by Simone Pond
Hidden Sight
Coastview Prophecies Book 1
An Urban Fantasy Novel
by Simone Pond
Ktown Waters Publishing
Copyright © 2016 Simone Pond
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Ktown Waters Publishing, Los Angeles, CA.
ISBN-13: 978-1539601968
ISBN-10: 153960196X
Cover Design: Clarissa Yeo, Yocla Designs
Editing: Peter Stier Jr., Emily Nemchick, Kat Deloian
Formatting: Polgarus Studio
Table of Contents
Chapter One - Sibyl
Chapter Two - Vago
Chapter Three - Sibyl
Chapter Four - Sibyl
Chapter Five - Vago
Chapter Six - Sibyl
Chapter Seven - Vago
Chapter Eight - Sibyl
Chapter Nine - Vago
Chapter Ten - Sibyl
Chapter Eleven - Vago
Chapter Twelve - Sibyl
Chapter Thirteen - Sibyl
Chapter Fourteen - Vago
Chapter Fifteen - Sibyl
Chapter Sixteen - Sibyl
Chapter Seventeen - Vago
Chapter Eighteen - Sibyl
Chapter Nineteen - Vago
Chapter Twenty - Sibyl
Chapter Twenty-One - Sibyl
Chapter Twenty-Two - Vago
Chapter Twenty-Three - Sibyl
Chapter Twenty-Four - Sibyl
Chapter Twenty-Five - Sibyl
Chapter Twenty-Six - Vago
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Sibyl
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Vago
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Sibyl
Chapter Thirty - Sibyl
Chapter Thirty-One - Sibyl
Chapter Thirty-Two - Vago
Chapter Thirty-Three - Sibyl
Chapter Thirty-Four - Sibyl
Chapter Thirty-Five - Sibyl
Chapter Thirty-Six - Vago
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Sibyl
The night was crisp and fresh. A cool mist from the ocean listed over the highway as the sun’s last stretches of gold reached across the sky. I was happy. Scratch that; I was elated as I bounced up and down in the back seat of my dad’s midnight blue Prius. My high school team won the girls’ varsity softball championship. I was awarded MVP for my stellar pitching skills. As a graduating senior, I’d be leaving Coastview High on, well, a high note. Soon, I’d be taking my ball-winging arm out into the world. Colleges all over California—all over the country—had been interested in me, but I decided to stay close to home. I loved my parents and friends. And you couldn’t beat the perfect climate of our coastal town. With only one month of high school remaining, a celebration to attend, and a boyfriend to kiss at the end of the night, life was superb.
“We’re so proud of you, Sibyl,” my mom said, leaning around from the passenger seat.
My dad glanced up into the rearview mirror, the smile beaming in his pale blue eyes. He nodded, not needing to say a word. If anyone deserved the MVP award it was my dad. He spent every spare moment tossing the ball with me in the back yard. It wasn’t me who had made our small town proud, it was him. A bunch of people would be at the local pizza parlor to celebrate our victory—when one person in Coastview did well, we all did well—but I’d be honoring my dad for his relentless devotion to my pitching arm.
“I love you guys. I know that’s very un-teenagery to say, but I don’t care. I love you guys for supporting me all these years. You’re the best parents in—”
I never got to finish that sentence.
A giant black Dodge Ram with a chrome grill, so large and silver it took up the entire landscape of the windshield, came barreling into our tiny Prius, crushing us like we were in a monster truck demolition.
Everything went black.
Sounds echoed all around me like I was inside a crystal cave. Footsteps crunching on gravel. Horns honking. Tires screeching across the pavement. Distant sirens wailing woo-woo-woo over and over and over. Where are my parents? I tried to ask the person dragging me from the wreckage, but my vocal cords were cinched shut. Someone was wrapping something around my throat, making it difficult to get any words out. The backs of my calves scraped against the gritty road, and one of my cleats got lost in the shuffle. A gurgling sound crept up from my throat. What was happening? I made the mistake of reaching up to find a gash in my neck. The person helping me kept shh-ing me, but I didn’t know why.
