Hana Dow and the Dreamcatcher's Bow

Chapter One: The Little Girl and the Shadow Man

Dorothy Ringer was a kind woman, practically a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dull world. She also loved children. How could she not? You would need to if you wanted to run an orphanage, which she did, and she loved doing it. Children meant the world to her.

She was also normal.

So terribly yet wholesomely like everyone else. She often didn't think on it, but if she ever passed a character that wore anything other than old burgundy church clothes that smelt like moth balls and butterscotch or simple sundresses that looked like something a great-grandmother would've worn, well she would think them strange. Of course a person wouldn't often think of how normal they are if they were so naturally, so born to be, normal.

But that's exactly what Mrs. Ringer was, and nobody would change it for anything. With her big, warm smile, with her "How do you do?" perkiness, Mrs. Ringer was far from being worse off. If anything it was her charm, and how much she adored making people smile.

So it would come as a surprise to her that on a seemingly normal day, doing her normal things, living her normal life, that something very not normal should happen. Something that would make its way into her life, all because she was a kind woman. A completely average and ordinary woman.

She woke up on a Sunday in August. The Alabama sun shined down, not a cloud in sight. The worse kind of day for sad things to happen. Today she decided to wear a blue blazer with a nice yellow blouse underneath. After adding a petticoat, modest heels, and sun hat to her outfit, she was ready to go to church. Ten o'clock sharp. Stepping out of her meek, one story house, she closed her eyes and breathed in. She felt like walking today.

A butterfly resting on her mailbox fluttered up and began to fly near her. She laughed to herself and held her hand out. The butterfly landed on her hand and shook its wings. The pattern was peculiar, almost like it was a Rorschach drawing and like it was moving along the wings. The color was a lavender, but Mrs. Ringer could swear it turned violet and then to magenta before turning back into lavender. The butterfly lifted off her hand and flew away before she could think much of it. She shrugged and continued on her way.

As she walked down the street, meandering, she began to make a list for the day in her head. Immediately after church she had to go to the salon to have her hair and nails done. Next would be the groceries, yes. The orphanage had been running low on pudding, and Lord knows Sammy Wilson loves his pudding. She looked up at the sky, the sun glistening on her ebony skin, and she smiled.

She returned to look in front of her as she crossed the street, and could see a classy man - probably in his 30s. They nodded to each other. Then she got a closer look at him. Loose-fitting trench coat, a spruced up pin-stripe suit, shiny white shoes with a black wing-tip, a fedora hat slanted on his head. Why, he looked like he was ripped right out of Casablanca. Frank Sinatra would be impressed.

As he passed, her eyes followed him, giving him a once-over. Oh, she thought to herself, he's probably just wanting to look good for work today. Or maybe there's a decade-themed dress up? Why it's only a suit, and he looks rather dashing.

She saw him pass by another man, dressed almost identically to him. The two exclaimed to each other as they did. Though she was too far at this point to hear their conversation she could almost hear mention of a Tilly girl. She shrugged it off and continued on her day.

Church was wonderful, as it always was, she thought to herself. After the service was over, she walked across the street toward the strip mall and into the salon. Sitting down to wait her turn, she looked up at the old, small television hanging from the corner ceiling. It was a news channel, talking about a house explosion in the nearby town. She placed over her heart and sighed. "Aw."