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 Posted: Wed Apr 27, 2011 11:08 pm
welcome, madeline blanche.
please take a seat.
❤xx❤xx❤
LOADED WORDS ARE LOADED GUNS TO OUR HEADS.
 There is a body in the garden.
It has always been there, rotting and festering under the shade of the trees and the sweet smell of flowers in bloom. It is hidden in the soil and the dirt, away from gazebo where her mother and her father sip alcoholic beverages as they watch their children play. It is kept cool by the damp earth, safe from the sweltering heat of the summer sun; a secret that she has to keep. Because no one knows about it but her. No one knows about it but her, and the monsters in the dark.
They were the ones who'd told her, after all; told her their dirty little secret. They'd whispered about the body, the way it was still so succulent and smooth. They'd crooned against her skin about how much they wanted it, their maws pressed to her bare shoulder, lipless skin moving over sharp, stained fangs. They had blood and carnage caught between their teeth, a rancid smell wafting from their blackened throats. Beady eyes sunk into their dark, indescribable hides, moving without lids as they inspected the outside world. They were shadows. They were beasts, given appearances only in her mind by the imagination in her head. She never turned and never moved when they came and pressed their putrid, rotting tongues to her flesh, shadows whispering words and sweet nothings in her ear. Only when she felt them twist and slink along the floorboards to the cracks in her window and the shadows under the door did she dare to sit up, eyes searching in the dark. But she would only ever capture a shift under the ledge, a shadow disappearing into the night. So she would lay back down, sleepless. She would wait for them to return again, the invisible beasties that came in the night.
Most seven year olds had imaginary friends. Madeline Blanche had monsters in the dark.
The manor is huge, almost impossibly so for a child to comprehend. The darkness of the wine cellar is home to the shadows, and the musty attic plays host to the beasts. They hire a pool boy to keep their own private one clean, they hire gardeners to breathe life into the back yard. Beyond the stretches of the flowers and the gazebo, the pathways and the pond, the maw of the forest opens up. Its trees are dense, the forest floor covered in twisting roots and home to thick blankets of mist. Madeline insists that there are monsters in it, but they do not listen. Her brothers are wild under the surface; they run and chase each other through the trees, screaming and laughing as the forest swallows them whole. Her parents urge her to go too; surely her two elder brothers would enjoy her company. But Madeline refuses. She knows better. The shadows lurk there, the beasts that visit her at night. They are wider and thicker, hungrier and angrier then the ones in the cellar and the ones in the attic. They create her nightmares. They create her fears.
Madeline grows up in this place. She explores the house, so small that her fingertips barely graze the knobs and handles of many doors. She is followed by shadows, but she has long since learned not to say anything. They trail after her down halls, creeping along in the corner of her eye. They pad after her, ever loyal to the scent of the girl who watches them, their claws never clicking on the floorboards as the family's Dalmatian's does. Days pass into years, but she never steps off of the gazebo and towards the woods. She always refuses to swim in the pool after dark. The wine cellar is strictly off limits, the attic even more so. Her bare feet stroke over the garden paths, but she will never step onto the soil. Her parents are concerned, and her brothers are convinced. She is mad as a loon to them. Madeline spends her early elementary years with so many therapists that they all blur together into one entity in her mind before long.
They all hold the same false sympathy as they try to fix her. They all sit down with their clipboards and honey sweet tones, and they ask, "do you know why you're here?"
"Yes," she responds calmly, now the age of nine. "I do know why I'm here. I live with monsters."
There is a body in the garden.
But she does not say the second part aloud, because that is a private, guarded knowledge between her and the beasts, and she must not tell.
This answer is simple to her. At first she told it with a quiver to her lip, as though parting with a strictly kept secret. Now it is a mechanical answer. A robotic response. They will never understand, and she does not expect them to. She is young enough that the therapists believe she is simply going through a phase. She is young enough that her parents cross their fingers and hope for it to pass.
"Oh sweetie," the therapist will always say, leaning forward to examine the girl who is followed by shadows, no wider than a toothpick, no taller than chair. "Where are the monsters? Are they under your bed?"
Madeline does not understand why they ask this. Are monsters usually under beds? Do they usually hide in closets? She does not know, but she sits through this question time and time again, playing with the beautiful fabric of her silk and satin dress. She will be taken to a show after this, or an opera if she is lucky. Her mother and father will spoil her silly as if to apologize for putting her through the therapy that she insists she does not need. They will buy her sweets and ask if there is anywhere she would like to go. This is their way of trying to fix her. Trying to make her normal, like them. Trying to flaw her, like them, the people who cannot see. She thinks of all of this as she looks to the therapist, now the age of ten and still being sent.
"No," she says, her hands kept quiet in her lap. "They're in the corner of our eyes. The places where we don't want to look."
