1/10/13

Within Our Reality
By John Laneri


I spotted her walking along the edge of the water where the surf laps against the shore. She was carrying sandals in one hand and seashells in the other. When she noticed me, she turned in my direction and smiled pleasantly.

“Beautiful evening,” I said, when she got closer.

She gestured about. “I agree, the beach is beautiful, especially at this time of night. Even the seashells are fun.”

“I see you've accumulated quite a collection.”

“I've never seen so many shells. The sand is littered with all sizes and shapes.”

“Can I see what you've collected?”

She hesitated at first, then relaxing, she set her shells on the sand and pointed to an elegant specimen configured in the shape of feathered wings. “That one is my favorite. Do you know what it is?”

“It's an Angel Wing,” I replied, as I reached to pick it up. “It's intact too.”

Moving closer, she knelt beside me to study it, turning the thing about in her fingers. “It does look like an angel's wing. I'm impressed. You do know your shells.”

“Only the easy ones. But, I've heard that Angel Wings bring happiness and good luck, so consider it an omen to a bright future.”

Laughing softly, she looked at me asking, ”Does that apply to both of us?”

“I hope so, but you get most of the credit because you found it.”

We laughed together, then I helped her gather up the shells saying, “I've never seen you along this stretch of beach.”

“I'm on vacation. I was just enjoying the surf when I saw you.”

In appearance, she was a pleasant looking woman with dark hair, bright eyes and a manner that seemed to project a deep, natural warmth.

My attraction was immediate.

From there, we continued along the beach, talking non-stop. By then, I wanted to get better acquainted, so I suggested coffee at a quiet spot in town. She agreed, and eventually, we were sipping two cappuccinos.

I soon learned that she lived out of state. In turn, I indicated that I owned a small gallery along the main street of town not far from the beach. Surprisingly, the more we talked the more we seemed to enjoy each others company.

The following night, we again walked the beach, our conversation relaxed and carefree. The next night we agreed to eat dinner at a local restaurant where we feasted on fresh seafood. By then, the intensity of our attraction was almost unstoppable.

Once I paid the bill, we hurried to my place where our desires ignited into a firestorm of passion. It was as if we had suddenly found something new and exciting, and simply could not get enough to satisfy our cravings.

For the remainder of the week, we were seldom apart – our desires constantly exploding with an excitement that neither of us had expected. By then, we were hopelessly in love and completely unable to control our joy.

The evening before she returned home, we again walked the beach looking for shells. Only this time, we quietly searched the sand, lost in our own thoughts as we faced the prospect of separating for a few weeks.

Later, as the sun touched the horizon, I spotted an unusual shell in a tangle of trash washed ashore by the tides. Reaching for it, I turned it over in my hands then handed it to her.

“Here's a Devil's Horn.”

She took it, but suddenly, a look of fear flashed through her eyes.

Holding it away from her, she said, “This thing is grotesque. It looks like something I'd imagine growing from the side of a devil's head.”

She dropped it on the ground and turned away.

I reached for it laughing. “It's only a seashell.”

“But, why does it bother me so much?”

“Probably because some people think horns bring bad luck.”

Playfully, I teased her with it.

She scooted away, her eyes filled with horror. “That thing gives me goose bumps. Please don't do that. I can't stand it.”

Tossing it aside, I asked. “Are you superstitious?”

“Not particularly,” she replied. “But, maybe some things really are precursors of darkness.”

The following morning we ate breakfast together, and then she drove away with the promise of staying in touch until we were together again in two weeks.

The next day, I sent her several emails but failed to receive any replies, so I followed up with phone calls. Still no response. By the following day, I became worried, so I started searching the web in hopes to finding another way of contacting her.

And then, purely by accident, I noticed an article in a local newspaper that related a fiery, car crash on a highway near her home. Searching frantically, I scoured other news items and found her name listed as one of the deceased victims.

Reeling in horror, I repeatedly read the article, sorrow covering me in its cloak of despair. But then, for reasons that I can not fully explain, I noticed an unusual chill suddenly fill the room.

Looking about, feeling an eerie sensation ripple through my hair, I remembered the Devil's Horn, and its omen, reminding me that the powers of darkness lurk not only in our thoughts but also within our reality.


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John is a native born Texan living near Houston. His writing focuses on short stories and flash. Publications to his credit have appeared in several scientific journals as well as a number of internet sites and short story periodicals.