Only in the Waking World

The Cage (Prologue)

Life likes to make fun of us sometimes. We like to pretend as if karma exists, but the truth is that bad things happen to everyone, even the good people. Death truly does not discriminate.

There are only two things my mother left behind in this world for me before she disappeared. In terms of importance, I guess they are pretty great keepsakes, but nothing really replaces the real deal. One, the silver key I keep around my neck at almost all times. I know that seems like it would be important, but the key was just a piece of jewelry my mother kept with her throughout her adventures. So, other than a beautiful heirloom, it was not much.

And second, would be my own reflection. I know it was not physically given to me by her, but it might as well have been. From what I can remember and what my sister has told me, I am the spitting image of her. I wouldn't know though, all of the pictures of her have been taken away to who knows where. My father does not mention her anymore, it is easier for him.

Sometimes I would say that my reflection was a gift to me. Moments such as the mornings when I wake up and I can imagine that the person staring back at me in the mirror is more than just myself alone are more than most parentless children can ask for. If I brush my hands through my own hair, I can pretend that it is really her. I should count myself lucky. Even with all of the missing pictures, I do not have to go far to find my mother's steel grey eyes or her flowing red locks.

But, not everyone has a want to see my mother.

The moments I count myself more so cursed are when I realize that I was not in fact gifted my reflection, but rather had it stolen. Because you see, it is my reflection, not my mother's. The people who are close to me have a rather hard time seeing this, myself included.

When I look at my reflection, I am forced to see the woman who will never come back to me. Forced to see the woman who has locked me in a perpetual cage.

I am cursed to forever having everyone see a dead woman in me. My mother was never even actually confirmed dead yet they treat me as such.

Five years ago, on the day of my thirteenth birthday, I woke up in the early hours of the morning, shaking and drenched in sweat. I heard an ear-splitting scream and I did not realize it was my own until I felt the soreness of my throat. Confusion shrouded my mind like a blanket of clouds. For some unknown reason, I woke up with the heaviest feeling upon my chest that I had ever felt before.

That night, I had gone to bed only thinking the happiest of thoughts because I knew when I woke up I would officially be thirteen and able to enroll in the Academy of the Paranormal. Little did I know that the first few moments of my thirteen-year-old life would be spent in such fear.

I felt a terrible itchiness feeling all over my body that felt absolutely mind-numbing. No matter how much I itched, it never stopped. Eventually, the feeling evolved into a burning that engulfed my every waking thought, and by that point, my screaming only got worse. I was only found after the neighbors decided to call emergency services after they could not get into my house.

My parents, having left on a business trip to investigate some odd artifact or another never intended to leave me home alone. No, the ever-perfect couple Sophie and Edward Davis would never leave their youngest daughter unattended to for an extended period of time.

Supposedly, my at the time sixteen-year-old sister, Sarah, was supposed to be watching me, but how was she supposed to know that this was going to happen while she snuck out to see her boyfriend at the time.

It was only after I woke up three days later in the hospital did I even realize that I passed out from the pain. The only thing worse than waking up in a hospital at all was waking up in a hospital alone with nobody. At the time, I was upset that my parents did not fly back immediately to check on me or that my sister was not there holding my hand as I regained consciousness.

Little did I know, I was not the only one affected.

Halfway on the other side of the world, my mother was reported missing.