From "Atlantis" by Lisa Graves

What would you do if you were convinced your boyfriend was a figment of your imagination?  That is Lilly’s problem...

My eyes looked at the ground. I didn’t want to, but I made myself say it. “You’re not real.”

“What do you mean, I’m not real?” Elliott asked. He gently placed his hand on mine. The usual sensation of electricity flowing through him to me, pricked my mind and made me doubt my hallucination theory. He wasn’t helping.

It was probably a combination of my emotions keeping me an inch from tears, and his penetrating eyes bearing down on my soul, but I had overflowed. I couldn’t stop the words from pouring out.

“YOU ARE NOT REAL!” I yelled, more at myself than at Elliott.

I stood up. His mouth gapped open at me as I paced the cove and continued.

“You are too perfect. And good looking. And sweet...”

He looked as though he was going to argue, but I went on.

“No one has seen you but me.”

He whispered something to himself and shook his head.

“You appear and disappear out of nowhere.”

I turned again at the edge of the cove, racking my brain for more proof of my theory. When I resumed my pacing, he spoke.

“I know,” he said and looked straight at me.

Elliott caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected my hallucination to agree with me. “What do you mean you know?"

From "Dancing with Spirits" by Carol Arnall

It was cold – a dank clinging cold that seemed to be inside the very marrow of my bones. My feet slipped on the wet muddy ground and I pulled my deerskin cloak closer, but even that brought no comfort. I was so unbelievably cold and wet. Normally, the soft supple skin would enfold me within its warmth and comfort; pictures would form in my mind of the generations of deer that had gone before my time on this earth. Today, the herds were but a distant memory as the weather closed in on me, Grandmamma and my 11-year-old sister, Trieainia. ‘Oh for the warmth of a fire,’ I thought, slipping and sliding on the muddy, sandy ground. I drew nearer to my Grandmamma for warmth and reassurance. The mist continued to swirl around; creating strange shapes, transforming the winter trees into mystical, ghostly forms, making me think of weird creatures waiting to pounce on us. The tree branches, outstretched like big cat claws, loomed towards us and they seemed to be calling and drawing us nearer and nearer through the ghostly mist that hung and hovered, drifting through the tree branches.

From "Tomorrow's Guardian" by Richard Denning

A pair of ‘Walkers’ (time travellers) travel back in time to 1879 to rescue a British officer about to be killed in battle with the Zulus...

“Look out, Tom!” yelled Septimus and the voice freed Tom from his paralysis. At once he knew what to do. He charged towards the Zulu, then, just before the spear point reached his body, he Walked through the void, shifting himself a few steps forward. To the Zulu it must have seemed as if Tom had vanished and then reappeared behind him.

Confused, the warrior spun round and as a result, he did not see Septimus approaching until the Welshman’s fist was crashing into his face. The time traveller leapt over the Zulu, who had collapsed like a sack of potatoes, and sprinted on after Tom.

Tom could see Dyson, but was still yards away when a score of Zulus closed in on the Lieutenant. Their spears went back ready to strike him down. Tom shifted himself ten yards forward in an instant. Reappearing in front of the startled officer, he grabbed the man’s jacket and shifted them both another dozen yards into a nearby tent. A split second before he Walked them both, Tom felt a hot pain in his side as a spear point ripped into his flesh. Then they were gone, reappearing inside the tent.