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1
Silas
Ipulled off my leather gloves and flicked my fingers over the logs in my fireplace. The sparks that fell ignited the kindling, and the fire was soon roaring. It wasn’t cold outside, but there was a fall nip in the air, and one of my favorite things to do was open the windows and light a fire. Plus, any humidity helped to reduce static electricity. Everything in my home was grounded to the max, but even touching the metal coin in my pocket didn’t always quell the shock when my skin transferred electron charges to whatever I touched. Being able to manipulate electricity could be a handy tool, but if I wasn’t paying attention…well, I’d fried enough kitchen appliances to keep the local furniture store in business.
Satisfied with the flames, I tossed my gloves onto the coffee table and opened the windows on both sides of the fireplace, as well as the sliding glass door that went out onto a big deck that faced the thick woods behind the house.
I ran a hand through my shaggy white hair as I jogged up the beautifully carved, wooden staircase in my log cabin to the primary bedroom. The second floor consisted of a large suite that faced the back of the house, and across the hall were two smaller rooms that were connected by a Jack and Jill bathroom.
As I entered my room, I was already pulling my shirt over my head to drop it into the hamper. Sometimes, taking off my long-sleeved shirts felt like removing a binding from my lung, allowing me to breathe deeply. Even after twenty years, it wasn’t much easier to deal with the constant reminder of what I’d become by wearing the necessary clothes to protect anyone who came too close. Skin-to-skin contact was the only time I had no control over the voltage I was charged with. It was unpredictable, and I learned the hard way that I needed to wear long-sleeved shirts, pants, and gloves whenever I was around other people.
I discarded my thick work pants, and after a quick shower, I pulled on a worn pair of jeans that were light and comfortable. I zipped them but didn’t bother with the button as I wandered back downstairs to the kitchen. There was cold beer in the fridge, so I grabbed a bottle and made a sandwich, then took everything back out to the couch. With a sigh, I plopped down and finally relaxed.
It had been a long-ass day at work, and I was fucking exhausted. I had accidentally fried a cherry picker when I wasn’t paying attention to my natural output. There were power outages because people overloaded sockets and did all manner of stupid shit that involved electricity. And I had to deal with downed power lines because some pimply little teenager wanted to impress a girl and plowed into one of the poles when he lost control of his car. Without the cherry picker, I had to climb the handholds up to the bucket at the top of the pole.
The areas around the small town where I lived—formerly known as Stream in the Woods—had been slowly gentrifying over the past few years, bringing more residents and businesses. While the growth might have been seen as favorable to most, it was a downright pain in the ass to those of us who lived in the place that had been dubbed “Screaming Woods” twenty years ago.
Perhaps that wasn’t true of everyone who still resided here, but the majority of the inhabitants wanted to be away from prying eyes. And from the inevitable screams that erupted whenever they were spotted. Here, monsters were welcome and safe, albeit lonely.
It wasn’t always like this. Stream in the Woods had once been a joyous town. Most of us who grew up here had never intended to leave, but we didn’t anticipate being forced to stay because there was nowhere else for us to find peace and acceptance.
I’d been among those who had planned to spend my life here—to marry, raise a family, grow old, and watch over my grandchildren. My whole family had lived here once. But since that fateful Halloween, only my little sister, Maggie, and I remained. A few of our cousins had been affected but had chosen to brave the wide world—where they discovered that monsters had no place in it.
I drained the bottle of its contents and finished off my sandwich, then stretched out on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. I didn’t make a habit of dwelling on the events of the past. It wasn’t like it would do any good. But for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about the life I’d been building before it happened. Inevitably, my memories turned to the night that forever changed us.Literally.
Maggie and I had shown up early for the party on that Halloween night. Like all celebrations in this town, the event was sure to be full of fun and joy. We were like one big family and never missed an opportunity to reconnect with each other amidst wonderful food, music, drinks, and any other merriment we could come up with.
But that year, Maggie was hosting an activity for the kids in her store, Something Special. She’d changed it to Something Wicked shortly after everything happened.
We’d greeted everyone as they arrived, and the festivities had kicked off with a bang. One of our locals, Dr. Boris Karloff—whom Maggie and I had nicknamed “the mad scientist”—was known for the unusual and highly anticipated concoctions he brought to parties.
He’d promised the beverage—which he’d called Frankenpunch—would add a little sparkle to our already merry event. The homemade brew tasted awesome. Like orange sherbet and whipped cream, my favorite dessert. Although Maggie swore hers had tasted like chocolate-covered cherries, which happened to be her favorite treat.
Then the town bell tower had tolled midnight, and our world shattered into something frightening. Monsters emerged. Friends I’d grown up with suddenly screamed in pain as their bodies shifted into grotesque shapes, some with tusks, wings, scales…all manner of creatures.
My sister had fallen into my arms weeping as her sweet, round face became longer, the angles sharpening, especially a noticeably pointed chin. Her beautiful auburn hair turned black, her skin bubbled as it turned bright green, her nails lengthened and turned sharp—almost like talons—and her body vibrated with dark magic.
I’d looked at the chaos and then down at myself, wondering why I had remained the same. Why had I been spared this monstrous fate?
Maggie’s blue eyes were full of anguish when her transformation was complete. I placed a palm on her cheek to reassure her that things would be all right but snatched it back when a shock zapped between us. We assumed it was the magic filling her and avoided touching again.
Pandemonium had broken out. People were scared, hysterical, and crazed. Unused to their new features, people stumbled, flew, slithered, and crawled in every direction. When a pair of stone wings snagged on a power line, it brought the pole crashing to the ground. I knew that the exposed conductor would easily start a fire if I didn’t get it under control.
I looked around for something to cover my hands so I could safely touch the wire, but I couldn’t find anything. So I’d yanked off my shirt, ripped it in two, and wrapped the halves around my hands. The thin material wouldn’t protect me completely, but I had hoped it would at least keep me from being electrocuted.
Running over to the spot with the most damage, I bent over to examine it. Suddenly, electricity zapped between me and the power line in a visible arc—like lightning. However, instead of going into cardiac arrest, my body seemed to absorb the current. I pulsed with the heavy voltage, and the power line went dead.
It didn’t take long to realize that I was now a walking, talking battery. Maggie had followed me and witnessed the change. Then she reached for my hand, which was still covered by my shirt. When she touched me, her body was hit with so much energy that she flew backward and hit the ground.
The voltage should have killed her. I supposed if there was one silver lining, it was that the dark magic inside her had kept her alive.
That was the last time we touched with anything less than thick leather gloves between us.
A few days later, I was working to help clean up the carnage in town when I overheard a scream. I was installing a new outside light beside the front door of my sister’s shop, and I peeked around the corner of the building to check out what was causing the ruckus.
My sister was plastered against the wall with tears overflowing from her eyes while Miss Gulch ran toward me. The crotchety spinster always looked like she’d been sucking lemons, but as she neared me, I was taken aback by the malice in her expression.
“She’s a monster!” Miss Gulch screeched, pointing at my sister. “A witch!”
