked and moved in closer to Sheriff Wilson so that he could smell the scent of her. She smelt of rusted metal, oil, and pine, an odd mixture. "What did you reckon you was going to do with that?"

"Uh-"

"Ethan, Freya, stand down," a new voice called.

And when Sheriff Wilson glanced down between the intersection of two lanes, he saw that five bodies had blocked off a third side. That only left one side to escape. In front of them, at their head, stood a tall boy with gaunt features.