The fence was confused. It only had one job: to keep things in. It had been great at its job, too. Decades of keeping pets and children safe in its confines. But how did it keep something in that had no substance?
Each living thing the fence protected had its own energy markings. Heat and life infused into its flesh. The fence always felt it, and it used it to understand how to protect. Children were the hardest to contain, with their curiosity and energy that needed the outside world. But the fence had done its job.
But this new energy, it was different. It had no body, no flesh. But it existed, and it somehow felt sweet, like a child.
The energy was familiar, full of curiosity and pain. It had belonged to a child it protected . . . William. But William had had a body and hadn’t been filled with such sadness and anger before?
The fence vibrated, trying to understand William’s new shape. The life and magic in the form of a body was gone. Only his energy remained.
William’s incorporeal hand passed through the fence, almost as if he were petting it. “I have a new job for you,” he said.
The fence hummed, still confused but listening.
William’s haunted eyes gazed at the road beyond. “Don’t let anyone in.”
The command forced a sudden energy through the fence, filling each wooden plank and beam.
Yes, the fence could do that. As long as it kept William safe.
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