Addictive like a drug,

the games become so easy to play,

but get harder and harder to win.

Then eventually,

everything breaks,

shatters.

Then I see your eyes…

eyes so cold,

do I even know you anymore?

My body hurts

the pain makes me shiver…

broken records…

broken words…

Evaporate into the air…

rain showers and tears…

I long for the sun

the warmth on my face

and your kiss on my lips,

here we go again……………..

The girl lived for love–the girl in the light.

She was the creator of many things, of rhymes and songs. She also made up stories…many, many stories. She would read the words out loud, perfecting them, smiling with satisfaction. She knew that by taking her words, molding them and placing them perfectly…she could control anyone’s destiny. She did this because the girl was not in control of her own life, and the words…the words, were all she had left.

She had lost him to the words…in the words. She knew this now. She forced him away with her rhymes and her songs, but the melody was not sweet, nor was the story a happy one. He had come and left through words…something that they both held dear to them.

He was also a creator, and the girl thought that it was to be him, that would understand her best. She wanted them to tell their story together. It would be a most romantic tale, thought the girl. But everything she uttered was black and full of pain…none of her words would obey her; and soon, they became her enemies.

She whispered to herself a most sorrowful song, “Maybe if I tell him, he would sing along…” But her words just jumbled and he couldn’t understand… “I cry…” she would hum. “I will whisper his name.”

But the rain kept on falling, and the sky grew dark…and only a single ray of light remained.

Through the haze of her despair, the girl saw him. She knew that he still created through words, and wanted to join in, if only for a moment. She grew sad for that moment.

She stood so close to him now, she could almost touch him, but she could not enter here, for there was a wall he had built up, made from many tales that made the girl ache inside. Nor would he would not look at her, he had built his story from inside…it was a story about another girl, a girl that lived with him inside of his wall.

 He was untouchable, this the girl knew.

He, the most kindred of souls, her soul mate of words, was now lost to her, forever. So, she wept because she could not make him understand, her words defied her, and all that was left was silence. The black wall of words loomed over her, and the girl looked inside, past the painful stories he weaved, to the girl that stood by his side.

 She was black like soot, covered in hatful words, staring at the girl with the most sinister of stares. And the man kept weaving, the story of his life, the story that held the soot covered girl beside him. The weaving went on and on….

The girl saw their life within that wall, not full of song and words, but built up with confusion and fog. The man was trapped, only, he did not know this. All he had left were his words, and the more he weaved, the thicker the wall became. She had lost him because of the hateful word-covered girl. Her song of lies, brought him to her..and the wall, was all that remained.

The girl’s lips were dry and cracked, and her eyes cried with the tears of a thousand goodbyes, as she looked past the wall, to the man and woman that stood inside. The wall was far too thick now to bring him back to her; and the girl inside, the girl of darkness and hate, trapped him within her story of lies, until finally, they vanished.

He was gone now, and all that was left, were the tears of the girl in the light.

She had lost her song, to the pain; and had lost him, to the words of another.

Father had been dead for over a month before Warren realized that he was actually, fatherless.

Sure, he had stood by as his mother as she had cried great tears of pain, and listened to his grandmother tell countless tales of his father as a boy; but it hadn’t really hit him, the death of his father, until he witnessed the miracle at the pond.

Warren and his father were not particularly close when he was alive, so in his death, Warren forgot these specific details. He reminded himself instead by sketching odd picture-like notes, and then posting them on his bedroom walls, or by tying black strings to his fingers…in remembrance.

After all, black was the color of death.

It was also the color of water…sometimes.

But still, he forgot. He was careless, asking his mother why his father had gone on such a long vacation this time, and to this…his mother would cry and leave the room.

Then other times, Warren would remember and cry as he should…with long intervals of sadness and pain….

Warren and his father had been similar in many ways; even his grandmother had told him so.

 Both had eyes the color of coal and hair that glistened in the sun, like a metallic metal, shifting to and fro, from a golden hue to a mirage of colors, quite unnatural to that of a human being; a hyper color of rainbows.  He was his father, only his colors, mirrored far greater brilliance.