“Mom … Dad …” I muttered to the person.
“Shh, honey. Just stay quiet. The ambulance is coming,” a woman whispered.
She took my right hand—my pitching hand—and clasped it so hard I worried my bones would snap. I needed those fingers for future games. When I tried to pry away my hand, she only squeezed tighter. She kept pressing a cloth against my neck. It was now saturated with my blood. Why was everything still black? My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see anything except a sea of ink. Why couldn’t I see anything? The throbbing in my throat increased.
I pushed myself into a seated position and looked around at the scene. Shock punched my chest as I tried to make sense of what I was “seeing” because even though everything was a different shade of black, I could see blurry and smeary shapes of people gathered around in small groups. I couldn’t see any elaborate details like height or weight, color or style of hair. But what twisted my stomach into knots was what I could see.
Spirits.
Sparkling and radiant wisps of light dancing along the edges of their bodies. Some of the colors more celestial. Others more muted. But I could see their spirits. And they were beautiful. Until I noticed someone standing back from the others. His spirit was different. He looked like a shadow fueled by raging fire. And the sight of him sent a shiver through me.
I scanned the area, trying to make sense of what was happening. Where were my parents amidst the wreckage? I came across two shapes lying prone. My parents. Their spirits had separated from their bodies and hovered nearby as if waiting for instructions.
I reached out toward them, but the woman next to me pulled my hand back and begged me to stay put, saying that I was losing too much blood.
From the black sky, two mammoth creatures swooped down to my parents and spread their glacial wings outward. The tips of their feathers radiated like phosphorous waves in an ocean. They lifted my parents into their arms with a serenity that brought tears to my eyes, which rolled in warm streams down my cheeks. Then the divine creatures carried them gently away, leaving behind their empty shells.
I gazed upward, wondering where they had gone. Heaven? Another spiritual plane? That’s when an enormous fiery spirit with scaly skin and wings of fire dove from the darkness, releasing a shriek. The creature’s eyes blazed with flames of crimson. The thing came down to the heap of a body that lay just a few yards away from where my parents lay; the dead driver of the Dodge Ram. I don’t know how I knew it—especially since I couldn’t see—I just knew. The creature lingered over the heap, then a stick-like arm of fire stabbed down into the body and tore out the blackened soul of the dead man. The shadow creature screeched one more time and flew off into the pitch black night, flapping its wings of fire.
My stomach bucked and bile rolled up into my mouth. I coughed as the woman behind me yelled for someone to bring her another towel. And then I couldn’t see a thing. Not even the colorful spirits of the people who had gathered around the accident. An empty stage of darkness spread out before me. The screaming sirens grew louder and louder until finally they stopped. Then doors slammed, people shouted, boots crunched over the gravel.
“This one’s still alive!” the woman called over to the paramedics.
This one.
Chapter Two
Vago
It was an afternoon like every other afternoon at the Forsyth household. Sibyl was lounging in her Adirondack chair in the back yard, her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, sunglasses and headphones on, most likely listening to another one of her mystery crime novels, or maybe a podcast. The warm midsummer sun spread over her skin and a slight grin curled her lips. I sat in a patch of sun closer to the pond, so I could listen to the pleasant trickle of water falling over the rocks. A much less annoying sound than the muffled voices of whatever she was listening to.
Somehow over the last year—as we had become the best of friends—this had become our daily routine. Sibyl would make her morning coffee, eat some toast and listen to the news; then she’d put on her sunglasses, grab a towel or a jacket (depending on the weather), and set up shop in the back yard. And I would tag along. On foggy days (because we’d get those too), Sibyl would bundle up in blankets, wearing a wool beanie. We’d hang outside together, while Aunt Ruthie slept off the nightshift at the diner. At some point in the afternoon, Aunt Ruthie would bring out lunch—usually ham and cheese sandwiches and chips—and chat about the previous night. Aunt Ruthie also loved to talk about places she planned to visit in the coming year that she never would. Sibyl didn’t mind the simplicity of isolation, she luxuriated in it. But Aunt Ruthie was so desperate for the company, she installed an electric fire pit to keep them warm during the somewhat chilly winter months in the coastal town.
