Dust, Chapter 1

Dead leaves crackled as they spun a slow path across the empty pavement. The brilliant orange and red hues of October had long since faded to a lifeless brown.

Though the season teetered on the edge of winter, the breeze which blew softly through the empty streets held a hint of early September. Far too warm for the time. Far to pleasant for the place.

The figure of a boy slipped out from the shadows of an old brownstone apartment building. Slim of figure and edging toward six feet in height, he straightened to peer over the cars and trucks lying abandoned in their parking stalls. Dozens of them lay unattended, a testament to the numbers who once called the building home.

His eyes lingered on a gray sedan bearing a 'Baby on Board' decal on the front bumper, and on the pair of child seats entombed within. Though his face appeared no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, his eyes looked ancient as he forced himself to look away. No one existed now to fill those chairs. Not here. Not for years.

New Jersey was home only to ghosts now. Ghosts, and monsters.

Shoulder length locks of auburn hair swung freely as he shook himself. Then something firmed in his expression. His mouth drew into a resolute scowl too mature for his youthful complexion.

He carefully picked his way down the cracked and weed-ridden stairs from the building. As soon as he reached the surer footing of the pavement he adopted a confident stride that carried him quickly across the parking lot, and into the dust and leaves of the streets beyond.

He walked directly down the center line of each street, keeping as far as possible from the buildings and trees he passed, and continued for nearly an hour without slowing. Then, without any visible or audible cause, he stopped mid-stride. He spun to face an office doorway across the intersection he had just passed. He stood that way for quite some time, unmoving, silent, then spun again and continued on his way.

He reacted much the same way several times throughout his treck. At one point he stopped for nearly an hour, staring at a series of overgrown hedges. At no point did he make a sound, nor did he leave the center of the road to investigate the tree, bush or building he stopped to stare at. He merely stared for a time, then continued on his way as if he'd never paused.

Hours passed, and the day which had barely begun when he commenced his trek was closing in on twilight as he approached an unremarkable brick house. For the first time, he left the center of the street and crossed the lawn to the front door of the tiny home.

Standing before the front door, he cocked his head to the side for a moment as if listening to something, though no sound could be heard. He then nodded his head twice, and turned his gaze to regard the latch. He did not touch the door handle. He merely stared for a moment, gave a small smile, and watched as a glittering dust began to pour from the key hole. An instant later, the very door itself fell as the same glittering dust to bounce silently against the floor and vanish from sight.

He gave no sign of suprise at this miraculous occurance. He simply strode through the gap left behind, and entered the house.

Immediately beyond the doorway was a short hall entirely bedecked in photographs. Most of them showing one or more of a quartet of people.  There was a portly, balding man who seemed to always be wearing a variety of plaid shirts, a not-quite-pretty redheaded woman with a matronly smile, and a pair of children.

The children drew his eye. One, the older of the pair, was a blond boy with a tragicly obvious case of chronic acne spread across his cheeks. In the photographs he was nearly always seen with a ball or bat in hand, marking him as a dedicated baseball fan. Sure enough, a plaque displayed further down the hall read "Sophmore Junior Varsity Regional Champions".

The younger child had her mother's red hair in curls down her back and almost comicly large blue eyes. Her cherubic face held the promise of movie star beauty given another decade or so.

The photos seemed to stare down at the intruder, questioning his uninvited entry into their sanctuary. He moved passed the photographs, past the quiet master bedroom, and into a small pastel-pink room that could only belong to the daughter. This room was as quiet as all the rest, and appeared just as deserted, but for one detail: it was clean. The dust that had gathered elsewhere was completely absent here.

He walked halfway across the room and sat cross-legged on the floor facing the closed closet door. A slow smile spread across his face, and his too-old eyes gained a twinkling warmth as he began to speak.

"Hello there, little one. My name is Dust."