 Warren never felt his father’s spirit; many people like to think of their loved ones lingering close, even in death…they feel their presence, they say. Warren scoffed at this thought; when he would remember his dead father, that is. 

When he was alive, his father felt further away than even now, this was true; but Warren preferred his father gone, and relished the thought of it being just his mother and him now. He couldn’t remember why he felt this way.  He just did.

One morning, not so long ago, Warren’s mother sat him down gently to inquire as to why he did not miss his father as she had. She had asked him… “Warren, did you not love your daddy?”

To this, Warren only stared at her with his dark fluid-like eyes and smiled. Warren loved his mother, but she was beginning to ask the strangest questions! Sure he loved his dad, but what Warren could not understand was why his father was gone all of the time. Maybe his father didn’t love them back? Maybe… that was why he was never around anymore.

Something in Warren’s memory sparked as he thought of this….

“Mom, where is my dad?” Warren whispered.

“Honey, your father is dead,” mother replied with her blue eyes, as sad as pond water.

Things went on like this, Warren had his strings and pictures to remind him, and his mother had only memories; something Warren did not possess.

Warren’s mother grew concerned for Warren, as he grew older she noticed his memory fading more and more…growing murky and dull…even the light in his eyes had dimmed.

Grandmother only laughed at this idea and urged Warren to find peace in nature; she looked to Warren’s mother and replied, “My dear, the pond will make him remember…”

Mother looked on with confusion.

——————————————————————-

Warren decided to follow his grandmother’s advice and sought out his memories within nature. He thought to himself, that maybe…just maybe, the trees, the grass and the pond knew him better than he knew himself. Maybe he had lost his memories somewhere out there, just as grandmother had said. So Warren began to look. He looked in the bushes, and within the small forest that lay just beyond the house, but all he had found was a couple of bouncy balls and a crumpled up handkerchief. Warren became fearful that he may never recover the memories he had lost. And if he had found them…how would he know that they were his anyway?

Warren searched for many days, but nothing reminded him of nothing….and still his mind grew cloudy. Mother grew more worried as Warren forgot dinner time and misplaced his knapsack, making him miss his bus on more than one occasion.  He even lost his way among the walls that made up his home, walking into the pantry when he had to go to the bathroom.

Mother grew so afraid for her son’s ailing memory, that she took Warren to the family doctor to get his head examined, even against the grandmother’s wishes.

“Mrs. Waters, Warren appears to be just fine,” said Warren’s doctor to his mother. “He is reacting to his father’s death in a way that we cannot understand, that’s all… let him be and he will pull through.”

So mother let him be.

And Warren wandered…

Then one day, while Warren sat in his room reading his comics, he heard a curious sound carried through the wind. Like a whisper, it came in fluid bursts….reminding Warren of something he once knew.  Warren looked into the sky, then down to the ground, but he could not locate the whispering wind. It was everywhere, and yet, nowhere at all.

Once, when Warren was a small child, he liked to collect stones from down by the pond. He couldn’t recall their meaning to him then, but he did remember the coldness of them within his small palms. He remembered their smell, of moss and watery beasts below.

He remembered….

Warren hurried to collect the rocks that were hidden away in his sock drawer. In a panic, he dug for those rocks, those small stones from down by the pond. There they were, all 5 stones, blackish blue skipping rocks and smooth round agates found their way back into the boys palms. How could he have forgotten?

His memories, held captive within stones, lay waiting for his return.

————————————————————————

With all of the commotion momma heard from upstairs, she thought Warren had joined a circus, complete with riding ponies and tumbling acrobats; which would, after all, not surprise her one bit, considering the most recent events. So up the stairs she began, to warn Warren of the dangers of playing indoors! After all, Warren was such a fragile child!

“Warren honey, what are you doing in there?”

Loud sloshing noises answered her back from beyond Warren’s bedroom door. Momma grew anxious and called again. Perhaps Warren mistook his bedroom for the bath again?

“Warren, momma’s worried dear. Are you ok? Can I come in?”