This is the part where the therapist reaches forward, fingers stroking over the girls tiny palms. Madeline becomes distracted with the corners of the room where the dim light does not reach. She watches the shadows there in fascination and fear, the way they reach out and crawl. There is a presence in the dark crevices, something just out of her own reach. No ones sees it but her. The ten year old is beginning to understand just what that means. Quietly, a thick, rich voice reaches out to her. The therapist, a faceless, nameless entity that has come in many forms throughout her childhood, smiles. It calls her name softly as the darkness moves in the corner of the young girls eye. She can see, and the therapist cannot. She is perfect. The therapist is flawed. She refuses to believe that it is the other way around.
"Madeline," The therapist murmurs again, an androgynous tone that is neither male nor female. "Listen to me, sweetie,"
Madeline squares her shoulders and lifts her head. She does not see this person who is flawed, and who has told her the same thing many times before, in many different offices, in many different tones. It is all the same to her now, these events. They exist in her head as failed repeats of the same old show, just painted in brand new colors. This will be the last time that the ten year old visits the therapist. After this, she will not speak of the monsters in the cellar and the creatures in the attic again. She will pretend to exist, flawed, as they do. Because they do not understand. Because they are not perfect. Not like her. She will never be known as Mad Madeline again by her brothers and their friends. She will play the part that her parents have already selected for her. But she will never touch the forest, nor will she enter the places she fears. She will not change herself for them. But she will exist as she needs to, so that they do not try to fix her anymore. Because she does not want to be fixed, not when there is nothing wrong with her. That is what the ten year old believes.
The therapist smiles when their eyes connect, a false sympathy in its tone.
"Monsters don't exist."
The shadows in the dark of the room crawl and creep, just in the corner of her eyes. They laugh and smooth their flesh over stainless fangs. They are amused. Madeline lets out a sweetened laugh in return to drown out the sounds. She ignores the presence that is skittering along the walls and beneath the rugs and plays along. She will never come here again, and briefly she wonders if one day, the shadows will swallow the therapist whole. She kicks her feet and her shiny black shoes, the light catching and illuminating her eyes. They reflect the darkness there, as it grows and twists. They reflect the world that she sees, and the one that they don't.
Monsters do exist. But from now on, that is another secret she has to keep.
❤xx❤xx❤
LOADED WORDS ARE LOADED GUNS TO OUR HEADS.
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Posted: Wed Apr 27, 2011 11:09 pm
❤xx❤xx❤
LOADED WORDS ARE LOADED GUNS TO OUR HEADS.
They scream in the night now, indecipherable, angry howls.
Madeline Blanche is fifteen. She holds a caustic, creative bite on her tongue, she talks with a candid air. She is somewhere between coveted and envied at school, she is the alpha of the pack back home. There is no more talk of the therapist, the one who has no doubt met an unfortunate end. There is no more concern in her parents eyes, no more tired fear that their child has gone insane. Not anymore. Madeline paints her nails in her white washed bathroom now. She wears bikini's on the pool deck in summer for the perfect tan like a normal teenager should. Madeline pretends that she is what everyone wants to be in her class. She never once talks about the monsters in the dark. At home, she makes cappuccino's in the morning and watches her brothers play Resident Evil and Silent Hill at night. The girls she hangs out with will never know that she watches old Star Trek episodes in the dark with her dad, that she spends her extra time betting chores and comic books over a game of poker during the cold winter season. She is a pop culture junkie at heart, but there are roles that she picks to play at school and at home. There are roles that she has to play, until she climbs into bed at night and forgets the acting and the lines. Madeline now swims in the pool after dark, unaffected and unsuspicious of the shadows in her house. She is no longer a child, she should not be so afraid of the things that go bump in the night. The cellar in the dark plays host to games of laser tag, and the attic has become a private getaway when the world gets too loud. Many things have changed. Many things, including herself. But not for them, the ones who are flawed. Never for them, the ones who cannot see. Many things have changed.
But there is still a body in the garden.
The shadows do not come and whisper to her anymore. As she grows up, Madeline begins to wonder if the corpse is just a lie. But the fear of it being real is nursed in her stomach, keeping her feet from the damp soil and the shade of the trees. The monsters from her childhood still exist, their presence an everlasting companion in the corner of her eye. But their words are diluted now, and they only ever come out when she is properly asleep. They hiss and whisper in mangled tones, much less cordial than they were when she was young. The ones in the cellar and the ones in the attic are wary of her now. She has grown into an alert young woman, she will catch them if they come when she can still see. So they claw along the edge of her room where the light of the moon does not touch. They crunch and n** and tear at each other in the night; savage creatures that do not know how to play nice. Madeline sleeps with nightmares, and the fifteen year old often wakes in cold sweat. The real monsters are in her dreams now, howling and crying out in indescribable rage. They're hungry, so hungry, for fresh meat. The body in the garden has passed its expiration date. They are hungry. They want her to feed them. They come from the forest and they claw at her window, mimicking the sounds of branches against the house, old creaks and whines in the spiral stairs. It becomes a cacophony of sound in her head until she wakes up in the heart of the night, eyes desperately searching the dark. But nothing is there.
