Fright Night: A My Chemical Romance Fanfic

The Omen

Home is where your heart is, they say. It's with the people you love and those that love you in turn. You think of home and you think of the smell of breakfast and warm sheets in the winter mornings.

Or the way the sun looked when it pierced your curtains in the mornings... or maybe the way the rain pattered against your windowsill during stormy afternoons.

No matter what you think of, that is home.
And for Margo, home was a far cry from here. She couldn't call it home.

But she would have to learn how to for the next eleven months if she was ever to persevere. The car ride from Florida to New Jersey was sixteen hours give or take a few minutes, maybe. Mina, Margo's mother, was never close with her daughter... in fact, strangers was even a stretch. They hadn't have spoken since she divorced Margo's other mother Cynthia.

It ended messily. Margo and Mina fought and fought... honestly though, if you were to ask either of them what they would fight over they wouldn't have been able to pin point what the petty topics of harsh exchanges were.

Cynthia was Margo's step mother, but she considered her more her birth mother than Mina.

Cynthia died last December. But Margo never heard a word of it until her father called and told her. It wasn't sadness of her mother's passing, Margo thought, but the house she had to return to after all these years. A mere building could mean so much more than what she thought she felt. The memories of terror and anxiety when she was a child all came back to her in a single instant.

Bloodstone, New Jersey... an old English lakeside town that was always blanketed in clouds and trees taller than the old stone edifices built stories up. The town was dead during the week she was told, and it was a Tuesday so no one was out. The lingering resentment of the place and the worn faces of those who were out still remained Margo noticed.

To avoid being bored of the excruciatingly slow passing time, she counted the buildings in the town that were reclaimed by nature. She counted maybe twenty seven before she got tired of the game.
Her body was sore from the stiffness of the car ride and lack of exercise so that also made it harder to focus on anything else.

When she rolled up into the cobblestone driveway of her mother's house she was enamoured by the gothic-styled architecture that loomed over her tiny car and she. Vines tangled across the walls of the pale cement walls and knotted tall grasses added to the oldness of the home.

A few other homes scattered off into the distance and one rather large castle like estate across a row of six burial Indian mounds in the ground. New Jersey was inhabited by the Indians before the Dutch came in and took the land from them. Of course, later they lost their territory to the English colonizers but... they never touched the graves.

Maybe it was out of respect. Or maybe it was out of fear.
There were urban legends that sent chills down Margo's spine when she was a kid.
And she would tell her mothers that she saw one of them moving through the thick evening fog; claiming he had white hair and snow white flesh. Sometimes, she felt like it was right outside her window watching her sleep.

The woman grabbed a few boxes from her trunk and walked over to the large wooden door, kicking the door wide open. Dust flew about from the inside coming out.
Margo coughed, covering her mouth as she entered.

Light from the outside was the only illumination inside the house. The floors were wooden, the walls were stone, and the stairs were as well. It was without a doubt a beauty in progress.

There were coats of dirt and grime layering whatever it could land on. Furniture was covered with white linens and a portrait above the main room fire place was as well, although all the others not being protected like that.