Script:
Haunted, whispered Grandpa, yes, mothers whisper tales to their children about it. They say that dragons and poisonous beasts lurk there, all the treasures of evil. That's just a bunch of fairy tales and superstitions, said Frederick. My father is an archaeologist and he says, he was interrupted by the sound of creaking floorboards above them, dust sprinkled down on their heads. The old man sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. He snatched the crystal ball from Colleen's hand and held it up for a moment in front of the spiral on the wall. Hide, he whispered, and no matter what you hear, don't come out and don't tell anyone about the secret. But why, Grandpa? It's probably just one of my brothers, Bran or Ingus, come to fetch me, she said, putting the box in her pocket. Hush, it's none of the McGonagalls, hide now quick, he said, it is here.
Script:
Miss Bennet, stand where you are, do not move. Elizabeth's reverie burst. She was suddenly aware of the pounding of hooves and the rattling of an oncoming wagon. She looked up to see who had yelled at her in such an excited manner. A dog cart raced toward her, was very nearly upon her. She froze in place as commanded. The driver expertly guided the speeding vehicle, veering around her and continuing fuller pace along the lane. The cart turned and the man pulled to a stop and jumped down. He gave her no mind but rather hurried down the embankment toward the stream. Her heart froze. He had reached the edge of the stream where a man lay sprawled in the grass, unconscious. It was her papa. No! Elizabeth grabbed up her skirt and petticoat and scrambled down through the wet weeds. Her heart came alive again, racing with fear. It practically pounded out of her breast. Whatever has happened? I was riding from Netherfield Park, having just set out for Kent, when a gentleman on the path ahead of me slipped in the mud and fell down the embankment. When I got to him, I saw that it was Mr. Bennet. At that time, he was conscious and knew me. Oh, my dear papa, Elizabeth cried. Does he live? Papa groaned a little and Elizabeth pressed his hand to her cheek. I thank Providence you were nearby when this happened. Can I trouble you to move aside, Miss Bennet? Mr. Darcy said. I should get Mr. Bennet onto the cart before he regains his senses. The sooner he is in a warm bed and that leg is set, the better his chances. Chances?
Script:
Lynn Van Swole faced the lone gray wolf with a cold stare, mirroring the animal's own haunting gaze, and confirming what I'd known all along. She was comfortable in wild territory, composed in the face of danger, unencumbered by fear, and she wasn't even 50 yet. In other words, she would be the perfect grandmother for a troubled teen like Frankie, but there was much to be done before that day would come. For now, Lynn needed to get past this gorgeous and terrifying fur-clad adversary. When she first spotted it, she stopped immediately, probably assuming, as I had, that it was someone's dog whose owner would soon appear on the trail as well, but it only took a couple of heartbeats for me to realize this was no average dog. It was a she-wolf, standing in the middle of Lynn's favorite running trail in the heart of Portland's West Hills, which wasn't exactly wolf territory. Its fur was thick and wet, mottled in shades of silver and gray, with a hint of brown at the base of the fur. Its legs were long, its paws huge, and the eyes were a piercing, hungry shade of amber. I had big plans for Lynn that I'd set into motion before my death, and now that I watched from the safe distance of my empty afterlife, there would be nothing I could do to change those plans if the wolf interfered. All I could do was hope for the best.
Script:
A homeless woman is five stories up, and below, the ambulance is waiting, red lights flashing in the rain. Let's call her my mother for now, or yours, sits on a window ledge in late afternoon in a working-class neighborhood in Cleveland. The woman thinks they're the red eyes of a leopard from her dream last night. The voices below tell her not to jump, but the ones in her head are winning. In her story, there are leopards on every corner, men with wild teeth and cat bodies, tails as long as rivers. The men below call up to save her, cast their nets to lure her down, but she knows she cannot reach the garden without the distant journey. She opens her arms to enter the lands of bird and fire. I will become wind, bone, blood, and memory. And the red eyes below are amazed to see just how perilously she balances on the ledge, like a leaf or a delicate lock of hair.
