Haunted (Alastor x OC)

Ch 31

The front just had one word written across the label in his handwriting.

Mama.

I blinked, gently laying the book down.

I opened it, and inside were more pictures. More pictures...and a little Alastor.

Oh my gosh...he's so little in these...he can't be more than 10.

In the pictures with him was a beautiful woman, wearing a smile that reminded me of his.

Her cheeks had dimples and her face looked round and soft. The pictures were in black and white, but the different shades told me that she seemed to have deep brown skin.

From the ones I could see her eyes, they looked exactly like Alastor's.

In every picture, he was right next to her, wearing a smile like he always does.

But over the years, the older he got, the more the smile he was wearing seemed to strain.

Not only that, but as the woman in the pictures grew older as well, her smile seemed to fade. It never fully disappeared...but it just wasn't the same.

Finally I came to the last picture in the book, and my eyes widened. This one is a family photo.

It was curling around the edges, and there were spots on it that seemed to have bled a little bit...like water had dropped onto it.

In it was his mother on his left, and father on his right. He couldn't have been more than 19 or 20.

His dads hand was rested on his shoulder, and he looked tense. His eyes looked tired...and his mother looked broken.

I wish I could say what his father looked like... but where he was standing Alastor had scratched out his face.

The little bit I could see, his father was tall, like him. He seemed to have just about the same build as Alastor, but his stomach was a bit rounder.

His hair looked to be light in color, as well as his skin. Curiously, I flipped the picture.

My eyes widened.

Rot in hell you fucking bastard.

That's what was written, his handwriting looked messy. The letters were jagged and seemed to have just been thrown down. It looked like it was written in blood.

Just then, I gasped as my vision clouded with white and I felt like a cool breeze went across my face.

My vision cleared and I was still in the attic. I looked down, going to close the book and put it back.

But it was gone.

Actually...everything was gone. The boxes, the pictures...what's-

"Son of a bitch..."

My eyes widened and I turned around, facing the voice that came from behind me.

Alastor...

A few feet away, he was knelt down, holding something. I crawled over to him, looking at what he was holding.

The picture...

His body was shaking, and it was then I realized he was crying. Short sniffles left his body and I think he was trying to hold them back.

I watched as tears fell off his face, dotting the picture in his hands.

He gave up holding back and just started sobbing. I wanted to hold him, I wanted to tell him he's ok.

Maybe if I'd been born earlier...I could have helped him...

He didn't move into this house until years later...so this pain followed him through his entire life...

"Happy birthday, mama..." he said, his voice wavering, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you...you know I love you, don't you mama...? You know I love you..."

He laid the picture flat, just looking down at it.

"I'm sorry for the things I do, mama...it's just..." he grit his teeth, and I noticed he was holding a fountain pen. His grip on it tightened.

"I can't stand to be surrounded by people like him," he spat, taking the non-writing end of the pen and jamming it into his fathers frozen face.

His dad looks a lot like him...there are some clear differences, but their bone structure looks to be the same.

He scraped the pen across the picture, making the image of his father quickly become ruined.

He started laughing, tears still falling off his face.

"So, I get rid of them!" He let out through his laughter, and I felt sad and uneasy at the same time.

He looks a mess.

His hair is tangled and his eyes look like he's checked out.

A gasp tore through my throat when he lifted the pen and stabbed himself in the palm.

He then put the pen to the back of the picture.

"Rot in hell..." he said roughly, scribbling on the back of the picture, "you fucking Bastard..." he finished, his voice cracking slightly.

He slammed the pen down and curled his bleeding hand into a fist, I gasped again when he yelled and turned quickly, putting his fist through the wall next to him.

I fell back and my vision clouded again, clearing a moment later to reveal the attic once again.

Boxes and all.

I turned to face the spot he'd been kneeling. There was, of course, nothing there. I crawled over to it and sat, putting my palm to the floor.

I was wearing a sad expression.

My eyes trailed up to the wall, and sure enough there was a hole there.

He hadn't even bothered to fix it.

I lifted my fingers, brushing them over the wall next to the hole. My mouth formed into a soft frown, and I let my hand fall back into my lap.

"How long have you been this sad..." I whispered softly.

I feel like he never truly healed...from what happened to him. He lost his mother, snapped, and went through the rest of his life trying to make up for it.

He never truly accepted what happened.

Maybe...I can help him...

I have experience with healing.