So she lays down again, sleepless as she was when she was seven.
There is a body in the garden. It is rotting and buried deep in the ground.
She closes her eyes and tries to sleep.
There is a body in the garden. It needs to be replaced.
Madeline is sixteen now. She is thinking about what she wants to do when she grows up. She is planning to move somewhere far, far away, to get an acceptance letter from somewhere wealthy and perhaps to study abroad. Once Madeline leaves this house, she will never to return. That is just the way it is. She does not want to live so close to the maw of the forest and the beasts within. She does not want to watch her brothers play laser tag in the garden ever again, chasing each other between the hedges and the flower beds. But for now, she stays complacent, with all A's in her classes and all popularity with her peers. She brings boys home when her mother and father are on business trips, she kisses them under the covers and she pretends to ignore the shadows that creep along her wall. They pull her close and kiss her neck and whisper you are beautiful against her ear. They do not see the monsters that skitter under the doors, nor the hiss and howl of something that is mimicking the wind. They are flawed. But Madeline is alright with that. They are flawed, but they are certainly enough of a distraction for her.
Finicky and wild hearted as her brothers still are, Madeline passes from crowd to crowd, never staying long with one group of friends, never sharing butterfly kisses and hummingbird heartbeats too long with one boy. She enjoys life for what it is worth, the shadows still following and nipping at her heels. But outside of her own company, she ignores this. She puts on the facade of normalcy, conforms to what the modern day society accepts. There is no talk of moving shadows and corpses that need to be replaced. The beasts of her house creep after her less and less as the year wears on, their savage whispers barely catching in her ears anymore when she sleeps.
She wonders briefly one day at the corner cafe with a temporary sweetheart if the monsters from her childhood are disappearing into nothing. She wonders briefly if she will lead a normal life now, a humane life, flawed and oblivious like the rest of society does. A part of her craves the idea, the hope that she can go to somewhere as prestigious as Harvard, settle down with the past locked in a box and kept in the back of her head like a badly recorded film. But another part of her is sickened by the idea of being so mundane. She has never been normal, the girl who is followed by shadows. To convert to such a life, to live like she does not know what is hiding in the cracks and corners and pretend to simply exist revolts a part of her, but she keeps it quiet and secret in the back of her mind. She continues on with her life, as though the nightmares are not there, as though everything is just how it should be. To the outside word, she does not break down at night, and she does not watch the forest as though it will try and swallow her whole. To those who are flawed, Madeline is not constantly being chased by her own shadows, and Madeline is not constantly trying to chase them back. They look at her and think she is going places. They look at her and envy the way she seems so at ease. Madeline is a good liar. Madeline is even better when it comes to putting on an show.
She is not fine, but no one has to know.
It is the summer before her senior year. Madeline makes daiquiri's for her mother and her, sits in the shade of the gazebo and talks about where she will go after she finishes school. She hosts pool parties in the heat of July, and her brothers stay out late in the hot tub while she plays Resident Evil in the dark with her dad. It is much tamer than that of the shadows that have long since hushed in the corners of her room. Her mother does not approve, but her father insists that is good therapy for anger issues; something that none of them have. Madeline goes to sleep at night, used to the silence now instead of the slither and hiss of beasts in the dark. They are creeping and crawling still, in the corner of her eyes. But they have long since hidden themselves away, and she cannot say she minds. She does not wonder why they are so quiet lately. She does not question if she is going blind.
It is only when she sleeps that there is a presence there, leaving invisible stains all over the walls and the floorboards as it moves. It brings nightmares and the smell of rancid, rotting flesh. She dreams of it with skin stretched thinly over sharp bone, breaking open in places to leak dark fluid that drips into shadowy stretches. She has never seen this visitor in the night, nor the rest of the monsters that haunt her in her house's halls. So her imagination takes over. It creates what still goes unseen. And when Madeline wakes up, she is always alone. The stench is left in the air, a reminder of what is hiding in the dark. The walls feel a bit older, a bit more rotten, and the room seems to close in on itself. There is a reason why Madeline refuses to let anyone sleep over in her house. There is a reason why she always insists that her boys leave before midnight.
