The Crossroads

Lily Rae Bradley

The crisp cold wind nipped at my bare skin. Trumpet in one hand, pulling my arm down with gravity, a sour feeling in my arm. It was dark outside, like usual. A thick layer of mist blanked my neighborhood. As soon as I shut the door, it felt like all my senses were enhanced.

As I walked down the road, I heard a ‘ta-ckh… ta-ckh…’. Ignoring the sound, I kept moving. It looked like the shadows were moving. There was no wind, and the moonlight danced on the coarse earth as if it was a pedestal it could play on. I silently walked on, heeding a warning someone had told me long ago.

“Steer to the left but don’t gaze on the grass. If you get too close, it will snatch you up. Forever.”

I steered close to the left but not too close for comfort. My eyes ran across the deep grassland horizon; I noticed a fern stood tall like a predator. A shiver, as cold as ice, crawled down my spine. Adrenaline flooded my system. I walked faster, slower, harder, quicker.

I wondered to myself, “Is this really something to fear?” 

My mind raced with questions, my heart banging against my chest. Sweating, I broke out into a full-fledged panic when I saw a figure. It was a grass fern, playing tricks on me. My mind was against me, and all I could do was stop. I stopped walking and looked at where I was at. I was past them.

I had made it past the crossroads!

For today, anyway.