Popcorn Thief by Leah Cutter

around, his eyes growing unfocused, his mouth slack.
    Was that what Franklin looked like? When he talked with a
ghost? Darryl didn’t seem to be all there anymore.
    No wonder people thought Franklin was crazy, if he looked
that way.
    Suddenly, Darryl took off again through the woods, going a
different direction. They weren’t following no proper path—it was more
like a deer trail.
    Franklin hadn’t ever gone this way before, though he was
sure Lexine had: She’d know every inch of land surrounding hers, and probably
all the property marked private as well.
    Branches grew across the path that Darryl leaped over with
ease. He slid to the left or right, avoiding brambles gracefully. Not a leaf
stirred as he ran, and his footsteps were silent.
    Franklin had never seen his cousin move that way. Had
Darryl’s sight lent the hick a grace he’d never had before?
    Squirrels chittered at them from above. Some small
creature—a rabbit, probably—bounded away through the dry leaves of
the underbrush as they came up. The cicadas kept up their deafening cries.
Franklin felt a headache creeping up from the back of his skull.
    Darryl paused at the edge of a clearing. It was barely fifteen
feet across, just a pause in the trees.
    Franklin looked out and felt his heart push hard against his
chest.
    What the fuck was that?
    On the far side of the clearing hung a gray dust devil. It
was maybe three feet tall, and another couple wide. It could have been a
tumbleweed, but it had black vines growing through it, laced with sharp thorns.
It floated two feet off the ground, whirling in place.
    Even from where they stood, Franklin felt it radiating evil . Its intent was clear: It hated him and all those like him, viewed them
as competitors and prey. It planned on getting rid of all of them, dipping its
thorns into their flesh, ripping out what made them special.
    “Shit,” Darryl said. “We got to help him.”
    “What? Are you crazy?” Franklin said, reaching out and
grabbing Darryl’s arm. That thing didn’t need their help.
    Without warning, the thing whirled toward them, arms
failing, intent on cutting them to ribbons. Franklin tried holding Darryl back
but his stubborn cousin shook him off and walked into the clearing.
    The thing disappeared before Darryl reached the other edge.
    Only then did Franklin see the man on the ground.
    * * *
    “Hey, Mister, you okay?” Darryl asked as he knelt down.
    The man lay just under the edge of the trees. The cicadas
cycled up loudly, filling the air with their screeching. Smells of mulching
leaves and black dirt floated up.
    “Is he breathing?” Franklin asked as he came up.
    “Yeah, he’s still alive,” Darryl said.
    Franklin looked over Darryl’s shoulder. The man was white,
mid-fifties he’d guess, and probably some kind of bum, given how beat up and
dirty his clothes were, how the dirt was caked along the wrinkles of his face, and
how blistered up and sunburnt his hands were. He had gouges in his right cheek
where the thing had attacked him, the same gouges that Franklin had seen in the
businessman’s face, and the two long scars running down Adrianna’s cheek.
    “Water,” Darryl snapped at Franklin.
    Franklin shrugged off his backpack and handed over his extra
bottle. The man looked in bad shape.
    “What do you think he was doing here?” Darryl asked.
    “He was being attacked,” Franklin said quietly. “See the
gouges on his face?”
    “That thing? Was it here?” Darryl asked as he wet a kerchief
and washed the man’s face.
    “Yeah. It was standing right over him,” Franklin said. He
shivered. He had no idea what the hell that creature was. It wasn’t natural,
though. It wasn’t a regular spirit. Why could he see it? Normally, he only saw
ghosts.
    “Why didn’t you shoot it?” Darryl demanded.
    “I—I—it don’t matter. You’ll be able to track it
again,” Franklin protested. “Besides, there was this guy here.”
    “All right,” Darryl said with a sigh.