This is her secret to keep, the nightmares and the invisible monsters in the dark. This is her secret that she has to hide, because she cannot be known as Mad Madeline to the world. Not when she needs to go places, to get away, to run from the maw of the forest and the body in the garden that has long since been of use. She cannot be crazy in a world where one must be flawed to be successful. She cannot be the one who sees the shadows move and feels the presence just beyond her grasp, because what would they say to her then? Who would accept her then? Madeline does not regret seeing the monsters in the dark. It makes her alert. It makes her aware. But Madeline knows that society does not want to see what she sees, does not want to believe what is in the corners of their eyes where they do not want to look. So she plays along, because she is a good actress. She plays along, because she knows her part when the sun rises and its time to start another day.
In the heat of August, Madeline's world is submerged into the reality that no one else believes. She is dreaming again, of the rancid body that moves through her room. She is on the cusp of sleep when it comes, not quite dreaming, not quite awake. She is in a stasis, held somewhere in between. What she hears and what she feels might just be a trick of her imagination, a figment lodged in her creativity, pulling at her mind. But the smell is vivid, and so is the sound. It is not steady and calm tonight, the shadows. It is not creeping along her wall softly, quiet in its rummaging and its approach. Tonight it is loud, the monster without a tangible form, the energy just outside her grasp. It is filled with an insatiable thirst, a hunger that cannot be cured. It is rampaging and rambling, angry and festering with nervous need. It babbles in tones that she cannot quite decipher, and for once, Madeline feels a thread of fear. She is still on the edge, the small line that cuts between dreaming and awake. She does not know what is real and what is in her head, but the bone deep chill sends shots of adrenaline straight to her head.
The shadows, the presence, the monsters in the dark - they have never been like this before.
It shifts and stumbles, crawls along her bed. Its teeth rake over her skin, gums rotting and black in her mind when she imagines what it would like if she could see. It presses its maw to her ear, a shadow that shivers and croons. "Madelineee," It murmurs, its voice sickeningly sweet. It is desperate, she can tell. Her half conscious mind pleads for this to be a dream. Just a dream, justadream. "Madelineeee, madmadmadmmmMadelineee -- Mmm." It sneers, as though it cannot fathom the language it is trying to use. "I'm hungry, Madeline. Feed me, Madeline. I'm hungry, I want it, I need it." Her heart races and her body aches to scream. Just a dream, just a dream.
"Madeline," the invisible presence says huskily against her skin. She startles herself awake, clammy hands fisting against the bed. Its just a dream, she tells herself again, this time without the blanket of sleep to muddle her head.
She rolls over and sits up. She is alone.
"Madelineee...."
The voice is against her skin, the crook between her shoulder and her neck.
"Be my body in the garden."
❤xx❤xx❤
LOADED WORDS ARE LOADED GUNS TO OUR HEADS.
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Posted: Wed Apr 27, 2011 11:11 pm
❤xx❤xx❤
LOADED WORDS ARE LOADED GUNS TO OUR HEADS.
They first meet in the dim of evening, when the sun is disappearing just below the trees.
The house is empty, void of life. Her parents have gone on vacation, her brothers to college and away from home. She will follow shortly; she is going somewhere far, far away. The eighteen year old stands at the edge of the path in the garden, the one that stretches out into the clearing beyond, and the forest just beyond that. Madeline hums an old classic under her breath, swinging her weight to one hip and touching her fingertips to her bare legs. The fresh breeze carries the scent of rain, the shifting season close and on the tip of its breath. The leaves of far off tree top canopies rustle and sing softly in her ears, a whisper to come closer, a whisper to come say goodbye. She is not seven years old anymore. But she still knows better than to go. This is where she has lived for the past eighteen years of her life, with the monsters in the attic and the beasts in the cellar. The shadows that still creep and crawl over the old walls and down the spiral stairs. Madeline will not miss this place. She will never miss this place.
Her fingers brush through her hair; a familiar, mechanical motion. There is an itch at the back of her neck, like she's being watched. Madeline turns, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. She has not forgotten the incident in the night some months ago. She stares at the empty pathway behind her, and the way it branches off into the depths of the greenery, the trickling of water not so far away.
There is a body in the garden.
She does not know where it is.
There is a body in the garden. It needs to be replaced.
It wants her to do the job.
Madeline catches her breath in her throat and swallows past the lump of fear. There are no shadows. The garden stretches out before her, harmless and as it has been for the last eighteen years. There are flowers in bloom, the sweet aroma catching and riding on the wind. There's a faint sound of splashing; the birds are coming back from their long migration. All is silent around her. All is calm, as though holding its breath. There is no beast. There is no monster hidden in the trees. She turns around again to stare into the depths of the forest.
And that is when he appears. Not in the corner of her eye, but right in front of her, as though he had always been there.
His tone is rich and smooth, amused and alluring. Despite taking a few flighty steps back, the girl slows, captivated by the way he moves. She forgets the baseball bat that is abandoned somewhere near the gardening shed. She forgets that he is quite possibly a tangible threat.
"Good evening," He says with a candid spark in his tone. His smile is broad, and he claps his hands together, as if appraising the girl in his approach. "You're surely a hard one to startle."
