" There are ghosts in those walls, mama." A seven year old child looked up at her mother with impossibly big blue eyes, her small hand in her mothers. In other situations this pose would have brought a smile to a strangers eyes, a child looking up to her mother with what could have been adoration. The look on her mothers face dispelled that belief. " What do you mean, hunny?" She knelt beside her pretty blonde daughter, placing her hands on her shoulders and looking at her dead on. " Home. There are people there mommy. They talk to me. Sometimes they scare me." She said, her little girl voice didn't seem to belong with her words, and her mother blinked long, luxurious eyelashes over vibrant green eyes. Her daughter hadn't inherited her eye color, but her fathers. The hair was her mothers though. " There's no such thing as ghosts, silly." Her mother gently pinched her childs cheek as she stood in one graceful motion. This was probably the wrong thing to say, and might have put the poor child where she ended up. There was no such thing as ghosts. Then what were the invisible people in the house? They certainly weren't her friends, because, well, friends didn't scare you or hurt you like this. So the blonde child put her hand back in her mothers, but it wasn't the same as before. At the tender age of seven, she distanced herself from her mother, who ridiculed the idea of ghosts. Why didn't the statement make things better? Why didn't it chase away the bogeyman under her bed, in her closet and in her walls? Why didn't her mother have the same magic as other mothers to banish the monsters from whence they came? At seven, Dalila Leland had no answers. --------------------------------------------------- At seventeen, she was running around the house, her bare feet slapping the floors and the sound echoed off the baren walls. She yanked curtains closed, sometimes screaming as she did it, as if shouting would keep her from hearing their pleas, and closing the blinds kept them away. There were times as she did this ritual that she would cry, her fear of what she couldn't see turning into a terror that she could not control. Garet Mirksmith had felt sorry for her. Not at first, mind you. In public, during daylight and out of her house, she was normal. She was the kind of girl you could fall in love with, and marry. She was nice. Pretty. Her blonde hair had gotten paler, her blue eyes brighter. She developed slim hips and small breasts, and a petite figure. She looked frail and helpless, but when she smiled it lit up a room. " You can call me Lee. Most people do, I think. I like it better anyway." She smiled and shook his hand. Garet introduced himself as Garet and offered to take her out for a movie. But at the moment he was watching her at the worst. Her blue eyes reflected a fear that was almost painful, and her tears were drying in tracks down her pale cheeks. In this light it looked like she had two black eyes, but it was the dark circles from having not slept. She told him they get into her dreams. As she was saying this she was crouched under the big picture window in the living room, peering outside of it before she crawled underneath to pull the heavy grey drapes over the window. " Garet, they're everywhere!" She squeaked, sliding down the wall, and then shuffling away from it. They were mostly in the walls, she had told him one time.
I'm done for now. Check back for the second half, if you're interested.
Nintendo Faggot · Wed Mar 21, 2007 @ 03:03am · 0 Comments |