Circle of Shadows by M.L. Bullock

Author:M.L. Bullock
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paranormal activity, support group, supernatural powers, supernatural, psychic, psychic abilities
Publisher: M.L. Bullock
Published: 2023-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve—Clara

The scent of oil paint filled my nostrils, a comforting aroma that had become as much a part of me as the blood coursing through my veins. Each stroke of my brush breathed life into the canvas, capturing a world only I could see. This was my escape, my sanctuary.

Then it came—a strange tingling at the base of my skull, like electric impulses dancing on my skin. I tried to shake it off, to lose myself again in the swirls of color, but the sensation intensified, turning into a painful prickling.

My hand trembled; my vision blurred. The canvas I had been so focused on seemed to melt away, its colors merging into formless shapes. I was slipping, falling into another place, another time.

And then I saw her.

A woman, running through what looked like a deserted cityscape. Her eyes were filled with terror, and her clothes were tattered, stained with grime and sweat. She was out of breath, her lungs gasping for air, but she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.

Chasing her was a shadow, a dark formlessness that defied description. It stretched and contorted as it pursued her, an embodiment of dread that consumed everything it touched. The air around it seemed to thicken, to curdle, as if reality itself recoiled from its very existence.

The woman ran through narrow alleys and over cracked sidewalks, her feet pounding against the ground in a rhythm of despair. My heart raced with her; I could feel her fear as if it were my own.

Suddenly, flames erupted around her, sprouting from the ground like malevolent weeds. The fire surged, swallowing buildings, cars, and finally, the woman herself. Her screams reverberated in my mind, a haunting melody that I knew would stay with me forever.

Just as suddenly, I was thrust back into my own reality.

I found myself sitting in front of my easel, the canvas now a chaotic mess of smears and blotches. My paintbrush lay on the floor, dropped in the moment of my departure or return—I couldn’t be sure.

My heart was still pounding, each beat a reminder of the horror I had just witnessed. The smell of oil paint, once comforting, now seemed suffocating.

My sanctuary had been violated, its walls breached again by an intruder I could neither see, nor understand.

“No!” I yelled at the air around me.

I sat back, staring at the ruined canvas, but it didn’t matter. Something much larger was at stake, something far more significant than a spoiled painting. These visions, these glimpses into other worlds, were escalating in a way that I couldn’t ignore any longer. They were messages, warnings of a looming darkness that I had to confront.

Enough was enough.

I headed for the shower, letting the hot water wash over me, as if it could cleanse the residue of that horrific vision. Yet even as I closed my eyes, the image of the woman engulfed in flames haunted me, an afterimage burnt into the back of my mind.

Dressed and partially pulled together, I grabbed my purse and locked the door behind me.

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