Pools of water collected from beneath Warren’s door, but no answer came. The sloshing grew to a loud crashing sound, that resembled waves, the hissssing wave pounded back, as if to reply to momma’s concerned pleas.

Momma pushed open the swelling door, water crashed at her from all sides, pooling around her ankles and calves. She could not understand what lay beyond that door…not ever; her eyes grew murky and unable to adjust…as, she did not yet have her under water sight.

“Where is my Warrrrreeennnn?” momma gurgled from beneath the crashing waves.

But Warren and his memories were gone.

The wind blew cold upon Ana’s face as she bolted the door behind her. She knew that she would have to leave her home again that night to feed.

“They will not make me do this again,” she whispered to herself as she snuck through the hushed darkness. Her eyes adjusted to the moonlight walk before her, there was not a soul in sight. The darkness made the villagers anxious; they kept to their rooms once the sun sank into the hills, remembering the shadowy tales of their elders.

Though not all the living were frightened of her kind, some would lean out their window’s to offer her their dreams, as if she would spare them the mark of the dead, spare them the fate in which she had been given.

A killer now- the thief of breath and blood.

The night awaited her, and she would have to leave here if she wanted to stop killing them.

The gleam of the moon, and the darkness made Ana’s senses sharp, so sharp that she could sense footsteps that were following her from beyond the river of sorrows. She heard the hushed cracking of the fallen branches, and the breath of a living man following her in a panicked stride.

“Do not follow me unless you care to die, Breather.” Ana roared, leaving the wind to carry her message. He would hear her, the wind and the trees always relayed the messages of the dead. Ana sighed, she did not want to kill him, but her patience was wearing thin.

“I know you,” was his reply. His words hung high above her, turning the shapeless wind into tiny ice crystals. “Please let me see you, I need to tell you what they do not want you to know…” The man’s voice trailed off, the wind grew still, and then, the shrieking began.

They were not alone.

Ana could smell the scent of death, and she knew that they would kill them if they found him.

“Hide Breather,” Ana’s voice quickened, as the shrieks grew nearer.

What did he know that he needed to risk dying, to tell her?

“Do you hear me Breather, meet me at the Old Oak Tree, follow the path and be quick! They hear your heart beating, with each breath, their shadows grow nearer! They can sense you…Hurry!”

Ana ran like a wild animal, ducking and leaping over anything that got in her way. The wind sliced through her as she charged through the great forest. The howl grew deafening, Ana strained to hear the soft whisper of the man who followed.

He arrived with a quickness that alarmed Ana.

“I am here Ana, please hurry!” She now was the follower.

She reached the Oak far in the middle of the forest, but the man was not there. Had she misunderstood him? Ana was confused, she felt him close, smelled him, the scent of his blood traveled to her. She was so hungry.

Ana stood silent; the wind died, as if to show her what was to come.

“Breather, where are you?” Ana felt fear slither up inside her throat, something was not right here. Her face burned from the hunger that lurked deep inside of her, she was scared now. Would she kill him when he appeared here, before her?

“Breather?” Ana called cautiously again, pondering the thought of leaving this man and his secrets to the fate of them, to those who hunted him.

“I am here,” the reply was so shallow that Ana though it was the tree’s sighing, and not the man who stood behind her, shadowed in the moonlight.

Ana spun around, startled, as she heard the man’s heavy breathing behind her, he was not there a moment ago, but suddenly appeared with his secrets to share.

“What do you want Breather?”

“I have come to tell you something, I know you…” The man’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight, but Ana could smell no fear on him. This was not right, he should be frightened by those who hunted him… by her. Ana suddenly grew weak, too dizzy with hunger to understand what the man would say next.

“I was sent here…. to deliver you to Him,” he said.

He stood silently, his visage, now marked with the sign of the enemy. It was his eyes that truly gave him away. In the moonlight, Ana saw that his eyes were inhuman. These eyes were not of man, he may have been sent by her own kind, Ana did not know. They were not after him, but following her instead. They knew she could never, truly, be one of them.

