Who Will Fix Me Now? » fransykes

Chapter 1.

Hood up. Head down. Hands stuffed into pockets. The boy tries to kick the small, jagged stones that lay in his way but the fallen leaves that cover the once clear concrete pathway, have become soggy from the continuous showers. The wind moans as it dances through the bare branches of the forest and whispers in the boy's ears. He tightens his coat around him and pulls the fur of the hood tighter around his ears. They ache. They ache, from the cold and harshness of the wind and how load it blows.

"Oliver, please keep up." A voice familiar to the boy calls from a few paces ahead. She looks back at him and a smile is pulled upon her lips, it's one of pity. She rather liked Oliver, there was just something rather likeable to her about him. Maybe it was because he was lonely and afraid and lost, which was something she had witnessed when she was his age.

Oliver's steps quickened until he reached her side. He looked down once again, not wanting to see his destination when it came into view. He noticed her shoes, that used to be brightly polished had now become painted with a thick layer of mud and the tops of her socks had dampened.

"Don't worry, Oliver. It's not your fault." She told him as she saw him looking down at her dirty heels. Before she let the words spill, she did think that Oliver would be feeling guilt's sting. But then once the words were spoken and Oliver didn't say a word, she realised what she had said and whom she had said it to and quickly looked ahead once again. knowing the boy had never suffered through guilt.

The air between them was thick it hadn't been this silent and this tense since their first meeting, over four years ago.

As the two got further into the forest, Evelyn began to feel quite anxious, whether it was for the boy beside her or her own safety she did not really know.

"Why couldn't we have just driven up?" It was the first thing Oliver had said in hours but he felt it necessary because of how much he hated this soggy walk of dread. But then he thought about whether he would of preferred driving up the forest road in a car with windows he couldn't see out of, and his dominant hand chained to the door.

He moved his right had around in his pocket, feeling the bones in his fingers and wrist crack. He hadn't felt this movement of freedom in hours and he believed it was alright to suffer the walk for the free movement.

"The car wouldn't of fit down the path." Evelyn's answer was short and quiet and she knew Oliver knew the answer, he was intelligent enough.

After several silent minutes the two came to a stop. Oliver didn't dare to look up.

A gate stood in front of them, strong, black metal, slowly rusting with age and exposure. Vines had started to grow up the bars, reaching out their green, leafy fingers to the black metal lettering that stood above the gate and under the metal spikes, reaching several feet in the air. 'Norwood House' it simply read, just as rusted and if not more aged and dirty than the rest of the gate.

The house had stood here for hundreds of years, and Oliver, having lived the life he had, had heard many myths and stories of the house. Stories of those who had escaped and died in trying to find their way out of the endless forest of thick tree trunks that stopped any source of light peaking through. Stories of those who had been released and admitted they had gone crazier in Norwood than they were when they were admitted. Stories of what the house used to be, and of past owners and residents. Stories which were so detailed and so crazy that it was hard for Oliver not to believe them.

Contrasting the aged metal gate, stood a shiny silver intercom upon a vast of stone wall that stretched on further than the eye could see. Evelyn stepped forward and pressed the buzzer. A muffled voice answered. "Yes?"