The days passed one after the other, exactly the same. Sibyl in her chair. Me by the pond. We had become creatures of lackadaisical habit. Not by my choice. I would’ve preferred filling my days with strolls around town, hanging out at the local coffee shop, and vibing off the scene. But Sibyl never wanted to leave the house. The accident had changed things. And because I was her best and only friend, well, I stuck by her side.
The doorbell blared through the serenity of the afternoon, and I perked up, waiting for Sibyl to notice. But she didn’t. Not with the headphones glued to her ears. I got up and nudged her, but she ignored me. She’d probably forgotten Aunt Ruthie’s important package coming that needed a signature. Or maybe she remembered but was intentionally avoiding the delivery person. Sometimes it was tough to tell what was going on in that head of hers. I gave her another nudge, but she ignored me again, forcing me to pull out the big guns.
I barked three times, giving her a start.
Woof! Woof! Woof!
She removed the headphones and gazed in my direction. “What is it, Vago? What could be so important that you’d disturb me right in the middle of Agatha Christie?”
The doorbell sounded again.
“Aw, man. The package.” She set down her phone on the table and slowly got out of her chair.
I gave her a chuff of acknowledgment, and nudged her hand with my snout to hurry her along.
“I know the way,” she snapped at me.
She knew the back yard and the house like a photograph imprinted on her mind, so I wasn’t concerned about guiding her to the door. I was concerned about her actually getting to it before she chickened out. Each step was careful and deliberate: her right hand stretched out with me close by her left leg for good measure.
The doorbell rang again.
“Coming!” she yelled.
I barked some more to let the delivery guy know we were on our way.
She entered into the kitchen with me trailing behind. We made it past the pantry and into the hallway. Things were looking good. We were getting closer. I was proud of Sibyl. The last time she had interacted with someone other than Aunt Ruthie or me was almost a year ago. She didn’t tell Aunt Ruthie why she chose to isolate herself, but she confided in me during our late night discussions.
Sibyl didn’t want to see anymore. No more spirits—good or evil. No more visions. She wanted to keep a safe distance from the supernatural world, which meant no venturing out into the natural world. This meant spending all of her time at home in the back yard, hiding from the world.
In the hallway, Sibyl froze. She leaned against the wall and took a few shallow breaths. The front door stood a mere thirty feet away, but Sibyl made it seem like it was a mile away across a bed of nails. She just stayed still until there was no more doorbell or knocking. I trotted to the front windows and watched as the delivery guy ambled down the walkway back to his little white truck. He climbed inside and took off down the oak-filled lane. I trotted back over to Sibyl, who was sitting with her face buried in her palms.
I moved in closer and nudged her hands with my snout, then licked her cheeks, hoping to get a laugh.
She giggled softly and pet my head. “Thanks, Vago. You’re a good dog.”
Woof!
“Okay, okay. You’re a good friend. But you can’t deny, you’re also a dog.”
The serene afternoon with its endless possibilities now felt heavy and weighed down. She had failed Aunt Ruthie. It’s not that her aunt was a tyrant, but she’d be disappointed about missing the package. And that would eat at Sibyl. She didn’t like letting people down, which was probably why she avoided them altogether. She never mentioned this to me. I just sensed it that special way I do with Sibyl. We were connected. Not only because of best friend status, but also through our visions.
Sibyl was just pulling herself off the floor when Aunt Ruthie came into the house in a huff, carrying bags of groceries and toilet paper and paper towels. She lumbered past Sibyl toward the kitchen and dumped everything onto the white granite counter tops. I followed behind Sibyl as she went to help put things away.
