Darkened Heart

Chapter Four

A/N: So, since so many people are pointing this out, I just thought I should explain that The Other Father looks nothing at all like Charlotte's dad. Since she loathes her dad, he has no reason to impersonate him to lure her in. The only reason I'm calling him the "other father" is because that's the genderbent name of the "other mother." My only other option was to call him the Beldam but that name means "old woman" which he is clearly not. Anyway, just thought I'd clear that up. Hope you keep enjoying the story!
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She practically ran back after those words were said. Slamming the door to the main apartment, Charlotte felt more distracted than ever. Her thoughts ran wild with suspicions and admittedly a little bit of fear as well. Questions kept pouring into her mind about what was really behind that door. Every time she stepped into the house it felt as if not only the walls had eyes, but so did the door. What made the feelings worse was that she didn't know if it was only a dream. It felt too real to be so... Charlotte didn't know what to believe. She decided to unpack her belongings to get her mind off things. However, even as she shoveled through her wrinkled clothes, she couldn't stop thinking about what Ms. Bobinsky had told her. Don't go through the door? Jumping mice? There was no way she could've known that. It scared her, really. The other father was so kind to her, and he hadn't hurt her even when she was on the verge of falling asleep in a vulnerable position. She knew predators lured their prey before pouncing, but something about him was sincere. Aside from everything else about the apartment, she realized that the only time she felt secure and safe was under his watchful black buttons. As her hands reached the bottom of her brown leather suitcase, she saw an old yet still new journal she had packed with her. It was deep red with faded gold stripes. Remembering when she had left Jacksonville, her mom had gifted this to her during senior year so she could write about her experiences in college. PFFT! Like that'll happen now that she's a thousand miles away! Changing into light purple pajamas with long sleeves and tiny white polka dots, she put on her light blue slippers.

Knowing that her dad would be busy watching T.V., Charlotte went back downstairs to microwave a frozen dinner. In doing so, she could already smell the scent of smoke coming from the living room. He must've had a bad day. She ignored the living room completely and ate her "chicken alfredo bake" by herself. By now, the fog in the forest was brushing against the windows outside. It was so thick, she could hardly see the garden from the kitchen. The white mist spread like a blanket of white cloud as it engulfed the outer rim of the Pink Palace. Charlotte rather liked the fog. Something about it was beautiful and mysterious. It was perfect weather for writing. Cleaning down the small portion of food, she washed it down with a glass of water before pulling out her journal. Since college wouldn't start for another two weeks, she figured she could spare the first few pages to write about... well, him. Her drafty pink pen clicked as she scribbled out a neat sketch of the small door, the mouse, and even the painting of the blue boy. Beneath each sketch, she labeled and explained what they were. Her words varied depending on how she felt at the moment. Each sketch wasn't too perfect or colored, but when it came time to draw the other father, she didn't leave out any details. Nibbling on her lower lip, she drew everything from his trench coat to his classy gloss shoes including those black button eyes. From his thick eyebrows, jawline, and perky red undershirt, she colored in every inch of him from memory. All the while she couldn't stop thinking about his voice. "See you soon..." that was what he said... Charlotte didn't know what to make of that as she thought back to his kisses. Part of her wished he continued. Despite how suspicious and strange it was, she wanted to see him again.

The clock ticking on the wall gradually became a metronome as her mind went hazy. The more she drew, the more tired she became. Unaware, she fell asleep blissfully at the kitchen table. Her ginger hair spilled over her face as her fingers holding the pen slowly came to a stop over the last thing she wrote. Sound from the T.V. turned to blackened static as her father's cigar was put out like the undoing of a dying fire. The air became cooler as the clicks of each second faded into the silence of the night. Slowly, her breath came out in a cold cloud of visible air. Each and every source of light shuddered and shook, leaving the apartment in absolute darkness. Every sound, unless white noise, was silenced. The only illumination, aside from the light of the night, came from a secret door that creaked open without any force whatsoever. As if the wind itself was under a spell, a quiet breeze was enough to carry the sound of a mouse to her sleeping ears. "Squeak! Squeak Squeak!"