"The Light," Jessica Allison

The moonlight catches my eye, so much moonlight. It glints off of everything, tinting the world in a silver grace. I have to stop and stare, my rush to get home completely forgotten. Leaning against the sleek black door of my little Honda, I gaze up at the gleaming night sky. For that moment in time it feels like I have the entire world to myself. A lone car flies down the otherwise empty highway and I am reminded that I have two precious girls to return home to. Unlocking the door of my battered old Honda, I place my book bag in the passenger seat and get in on the driver’s side. Patting the dashboard fondly I start the car and slowly pull out onto the highway, into the night.

Cruising, I decide to make the turn onto a swampy back road. Though I know my girls are waiting for me, they’ll be alright for an extra hour or so. Tonight, I really need this alone time to breathe and let be. I turn the radio up, roll the windows down and drift along the lonely bayou road humming in time to an old Lynard Skynard song. Smiling at my memories, the sputtering sound my faithful little car begins making does not register until it is too late and the car comes to a complete stop, dying almost instantly. I slam my hand against the steering wheel and get out of the car swearing under my breath. Looking around, I realize it isn’t entirely a horrible turn of events as I’m only a mile from home. The complete blackness the closely knit cypress trees have wrought is disconcerting as I start walking. I stay on the road for awhile, humming “Home is Where the Heart is” and beginning to sweat in the muggy Louisiana night. Then I see a light in the trees, and begin to walk toward it.

The light, so out of place, fascinates me. I can’t understand what it is. It stays just out of my reach, and always a few trees ahead. I feel the water splash against my feet, but I pay it no heed because the light has begun to laugh. A musical sound, it enchants my ears with its lilting tone. I slush through the water, now knee deep. The light continues to lead me, a hue that seems to be all colors and none. The light glints with different prisms as it darts and weaves through the marshland and I follow it unquestioningly. I must get closer is repeating in my mind, and I never hear the ominous splash behind me.

I never hear the churning water, a sound that has nothing to do with my unsubtle splashing through the murky blackness. The only thing that alerts and snaps me from my trance is the sharp, unbearable pain that slices through me as the long yellow teeth tear into my right thigh. I screech and am dragged under the waist deep water. Writhing in agony, desperate to tear free as the unknown beast rends mercilessly at my legs and right arm, the last thing I see before the world goes black is a glowing pair of yellow eyes. The eyes are bright in the black abyss; I notice this from another place. The strength is leaving my body, numb now to the teeth shredding my flesh. I glance upward as the water begins to fill my burning lungs, and see the light still dancing on the wind.

It took three days, but the police finally found the body of twenty-one year old Maia Rachelle. A finger buried deep in bayou mud was found not far from her car, chipped green nail polish still visible just above the pond floor. Bits and pieces of the body were discovered in the hours following the beginning of the search. A search was ordered when a frightened nine year old Cassie called her grandma and told her that mommy hadn’t come home. Mommy always came home. When authorities found the bones with two large teeth lodged in them, they shook their heads in bewilderment. With all the work being done, the only one to notice the old woman with a crocodile smile half-hidden behind a nearby cypress tree was a rookie cop who started over to her immediately.

“Ma’am, did you see anything that happened here last night?” the cop asked.

Cackling softly, the old woman replied, “She followed, dearie. They always do.” The man, startled by the woman’s answer, turned to call for his Chief. When he turned back to the woman, there was nothing to mark that she had ever been.