The Reaping Read Online Free Page A

in my throat.  I looked behind me, back at the now empty impression in the snow.  The stranger was gone and was standing right in front of me, staring down at me with furious silver eyes.
The chirp of my alarm clock woke me.  Really woke me.  I was in my bed, in my room, gasping for air like I’d run a marathon.  My heart was hammering against my ribs.
It was just a dream, Carson.  Just a dream, I reassured myself.  It had felt so incredibly real; I was still shaken from running into that huge stranger.
I lay back against my pillows and concentrated on taking slow, steady gulps of air.  I counted backwards from ten and, as usual, it calmed me.  Another Porter family trick.
Pushing my covers aside, I made my way to the bathroom to turn on the water for my shower.  As I shed my pajamas, I noticed how cold my fingers and toes were and decided that I must’ve kicked the covers off at some point during the night.
As I walked past the mirror to step into the shower, a dark spot on my cheek caught my attention.  I leaned over the sink to look closer.  It was a single red drop.  I wiped it away with one finger and brought it around for inspection.  My heart kicked up to a quicker pace.  It looked like blood. 
I stepped back to examine myself for injuries, almost hoping to find one.  I’d rather have scratched myself during the night than think that it had somehow come from my dream.
I stood in a shaft of Saturday morning sun that was streaming through the bathroom window.  The light turned my normally mousy-brown hair to a glistening spun gold in a way I hadn’t noticed before.  It looked almost as if the color had lightened overnight to a beautiful honey blonde. 
Shaking off the distraction of my hair, I inspected my face.  I saw no injuries or scrapes and still no evidence of the abrasions that had been there the evening before.  In fact, I was as good as new, the skin on my arm, hip and leg having healed as well. 
“What is going on?”  I asked my reflection. 
Having no answers, I pushed the troubling thought aside and focused on the day ahead and skirting Dad’s questions about where my scratches had gone.
After a quick shower, I dressed and went out to the garage, knowing Dad would already be out there.  And he was.  Still working on the exhaust, too.
With an internal sigh of gratitude, I slipped into our routine.  For once, it was welcome and comforting.
After lunch, I was helping Dad with the Flowmaster mufflers, tightening up some bolts he had started for me while he held the muffler assembly in place.  He had been grilling me about engine parts.  Any time we worked on a project, he used the time to teach me everything there was to know about the subject and then quizzed me relentlessly about it until we were finished.  Today was no exception. 
I had both hands on the wrench, straining to make the bolts as tight as I could when Dad threw me a curve ball.
“So, Carson, is there something you’d like to tell me about your hair?”
At first I was confused by his question then I remembered the lighter, more golden tint I’d noticed in the light that morning.  I didn’t think anyone else would detect it.
“No.  Why?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Just the way he said it was enough to irritate me.  “Notice what?  I haven’t done anything.”
“Carson Marie, you know better than to lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.  When have I had time to do anything to my hair?”
He was thoughtful for a second before he answered.  “Last night I guess.”
“Well I didn’t.  I think it’s just getting lighter.”
“Overnight?”
“I guess so, Dad.  What’s the big deal?”
My temper was escalating by the second.
“No big deal.  You know how I feel about that kind of thing.  And you know I’d better not catch you in a lie, young lady.”
“I’m not lying!”  I was shouting, suddenly fuming. 
I was jerking at the wrench furiously when it slipped causing me to mash my