She curls her lips, she crosses her arms. "I'm not easily frightened."
"Sure you're not," His answer is immediate, his smile turning into a grin. "Man shows up out of nowhere, man looks like he could be a serial killer, and look at you!" He gestures with animated hands. "You haven't even gone for the baseball bat yet."
"How did you -- " It is off her tongue before she can recollect herself.
"I'm on a schedule, sweetie, I do this for a living. Well not for a living - thats not the point - point is, I've been here, I've done this. I know how silly you sheep can be."
Madeline is forced into silence. Sheep, he'd said. Sheep?
He is dressed in sharp, dark colors; he is a stranger, faceless in his own right. Madeline takes a few steps forward, the breeze catching against her bare midriff and making her spine crawl. She is dressed in a pair of fashionable shorts that day, the blue plaid buttoned shirt manufactured to look as though it was naturally tied above her stomach in the front. This is hardly proper attire for introducing oneself to strangers. But who's to say whats proper or not anymore, when they appear out of thin air? She opens her mouth to speak, but apparently she is too slow again; the stranger is already looking around her. He is looking at the house.
"You sure know how to pick them," He muses, nearly to himself, "I always imagined haunted houses were supposed to be abandoned. Guess not."
Madeline's heart races to her throat. But she keeps it under the surface, where it will always stay. She shifts her weight, her eyes icy and cool even though she is burning inside, a cry for answers kindling in her throat. But he is a stranger, and they are not that friendly yet. "What are you talking about, boyo?" She holds the end of the nickname just long enough to turn into a soft, teasing purr, "haunted house? This is where I grew up. How can it be crawling with ghosts if I've never seen them?" She pauses and laughs, a candid, sultry sound.
He looks at her, and she can hear the smile in his voice. "Whoever said haunted houses needed to have ghosts?" He pauses, exhaling as the scent of rain comes closer still. He laughs, and unlike her own, it is calm and cryptic, smooth and agitating at the same time. "I can see them too, girly." His voice is raw and husky. He smiles as he shocks her into silence. "Yeah, you're not the only one."
He turns his head and inspects the towering, age old structure once more, though its many years of renovation have hidden its antique gaze from view. "You've got something that they don't; a sight of sorts, I suppose you could call it. You can see the cracks and the corners where the shadows slip in. You can see them, and they can see you. You're in the pasture and they're in the woods; but unlike the other sheep, you're special," The strangers drawls over the word with exaggeration, his lively, fluid motions drawing her in, "unlike the other sheep, you actually pay attention. Sad thing is, they can get in and eat you. And you can't do the same." He turns his eyes to Madeline, rivaling the facade of calm on her face, even though her heartbeat is loud enough that he could very well hear. "You know what I'm talking about, girly. Scary movies and rusted carnivals never seem as empty as they're supposed to. There's always a presence there, in the corner of your eye."
The places where you don't want to look.
It goes unsaid between them, the end of those words.
❤xx❤xx❤
LOADED WORDS ARE LOADED GUNS TO OUR HEADS.
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Posted: Wed Apr 27, 2011 11:13 pm
❤xx❤xx❤
LOADED WORDS ARE LOADED GUNS TO OUR HEADS.
They become something of friendly strangers over the next few weeks.
He appears at morning coffee at times, or for an evening stroll through the garden. Madeline listens to him talk, captivated by his way with words. The stranger knows just what to say and when to say it; what bait to dangle in front of her, and just how sharply she'll choose to respond. They share petty conversations and evenings by the pool, but he always pulls his disappearing act as soon as she turns to look away. He gives her time to think about everything that he says. The world is not what it seems, the shadows are real - but she'd already assumed that. She later learns from him about the cracks that cover her house, the misfortune and the darkness that has allowed the shadows to come through. Madeline runs her fingers over the cellar walls and has nightmares about the body in the garden, the one that is no doubt real now. There is a rush of fear up her spine, a shock of adrenaline straight to her skull. Be my body in the garden, it had whispered in her ear, a ghost that would never go away. Something that had crawled through the cracks and shadows left by tragedy and fear. Be my entertainment for the night.
When the stranger appears again one day, he talks about them, the people on the other side. He candidly addresses them as Hunters, the one who have risen above the tide of normality and the ones who can see. Mankind is prey, the stranger says over a cup of coffee, laughing as he steps off of the path and stares out to the forest's maw. He is unafraid, his eyes always hidden behind the shade of his hood. Looking back at her, the stranger smiles then, mouth curving around sharp teeth. Madeline feels small to him, like a sheep in the pasture, being looked at from beyond the fence. He is the predator, and she is the prey. Its an uncomfortable feeling that wells deep in her gut, poisonous and throbbing in her bones. She wants to be on the other side, with him. She doesn't want to spend her life in the pasture. She doesn't want to spend her life afraid. Her fingers itch to reach out, her throat swells with the need to ask him how to become one of them, but there is never any time for that. He is gone before she can say a word.
