*COMPLETED*
A terrifying rumor taunting the city of Lakewood Pierce has everyone afraid to look in the mirror. To stare at themselves and say a simple "hello". Adolescent children prettified to the bone out of fear that something will get them not...
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The sky is brightly lit by brilliant shades of orange, making a beautiful ombré that flows up into a lovely cadet blue. Their retinas watch from her bedroom window, tracing the mountain ranges with their fingers until they meet up in the middle.
"I keep seeing the same thing, always at the same time...always," she conveys, setting her hands limply in her lap, her shoulders drooping and her head hung low. Her pale face hidden by her golden blonde hair, wisps becoming tangled in her lashes every time she blinks.
Oliver sits adjacent from Amy, listening to her soothing voice as she voices what she keeps seeing.
"I keep seeing this man...I'm not even sure if I could call it that," she sidetracks, thinking about what this mysterious person could really be underneath that hood.
"He, or it, is wearing all black, nothing else, no other color, just black. Their hood is always drawn, covering their face. Though I'm not really sure that there even is anything underneath the fabric." She pauses, inhaling a breath, "And the numbers, the recurring numbers that change every single day."
Oliver's facial expression changes suddenly, to a look of interest and question. His mind longing to hear about the numbers. Instantly, his memory drifts off, guiding him back to Saturday in the diner. The neatly written three appears in his mind, along with the napkin it was written on.
"I keep seeing these numbers. First, it was three, yesterday it was two, and I'm going to assume that today's one," she lifts her head to stare into Oliver's sympathetic eyes, searching for his silent thoughts within his beautiful brown eyes, almost replicating Amy's own, but just a few shades darker.
"And the thing is," she begins to finish her thoughts, "I don't know what they mean, why I keep seeing them. I saw-" she stops herself mid-sentence when the horrifying memories come back to her, the memories she had nearly forgotten had ever happened. The putrid smell of death, the hand coming from her closet, holding up three fingers.
"You saw what, Amy?" Oliver takes hold of her hands when her body freezes, as if in a trance, not moving a single muscle.
"Nothing, I-I saw nothing," she lies, turning away from Oliver, getting her feet off from the bed, standing and pacing away from it.
I can't tell him that, he'll think I'm lying, she thought.
"Amy, don't hide this from me, I want to help you. I don't want to see you in pain like this anymore!" He says, pushing off the mattress to reach for Amy's hand. "What did you see Amy?" He asks again, his voice placed with anticipation.
"I saw...a hand," she stops speaking again, choking up. The disgusting smell returning to her as her brain remembers what it was like, lying there on the floor, feeling suffocated. "The hand came from the closet," she points to where it came from. "The hand looked to have belonged to a corpse...and then the smell. It was the smell that surrounded me that made it worse."
