The Black Bag (Part 1 of 2)

Stranger ~ 15

End of 2007

It was just past three in the morning when Carlisle was startled with a certain feeling: apprehension, disquiet, trepidation... all three perhaps?  He pulled off the covers, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbed his cheeks with both hands. The unexpected chill pushed him further into consciousness. There was no air-conditioner in this house as far as he knew.

As he padded out of the room, his mind clicked at the sight of the open door to the guest room - the room in which he'd cleaned out for Sophie to stay in. His eyes widened when he came a step away from the frame, the lethargy vanishing instantly as though he'd downed several mugs of coffee at once.

The table lamp was on. The duvet had slipped off the bed and onto the floor. The pillow was squashed... But the little girl was nowhere to be seen.

"...Sophie?" His call echoed through the short, empty hall. No answer. He stalked quickly into the room, checked the bathroom, flipped the sheets to look under the bed. Nothing.

"Sophie? Sophie, where are you, honey?" Desperation stung him as he looked around frantically and ran out. Richard's door opened at that instant, the boy stumbling out and rubbing his eye with a fist.

"Dad, what's going o - Dad?"The boy's words halted abruptly as the man quickly planted his hands onto his shoulders. The immense worry that practically radiated from his father shook Richard to attentiveness. "Dad, are you okay? What's happened?"

"Richard. Kiddo, is Sophie in there with you?" 

"...No, she's not, Dad. Why - "

The sound of something shattering downstairs jostled them out of their forming panic. Richard swallowed hesitantly. "Dad... Was that...?"

Carlisle bit his lip. "No idea. Keep close to me, son."

It was like trying to maneuver with a giant leech attached to you, but Carlisle crept slowly down the steps with Richard clinging to his hip. He refrained from swearing aloud as the banister creaked and the joints whined, gritting his teeth to keep it at that. They had reached the landing when he spotted the familiar figure, short but unnaturally stiff. A dozen broken pieces of a small ugly vase - which he was going to get rid of sooner or later - lay at her feet.

What unnerved him the most though, was seeing Sophie standing there with her back towards them and her head lolling over. His first thought was that she was probably sleepwalking, but it didn't seem that way.

"Okay. You stay up here, Richard. Stay here and don't move."

That was what Carlisle said before starting towards the second flight of stairs. But then, Richard stopped him by grabbing his sleeve cuff.

"Dad, wait." "It's alright, Richard. I'm just going to - " "No, Dad! Look!"

He'd obliged and turned his head to the direction Richard was pointing to, and his throat went dry when he saw it. There was another figure standing face-to-face with Sophie, barely noticeable in the darkness. It stood as still as she did, its frame and limbs rake-thin... and its head also hanging lopsidedly. ...Almost as if...

"Dad..." "...Oh God..."

Suddenly, the figure raised its head and - as though having sensed their presence - twisted its neck slowly to focus onto them. Much to their shock, Sophie did the same, only not as fluidly. Her head snapped up and back over her shoulders; her neck cracked so freakishly loud that Richard thought it would break. Even though it didn't seem to possess a proper face, Carlisle still found himself mentally and visually sucked in: he could almost feel the energy draining from his body as he found himself unable to look away.

But then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. One vigorous shake from Richard brought Carlisle back to reality, and they both practically flew down the stairs towards Sophie, who had collapsed on the floor. Richard reached her first, turned her over, checked her vitals. His father had taught him this a number of times before, and there was no better time to put those lessons to good use.

"She's okay, Dad. Still breathing and everything. She's okay.... Dad?"

Richard's cries died down when he saw his father's face, drained of what little color had remained. The man was down on his knees, gawking at the object the thing had left behind:

A rusty long blade. And he could still see bits of dried red along the jagged edge.