Ana studied his eyes, huge black pupils lined with gold and blue stared back at her with unworldly uncertainty. He was disguised as a Breather; Ana smiled at their cleverness. Even dead, they had a sense of humor that made them likeable, even among the Breather’s; this was their allure…their death grip on the living.

“Then why do you falter Dark One?” Ana’s voice did not shudder, she remained calm. They were coming, she could feel them. So close now.

The Dark One looked at her intently. His strange eyes shone bright, like two blazing orbs of truth held before her. She could not see past those eyes, the truth that lay beyond them, cold in secret, colder than even death.

“I have secrets to tell you Ana. There are many things that you do not know- things you fear, but you do not need to fear, Ana.” The Dark One spoke to her, still in his whispering voice- the voice of the trees.

Ana felt betrayed; this forest was her home, these trees spoke to her, in her language. His presence tainted their song, and their whispers became foreign to Ana.

The shrieks grew closer as the whispers of the trees merged with the whispers of the Dark One.

“Secrets Ana…so many secrets…”

The cries pierced Ana’s ears, cries of death and pain enveloped her empty heart, while she fell even further into darkness.

Her hunger now made its way past her throat; the metallic taste rose up from deep within her, making its way into her eyes and mouth. He was just a man. He looked like a Breather, and probably died like one too.

The Dark One, moved closer to her, quicker than a Breather would move. Suddenly his hand was on her ice cold arm, burning her skin as he spoke…

“Come with me, or you will die.”

“Tell me your secrets and I will go with you,” Ana said. Her eyes scanned the dark trees beyond, how could she escape? Surely, The Dark One would kill her, and if he didn’t, then they would. Her time was precious.

“We haven’t time, Ana. Come with me, I will lead you to safety. It is your soul they crave. They are angry. Let me save you.”

She beheld his gaze, a moment shifted and time was forgotten; Ana lunged at him with unbelievable force, her hunger, so powerful now. She could no longer control it, it was the vampire gift, the scent of blood, mixed with her fear, which strangely excited her.

Ana’s teeth sank deep into his veins, The Dark One screamed, his blood soaked his shirt and chest as he struggled to escape.

“Nooooooooo!” The Dark One whispered sorrowfully, as he looked Ana deep in the eyes. “Now… we die!”

The deep red liquid stained her chin as she watched him fall to the ground. Her hunger was deeply satisfied, but fear soon seized her body, as she realized her mistake. If he was sent to betray her, why hadn’t he done so when he had the chance?

Then Ana knew….he was her Savior, her only hope of escaping them.

He lay on the ground before her, soaked in blood. He appeared dead, Ana knelt before him, confused. He was not a man, nor a vampire….what was this thing before her? He did not breath, but still, a deep thump mimicked the sound of his beating heart.

Ana touched his back… then everything changed.

Thump… Thump…..

The tree’s swayed, the wind grew violent, the silence… deafening. She did not hear them as they stood before her, so quiet now.

Thump…Thump….

The man’s back twisted in spasms as his blood soaked shirt tore open. The thumping grew more violent as his body seizured back and forth, keeping time with the sway of the trees.

“Dark One?” Ana touched the man gently. The man’s skin was so hot, it singed her skin to touch him. Beneath her fingers the thumping started again, like a caged bird trying to free itself. Then, a miracle… thousands of white doves emerged from his blood stained back, flapping wildly before her. Ana’s eyes grew wide as she witnessed what could not be explained. The doves hovered ten or more feet above the dead man’s back, flapping wildly, taking the shape of what looked like, huge birdlike wings.

The darkness forced itself into Ana’s thoughts, evading her senses; she did not feel them peering at her…into her. Ana’s eyes focused, instead, on the strange whiteness hovering above the man, ghostly white doves caught in moonlight and blood.

A dark voice snickered from beyond the clearing of the Oak Tree. Startled, Ana sank back into reality. How could she have forgotten that they were so close?

“Look closer child…” sneered the dark whispered voice.

Ana sat panicked, knowing that she could not outrun them now…her fate ended here in this clearing. What was to come….would. Maybe they just wanted to frighten her, treat her as their prey, or toy with her.

“Look…” it said with a sickening sneer. “Look at the creature that lies before you, Vampire!”

