Altered

Chapter 7-3

The dogs and the children must be linked somehow. They must be, Louise thought as she was walking up the stairs to her bedroom. She removed her makeup, brushed her teeth, and got ready for bed.

She turned off the light, and was climbing into the warm covers when she felt it again.

The chills. She shivered.

With the lights off and the tall pine trees casting over her window, the room was pitch black. So dark that it was as if she was floating in a black hole in the universe.

Good. Louise thought. It worked best when it was darkest.

Louise sat up cross-legged on the bed, took a deep breath, closed her eyes and concentrated. Haven't done this in a very long time, she thought. Indeed, she hadn't.

For most of her childhood, Louise had grown up in a house right in front of the cemetery. She had always felt the presence of the deceased. When it was dark at night, she would find herself in the basement, chatting with her centuries old friends, if she concentrated hard enough, that is. When the presence of spirits were strong, she would often lose track of time and fall asleep without really noticing. Sometimes, the spirits appeared in her dreams. Some were peaceful, and some were horrifying, as the dreams always showed the way of the spirits' passing. Her mother would say that she was being crazy again if she knew what she was experiencing now, and her father would've straight up called her an attention-seeking liar. And so, she had learnt at a young age, that bottling up her emotions was the best way to stay out of trouble. Whether it was being indifferent after being backstabbed by a highschool best friend, or staying "professional" after being manipulated by a colleague, she found it easy to avoid confrontations if she could just keep everything inside.

Throughout college and the early stages of her career, Louise had relied on her nightly chats with the deceased victims from the crimes she was working on to solve their deaths. She would drive to crime scenes in the middle of the night and sit in the car, and wait for someone to tell her what happened to them. One case followed another, each being higher profile than the other, until her night time routine consisted of watching and experiencing reenactments of traumatic events.

Of course, everything had its limits. No one could stand watching people die night after night without going crazy. And the headaches. They would stay in her head longer and longer. That was why Louise had stopped doing that after her second promotion five years ago.

But here she was again, ready to find out what exactly happened to the small boy with the brass horse.

"Harold?" She whispered. The wind was howling outside again. "It's alright. I'm glad that you liked the bear. I imagine it's not as pretty as your horse, but it sure is cuddly." She grinned as she said that.

A voice, the same voice that Louise heard a few nights ago echoed. It was soft and high, like a little boy's. It only came up once, but Louise could hear it clear as day:

"I'm not scared of them. I'll show em'."