The Tributes from the Maze (Newt/OC)

The Old Mill

The blowing wind whipped the girl's dark hair across her face. She pulled it back with her free hand and tried to tug the other from her uncle's tight grasp. He just dragged her up the hill faster as she struggled. The lightning lit up the sky and thunder rumbled and growled at her as it forbid her from going near the abandoned mill. As they got closer the wind howled and moaned louder, as if crying mournfully at what her fate was to be. Rain pelted from the angry sky as it fought against her, trying to ward her off from the petrifying dilapidated building. The grey clouds rolled over one another as if they were each eager to see what would happen to her.

The small child cried and struggled against her cruel uncle's clutches once more as they neared the top of the hill. She begged and pleaded with him to stop but he was oblivious to the girl's pleas. Maybe he wasn't able to hear her over the battling weather, or perhaps the matter was that he just didn't care. Whichever the reason was, he did not pay attention to her apart from pulling her toward the place that haunted her dreams. They reached the wooden doors and he opened them, shoving her inside and locking them behind her.

"No! No! You cant! Please! There are ghosts here! Please, Uncle, please! No! Don't leave me here alone! Don't! Please! Somebody help me!" She shrieked over the roaring storm and pounded against the doors.

She slid to the damp, cold floor that reeked of sodden and mottled timber. Trembling and shaking, she slowly took in her surroundings. The half-broken doors rattled in their frames and the wind blew like an eery ghost's whistle through the cracks in the walls and floors. The stairs and floorboards creaked and every so often the inside of the mill was filled with a glow of white light accompanied by a crack of thunder. These sounds to the girl were not just the weather in combat.

To her, the wind carried the screams of lost children, forced to roam the earth's surface for all eternity. The thunder was the whip of the headless horseman who rode around the mill in the dead of night, collecting the lost souls in its prison. The old and dangerous wooden structure of the mill groaning and squeaking were the footsteps of ancient ghosts that haunted there. The lightning bolts were the light signals from their old friends, hoping to lead the tortured souls of loved ones back to their open arms.

She shivered and hugged herself as she cried until she fell asleep to the sounds of the storm. The girl awoke early the next morning to the sound of someone thumping the door of the mill. Suddenly the doors burst open and light flooded the room.

"No!" She screamed and she fell through black space, taking in a sharp breath as she jolted up.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. Ari, it's all okay. I'm here." A boy soothed. Somehow the voice calmed and made her feel safe. Like nothing could touch her. A jacket slipped off from around her shoulders as she turned to see his face.

"Newt!" She cried out and engulfed him in a tight hug. She didn't want to let go. They were sitting on the grass at the edge of the lake. It was still dark. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!" She gasped in relief as she realised she wasn't back there. She still remembered how she used to hide the bruises and cuts all over her body.

"Ari, your okay now. It was just a memory. Your safe." Newt patted her back as she hugged him as if her very life depended on it.

"It was awful!" She whispered.

"I know it was, but that was in the past. He can't hurt you now." He assured her. Ariadne frowned.

"What?" She asked.

"What do you mean, 'what'?" He frowned.

"You said he can't hurt me. He. How do you know that?" She shot him a suspicious look.