Andrea was no amateur in sneaking around a house at night without making a single noise. But she had yet to master the art of climbing the attic stairs.
They creaked and groaned under her weight, as though they were threatening to give way. It wasn't like Andrea had been outright forbidden to climb them or to enter the attic, but there was no denying that there just seemed to be an unspoken rule about it. It was not the first time Andrea had gone up there however. In the past few years since Andrea had come to live at the Hale's house, the attic had become a place of refuge and quiet.
She pushed open the door at the top of the stairway and entered the small room. Cobwebs caught at her hair, and something scattered across the floor out of sight. Andrea was used to it all though. Crawling across the floor and over a pile of cardboard boxes, she finally made it to the far end. A small window was there.
Gazing out, Andrea found to her delight that a full moon had risen above the forest. It was settled against the tree tops, seemingly staring back at her. A small smile played across Andrea's lips as she leaned against the window sill with a contented sigh.
The memories of earlier that day, and of how she had cried to her aunt faded from her mind. Her eyes blinked wearily and soon she was fast asleep.
* * * * *
"Francis," Andrea said, addressing her childhood friend and classmate as they walked back from playing at the soccer field. "Do you ever think of dead people?"
Francis who walked behind her with his hands shoved deep into his pockets was notably startled by the odd question. But he recovered quickly and shrugged his shoulders.
"I think about my mum sometimes."
Andrea who had turned to face him and was now slowly walking backwards, tilted her head and peered up at him closely.
"Do you ever wonder what she might have been like, and how different your life could have been if she was still alive?"
Francis shrugged again. "I guess so."
Andrea huffed at his nonchalant answer, and went back to her thoughts. It was something she herself wondered often. If her uncle Steven hadn't run away that night, would life had been different? Would her mother still avoid this place like it held the plague?
She looked up at the trees that lined both sides of the path. They were old and gnarled, with long unkempt branches that reached all the way down to the dirt road. They reminded Andrea uncannily of thin groping fingers. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and her footsteps hurried. She always felt the need to fasten her pace, as she passed this one particular area. The three wooden crosses that had been cruelly nailed into the nearest tree made the already eerie place, even eerier.
Andrea tried not to look at them as she passed by, but the names written in large black letters seemed to jump out at her, despite being faded with age. Carter Romans. David Waite. Steven Warring.
Three names for three lost souls. Souls who were slowly becoming forgotten stories because no one wished to talk about them.
"Andrea, get away from there."
Andrea jumped back in fright, as Francis's panicked voice startled her. To her horror, she realized she had wandered straight off the path, and was standing in front of the crosses, staring up at them. She quickly hurried back to the safety of the dirt road, and stood gasping for a breath she had not realized she had been holding.
"You need to keep your head out of the clouds," Francis warned her, his eyes glancing warily back at the memorials. "No wonder your aunt hates for you to walk back home alone."
"Oh, don't you start saying that too," Andrea snapped at him. "I hear that enough from Aunt Eleanor. Anyways, I just got distracted by it."
Francis looked at her, his sharp eyes scanning her over. Despite the warm kindness they often held, Andrea hated the confused concern behind them. This time, they also seemed to burn with questions.
"Is that why you asked about dead people?" Francis asked.
Andrea went to reply, but hesitated. She wasn't even completely sure herself why she had asked that question earlier. Was it because her aunt had told her yesterday that her parents wouldn't come back for Christmas? Was it because she had stayed up late last night, counting the number of times their promise of coming back home had proved to amount to nothing? Was it because she had calculated that it had been over 15 months since she last saw them?
"I just wonder if Mum avoids visiting me because she prefers not to remember."
Francis shot her a funny look, then glanced back over his shoulder at the third cross.
"What? Because of her brother." He studied Andrea closely, trying to work out an answer from her silence. "It's a stupid reason, if that is the case. She could always pay to have you fly over to her."
