The wind whispered to her, literally. It said her name. It said a lot of things, actually.
“Emily” tickled in her ear as a slight breeze lifted her auburn hair off her shoulders. It was her Irish roots that gave her both the red hair and the ability to hear the wind speak, she was sure of it somehow.
She’d first heard his voice two months ago. At first it was only in the woods, but now the wind wound its way through her yard, seeping through the doorway and window sills, creeping through her home, finding her wherever she was.
She was starting to be afraid. The wind should not talk. At first, she thought it was her imagination, then she was intrigued by it. If the wind could talk, what would it say? Now she knew.
It whispered to her about her beauty, it whispered about how powerful it was, it whispered about giving her everything her heart desired. She had as many desires as the next woman, maybe more. So, at first, she listened, she let herself be seduced by the sweet susurrations of the wind.
But now she feared it. The voice was becoming more powerful, louder, clearer, able to seek her out no matter where she tried to hide. You can’t hide from the wind. It skittered across the dirt and slithered through the grass, whipped around the roof and tapped on the window panes. It found its way inside the house, the barn, the storage shed. It would not be denied.
She had a sneaking suspicion that her attention was making it stronger. The more she had listened, the stronger it had become after all. She had tried ignoring it, but that was impossible. She couldn’t unhear it now.
She couldn’t ignore it, so she answered, “What?”
“Emily,” the wind swirled around her, “I need…..I need….”
“What do you need?”
“To become what?”
“To become!” the voice boomed.
Emily jumped, frightened. The wind had never boomed before. It has whispered and tickled, it had conversed and muttered, it had chattered and questioned, but this was the first time it had boomed.
The wind increased in intensity and whipped up the dirt from the ground, tossing it into the air and turning it into a whirling cyclone. Her fear seemed to feed it, the cyclone increased in speed along with her heart rate. Spinning faster and faster, the dirt in the center of the storm started to take form.
She watched, heart in her throat, as the form became clearer, solid. The man in the center of the windstorm grew as he sucked the dirt into his being. When the man was totally formed, the wind slowed, then stopped.
He turned to stare at her. He was tall, tanned and well muscled, with jet black hair and the most piercing green eyes she had ever seen. They weren’t a normal shade of green, but a deep emerald color, something more suitable for a lush, verdant countryside than a mans eyes. He was completely naked and completely unfazed by that fact. His gaze was devoid of any human emotion. She froze under his stare, fear rendering her temporarily paralyzed.
“Thank you for bringing me back to life,” rumbled the voice of the wind, “It’s been centuries since any human has harkened to my voice. Your belief has resurrected me, but to strengthen myself and return to my former glory, I need more. I must seek out more humans, I need their worship.”
Worship? Her knees went weak and she sank to the ground, shock washing over her.
“Come with me.” He held out his hand to her.
Wordlessly, she shook her head.
He shrugged indifferently, “Suit yourself.”
He vanished in a puff of dust and she felt the air whoosh past her and out of the clearing where her home sat. Sucking in a deep breath she wondered in a wild panic, what have I done?