Wandering Spirits

Chapter 9

Storm tightened his grip on the steering wheel as his car danced unevenly on the flooded road. It felt more like steering a boat than a car, with the windshield acting as a waterfall of rain that the wipers hopelessly tried to keep at bay. Every time they moved from side to side, they only left a moment of clarity before the next wave of raindrops hammered against the glass.

"Fantastic," he muttered sarcastically to himself, barely able to make out the road markings. His clear blue eyes focused on the light from the car's headlights, the only thing separating the world outside from a dark, infinite emptiness. With a slight irritation at how poor his sense of time had been - once again he had forgotten how quickly the weather could change in this area - he turned up the speed of the windshield wipers to the maximum. Yet, it was not enough.

"I should have had a boat license, not just a driver's license," he grunted, thinking back on the countless times his absent-minded nature had led him into strange situations. This was definitely one of the top five.

When he emerged from the city lights, everything got worse. The streetlights that had given him a false sense of security turned into nothing, and the darkness seemed even more intense. He knew that the tractor road was not far away, a narrow path actually meant for machines and not vehicles, but under these extreme conditions, it appeared as a tempting shortcut.

"Strictly speaking illegal," he said aloud to himself, a sly smile on his face. Even though the law was black and white, Storm was not a man who always followed the rulebook, especially not now.

With a firm grip on the steering wheel, he turned onto the tractor road, where the asphalt was immediately replaced by gravel and mud. The car protested by shaking, but he pushed it on, driven by a need to be the hero - or maybe just to find warmth in Freja's eyes waiting for him somewhere out there in the storm.

His heart pounded in sync with the rain hammering against the car roof. Every sloppy turn on the tractor road made him grip the wheel tighter, as if he could squeeze stability into the slick tires. The wheels spun and slid, and with each passing second, he fought the fear of losing control completely.

"Come on, old friend," he muttered to the car, as if it was a nervous animal he was trying to calm down. In front of him, there was only darkness, sporadically illuminated by lightning that tore through the sky and briefly gave the road an illusion of visibility before everything turned black again.

When he parked at the edge of the forest, he sighed heavily. The forest was a dark silhouette, shaped like a sleeping dragon under the night's ink color. 'I really should have remembered that flashlight,' he thought as he stared into the impenetrable blackness.

He ran through the rain, his feet sinking into soft soil, and he stumbled over roots hidden by night and nature. Each step was a dance with danger, and the wind whispered warnings he refused to hear. "Freja!" he shouted, his voice torn away by the storm, as if nature itself wanted to keep secrets from him.

She was not by the oak tree, their usual meeting place, which stood majestic but lonely under the fury of the sky. Panic crept up his spine. "Freja!" he shouted again, desperation thick in the air around him, almost more pressing than the rain.

Then it came, a sound so faint that he almost thought he had imagined it. A whimper, barely audible over the roar of the storm. He moved towards the cave, his heart beating faster at the thought of what he would find.

Inside the cave, illuminated by a momentary flash of lightning, Freja lay curled up in a fetal position. Her blonde hair hung heavily and wet around her face, and her hands were pressed against her ears in an attempt to block out the sound of the storm. Tears mixed with the rain on her cheek, and her whole body trembled in fear.