His words stung Andrea. He was right, and Andrea knew it.
"Well, they said they would come home for my birthday instead. So, that should be fun."
Francis said nothing. He often refused to comment when she spoke about her parents. It had caused so many fights between them in the past, that he now often kept his silence on the matter. But Andrea could hear his thoughts clearly. He was questioning why she continued to believe them after being disappointed every other time.
"They will come this time, Francis," she tried to argue. "Dad even video-called for two hours the other night."
Francis still said nothing. He was a firm believer in not saying anything when one had nothing nice to say.
They had reached Andrea's aunt's house now, so after a brief farewell, Andrea went inside and Francis turned back to head home. The moment the door closed behind her, a bitter loneliness blanketed Andrea. She found herself staring at the walls about her, and the recently polished wooden floor. It wasn't home. The large portrait of her aunt and uncle with their only child, Mason, attested to that. It hung proudly in the living room, presenting a happy family.
Andrea headed to her bedroom. But once again, it served as a reminder that she was not home. It was just the guestroom, painted a shade of peachy orange. Andrea threw herself onto the bed, her hands automatically reaching for the worn-out plush pony that sat by her pillow. She hugged it tightly, and closed her eyes.
"I don't want to be here anymore," she whispered into its ear.
Her voice echoed through the room, frighteningly loud. Andrea couldn't stand it anymore. Rising to her feet, the pony toy still tucked under one arm, Andrea climbed the stairs to the attic. Dust rained down upon her, as she entered the small dimly lit room, but she paid it no heed. Clambering over the rows of taped up boxes, Andrea was able to squeeze her way over to a small window at the far end. She peered out the window, and saw to her delight that the sun was beginning to drop behind the trees. Smiling, she propped her toy pony up by the window so that he too could watch the sun set. Placing an arm over him, she rested her cheek against his soft fur coat.
"Kenta, why don't they love me?"
The words triggered something within herself, and her bottom lip trembled. She tried to blink the tears back, but they began to fall freely. Her shoulders shook, and she buried her face into her arm.
But as she shifted, she knocked against a tower of stacked boxes. She started in fright, as they thudded to the floor around her. The top one burst open, and photos flew to the floor. Sobbing now with frustration, Andrea swiped them into a pile and began fumbling them back into the box. She paused however, as her gaze fell on a smiling face. Picking it up and holding it closer to the light, Andrea realized with shock that it was her mother. She had never seen her smile like that. It was a beautiful wide smile with nothing holding it back.
Andrea picked up another photo. It was of two teenage boys playing with a puppy. Andrea recognized one of them as her father. She missed his smile. She felt like she hadn't seen it since the days he would come to pick her up from kindergarten. Andrea could still remember him crouching down to the ground, as she ran into his arms. He would then pick her up and throw her into the air as she had laughed hysterically. Those days were so distant now, almost as though they had never even existed. Andrea often found herself wondering if she had just conjured them up in her loneliness.
At that moment, the attic door creaked open. Andrea flushed with guilt as her aunt Eleanor peeked her head in.
"I thought you might be up here, darling," her aunt said, shooting her a warm smile. "What did you find?"
She closed the door softly behind her, and moved the boxes aside so she could sit close to Andrea. She gasped in surprise as she saw the photos on the floor.
"I didn't know I still had those."
She glanced at the photo in Andrea's hand and left out a laugh.
"Oh, that's when Leonard had that awful haircut. And Steven refused to cut his hair at all."
Andrea glanced back at the photo, her gaze moving from her young father to the boy that held the puppy in his arms. He only smiled with one-side of his mouth and even then, it didn't even seem to reach his eyes.
"That's my uncle Steven?" she asked. She had never seen a photo of him before. Her mother had always avoided talking about him, and Andrea had never been gain to ask.
Eleanor nodded. "Yes, him and Leonard would often play around with each other. Although they weren't as good friends, as your mother and I were. I guess Leonard was a little too much of a city boy for them to get along well."
