Waiting for Autumn by Scott Blum Page B

Street toward the houses in the hills.
    As soon as the family left, I immediately went to the swing from my dream. It felt a lot like the first one—very short and squeaky, and not very satisfying for someone of my size. But more significant, there was definitely not a portal, and like the rest of Yreka, the park seemed completely devoid of any spiritual energy.
    Confused and frustrated, I began to walk around the perimeter of the park to see if I could find the portal I had dreamed about. I kept retracing my steps, and I put the palms of my hands on every tree near the swing set to see if I could feel anything. There was a second swing set perpendicular to the one I’d seen in my dreams, and in my desperation, I went over to it and started swinging. These were “big person” swings with large rubber rectangles for seats and stainless-steel chains that were attached nearly twenty feet above the ground.
    The bigger swings were much more suited to my size, and although I didn’t feel anything supernatural, I did enjoy swinging on them for a few minutes. I even considered being brave enough to jump off when the swing was at its highest point in order to see how far I could fly before hitting the ground, but I wisely decided to wait until it had settled before getting off.
    Discouraged, I sat on the grass and stared at the swings, wondering if I had misinterpreted my dream. Perhaps my vision quest was already over and had simply been about coming to terms with my childhood. Or maybe it was supposed to be on a different day, and either I was too early or my opportunity had passed.
    Just as I was about to give up, I noticed a swing that was wrapped around a post, tied up and out of commission. I carefully unwound it from the post, and it fell into place. As it settled, I was perplexed to notice that it didn’t seem to have a shadow. I looked at the other swings and they all did, but the one in front of me didn’t appear to. I knew that it was physically impossible for one swing not to cast a shadow, so I convinced myself that it was an optical illusion of some sort and tried my best to ignore it.
    I cautiously lowered myself into the swing and pushed off with my legs. I almost immediately felt a sharp stabbing pain in my abdomen. I swung my legs back and forth, and with every swing, the pain in my stomach became more and more intense. I began to sweat profusely, and within seconds I shot out of the swing and hit the sand hard. The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs, and when I looked back toward the swing, I was shocked to see that it was already motionless, as if I’d never been on it.
    Terrified, I stood up and tried to run to the opposite end of the park, but my legs wouldn’t move. The more I tried, the more my muscles froze, and I found myself falling backward in slow motion until the ground slapped my back with a force that ensured my breath wouldn’t soon return.
    Staring up at the sky, I could see the clouds turning from an innocuous white to a menacing dark gray as they began to swirl above the park. The clouds circled slowly at first, then quickly picked up momentum until there was a visible funnel coming toward the park. I still couldn’t breathe or move my body, and my fear was replaced with genuine panic as the twister’s funnel descended. Within seconds the entire sky darkened, and I could feel the twister connect with my abdomen.
    The pain was excruciating—it felt like the funnel was sucking my organs out of my body and flinging them into the sky above. I tried to scream with all of my might, but only silence came out of my mouth while I gasped for air with a violently painful dry heave. And at that very moment, the park filled with the most petrifying sound I’d ever heard. It was the noise of all the anger that fueled every roar that had ever existed, the sound of the fear that powered every scream since the beginning of time, and the wailing of every baby that had ever been born. The piercing