“I’m fine, Sibby.” Aunt Ruthie panted and wiped sweat from her brow.
She stretched her chubby hand toward the top shelf to put away a box of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies that Sibyl loved. She figured if they were up high enough, she wouldn’t be as tempted. Sibyl came over and took the cookies, gently placing them on the top shelf.
“I’m blind, not helpless,” she told Aunt Ruthie.
“I know. I know. It’s just … You know me. I’m used to doing things for everyone else,” she said.
Sibyl moved around the kitchen with ease as she shelved cans of soup, put apples and bananas into the fruit bowl, and bread in the basket. Aunt Ruthie sat at the round table and took off her orthopedic sneakers to rest her swollen feet. They were always in bad shape from working all night at the diner.
“So, I guess my package didn’t come?” she said, rubbing her toes.
Silence stretched across the kitchen and hung in the air.
“Um … I couldn’t get to the door fast enough.” Sibyl turned away.
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
More silence. The kind that weighs down a room until everyone is suffocating. Made me grateful to be a dog.
“I tried. I really did. I just couldn’t get to—”
Aunt Ruthie slipped back into her sneakers and stood up. “I’m going to go down to the post office, see if I can catch him there,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Sibyl muttered.
Sibyl finished putting away the groceries, then went back outside to her chair. Her throne of avoidance, I called it. She didn’t bother with the headphones, instead she rested her head back and listened to the water trickling. I didn’t go outside. Instead, I padded off to my room to let her think.
Chapter Three
Sibyl
A cold mist settled over my arms and legs as I reclined in my chair in the back yard. An early fog was rolling in, masking any warmth from the sun and making it difficult to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Not that I could’ve gone back to my previous state of mind anyway. The disappointment in Aunt Ruthie’s voice was fossilizing in my stomach. It wasn’t the package ordeal that upset her. No. It was my fear of interacting with another person. Try as she might, she just couldn’t persuade me to reemerge into our community.
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After losing my parents in the accident, I lost everything else. If fate had the audacity to keep me alive, why take my sight? I couldn’t be a pitcher. College was off the table. After that night, everything changed. I lost my parents, my sight, and my future. My boyfriend, Jack, broke up with me. That was for the best because I didn’t want to be anyone’s burden. I would’ve rather been alone. But that much aloneness all at once knocked my world off kilter. I stopped finding reasons to live.
But it turned out I didn’t have a choice.
The morning nurse, Nancy, would wake me up every day by pulling me out of bed. She’d force me to walk around the room, helping me to get comfortable using a walking stick. I’d keep my eyes closed for fear of seeing something bizarre. Like people’s spirits wherever I looked! Ever since the night of the accident, a window into the supernatural world had been opened, and I couldn’t figure out how to close it. Except by shutting my eyes. Nancy bought me my very first pair of sunglasses, not understanding the real reason I kept my eyes closed. It wasn’t so much the good spirits that freaked me out—Nancy’s was a twinkling periwinkle that reminded me of a fairy—it was the evil ones. They came out of nowhere and overshadowed a good spirit like a cloak of darkness. It was like they could detect weakness or vulnerability in a person, and the second they did they’d slither in from the shadows like black eels and dominate the good spirits, turning everything bad. I nicknamed them the Spirit Handlers. Evil things.
When I got out of the hospital, my dad’s staunch sister from southern California, Aunt Ruthie, moved into our house to take care of me. Before the accident, all throughout middle school and high school, Aunt Ruthie would drive up for my games and cheer me on with my parents. She’d bring coolers of snacks and drinks for my teammates, and celebrate with everyone afterward. We never understood why she was perpetually single, as my dad used to say, because any man would be lucky to have such a caring woman. When she moved up to Coastview, she got a job at a diner, working the night shift so she could be around during the day—just in case I needed her for anything. We became close during our afternoons together.
