The Watcher's Stone

Laney sat on the side of the bed, her grandmother’s lavender-scented letter clutched to her breast. Her pounding heart pushed waves of blood toward a brain stymied by shock.

Dare she venture further and follow her grandmother’s last request? How could she pay the debt of which her beloved Nana spoke?

She straightened the letter’s crumpled edge and read the enigmatic words again. Three days after my death, Stand on the ‘Watcher’s Stone’ at dawn — my blessing goes with you.

Laney glanced at the ivory encased clock that sat on the table next to the bed. The forward movement of the second hand left no time for procrastination.

With one measured step after another, she moved toward her destination.

The ‘Watcher’s Stone’ appeared ominous in its solitary existence. Resting on the beach near her grandmother’s cottage, it had long been a mysterious object.

In years past, she’d sat on its smooth flat top and dangled her feet over the side many times. A special place for a young girl to weave romantic tales about pirates and sailing ships. But no such fantasies danced in her head now. In the pre-dawn light, the dark stone sparked dread and dark premonitions.

She made her way to stand beside its wide girth and reached for the worn notches in the side. Using them for leverage, she climbed to the top and stood facing the eastern horizon. The first streaks of crimson light, a precursor to the sun’s arrival, reached across the sky toward her.

The sound of turbulent water filled the air as the sun’s glowing edge rose on the new dawn sky. The solid rock beneath Laney’s feet started to vibrate, not strong enough to be a danger but certainly enough to invoke panic before all sound and movement stopped.

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and gasped, filling her depleted lungs with the air she so desperately needed. Just in time, it seemed, as the sight now before her eyes caused her chest to tighten painfully arresting her breath again.

The shape of a man rose from the still water. His body levitated above the surface just a few feet in front of her. A full grown man with a muscled form like that of the warrior in her favorite fantasy movie. Toast-brown skin and raven-black hair blended with his black pants. He stood rigid, head down, while water dripped from his face and naked torso.

Then — he turned his gaze on her.

Nothing in her twenty years of life had prepared her for the penetrating scrutiny of those ebony eyes. They weren’t threatening, at least not in a violent sense. But the possessive message they signaled sent warning shivers up her spine.

Her body wrenched with the intention of escape but her muscles wouldn’t comply. His calm, emphatic tone told her why.

“You cannot escape from the Watchers Stone — unless I release you.”

“Please,” she whimpered. “I don’t understand what is happening. I just want to leave.”

“You stepped on the Stone willingly without coercion. Therefore, you must honor the debt owed. You will now come with me.” He stretched his hand toward her. “There is no turning back.”

A sob broke from her throat. “Will, will I ever be able to come back?”

He gently grasped the hand she held up in defense. “If it is still your desire to return after fulfilling the debt, it is your right to do so.”

Her heart drew courage from the mild tone of his voice. “How do I repay the debt. What do I owe you?”

His ebony eyes warmed, then flared with heated intensity.

“A child.”