Ana looked at the dead man/beast beside her; his blood still stained her lips as she focused in on his human face, how beautiful he looked, even in death. The doves that flew above the man’s body had stopped flapping wildly now, but somehow remained airborne, as if they were hovering there above him….waiting.

Ana knew now, these were not doves, couldn’t be. Nothing on this earth could have taken the shape of what Ana thoughts now perceived.

The moonlight broke through the wind shaken trees, revealing huge white feathered wings, hovering in the air above the dead man. Ana’s eyes grew wide as she studied what she could not comprehend. Nothing made sense now.

“Hmmmm…hehehehehe…” the thing cackled into the air. “You killed your protector, Vampire. You were one of the Chosen One’s; you were not forgotten by, Him…” The thing in the shadows pointed up to the sky as he whispered his horrible tale to Ana.

Him….Him….Him….

“Who are you speaking of?” Ana screamed back at her stalker.

“Oh….you know…” her stalker replied in a hushed tone, slurring as he spoke. The silence that followed made the darkness intolerable, even to Ana.

Ana did not know, Him. She had been forgotten her whole life; in her mortal and in her dead life, she had been alone. There was no Him, there never had been.

Tears ran down Ana’s cheeks as she touched the burning flesh of her Savior. He had been sent here to save her. She was chosen…by….Him.

“This is a matter of great importance, Lost One. You have created the most heinous of sins…” the thing stepped out from beyond the shadows to reveal itself. Ana’s eyes rested on the beast’s face and the shadows disappeared, revealing what was not a vampire. As the beast emerged, so did the other’s, marking the same black face as their predecessor. He was their leader, Leader of the Dark Army.

“What have I done?” Ana whispered into the air, confessing her sins to whomever would hear them.

“I am damned, I am nothing to God!”

The beast stood before Ana now, smiling, revealing his razor like teeth. “God knows you….you were Chosen by him. He sent you his Angel to tell you so. I do not feel pity for you. You are what you are. A killer.”

Ana saw them now in hundreds before her, there would be no escape. She had chosen her fate, out of weakness.

“Jesus loves me….” Ana sang the prayer she remembered from her childhood. That familiar song, chimed in her mind…” this I know…for the bible tells me so…”

The demon shrieked and drew back at Ana’s song.

“little ones to Him belong….” Ana sank into the void.

“they are weak…but he is strong….”

The demons howled in anger or pain, and Ana’s voice grew stronger.

“Killer,” screamed the demon in anguish. “You killed him, your guardian, the only one who loved you… YOU BELONG TO US NOW!”

Ana opened her eyes to the darkness; only, there was no darkness to see. Before her, stood the man, the winged man, her guardian and Savior.

“I am here Ana…” the guardian spoke with love as he held out his hand to her. “Come with me, and you will be safe.”

Ana cried as she took his hand, warmth invaded her soul, carrying with it, acceptance.

“I am forgotten,” Ana sobbed as she gazed into the Angel’s eyes. “Why do you come?”

The Angel looked at Ana and smiled, “I have come to show you the way.”

__________________________

In the darkness, Ana’s song remained. The wind howled to keep the trees company, carrying with it, the song of repentance.

This made the taste of Ana’s blood bitter to the demons, as they feasted on her, they cried for their loss.

You are quite aware of these small stirrings inside your brain; like a pot bubbling over, revealing something greater, you succumb to the interior of the bookshop with curiosity and ease. The lights are dim, casting a soft glow upon the spines of the books before you. The melodies of these words entice you, making you hum a familiar song of a story told to you so long ago. This is heaven, you muse to yourself.

The bookshop is silent; you can almost hear the dust settling upon the old books as you enter further within. As you wander past the shelves of books, you spy an old man peering at you between the rows. He looks to be more than a hundred years old- The Great Keeper of Knowledge. You recognize him from your dreams; then that familiar song begins again, a song of whispers. Who is he, you imagine? Why does he stare at you this way?

You ask him, “Don’t I know you, Sir?” The old man just stares at you.