You're just cattle, and how does that make you feel? You're just toys for entertainment. Pathetic, replaceable things.
Their last meeting is unexpected; a new experience all in its own.
Madeline has come to expect him for morning coffee in the kitchen, for afternoon walks in the garden, and for evenings spent by the pool. But tonight, just on the cusp between setting suns and rising moons, he appears. His lanky body is at the edge of the garden, a shark like smile loose and cutting across his lips.
"Come on, darlin'," he says, offering the girl an arm, "we're going to take a little walk."
Madeline scoffs, a refusal readying in her throat. She has done this many times before, been offered the same walk many times before. She has never stepped into the forest. Never dared to move past the garden and into the trees where the monsters reside. He purses his lips at her obvious lack of interest, clicks his tongue. The shark smile is still there, fanged and all knowing. The wind hums and brushes up against her from behind, the garden shifting and crowing softly in the quick approaching night.
"Like I said, I'm on a schedule." He says, laughing from beneath the hood. "I don't have time for I'm-don't-want-to-go's, and I know a chica like you can get out of your badly created comfort zone if you try." He steps back, his arms extending to each side. He throws his head back and laughs, continuing to walk without watching his own feet. Closer to the trees, closer to the darkness without any fear. "This is your pasture, chica!" He crows, his lively fingers twisting in the direction of the gardens and the house. "You want to be on the other side of the fence? Here's your chance. Don't ******** it up."
Without a reaction, the stranger turns, passing the tree line, swallowed by the dark. Madeline watches, the words echoing in her ears. It is only a matter of three-two-one before she runs, sprinting and racing across, following him into the dark without thought. It is a challenge that she refuses to back down from, a world of new fear that crashes against her as she enters the woods. Shock and adrenaline screech for her to turn and run, to refuse this goading and carry herself with broken pride back to the house. But there is no going back, not anymore. The trees swallow her whole, the shadows in them twisting and howling and laughing at their new arrival. She has come at last, home to where they have called out to her for years. The ground shifts between grass and dirt, uneven terrain and rocky breaks between the forest floor. She catches up to him, out of breath and panting, her shoulders thrown back as she skids down the steep incline that he is already at the bottom of. Twigs and dirt catch in her sandals, shadows chasing at her feet. Adrenaline pumps through her brain, her heart beating faster than ever before. It is strange, how scared she is, and yet...
It is strange how scared she is, and yet it is the first time she's ever felt alive.
Surely her eighteen years of living couldn't compare to this rush of shock and fear straight to the head, adrenaline and exhilaration pumping like heavy doses through her veins. The forest was washed with unfathomable shadows, stretching out, wider, bigger than she'd ever seen. There was a shiver crawling up her spine, her heart hammering soundly against her rib cage as she met him near the bottom, where the roots and claws of age old trees splintered up from the ground. Black forms shifted into the sky above them; ravens screeching their approach with glee. Madeline's heart pounds even quicker when she realizes this is the home to the monster in the night, the one who whispers in her ear about bodies and graves. But she can't stop herself from moving, careening after the stranger in the dark. Her feet slow once she is close enough to him that she can make out his form, the sound of shifting, moaning trees not so far off. He tilts his head back towards the canopy above, where a thin strand of cold light tries to glimpse through. It is bitten and torn by the darkness, an existence here that was never meant to be. Because here is where the cracks and the tears in the world are vivid and wide, giant tears and holes that the shadows slip through.
He stops walking a few minutes into their silence, a bounce in his step as he lands on both feet and turns. His smile is voracious, like a predator observing its prey. Just like before, he gestures candidly with his arms, out into the stretches of the night.
"Its not the corner of your eye that you're afraid to look towards, chica," He howls scathingly, as though shouting it out with amusement to the shadows in the dark. "These are the places that you're afraid to look. You dress yourself up in five layers of false calm, but underneath it all, you're shaking like a leaf. Look at yourself, you're pathetic. What are you going to accomplish like this, the girl who sees shadows, the girl who runs away?" He strides forward, leaves and fallen debris crunching soundly under his feet. Madeline's heart races, but she can only pull herself into a sharpened glare, defiant to that insult. She doesn't dare to open her mouth, her heart hammering so fast in her chest that it might explode, his words booming so loudly in her ears that its a miracle its all so vivid and clear. Everything he says hits hard and hits home, but she's not about to admit that to someone like this. Never to someone like this. What does he know anyways? An indignant, ignorant part of herself thinks. But she knows the answer to that. And bitterly she knows that the answer is everything.
