Chapter 3.

Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but that encounter in the square has left me felling uneasy about the townspeople.

"No, no," I say. "We do kind of look alike, but I think she's blonde."

Mr. Davies frowns. His eyes flick towards the stock room, then he gives me a slight nod.

"There are no more buses until tomorrow, I'm afraid." He lowers his voice, keeping his eyes on the stock room door. "I should probably hurry back home now."

I hear a shuffled footstep within the stock room. Tension buzzes in the air like electricity, making the hairs on my back of my neck stand up.

"Get going," Mr. Davies whispers. "Good luck to John."

I grab my suitcsse, my palms sweating, and walk out of the general store as quick as I can.

He was lying about the bus. I pause in the town square. And everyone else is acting strangely.

There are a few pedestrians in the square. I meet the eyes of a woman and she turns away quickly, pulling her children along. Another man gives me a sidelong look as he passed by.

I reside to take refuge in the library. People are quite and nice in libraries. I can hide out there until my uncle calms down.

The Marooner's point library is one large, musty room attached to the town hall. Tall bookcases crowd the space around a long table, their shelves filled for the most part with outdated friction.

The librarian, a short round woman, is seated behind a desk near the center of the room. She slides her glasses down, regards me for a moment, and then nods slowly. I wave and smile. With a slight lurch, she gets to her feet and then waddles to the back of the library and disappears.

As I browse, I find a thin volume on Cutler Key. I take it down and flip through the pages. Near the middle, a heading catches my eye: "The sleeping God." This section discusses an old wampanoag legend, which describes the island as the resting place of a dangerous powerful spirit.

The afternoon light from the windows has turned a burning orange. There's no harm in giving Uncle John a little more time to himself. I keep reading.

In spite of warnings from the local natives, early settlers built a village on Cutler Key. The history of the village is not a pleasant one. Murder. Plague. Cannibalism. The settlement held out for ten years before the survivors moved on.

Those who left the island brought with them stories of a great beast beneath the earth. The rumbling of its breath shook the ground. While no one had seen it, each and every one of them had dreamed of some vast, indescribable creature that slept in a dark place.

I close the book and return it to it's place. On the shelf below it stands an old, fragile volume that looks like it would be better off under glass. Faded lettering on the spine reads, "The dark one."

I reach for it, unthinking. When my fingers touch the spine, a damp chill creeps up my arm.

I pull my hand back. Some books are not meant to be opened.

The daylight is almost gone now. If I know Uncle John, he will have completely forgotten whatever was worrying him and moved on to some other project.

I grab my suitcase. As I open the library door, I hear an angry shout from the square. I pause. Another shout follows. I have the unshakable feeling that I'm hearing the beginings of an angry mob.

This is unreal! I think. I rush to the window. My stomach clenches. A sea of angry faces stares back at me.

Whatever it is, I didn't do it! I'm just sitting in the library, reading, like a good girl. Not the kind of behaviour I'd expect to incite a riot.

The voices outside only grow louder. I turn the lock on the front doo. A moment later, a fist hammers against the wood.

A rock crashes through one of the windows and lands at my feet. The window is high enough that they may not be able to climb through it easily, but that door won't hold for long.

The librarian's desk would be a good barricade, or a good hiding place. Another door catches my eye: the one that leads back into the town hall. I might be able to find another exit through there, but I have no idea who else might be inside.

I feet slip on the floor as I strain to push the librarian's desk in front of the door. After a long struggle, I finally manage to slide the desk into place. The door shudders in its frame, but still holds.

"Stop right there."

The librarian stands in the other doorway, holding a shot gun on me.

"I'm sorry about this, Ruth, but it has to be done." The librarian adjusts her grip on the shotgun . " I don't want to shoot you, so don't move, all right?"

A thrill of panic runs through me. I can't help imagining how the shotgun blast would feel as it tears through me.

In the midst of the fear, I find something else: a surge of power, like nothing I've ever felt before. On a deeper lever, I know I can use it.

I close my eyes and reach for that power, but my thoughts just slip around it. The door splinters. With my heart beating in my throat, I strain after the power one more time. I grasp energy and force it outward.

When I open my eyes, a faint blue shield surrounds me, separating me from the librarian. She stares at it for for a long moment before squeezing the trigger. The shotgun roars , spraying the shield with buckshots.

The barrier holds, but the shotgun blast reverberates back at me, shattering my concentration. A little dazed, I jump out of the window and hit the ground running.

A large group of locals has gathered in the town square, more people than I've ever seen all at once in this town. The barrel-chested fisherman I met earlier notices me.

"There!" He points at me. "Get her!"

The townfolk advance towards me.

Off to my right, an ally leads deeper into town. I take a deep breath and try to steady myself enough to make a run for it.

Enraged shouts and the rumble of countless running feet follow me down the narrow ally. The buildings in either side lean inward, as though the town itself is trying to crush me.

I take a right turn at the first intersection. If I make as many turns as possible, I might just lose them. My pulse pounds in my temples, but I keep pushing myself to keep running. Up ahead, a cellar door flips open. An old woman pokes her head out.

"In here, Ruth!" She calls in a loud whisper. "Hurry!"

I pause and try to catch my breath. The old woman seems familiar, but I can't quite remember how I know her.

BANG!

Dust flies from the concrete wall ahead of me.

My eyes widen. They're shooting!"

The woman chants something in a language I can't understand. Maybe she really does want to help me, maybe it's a trick, but before I know it, I'm running.

Angry shouts and the sound of running feet grow louder down the ally behind me.

"Wait!" the woman shouts after me.

The ally takes a sharp turn to the right, where it ends in a cluttered dead end. A ladder leans up against one wall, allowing access to the roof.

Judging by the voices, I don't have much time. I could try my luck on the rooftops, or hide somewhere in the juumble of crates and barrels.

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