Sitting up suddenly in bed as if an invisible hand had grabbed her by the shirt to wake her, Annabelle Colmyre shook the sleep from her head and looked at the clock: almost 11 p.m. Before she could comprehend anything else, her thoughts were derailed by one word: Go.

The message was so insistent, more so than ever before, and she let it guide her. She jumped out of bed and down the stairs, not even bothering to change out of her pajamas.

Go. Hurry. Quick.

For a moment she thought of taking the car keys, it was that desperate. Getting in trouble might be worth it. No. Bike. Close. She listened. She was only fourteen, and the guide apparently kept that in mind.

Throwing on her coat, hat, and boots, Annabelle dashed into the garage, grabbed her bike, and rode away without closing the garage door. The guide apparently thought that was no big deal, so she went with it. The sidewalk had been shoveled, but she still had to jump over mounds of snow that had piled up from snowplows. As she approached each one and yanked up her front tire, it felt as if she was being carried over it and placed back down, balanced perfectly on the slippery patches.

The guide’s voice in her head gave directions. Straight. Left. Straight. She trusted it. Miranda had plenty of friends in the neighborhood, she could be at any of those and Annabelle could get there fast. But she was led toward the intersection of one of the busiest roads in Naperville. Straight, the guide said, and for the first time Annabelle questioned why. She got no answer and kept going, the light turning green for her as she got to the intersection. Go.

She pedaled as fast as she could, terrified of any cars that might not see her in the dark, but no one moved, all was silent, and she made it across. Left.

There was no sidewalk on the side of the road, and terror continued as she rode along the shoulder. Not a single car passed her, as if all of them had vanished or gone elsewhere. After a few minutes she reached the next major intersection, and in the distance she could see her church, lit up by the lamp posts in the massive parking lot. It was empty, and before she could wonder if she was meant to go there, the guide said, Right, and she turned away.

Back on a sidewalk, she continued straight down the silent and dimly lit road, riding through stretches of unshoveled snow, her tires never slipping, her speed never slowing. She knew of the prairie preserve ahead, and when the guide told her to cross to it, her terror intensified. In the parking lot was one car that she recognized as Derek’s, and she grumbled, anger now mixed with her fear.

The only light was the moon, and it was barely enough to help her see the footprints in the snow ahead of her. She had to pedal harder to keep up her speed now that the ground below was gravel. As the guide simply said Go repeatedly, Annabelle started to imagine what she was about to find. Her sister in a nearly pitch-black prairie with a guy that was nothing but trouble…murder came to mind. “How am I going to stop a murder?” she said out loud, but the guide only replied, Go.

She continued along the winding path for a few minutes before spotting faint lights among a collection of trees. When the guide suddenly said Left, Annabelle looked around in confusion; it would take her off the path and into the snow-filled prairie. Left, it said again, more insistent than ever before, and she obeyed. She put all of her strength into pedaling through the snow that almost came up to her pedals, gasping for breath from exhaustion. Trees. As she got closer to the trees the lights became more apparent, but she could see no one and hear nothing other than her own gasps and the crunching under her tires. Stop. Whatever force had kept her upright released her and the bike slipped to the side, sending her into the snow. Crawl. Trees. She grumbled again as the wet snow soaked her pajama pants quickly, and she put her hands in her sleeves to protect them.

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Annabelle was within fifty feet of the trees when she finally heard screaming filled with fear and pain. It boosted her, ignoring the cold, the words Go hurry quick now flying through her mind faster than ever. Finally reaching the trees and peeking through some underbrush, she gasped.

Miranda was on her back, frozen with her arms at her sides, legs wide apart, eyes staring straight up. She was surrounded by three men with long hair, two standing and watching the third finish his horrible act with a euphoric groan. Annabelle had never seen these men before, and looking around there was no sign of Derek. Lanterns surrounded the area covered in disheveled snow and frantic footprints. A closer look at the snow showed large amounts of dark, circular patches. Blood. Ear-piercing screaming made Annabelle jump and bring her attention back to her sister.

She was experiencing some sort of agony despite no longer being touched by anyone, and was still frozen in place. The man who had finished having his way with her motioned to one of his friends, who suddenly had what appeared to be a hatchet in his hand. As he raised it, preparing to bring it down on their victim, Annabelle felt an explosion of power within her, surging up and bursting out of her hand that suddenly felt the need to throw something invisible at the attacker. There was a flash that flew from her hand, through the trees, and into the throat of the man with the hatchet, knocking him backwards and to the ground.

As he groaned, his friends looked toward the trees. Annabelle felt the surge again, this time toward herself and with the word Protect in her mind. She collapsed face down, threw her hand back to touch her shoulder, and she was in a bubble, invisible but tangible.

“Who’s there?” a voice demanded.

Annabelle remained silent and tried not to breathe, keeping her eyes closed and face to the ground.

“I command you to come out!”

Miranda continued to scream in agony.

“I said I command you to come out!”

Annabelle expected to hear footsteps nearing her, and she hoped that whatever weird thing was happening to give her mystery powers would come back. But neither happened. The man’s voice was faint as he had turned away, and Annabelle looked up to see them again. The one with the hatchet was sitting up and rubbing his throat, his leader clearly irritated at his delay. Suddenly he had a massive sword in his hand and lifted it high. The surge came through Annabelle again, her hand thrusting forward to throw the flash that slammed into the attacker’s back. He flew a couple feet before collapsing in the snow.

With him out of the way, Annabelle could see her sister was bleeding profusely from where she had been violated, and she silently begged the guide to tell her what to do. Throwing flashes seemed to be only a temporary distraction, and she had no idea how to control any of it. Her hand tingled though, wanting to touch her sister, to heal her like she’d always done. But she stayed in place, watching the leader of the group slowly and unsteadily get to his feet and growl toward the trees. He looked at the third man, who was back to looking at Miranda with enjoyment, and while pointing at the trees said, “Burn it.”

As if he’d had a flamethrower in his hand all this time, the blond man sent a blast of fire into the trees, igniting them instantly. Annabelle wanted to run, but the guide said No stay wait. The invisible bubble protected her from the flames, though she could still feel their heat. Squinting, she saw the three men run off, quickly out of sight.

Go.

Annabelle got to her feet and trudged through the snow around the collection of burning trees and toward her sister in the middle. Flames were reaching for her, and with another Protect, Annabelle’s bubble stretched to include her. Once at her side, she placed her hand on Miranda’s stomach, which was burning hot to the touch.

“Dear Lord, please give me the strength to stop whatever is happening, heal her, save her, give me some more of these crazy powers or something, please Lord, forgive her for whatever she’s done, please, please!”

Her hand glowed, brighter than it ever had before, and for a moment it scared her. It always kind of freaked her out, but this time all sorts of insane things were coming out of her as if she no longer had any control over herself. She imagined herself as a channel, a wide open, bright channel for God to do his work, and felt light fill her. She continued to pray and beg, and soon Miranda’s screams subsided, the bleeding stopped, and she relaxed in Annabelle’s arms.

Their eyes met, and Annabelle’s heart broke. Miranda was alive, but empty. There was no sign of the sister she always knew, as if it had been sucked out of her or simply erased. “Miranda! Speak to me.”

Miranda’s mouth moved slightly as if trying to form a word, but only a squeak came out.

“Talk to me. Who did this? Who was that? They’ll pay for this!”

Finally, Miranda got enough breath and movement in her mouth to whisper a word. “Demon.”