MirrorWorld

And I’m as naked as a hairless cat, but not quite hairless. The mud from the other world is gone, left behind when I shifted back home. Machete in hand, I scramble back to the pine tree, body protesting with every movement because of the lingering effects of shifting between worlds, not to mention getting clubbed by the bull. My clothing is plastered around the trunk where my body should have struck. I peel the articles away and quickly dress.

After slipping on my second shoe and tugging the laces tight, I sense a presence and, without thought, focus on the world around me, in multiple frequencies. The sudden surge of extrasensory input hits the inside of my forehead like a sledgehammer, but I manage the pain with the knowledge that it is temporary. Clicking screeches, which I can clearly hear, mix with the strange whispering that feels more … in my head. I plug my ears. The clicking stops. The whispering continues in my head. I turn slowly, keeping my body concealed by the pine tree and ATV.

Several small Dreads, the size and energy level of pugs, swarm around the fallen bull. They’re focused on the wounds, twitching back and forth, sniffing the body and the air. Are they scavengers? I wonder, but the things never take a bite.

I count seven of them.

A shriek interlaced with frantic clicking turns me around.

Make that eight.

The small creature inspects me, oblivious to the fact that I can see it, too. Its four eyes match the bull’s, two vertical rectangular pupils joined in the middle to form a ragged H surrounded by luminous green. Its body is small but armored, like the bull, and a lattice of glowing veins coat its hide. Is it a baby bull? Did I kill these things’ mother?

The rest of the pack tears around the tree, checking me out.

Then, one by one, they vibrate. They’re trying to frighten me, I think. But why? Do they want me to run? Am I supposed to panic and fall to the ground? Or are they hoping I’ll lose my mind and fall on my sword?

Whatever it is they’re expecting, I don’t do it, and suddenly they’re on to me. They’ve switched from casual inspectors to on-guard watchdogs, each facing me, coiled to spring. But in which direction?

While I have no fear response, I’m careful to not look the things in the eyes. That, I’ve learned, is a dead giveaway. Right now, they’re just confused, but — damn. I turn away from the bunch on the ground and face the pine, where a ninth mini-Dread clings to the bark, upside down, staring straight at me.

I try to look away, but it’s too late. Our eyes connect.

Moving slowly, I take hold of the bow, and nock one of the black arrows. Though none of my movements are aggressive, the small creatures are backing away. If they’re any kind of smart, and I think they are, they’ve put two and two together.

“That’s right,” I whisper. “I killed your big—”

The things grow rigid.

Surprised.

Annnd fuck — they understand me. Good to know.

I draw back the bow and send an arrow into the Dread clinging to the pine tree, pinning it to the bark. The body goes limp. The top half flops to the side, swivels down, and hangs in place.

There’s a beat of silence and then the Dread pugs bolt. But they don’t scatter, which would be smart; they all head south. I nock and fire two more arrows, slaying two more Dreads, but there are too many, and they’re too fast. I sling the arrows over my back and pursue the things up and over a rise.

For a moment, I see just the real world. The tall pines of the forest are replaced by gravestones on the other side of the hill. It’s a cemetery, empty and peaceful, but old and unused for a long time. I shift my vision back to the world between, the pain less severe now. A network of glowing veins cuts across the ground, along with the scattering pugs, but nothing else. Nothing, at least, in this reality.

It takes just a moment this time, focusing on what I can see and feel, expanding it all, like taking a deep breath. The world bends and flexes, like I’m looking through warping plastic, and then it snaps back into focus. The pain sucker punches me and drops me to my knees. The raw pain of changing my perceptions is equally intense, but the duration is shorter … or maybe I’m just getting better at coping.