 In his hands he holds a large book. His mouth moves, as if he is trying to warn you of something…but the words are captured by the whispers before they can reach your ears. Suddenly, the old man’s eyes start to water and blink uncontrollably; his hands extend towards you, pushing the large book into your hands. The whispers sing louder, that sweet song, is beckoning to you. With the next song, he vanishes, leaving the book open in your hands.

 “Join us,” says the whisper, “sing with us, our song”

You gaze down at the book, forgetting the old man’s eyes and his warning to you. Then you feel it, sharp claws digging into you; something is screaming, who is screaming? The room spins and books fall all around you, as blood drips in pools upon the large book you hold within your hands. This book is alive and you are dying, darkness is all around you now. What are the whispers trying to say? You feel around for the book, where is the book?! Your fear rises as something grabs for you, pulling you deeper into the darkness.

RRRRRRIINNGG! RRRRRIINNGG!

You slowly become aware of your surroundings, the light is returning- Sunlight. Your bed is wet from sweat beneath you; the sunlight is piercing your eyes as they open up to your bedroom. “Oh no!” you whisper, “They found me again.”

Today I will be using one of their prompts to start a short short story. This is writing prompt #309. I have to use their prompt but tell the story in 500 words or less.

“Start your story with this line: Alice tried to remember who had given her the key…“

Alice tried to remember who had given her the key. She searched deeper within her coat pocket, searching for some sort of clue to jog her memory, and found a crumpled up note with only an address scribbled on it, and a name.

This was not a name she knew.

Dominic.

Her first thought was that perhaps she had grabbed the wrong coat from the coat rack in the café, but no…this was her coat; nobody else would have the guts to wear a fire engine red puff coat in the middle of summer.

Alice set the key and the note down, trying not to think too much about it. After all, she probably got some strange guys number from that party she went to last weekend, and had forgot all about it by the time she got home.

Probably.

Alice’s day went on as usual, but Alice’s eyes would wander over to that key and wonder…

Why does that writing look so familiar?

The sun began to set and the key just sat, gathering dust and wayward glances. Alice began to feel agitated about that key, thinking up wild stories of forgotten promises surrounding the key…

Was someone suffering out there, waiting for her to bring the key…waiting in agony to be let in?

She lay in bed that night, staring at the shadows on the wall, seeing her dreams as she lay awake…

Did Dominic need his key, yet?

Alice tossed and turned throughout the night, leaving her sheets wet with guilt, she would return his key to him tomorrow….there was no other way.

———————————————-

7:30… as the alarm blasted forth rock music; Alice sprang out of bed, ready for her journey. She took her shower, washed her hair and face and prepared her speech…

“Dominic, yes…I remember you…sorry I did not come sooner…”

After the shower, Alice prepared her breakfast and coffee, sipping and chewing as she fed her 2 cats and read through her emails.

She was almost ready now.

Just one more thing, she had to get her keys.

Alice set Dominic’s key down on the table, and went to search for her keys. Alice made her way to her bedroom as the front door opened.

The figure stood in the bedroom doorway, watching Alice scurry around the bed, tossing clothes into the air in a frenzied manner.

“Darling, what on earth are you doing?” said the voice.

Alice turned around to see her husband standing in the bedroom doorway.

“Looking for my keys. Why are you home so early?”

Alice’s husband sighed as he watched her make a mess of their bed.

“Well, I forgot something. I promised Allan that I would feed their dog, Dominic, while they were out of town. I came back to get the key and the address to their place, I stuck it in your jacket pocket so I wouldn’t lose it. Wouldn’t want the poor dog to starve, now would we?”

493 Words

1893, 28 June  

Dear Diary,

I’ve decided to stay indoors as Daddy has instructed—I am certain that Daddy understands the dangers that reside here at Kinsport Manor. I will speak with him about my visions when he returns, for I feel that with his history here, we may better understand who or what is in danger…

And, Laura…what does she want from me?

I now stay where I am safe; the library holds true happiness for me. Here, I am at ease, and all alone. George does not enjoy books as I do, and the help here at Kinsport are far too busy to read; only Daddy enters here, but Daddy is gone.

