The Gift

by Louise Jensen

balls of my feet like a runner about to sprint. Over my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I hear it. A cough. Behind me now. Close. Too close. Run. I stumble forward. I can do this I tell myself, but it’s a lie. I know I can’t keep going for much longer. The clouds roll across the sky again and the blackness is crushing. I momentarily slow, conscious I can’t see where I’m putting my feet. The ground is full of potholes and I can’t risk spraining my ankle, or worse. What would I do then? How could I get away? The wind gusts and the clouds are swept away and in my peripheral

dogs. A fist thuds against the door. ‘You all right in there, Jen? Kelly said you looked terrified.’ ‘Fine thanks, Rach,’ I call, but I’m not fine at all. My legs are shaking so hard I sink down onto the lid of the toilet and drop my head into my hands. What’s happening to me? Since seeing Fiona, the medium, on Saturday these ephemeral feelings that swamp me, snatching my breath and accelerating my pulse, are becoming darker. More frequent. There’s an almost constant unease gnawing at the pit of my stomach. I can’t stop thinking about this second energy, and I’ve never believed in stuff like that before. I’m not sure I do now, but still. Something has changed,