Emily Changes

The journey to Scotland took hours. Emily stared out of the window at the passing cars. Her dad drove fast and overtook them. Emily's view of the whole trip seemed to consist of one pale gray face after another, gazes blindly locked on the road ahead.

Beside her, her sister, Jennifer, sang pop songs, badly. Her mom sat in the front seat, diagonally in front of Emily, giving her the perfect preaching spot to tell her off, which she frequently did; sit straight, don't hit your sister, mind your manners, watch the attitude and other similar reprimands. She pretended to sleep; it brought respite from the constant stream of scoldings. Her mothers voice continued, but now it was full of the stories for Jennifer. Emily also had the sneaking suspicion that they were for her benefit too, but at eleven years old, Emily could not be caught listening to tales tailored for her younger sibling. But her mom did not tell the kind of stories that Emily imagined other mothers telling. Monsters, werewolves, vampires, witches – the motley crew of the undead spewed out into modern versions of Grimm's Fairy Tales.

“Look, Jennifer,” her mom's voice broke Emily's reverie. She opened her eyes a fraction, letting the winter sun flood her senses, “there is a witches tree. Can you see it, honey?”

Even without showing outward signs of waking, Emily's eyes scanned the horizon out of the side window. She knew exactly the kind of tree she should be looking for. After all, her mom had pointed them out to her when Emily was Jennifer's age.

“Where, mom?” Jennifer asked.

“There – the one with the fat, black trunk. The branches are splayed and forked, and the leaves are bare; perfect for a witch to land on when arriving by broomstick. There are no overhead twigs to snag her cloak on, and there's a spare branch – lower down – for her familiar to sit on.”

“Her family?” Jennifer queried.

“No, her familiar - “

“ - sometimes it's a cat, but not always,” Emily interrupted.

Her mom nodded, satisfied with this explanation, and then added, “Of course, you won't see many witches in this part of Scotland anymore – the whole place is overrun with vampires, these days.”

“Mom!” Emily couldn't help but exclaim. It earned her an icy stare. Emily hated the way her mom had terrified her, out o f some perverse desire to scare her own child silly. Well, she wasn't going to terrify Jennifer as well.

“Oh, give it a rest, Ed,” her mom used her nickname, but it didn't soothe her; it patronized her.

“No, I won't. You terrified her to death about werewolves on our last vacation. She has to sleep with the bathroom light on.”

“Look at it this way,” her mom replied, her brown eyes locked onto Emily's own, “since learning about werewolves, she's avoided meeting them. A mom's job is to make sure her kids grow up prepared for all that the universe can throw at them.”

Emily waited for her dad to interject, but, as usual, he stayed silent, avoiding any possible conflict. She thought the whole point ridiculous, and told her mom so. It earned her another telling off, so this time she forced herself to really sleep for the rest of the journey.


It was twilight when they arrived at the log cabin they had booked for their vacation. Her dad went into the cabin that served as the reception point, giving her mom further opportunity to indulge in folklore. “We're too low for the werewolves, but just about right for dragons – the sea provides strong updrafts, perfect for gliding on the air currents.”

“Yes, mom,” Emily let sarcasm drip from her words, “we'll keep an eye on the horizon, in case they're on the hunt.”

Ten minutes later and they were unpacked. As per usual, Emily was forced to share a twin with her little sister, but she had to admit that the log cabin was comfortable enough. If she wanted any space to be by herself she would have to escape to the great outdoors. She managed to last until after the family meal.

“Wrap up,” said dad.

“And keep an eye on skies,” her mom called out, winking conspiratorially at dad.

Very funny, thought Emily. She grabbed her coat and went out into the twilight.

The winter sun had already set, leaving pink blushes in the clouds and inky blues bruising them from the heavens. Looking straight up, Emily saw the first stars try to pierce the colors beneath them; they would soon win. A pool of darkness winked in and out of the tree line to her left.

Dragon, she thought, and inwardly snorted with derision.

A strong down-draft of wind rocked her frame as she walked. An audible whoomph assaulted her ears. The air seemed to buckle under the weight of impossible size and every instinct in Emily's body urged her to flee. She ran, heedless to the direction she was taking.

A scream of frustration, not unlike the screech of brakes on an articulated lorry, bellowed behind her. With it came a roar of flame that cooked the air around her and singed her nostrils. She dove to the left as the bush beside her burst into hungry flame. It was as if she was watching the scene from outside of her body, but still she stumbled on, pressing her quivering muscles with renewed urgency.

She stole a look behind her and wished she hadn't. Her gaze connected with a yellow eye, framed by a horn-rimmed hooded lid. The dragon's teeth were not the sharp implements of imagination. They were as yellow as the eye, some blunted and broken; a crushing machine. Behind them loomed the dull purple mass of its body, all crags and doom. The vein-channeled leather of its wings stretched taught against the horizon. But it was the dragon's claws that drew her frightened gaze to them. These were sharp. Like polished bone, they glinted in the moonshine and at this close range she could even make up lumps of rotted flesh between them – remnants of the last fleshy victim. In the split second that it took to disconnect her stare, Emily's foot caught against a rock and she fell. It saved her life.

A dragon is not a nimble creature. It managed to reach out and shred Emily's jacket on the left shoulder, but its powerful trajectory took it forward and it had to continue onward and upward to clear the tree-line, dead ahead. Emily saw her chance, rose, and fled after it. It couldn't turn its head to see her as it put all effort into gaining height, and she reached the relative safety of the trees in a few swift steps.

She kept as close to the edge of the woodland as she dared, one wary eye on the stars peeping through the foliage, but there was no sign of the dragon. Even though night had claimed most of the light, Emily started to recognize the area she was in. It wasn't long before the glowing lights became windows, and the windows became lodges. She reached her family's lodge. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she frantically struggled with the unfamiliar door handle. Then she was inside, and all the horror was back outside the door. Her legs began to tremble with relief. She heard her family chatting and getting on with dragon-free lives.