"You're just a sheep in the pasture, a piece of meat to be fattened and milked for entertainment until you pass your expiration date. You think you're going somewhere far, far away, where they cant get to you, but the cracks are everywhere. You cant escape them. You're just running because thats the safe thing to do. But you know what, baby? I know you. You're not the type to do safe if you can. You're just hiding behind your normalcy. Your domesticated facade. And if you continue like that, then a piece of meat is all you're ever going to be." He smiles, right in her face, his arms extended to both sides. They rival each other with glares and smiles, a silent war of wills that both have much to say. And then he laughs, his voice echoing into the night, forcing the shadows to shy away. Now he is the hunter, and they are the prey. And Madeline is jealous. So very, undeniably jealous.
"But you know what? I can tell you how to change that. I can tell you how to change you. Because people like me, people like you, have the ability to become Hunters."
The word slices through the air, and she knows she is hooked, and he knows it too. His smile is addicting, his words pull her in. He walks around her, circling and circling until he steps out in front, rocking on his heels and scaring away the night. He leans forward, offering out a hand, his fingers spindly and long.
"And you know something else?" He asks her, his tone so curious and amused. She cocks her head. She challenges him for more.
He grins. "I know you're going to accept my offer. And you want to know why? Because I know you, I know that you don't want to be afraid. I know you don't want to die. And most of all, I know that you, you of all people, who hides behind your lies and your fake, ugly innocence and pride, wants to be the Hunter. You just didn't know how up until me. And it's going to become your everything, once the addiction gets in your blood. Because you're tired of being on that side of the fence. Because I lied." He shifts on his feet, he smiles as she takes his hand, waiting for more. "You're not a sheep. You're just a wolf in its clothing. You just didn't know anything until now. You want a ticket to where you've always wanted to be? Here it is."
And Madeline knows then, knows that she's going to accept. Wherever this Hunter takes her, whatever he does, she will accept. She doesn't know why, she doesn't know how the decision came so easily for her. Minutes ago, she'd planned to attend Harvard, to get a medical degree and perform dramatic, somewhat crazy surgeries for a living. She'd planned to make toasts to the New Years and call home every once in a blue moon. Watch Star Trek in the middle of the night and have housemates from some ridiculously foreign country. Now, those plans were all dismissed from her head; a badly put together script for a mundane life that she had been content to lead up until the moment he'd come. Madeline knows she's not alone now. Knows that there are other things on that side of the fence looking in; things that aren't the shadows in the walls and creatures under the bed. She understands that she is throwing away what could very well be a very good life, if only she wasn't the girl who greeted shadows in the dark. But she was, and that changed everything.
So the two walked into the night and the dark, deeper into the forest that she once feared. The shadows slither and n** at their heels, their presences aching in the trees. But Madeline is learning not to be afraid anymore, not when one day, she might be able to chase them right back. The air is filled with sharp and stinging words, banter between two strangers that could cut like knives into anyone else. Madeline casts one last look back through the forest, where their house still sits, its old walls containing tales of horrors that no one but her will ever know; the girl who was told tragedies by the shadows in the night. There will still be monsters in the cellar, and beasts in the walls. The attic will still play host to invisible creatures, and they will crawl along the dark edges in the depths of the pool. Her mother and father will live there for only a few more years before they move somewhere new, somewhere better for them. Many things will change, and many things will stay the same. Children will continue to play in the garden once the new residents move in. Parents will sip cool beverages in the shade of the gazebo at the end of a long day. The boys will find old laser tag guns that her brothers had left behind in the cellar, and the girls will swim in the pool after dark. They will paint the rooms and after a while, convert hers into a nursery to welcome their newborn child. And maybe she or he will see them too; the shadows that hide themselves away. But no matter the changes, one thing will always stay the same.
There will always be a body in the garden. And it will always need to be replaced.
But as Madeline walks away with the stranger, she smiles to herself, a laugh tugging on her lips.
There will always be a body in the garden. But it will never be mine.
❤xx❤xx❤
LOADED WORDS ARE LOADED GUNS TO OUR HEADS.
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 12:55 am
"Never say never, my dear."
The past paraded across Madeline's awareness until it faded into the warm embrace of darkness. But someone didn't appear eager to allow her a restful death.
"Isn't that a bit uncomfortable?"
And suddenly that comfortable hold turn hard and cold at her back, pieces of it digging into her body.
"Not to mention, unhealthy?"
It was the same at her sides now, and as she tried to take a single step forward...nothing. Madeline was hit with an abrupt sense of gravity. She was on her back. Something fell on top of her, hitting her legs softly. And again. And on. There was a weight on her body that began to grow in an ominous fashion.
"You died, Miss Blanche. So I suppose your subconscious has placed you in a situation that it felt was fitting. A grave. The only problem is, you're not a corpse. Not yet anyway."
A sense of...something began to form in her hands.