Andrea could not take her eyes away from the photo. Now that she had a face to place with the name, she found she could not resent him so easily. He looked so young, not much older than herself.
"How old is he here?" she found herself asking.
Eleanor screwed up her face, as though trying to remember.
"I am pretty sure that was taken the year before his dad died. So, he must have only been 15 then. The poor kid didn't smile much after the death of his father. He acted out a lot after that, which led to a lot of fighting with his mother."
Andrea had heard bits and pieces of the story. Her grandmother had leaned heavily on her two children after the death of her husband, almost forgetting the two young siblings had just lost their beloved father. Andrea could still remember her mother taking care of the frail woman until the day she passed away in her sleep. But even stronger than that, was the memory of the name her grandmother had constantly called for.
"Was that the reason he ran away?" she asked, staring back down at the photograph.
Eleanor nodded. "Yes. Steve had started hanging out with a bunch of older boys, and his mother didn't like them. She told Steve to stay away from them, and they had gotten into a fight about it. In the middle of the fight, she had hit him, and Steve ran away. They never saw him again after that."
Andrea gazed at the boy. The longer she stared into his face, the more it seemed that he was staring right back at her. And she began to see herself. Had he too yearned desperately for a mother's love? Had he too wondered why his father had suddenly left him behind? Could Andrea really blame him for trying to run away from it all, when she too wished nothing more than to do the same? Tears pricked at her eyes, and she raised her hand to wipe them away.
"Don't blame them so much, Andrea," Eleanor told her in that pitying voice that Andrea despised. "It was hard for your mother to lose her brother, when she had not long lost her father. And then to have to care for her mother. It really wore her out. And she was never the same after that."
Andrea wiped her face across her sleeve, as she sniffed loudly.
"And yet she still chose to have me. Maybe she shouldn't have done that."
"Andrea," her aunt admonished gently. "You know she loves you."
"No, I don't know that. Cuz if she did, she would come home for Christmas like she promised me. It's always one excuse after another. I haven't even seen her for almost a year and a half. If she loved me, she would make time for me."
Eleanor put her hand on her shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.
"I know it is hard to understand, Andrea. Your mother is just a very busy woman. But we all love you so much. And you know we love having you here."
Andrea looked away. She was tired of hearing those words. Tired of having people try to subtly change the subject whenever it got too sensitive. It hurt more when she thought back to what she had seen on the computer browser earlier that week. She hadn't meant to snoop, but she had seen it open on the screen. She didn't know why it hurt so much, when it should have been obvious. But it hurt anyway. And it was this aching hurt that made her finally speak out.
"I know you get paid to look after me," she muttered out loud, shrugging her aunt's hand away from her shoulder.
Eleanor looked shocked.
"What do you-"
But Andrea cut her off.
"I saw the bank transfer. I also know they sent you a couple of thousand in advance. Which means they don't intend on taking me home anytime soon. Do I even get to go back home? Or do I just accept this is my home now?"
"Andrea-"
"Do I even have a home?" Andrea stared at her aunt, her eyes begging for an honest answer. But staring into her aunt's shaken face, she knew she wouldn't get one.
Eleanor leaned forward. Her hand reached up to Andrea's face, and she tucked the loose strands of her hair behind her ear.
"They do love you, Andrea. Don't doubt them so much."
Andrea's lip trembled, and she looked away so that Eleanor wouldn't see her tears. Her heart seemed to burn in her chest, and she took a deep gasping breath of air. Beside her, Eleanor moved closer to place her arm about Andrea's shoulders. But Andrea did not lean into the embrace as she always did. It was too painful. Those comforting arms should have been her mother's. Andrea was tired of accepting the next best thing, even if she did dearly love her aunt. She could not even be comforted by the fact that her aunt loved her in return. For Andrea could never look passed the fact, that someone could love her in a way her own mother would not. In Andrea's mind, it would have been easier to believe she was just an unlovable person.