I have come across some very interesting clippings that sat in an old scrapbook, hidden away in a cubby above the portrait of my Great-Great grandfather, Arthur Reynold Kinsport II. They are yellowed and brittle, but still very much legible. Many of them are taken from the Country Gazette, which is no longer publishing. I imagine that it had followed all of the most prestigious and wealthy families in the New England territory! Kinsport had once been a very wealthy family and most respected as well….

I question what may have happened, to make the Kinsport family die out in the middle of such a successful lineage. I am young, but not naïve….all families hold secrets, I am well aware; however, not all families have ghosts that live on after such tragedies occur!

I feel that a thorough examination of these family clippings may shed new light on Kinsport secretive past. I am eager to begin my work tomorrow morning, as tonight, I have promised Mrs. Brill that I will stay in sight of her and limit my wandering to only the parlor and the study.

She has been terribly on edge since that day in the garden. Neither she nor I have spoken about it further, and frankly, I wish to forget the subject all together!

How silly I was to have mentioned Laura to her. I have to be more careful whom I speak to about this matter. I do not want to appear mad as my father had…

For, I am not mad—only all too eager to solve this puzzle.

But how does one solve a puzzle, with pieces still missing?

1893, 27 June  

Dear Diary,

After I breakfasted with Daddy on the terrace, Daddy announced that he would be leaving on a business venture the following morning. He informed me that Mrs. Brill would be in charge and to mind her at all costs.

The next morning, Daddy made a special trip into the library to warn me again of the danger that surrounds these woods, and to please avoid George until he returned from his trip.

I felt terribly confused at his apprehension about George. How could I avoid my own brother–my flesh and blood?

I agreed to his conditions, so as not to upset him, but still…I am uncertain and frightened as to why Daddy cannot trust his own son. I feared now, more than ever, that the tryst between George and Daddy was widening.

 I am quite eager, however, that I have access to Daddy’s library. Oh the places I will go now! I can escape Kinsport, leaving the secrets, lies and confusion behind me…

The library here at Kinsport is my haven. In there, I can dream and finally feel safe. I do not understand what it is here that gives me this feeling of comfort, but I welcome it.  I intend to spend many of my days discovering the knowledge that lies within those book lined walls.

Yesterday, the weather was quite lovely and I felt inclined to visit the garden, but soon remembered that Daddy had forbade me to go alone; so I located Mrs. Brill in the main kitchen and asked her to accompany me to the garden so that I could pick some flowers for the house. She reluctantly went, after I pleaded with her, that a young girl such as I, should not waste away the beautiful daylight hours among dusty old books!

The weather was quite agreeable as we strolled among the beautiful display of colors! Every flower, every color imaginable, spread out before my eyes—it seemed as if I was in another time and place, not here at Kinsport, but in a place of wonder and joy.

As we strolled on, Mrs. Brill chattered cheerfully about the flowers, the follies of her staff and Jonathan, the gardener. I half listened, as my mind went elsewhere, to the trees beyond.

I felt lightheaded as my eyes drew to the trees, and I felt my body being pulled to them as if they were calling out to me! And there was something else….although I am not all together sure that I did not imagine this, but I feel as if I saw George within those trees, staring out at me…pleading me to come.

Suddenly I was pulled back from my dream state and looking blankly at Mrs. Brill’s worried face.

“Deja, my God…what’s the matter?” Mrs. Brill said, as I came to.

I do not know what came over me to utter such a thing to Mrs. Brill, for I truly care for her and think highly of her; but suddenly I felt the need to scream out to her. Even now, I do not understand what I said.

I remember only this,

“God has left us, we are alone Mrs. Brill….forever alone. The trees are all that’s left, the trees and the blood….so much blood….”

Mrs. Brill turned pale as I screamed, I could not control my anger. I grew more frightened as I lost control of my own body; for it was not I that controlled my body just then…it was something else—something evil….

“She is here…”

“Who?” whispered Mrs. Brill.

“Laura…”

A frightened Mrs. Brill ran away then…

Leaving me alone, where I should not have been–the garden of shadows.