Serial Vlogger: Part Thirty-Nine

A horror novel in tiny slices

Lenore landed on the ground. As her bare feet slapped the sidewalk, she held out her arms for balance. The wind was ferocious. And there were so many people.

She looked up at the storm, the clouds, the eye.

How?

What?

Did they all see the eye? Was it an illusion of garbage and clouds?

A spray of sparks ricocheted from her necklace, the heat burning her skin.

She turned away from the eye, the swinging necklace emitting a glimmering arc. Lenore stared at the people. Her neighbors. Her ‘hood.

Strangers.

She wanted nothing more than to get home to her apartment. To wash. To be done with the hospital. To be done with everything. Just to sleep.

Sleep and sleep and sleep.

Lenore walked along the sidewalk. Why were people huddled on the ground?

The rain and winds whipped at her, flapping her gown, yet she walked. The noise from the storm was too intense for her to hear anyone clearly. It was senseless. All she could hear was a roar, like an endless roll of thunder in her ears. Her head was submerged under glass, maybe underwater, and the sounds of the world were murky and indistinguishable. But her head wasn’t submerged. She was still out of the hospital and walking.

Her feet dragged through the deep, sudden puddles on the sidewalk from the relentless rain. She looked down and saw garbage floating, branches, clothes…and even parts of people.

She smiled.

The work was being done.

What?

What work?

The necklace glowed, heat rising; she could feel it against her chest. The vibrations of the storm on the outside merged with the heady energy of her inside.

She raised her hand forward and saw with shock and delight rays of power emitting from her fingers.

How was it possible?

She passed a man, a man whom she had seen many times on the streets. A man who cat-called her every time she walked past him. A man who had slid his fingers down the back of her pants when she was in line at the variety store one day. A greasy piece of shit who harassed almost any woman he saw. He was that asshole who sat on the steps at a corner apartment, giving his opinion to anyone who walked by. He sat there, stinking in his wife beater shirt and torn pants. He smoked cigarette after cigarette, slurping beer from an old 7/11 coffee cup. The ugliest lawn ornament would look better than him perched on the stair. He was the foul gargoyle of the block. And Lenore was done with him.

The sight of him clinging to a lamppost so as not to blow away in the wind amused her. She stopped, watching him cling. His stained t-shirt rippled in the wind, exposing his lumpy, sweaty body.

“Hey, asshole, what’s it like?” Lenore asked calmly. The wind shrieked and howled. He could barely answer, the wind rippling his lips, his face.

“Who are you?” he asked, staring at how she stood there in front of him, hospital gown, glowing necklace, dark angry eyes.

She raised her hands.

“Not so fun now, is it? Watching the world go by.” Lenore laughed as several bottles clinked and rolled by him.

“What?” he cried out, his grip loosening on the pole.

“What indeed?” Lenore laughed. It hurt a bit to laugh; it had been a long time since she had laughed so loud and hard. The glee of seeing this man so helpless had filled her with a whole new sensation.

She flicked her fingers. One by one, his fingers let go of the lamp.

One.

Two.

Three.

“What are you doing?” he cried. “No!”

Smoke erupted from his hands as he let go of the pole. Through the rain and wind, she could smell the burning. Once his grip was gone, he flew through the air. She raised her hands, sending him higher, and higher.

He screamed and spun.

Thunder boomed.

A sizzling slice of lightning scorched a nearby hedge.

He screamed louder.

Then, she lowered her hands quickly. He hit the ground with a hard, ugly splat. She stopped and stared for a moment. His body still and lifeless. No more catcalls. No more disgusting fingers down the back of her pants. His blood and guts swirled away with the garbage in the wind and rain.

Lenore laughed and continued to walk. Her hair lifted with new energy surging through her. Every step held an electrical charge. It washed through her, bringing her elation. The surges didn’t hurt. Her wounds didn’t hurt. The sparks flying from her necklace didn’t hurt. She was giddy with power.