Page 21 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Trick-or-Treat

MALLORY

Town’s getting radio static again. Could be another magnetic flare from the mountain. Just keep an eye out today, alright?

Okay

If you notice anything strange, mind texting me? I’m working on a front-page story about last night

Last night. The words press against me like a touch—likehim.

I could give Mallory enough to fill a whole issue. But would she believe a word of it?

And how real was it anyway?The result of drug-laced treats and a very inventive cosplayer …. or something else?

The apartment feels cavernous all of a sudden, like the quiet itself is waiting for someone else to breathe.

I slide the plate closer, pop a glossy piece of Star-honey into my mouth, and moan. Even better than I remembered. But instead of satisfying a craving, it cracks something open—an ache that hums low and deep, like I’m missing a piece of myself.

“Everett,” I whisper, fingers brushing my lips, feeling the faint pulse behind my breastbone.

Maybe I’m losing it. But if this is madness, it’s the kind that tastes like sugar and light.

I sit listening—to the wild beat in my ears, the fridge hum, the faint vibration threading through the walls. No hallucinations, no dizziness. Maybe if I ate a few more, I’d feel something else, but?—

I can’t entertain the alternative. Because it would make everything I believe a lie.

Even worse, something unseen hums through the air, steady, protective, almost …watchful.

I try to shake it off—chalk it up to sleep deprivation and sweets—but the hum comesinside. It slides under my skin, a low current tracing my ribs, intimate as breath.

It’s faint, more sensation than sound, like the vibration of a cello string after the note fades.

I pour another cup of coffee and turn on the kitchen radio for company. It crackles, jumps, then goes silent. Great.

I text Mallory back:

Radio static. Lights flickering. Hope this isn’t the norm here?

Maybe…

When I move toward the table, something flickers in my peripheral vision.

The dragonfly is back.

It drifts through the open balcony door as if it belongs here, wings whispering against the air. It hovers near the ceiling light, tracing lazy circles, then lands lightly on the back of a chair.

“Persistent little thing,” I murmur, half smiling.

It tilts its head—or whatever the insect equivalent is—and the faint metallic click comes again. Up close, its wings shimmer with color I can’t name: not blue, not green, but something in between, a hue that feels alive.

The hum under my skin rises to meet it, matching pitch for pitch until my pulse aligns.

When I reach out, it doesn’t retreat.

It lands on my wrist, delicate feet cool against my skin. The pulse climbing my arm beats in sync with the one that woke me in the storm.

The radio crackles back to life for half a second, catching a scrap of some old love song before cutting out again.

I whisper, “Everett?” before I can stop myself.