Just Another Cabin In The Woods.

Ch. 7 Waking Dreams.

*Elliot's P.O.V.*
Alice became more introverted. It wouldn't bother me if she was actually an introvert. Ryder and her still talked so he wasn't suspicious, but she was "sleeping in" a lot lately. And sometimes when I passed by her room at night, I'd hear weird scratching sounding, like a pencil on paper. Nisha and I still talked. I talked to her more out of pity, because let's face it. Everyone here hates her. Well Alice, sometimes I see her give Nisha a lingering glance, but she still refuses to speak with her. Ryder talks to her casually but he keeps it short. I don't really care about talking to her, because I'm constantly surrounded by people I hate. Golden boy, Nisha, Alice. And Alice hates me, it's mutual. Ryder, he and I have a sort of mutual respect where we don't like each other but we don't really do anything. Sometimes it's only us two that we can understand.

That night, Nisha walked back into her room, and it was just Alice, Ryder, and I sitting at the table. Alice let out a little sigh, "I should probably get some sleep." She said, getting up. Another thing about her is now she carries around a small journal with her everywhere. What surprises me is she won't even let Golden Boy over there look in it. And she obviously is majorly crushing on him. Running a hand through her hair, she rubbed her eyes, and walked off. Ryder and I exchanged a look, she usually didn't turn in this early. It was only nine. Pulling out a cigarette, I shrugged. "See you later." I said, walking to the ladder so I could go out onto the ceiling. The cluster of stars that Alice showed me, they were still there. Every night they made me think of her. How close she got, the feeling of her breath pushing against my face as she spoke, the way the sparkle of the stars reflected in her gaze, as if the galaxy could be found in her eyes... quickly I attempted to blink away the thoughts. Why did I keep thinking about her so damn much?

Bitchy, in your face, Alice. That one. Damn sometimes she got on my nerves! Consuming my thoughts so much by showing me some dumb ass group of stars. The way looking at her made my heart beat a little faster. Fucking hell, she is so aggrivating. Lighting the cigarette, I sucked in and exhaled a plume of smoke. Honestly, Alice thought I got into the habit of smoking by myself, and in a way it was. But why was another reason. Sometimes living was so painful for me, and waking up hurt. Those were the days Alice noticed my distress and softened up on her hatred of me. Even giving me a little hello every once and a while. I knew why. When her uncle died of lung cancer, her aunt got major depression, and a few months later committed a gruesome suicide. Sometimes I wondered how Alice could still be so strong when her family was littered with death.

Anyway, one night I snuck a cigarette out of my father's coat jacket. He'd lied to mom saying he'd quit, but I guess it didn't matter, because mom hid her wine bottles and told him she wasn't an alcoholic. I'd walked out onto the back porch and lit the cigarette, and when I pressed it to my lips, dizziness and nausea ran through me, I had to exhale the smoke and blink the tears from my eyes, caused by the pain of it. But then I realized in those few blissful moments, I'd forgotten about the woes of my life, it was just nothingness. And thus began my addiction.

Sighing, I exhaled more smoke, and after a few minutes, put of the cigarette. As I flicked it over the side of the roof, I could almost imagine the burning hot, hate-filled gaze Alice would've given me for littering so openly. The thought made me smirk as I climbed back into the cabin. As I walked past her room, I heard that familiar scratching sound, and paused. It didn't stop, and I looked around, everyone was asleep. My curiosity piqued, and I kept walking. Stepping into the kitchen, I flicked on the lights to find Alice's glasses. They were on the counter. That also made me curious, when she'd walked to her room earlier, she'd had her glasses on. Finally an idea hit me.

I'd walk in her room, using the glasses as a fall-back to see what she was doing. So I grabbed them, and slowly opened her door. What I saw left an eerie feeling inside of me. The scratching was that of a pencil on paper. Her lamp was on, and she sat at her desk. Her face rested against her hand, from behind it looked quite normal. Her black hair falling around her. Slowly, as quietly as possible, I closed her door so no one else would see. "Alice?" I asked, she didn't respond, and instead kept drawing. Slowly, I crept up behind her, and rested her glasses on the desk. Finally my curiosity got the best of me. From behind, I leaned over her easily, thanks to my height, and she was drawing. Except her eyes were closed, and she was drawing. That made me even more unsettled, because a) she was asleep and b) Alice can't draw a stick figure without messing up. But now her shading was perfect, but what she was drawing was even more creepy.

As I leaned over more, I saw she had the face of a blonde girl drawn, her head was lolled to the side, her body was finished, her arms were shackled behind her, and there was someone slitting the girl's throat. The knife looked realistic as it dug into the girl's throat, and the blood looked eerily real as it slid from the girl's throat and down, bleeding through her clothes. Alice was sketching a hand holding a knife. As I leaned down closer, my face only an inch from her's, I was startled that she still didn't wake up. Looking back down at her paper. Slowly, as if I was in a trance, I reached down, and touched the blood on the girl in the drawing.

Except when I pulled my hand back, there was actual blood on my fingers. My eyes widened in horror, and I felt something sliding down my chest. My eyes widened, and I looked up into the mirror above the desk. Except I didn't see me.

I saw the girl from the drawing staring back at me with an eerily straight face, blood poured from her neck, and my eyes widened in even more horror, looking down I saw the blood was staining my shirt, bringing my hand up to my neck, I felt the cut, my heart nearly stopped, and I looked back up, she was still there. Suddenly large cracks appeared in mirror, with a loud shattering noise, and I stumbled back in surprise. Heart pounding, but when I blinked suddenly it was all gone. The mirror was normal, there was no blood on my hand, and Alice was asleep, face first on the desk. Blinking, the hammering in my heart slowed. Hurrying out of the room, I convinced myself it was just waking dreams. My subconscious was mixing up with my conscious and I was seeing fragments of dreams, and I walked to the bathroom.

Flicking the lights on, I splashed the cold sink water on my face, and then looked up in the mirror. A small gasp ripped from my lips when I saw my shirt stained with blood, like it had dripped from my neck. Quicker than I thought possible, I ripped the shirt from my torso, and looked at it.

But there was nothing there.