A sharp breeze came down on Radcliff from the hills surrounding the nearby forest. It was autumn but the air held the promise of another bitterly cold winter. Helen fastened the buttons on her gray sweater as she walked from the house toward the river. The yard she crossed was well kept with hedges separating the property from neighbors on both sides.
Helen paused by the gas grill in the middle of the lawn. Her father had put the aluminum picnic table away but two folding chairs remained outside to fight the elements. She sat down, slowly craning her neck around to take a final look at the old house with its battered green shutters. She could feel the eyes of the forest staring angrily back at her as she sat drumming her fingers on the armrest of the chair. Helen cursed the forest silently under her breath and then she cursed old Mrs Gresham who was the first to tell her of the Cacodaemon. She was only nine when the dreams began.
The child with the auburn hair skated past the neighbor's home. Shaking her head gently from side to side, her long braids danced in the wind as she laughed excitedly. Helen was staring up at the large trees that lined Hanley Street when she heard a woman's voice calling her name. She came to a dead stop and leaned up against the Maple in the front yard of the Gresham's place. Old Mrs Gresham came ambling down the rickety steps of her porch carrying a large tray of freshly baked cookies. The child could smell the delectable scent from where she stood watching the woman. Before stepping down onto the walkway the old woman placed the tray on the battered railing of the porch.
"Chocolate chip, my favorite," the youngster thought to herself.
"Hello," the old woman said. "You're Helen, the Pearson's little girl. Would you like to come up on the porch with me and have a cookie?
"I can't," the little girl said shyly. " My Mommy told me not to talk to strangers."
"But I know your name, Helen, so how could I be a stranger?" She looked up at the old woman with a puzzled expression on her young features. Then slowly she stepped from the safety of the Maple and onto the steps leading to the house. Mrs Gresham reached down and took Helen by her hand. The winds picked up and began to howl.
The Gresham's house was the only blight on an otherwise nicely kept suburban street. As Helen drew nearer to the home she could see that only one hinge was holding the screen door in place. With her free hand Mrs Gresham motioned to a small wood table at the corner of the porch. Helen sat down smiling as the old woman turned around to retrieve the tray she placed atop the railing. The old woman stumbled nearly dropping the tray as she walked the few steps to the chair in front of Helen. With some effort Mrs Gresham righted the tray and set it down on the table with a nervous smile and nod of her head.
"Help yourself Helen," she said. "I can't have any myself. I've got the diabetes."
The chocolate chip cookies tasted better than any Helen had ever eaten and she quickly devoured two. While she ate the old woman watched her closely and smiled in an odd way that made Helen nervous. She bit into yet another when the old woman suddenly rose.
"Why don't I get you a nice glass of milk? the old woman asked as she carefully pulled the screen door open.
Helen tried to watch her through the large glass window to her side but the glass was too dirty to allow her much of a view. The old woman limped into the kitchen and reaching up opened a cupboard. She removed a tall glass and laid it down by the side of the refrigerator. She poured the milk just short of the brim and returned the carton to its resting place next to the lettuce and eggs. Then she opened up a small pouch that she kept hidden in her purse and sprinkled the contents into the glass. She stirred it carefully making certain all of the potion dissolved. Old Mrs Gresham carried the glass out to Helen who waited patiently on the porch humming a song she had heard on the radio earlier in the day.
Helen took a big gulp of the milk and smiled up at the woman who smiled back. Then Helen Pearson dreamed as she was carried inside the home by two strong hands.
In a near-future Baltimore, an unemployed bipolar journalist and a teenage hacker are the last hope for a dystopian world controlled by a giant media corporation.