"The ability to get out is at your disposal, the only real question here is: do you really want to? Do you want to wield shadow against shadow? Do you wish to fight this fight?"
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 2:25 am
Restful...
Now that wasn't a word that Madeline would use to describe her world, her life. Not even her death. The sensation of awareness threaded across her skin; a bone deep ache and chill that threatened to cause a panic. Something cold and hard pressed to her back, something that struck a chord within her body, a dank fear that had long since been dampened in the back of her mind. Consciousness flickered on and off like a badly tuned radio; the sound of a far off voice merely background music to the memories parading behind her eyelids. A tension smoothed over her spine, cold and spindly as it clawed at her from every side. She was somewhere claustrophobic, somewhere dark, somewhere... beneath. Gravity ground against her arms and legs, oppressive and thick. Where was she? Where was she? Madeline's eyes slowly flickered into focus, but everything was dark. The past faded in and out of her awareness, followed by the shiver that trilled against her skin. And then the voice spoke from far away, of where she was, of what she'd become.
A grave.
She was in a grave. But she wasn't a corpse.
And then there was more weight. It came slowly at first, something hitting only the edge of her legs. But then it crawled up to cover her entire body, an outside, unseeable force that threatened to suffocate her whole. And suddenly, she was met with a familiar emotion. But that was soon pressed into second place for god-thats-important, because the new voice began to speak again. A dismembered tune that crowded into her ears like a whispered shout. At your disposal... She closed her eyes, forced herself to breathe. She thought of the distant, hazed memories and the man who'd spoken of jumping to the other side of the fence. Was it all in her hands, that power? Was it all in her hands, the ability to escape? Another pressure - presence, a snarky part of her mind told her, - slid across her palm, reassuring, inviting even. She couldn't see it, not in the dark. Not in this repressive grave, but it gave her a confidence that rattled her bones with adrenaline, along with the echo of words that trilled in the back of her head. She was in a grave. She wasn't dead, but she was being buried.
Just like a body in the...
Resolve tightened around her like a chain, and Madeline's fist clenched around the presence, a physical, steely cold feeling pressing against her palm. It was difficult to move in a grave of all things, but Madeline was flexible enough, priding herself in the very vague remembrance of five year old, short lived gymnastic classes.
Here goes nothing.
Her entire body slammed to the side, the weapon in her hand swinging with an angry force against what must have been the oppressive darkness that kept her. It wasn't very effective; as it was, graves were quite small - a pity really, - and the swing was weak with such little space to move in. But she knew vaguely that there was someone out there, someone there who knew something about this. Someone that she wanted to hear more from, learn more from. The weight in her palm grew thicker, the resolve her mind never ceasing its howl. She tried again, determination swallowing fear, anger swallowing panic, thirst swallowing logic. Memories pressed into her skull, memories of the darkness in the corners of her house, the way they had crooned against her neck. Were they proud now? Were they laughing that they'd gotten her into a grave? Fury burst in her gut, a painful awakening to lash back at the world that she'd always watched from afar.
"Of course I wish to fight this fight," She returned sharply to the voice from far away, if only after a show of weapon swinging to the invisible grave. She must have been tonights entertainment, behaving like this. "Wield shadow against shadow, fight this fight, be on the other side... of course I do. Of course." She thrust her own shoulder up against the top of the invisible weight, the grave thats appearance had been swallowed by the dark, the weapon in her hand only giving her a growing sense of will. "Don't ask such boring questions, my dear." She paused panting, surrounded by shadows. Her eyes barely adjusted to catch the edges of what she'd been swinging; what looked to be positively medieval. What looked to be a mace.
"Do I really want to? What do you think?" Madeline paused, her fingers curling tight around the handle again. "You said my subconscious put me in here? Then I'll get myself out. No matter what it takes." It was resolve that spoke so candidly now, an anger bitter and brutal in her gut. Her breath came out in shallow, soft puffs, eyes half lidding within the darkness of the grave. The presence had become a firm, physical weapon in her hand, a mace to wield and to fight with. If she had to find a way to slam it into the sharp growth of weight that was all around to get out of the grave, then she would. Because she would not be the body in the garden. She would never be the body in the garden, no matter what she was told.
Madeline was not a corpse yet, just like the voice had said. She was not a corpse yet, so she still had the ability to fight.
And in that moment, she knew she would fight until the end.
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 3:09 am
The weight shifted and above her a bright light could be seen in cracks and clumps. The sky? The weight shifted again until it simply fell from her body while gravity tilted and stretched until she was standing. The darkness exhaled deeply and suddenly the world had expanded. A piece of shadow crumbled, and the pieces of light joined to form... "Then maybe this isn't a grave, maybe it's a door. Isn't it time to step through?" ((Please head over to THE COVE thread HERE, READ THE PROMPT CLOSELY, and post a response to it thank you and congratulations!! ))
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