Beyond the Woods

The First Episode

Gregory, Michigan; 1988

"No! Come on, stupid alien scum," the rapid clicking of buttons followed the angry voice of Pate Jennings that night; then the sound of his character, combat fighter: Jay Myron, dying.

"Dude, I told you. That sector is crazy hard. If you jump over him and hit him with a combo attack from behind, he's toast," Kit explained to his friend, but it was to no avail. He had already died ten times in a row.

"I bet I can do it. Hand it over," Fred held out his hand and completed the level in under two minutes. "See? Easy peasy," but he sounded just as surprised as the other boys.

"You're making it up! You just winged that whole level. I could totally tell," Kit liked to point out the things that weren't obvious to others; like how he noticed every ounce of hesitation in the way Fred played.

"No way! I aced it," Fred pointed to his score on the television. "The proof is in fine print!"

"Now that I think about it; it took you about twenty tries just to finish level one," Pate had looked at Fred with utter confusion, and in an instant, he jumped up to point in his face. "Who are you, and what have you done with Fredrick Foster?"

"You got me! I'm an alien from the future, and I'm here to eat your soul!" Fred grinned and stood to meet eye level with Pate. "Guess you'll have to catch me!" They both took off; Pate chasing Fred and laughing like crazy.

"Boys! Slow down," Kit's mother had called from the kitchen; a phrase Kit knew all to well. The boys, of course, ignored the command and synced into their own world. It was a night like any other. Kit continued to laugh from the middle of the living room as his friends ran around him, noticing every little thing that would happen seconds before from simple cause and effect. Pate's sneaker would rub against the carpet, creating friction and a stop in motion. He'd fall, get up again, and keep going. It happened as often as they played video games. There was however, something different. Kit could feel it. Behind his smile and under the commotion, he felt something dark.

Someone outside had lurked; a girl. She was there behind the window pane staring in. The rain covered most of her face, but Kit could see her well enough to know she was harmless. She wasn't a threat. She was just scared, but what followed closely behind was the definitive of danger; a being not from this realm of existence; nor from any existence. It lurked in the shadows waiting for time to stop. It would prey on your life and take more than what you had left. It could be visible and invisible at the same time, to the same eye. It was undetectable by anyone and everyone; except Kit.

Kit had always been a kind of genius. He was one of the most impressive children people would say they have met. When he was born in August of 1975, the doctor had laughed, "What an eager beaver this boy is. He's already staring up at me!" He didn't cry or make a fuss. It was as if he knew that he would be fine. When he was four he could write in full sentences and tell the paper man what he thought of todays headline. At the age of ten, he entered the high school spelling bee. He won first place; in New York City.

Kit's story comes in sections; events in his life that should never have happened, people he met that were never even meant to see 1988, and certain situations that no thirteen-year-old should ever find themselves in. His story; it's something out of a nightmare, and it all started with that moment in his living room. His friends running around him as if in slow motion; it reminding him of The Flash. Then he felt a rush of warm air fill the room, and it was her. He saw her there behind the window; in the shadows. He could feel her like a surge of energy pulling them together. He wouldn't say anything, and neither would she. She looked different than anyone he had ever met. Weird lights were in her eyes as if she wasn't even human. It was a distressing moment for Kit. The laughter of his friends was barely audible at that point. Time seemed to slow down, then she said something. He couldn't hear her, but it was obvious from her facial movements that she was screaming. He couldn't decipher what she had said. He wasn't afraid, not while looking at her. It's when Kit saw the eyes of what stood behind her that made the warmth turn to a bitter frost. It devoured every single part of his body; chilling him until he was numb. The room felt dizzy, and a wind tore away at his living room like a tornado. The window wasn't even open. No one seemed to notice but him as he sat there on his knees, papers swirling around him that he recognized as his mothers work files. He had to save her.

His chest pumped, and his brown hair turned over. This was the most amount of fear Kit could recall feeling in his lifetime. He pushed himself to the kitchen door and tried it. Locked. He looked at Pate and Fred, who were frozen in place smiling. They looked so happy. Kit wished he come back from where ever he is. Even the girl from the window was gone; probably taken by the shadow behind her.

"Leave me alone!" Kit screamed, with a trickle of fear and a voice crack. He wanted to cry but knew he wouldn't. Tears do nothing except alter vision. "Leave," he took a deep breath and tried to ignore the chaos around him, "me," one more breath, "alone." This time, his voice was deeper and confident. Then, through the whirl of papers and debris came the shadow. It towered over him like a skyscraper. It's energy was much stronger than the girls. It felt like being struck by lightning. It wasn't even that Kit assumed; it was like he knew. Like lightning was running through him; like how The Flash got his powers. He felt like he would die at any second. What he felt was absolute terror. It was the opposite of lighting. It was darkness in the purest form. Then, it went black.

—

When the brain builds up too much electricity, or experiences too little, it will either compensate or malfunction. These surges or cut offs can be caused from many things such as high fever, head trauma, low blood pressure, or even drug use. In Kit's case, it was much worst.

"Apparently, I had a seizure," He imagined himself telling Pate, who would probably be worried sick the next day. "My mother wouldn't stop freaking out."

"I'm sorry. Could you please explain this again to me? Why did he have the seizure? I'm not understanding," Kit watched as his mother rambled and her hands shook, but all he could think about is the science behind what he saw. Evidently, it was some kind if REM state. An instant dream state brought on by an overactive brain. Kit didn't sit well with the excuse.

"Your son," Doctor Reed had paused when looking at Kit. He had never diagnosed a middle schooler with such a fatality. "Mrs. Kit, your son has something called Medulloblastoma. It's a rare form of brain cancer that can occur in children. I-" the rubbing of the man's gloves against his slacks broke Kit's concentration. "I'm truly very sorry."

Cancer. Kit thought. He imagined himself dying much later when he pioneered in space or saved a town from mass destruction. He knew there was nothing to be done, so he moved on from the idea of a life fairly quickly; in the span of thirty seconds to be exact.

"Is it- It's fatal? Is he going to-" Kit could hear the fear in her voice. He didn't want that for her. If he could control his brain cells he would. If he could think the tumor away he would; not for himself but for the people who loved him. He began to think of Pate and Fred. How would he tell them?

"Did they say what caused the seizure? I mean, dude, you went ballistic!" Fred would ask him during lunch. He would be intrigued and worried; Kit just knew. They were the usual emotions toward him, but it was never this bad.

"No," he would lie. "They couldn't figure it out." He wasn't ready for them to know. He wasn't sure he'd be able to.

"Five to seven years is the usual prognosis, but I've seen it go longer. I've also seen it come a lot sooner than imagined," the silence that followed his words that morning was deafening. Someone could scream in Kit's face, and he wouldn't hear a word. All he could hear is his mothers sobs.

"It's okay, mom," he said. "I'm okay."

In return he got a death stare. How ironic. he thought. He wanted to laugh about it, but how could he when death was actually having a staring contest with him. The greatest question was yet to be answered: who would be the first to blink?