Angry at the Sun
Second Edition Copyright 2018
I sat at the small table in my mother’s breakfast nook, straining in the fading daylight to read more of the baffling words penciled in the spiral notebook. I drew in a shuddering breath, dreading what else her journal might reveal, but my curiosity to find out more was overpowering. My hands trembled, as each page I turned was like opening a door where you knew a Horror was hiding somewhere in the room—a Horror you knew that, without warning, would leap out and grab you!
My muscles ached from hours of sitting and poring over her puzzling words, so I stood, stretched my back and kneaded my shoulders. For all my fervent searching, I thought with dejection, so far there was little to add to the facts I already had: three months gone without a trace, without a word; journals—eight spiral notebooks—left behind, although it was obvious that writing was a ritual for her.
It had been a long day and I was tired now. I also had a mid-term nursing care exam coming up and I needed to go home and hit the books. Yet I was unable to pull myself away from this new discovery, because it held the first promise of a break in the mystery of Cheha Youngblood’s disappearance. How close I had come to not discovering the journals at all!
Even now, I had no idea what prompted me to look beneath her mattress. But look I did, in yet another search of this tiny wooden house where I had spent much of my childhood; and there they were, spread out end-to-end, written in pencil in her unusual third-person way of speaking of herself. I breathed in deeply and mustered all my reserves of courage. I needed them in order to continue exploring the dark reaches of my mother’s mind:
May 18, 1980: Its wings spanned the width of the house! And, suddenly, the creature ripped through the side of her screen. Cheha leaped up then, screaming in Terror! Her loom clattered to the floor. Hundreds of tiny, brightly colored seed beads scattered across the cement…