Then something shifted: a shimmer on the wooden planks of the stage, almost invisible unless you knew to look. Water, spreading beneath their shoes, so slowly it seemed innocent.Something seemed to sizzle in the air. Something dangerous. The countdown for the tree lighting echoed through her body: ten, nine, eight…
At “one,” the mayor pulled the lever. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the tree exploded with light. There was a roar of applause, cut brutally short by a sharp zzzzzzzzzzzzt. Everyone on stage convulsed, limbs jerking, mouths open in silent horror. The crowd gasped as the mayor pitched forward, twitching. The fire chief collapsed sideways, taking the news anchor with him. The smell of burning bodies, the weird blue flash, the acrid sizzle of human flesh and hair. Christmas lights blinked on and off, winking like tiny eyes, their beauty grotesquely magnified by the carnage below.
The crowd’s scream was a single note of terror. Someone in a Santa hat fainted. Two children started crying, and their sound cut through all the others. Grace wanted to look away, to claw herself back to reality, but her vision wouldn’t let go. She watched as people trampled the fallen in their panic, as first responders stumbled through tangled cords, as a blackened hand twitched and then stilled. She saw snow fall gently on the smoking bodies, the white purity of it obscene and perfect.
She gasped, really gasped, not just in her mind, but in the dim hallway, sucking in air so sharp it sliced her lungs. The world snapped back to color and clarity. The walls were too close, the floor slanted and slick under her shoes. She put a hand against the old brick, steadying herself, and only then realized she was shaking.
The blonde woman—whoever she was—was gone, the echo of her heels fading fast. Grace pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to rub the afterimage away. It never worked.
Grace shut her eyes, tried to slow her breathing. The images pulsed behind her lids, refusing to fade. She’d seen visions before, but never one so visceral, so completely hell-bent onforcing every detail into her memory. This was no accident. Someone wanted to kill a stageful of people. Tomorrow. At the tree lighting.
She took a shaky step forward, then another, as if every stride might snap her back to normal. She managed to get into the restroom, lock herself in a stall, and drop her forehead onto the cool metal. The sounds of the restaurant trickled in. A little laughter, a burst of applause, the clink of glasses. All so normal, so safe.
Grace stayed there until her hands stopped trembling. When she finally emerged, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair had gone wild at the temples, her face was pale, and her mascara was smudged. Still feeling unsteady, she made a poor attempt to clean herself up..
She was still bracing herself against the wall when she stepped back into the hallway, vision fresh as a brand-new nightmare, the lingering smell of burnt flesh impossible to shake.
Grace made it back to the table on muscle memory alone, her mind still stuck in the echo chamber of what she’d seen. She slid into her seat and immediately fumbled her fork, sending it clattering against the plate. The sound made everyone look up at once.
Caroline put down her wine with the slow, deliberate movement of a woman who smelled blood. “Grace. What happened? You look like you’ve seen… well, shit, I was going to say a ghost, but…”
Anna leaned in. “Are you all right?” Her voice was low, soothing, as if she were already preparing to talk someone off a ledge.
Olivia didn’t say anything. She just watched Grace with her big brown eyes, tracking every breath.
Grace pressed her palm flat to the table to stop her hand from shaking. “I—I just…” She shook her head, stared at the empty plate, and started again. “I bumped into someone. Blonde woman, maybe a little younger than me. I got this… flash. Stronger than usual.”
Caroline’s face sharpened. “A vision?”
Grace nodded, still trying to make her lungs work properly. “It’s bad,” she said, her voice thin. “Tomorrow night, at the tree lighting. Something terrible is going to happen. The mayor and the fire chief and… others, on the stage. I saw water all over the floor, then someone throws a switch, and it—it electrocutes everyone up there. They die, right in front of the whole town.”
Olivia reached out, gently prying Grace’s hand from its death grip on the table. “Are you sure it’s tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Grace said. “The tree, the decorations. It was all exactly like tonight, but with ten times more people.” She remembered the horrified faces, the children’s screams. “I don’t know if it was an accident or not.”
Anna patted her shoulder. “You did the right thing telling us.”
Caroline, meanwhile, was already on her phone, her thumb tapping a speed only possible through years of text-fighting with her sisters. “Do you want me to call Bryant? He needs to know.”
“Wait,” Olivia said. “The blonde. What did she look like?”
Grace searched her memory. “She was tall, had great hair, and walked like she owned the hallway.”
Olivia’s mouth pulled sideways. “That’s Tessa Monroe. I saw her earlier. She’s the reporter for Channel Five. She’ll be covering the tree lighting. It makes sense she’d be there.”
Grace felt queasy, a rolling wave of guilt and fear. “I should have stopped her. I should’ve warned her.”
“No,” Anna said firmly. “This isn’t your fault. If you’d said anything, she’d have thought you were crazy. We’ll warn her, and the town, and Bryant. That’s all we can do.”
Grace nodded, but her heart thudded painfully. “Can I have some water?”
Caroline snapped her fingers at a passing server, who immediately hustled over. “She needs water. Lots of it. And maybe a shot of something strong.”
When the server left, Caroline turned her focus back to the group. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll text Bryant right now and tell him you had a vision. He believes you. He’ll figure out how to keep the stage clear. Anna, you should call Rick Dalton at the fire station. He trusts you.”
Anna nodded. “I’ll do it tonight.”
Olivia put her phone away and fixed Grace with a steady look. “You did good, Grace. Most people wouldn’t have made it out of the bathroom upright.”