Andrea rose suddenly from the floor, letting Eleanor's arm fall away from her.
"I am just going to go for a walk. I'll be back for dinner."
She didn't wait for a reply, but turned quickly and headed out. She needed to breathe. Needed to be out in the open where she could feel the wind against her face. Away from the walls that always seemed to be closing in about her.
She stumbled down the steps, and out the front gate. A sob broke from her, and the tears gushed out. There in the middle of the lonely dirt road, Andrea wept. It felt good to cry. Her heavy heart seemed to grow lighter, and the thick hard lump in her throat faded. Andrea walked on, her chest still rising and falling with her soft sobbing. She thought about calling Francis, but as her hand moved towards her pocket, she realized she was still holding the photograph.
She wiped her face on her sleeve again, to dry her eyes and clear her blurred vision. Then she stared hard at the photograph once more. The boy stared back at her, and suddenly that crooked smile felt a lot more genuine.
"People sometimes say I am just like you," she told him in a hoarse broken voice. "They say you had a good heart, but a reckless temper. But if you had such a good heart, why did you ruin so many lives? It's been years since you died, so why...why are you still ruining everything?"
She looked up, and started back in fright, as she realized she had unwittingly retraced her footsteps straight back to the three crosses. She stared at them, her mouth gaping open. Once again, the names seemed to leap out at her. Carter Romans. David Waite. Steven Warring.
The name of her uncle and his two friends who had disappeared while searching for his body. Andrea gazed passed the crosses and into the darkness of the forest beyond. It was beautiful and mysterious. So green. So full of life...and yet so dangerous. How much anger and pain had the young boy felt to flee alone into those depths? Had he been scared? Had he suffered in there alone, or had he died quickly?
Andrea found herself slowly backing away. How come he had never returned home? What fate had befallen him in those cursed woods?
The branches creaked loudly, causing Andrea to almost fall with fright. Her legs felt weak, and for a moment, she froze. Her gaze had become glued to those crosses.
Why had his two friends gone to join him? Why had they left so many people pointlessly waiting for their return? Why had no one retrieved their bodies and brought them home to rest?
Andrea knew the story well. Every child had been warned to stay away from the forest's edge. Even dogs did not dare enter the place. For despite its deceiving beauty, it was far deeper than it looked. But that didn't still the yearning in Andrea's heart. She longed to lose herself in its beauty and magic. To explore its wonders and discover its secrets. It was spell-binding. Andrea could almost imagine voices calling her name. Could almost hear the soft whispering. Could almost feel it drawing her in. She could almost see the hands beckoning her. Could almost see the pale faces. Their eyes like deep wells but never ending... never ending.
Andrea started back in shock. She had wandered off the path and right to the forest's edge. She hurriedly took a step back. How could she have wandered so close? What had she been thinking? She quickly backed back on to the path and turned towards home. But something drew her gaze back and she gasped. For through the trees, she had caught a glimpse of a pale figure.
Don't be afraid, little one. Come closer.
Andrea took a step towards it. The figure held out a pale dead-like hand. The sight of it sent a shuddering chill down Andrea's spine. The spell was broken. Filled with horror and unspeakable fear, Andrea turned and fled.
* * * * *
It was just a trick of the mind, Andrea told herself repeatedly. She had heard so many strange tales of the woods that she had begun seeing things. But a part of her knew she was lying to herself. She tossed and turned in her bed, the image of the strange being floating insistently in her mind. Her head throbbed, and her heart ached with some strange longing. She wanted so badly to go back to the woods. The soft whispering of its branches, mingled with the disembodied voices calling her name was drawing her into its spell.
She sat up and crept over to the window. Throwing it open, she took a large gulp of the night air and closed her eyes, letting the cool breeze tousle her hair. Her mind drifted back to the image of the three crosses. And she couldn't help but wonder. Had her uncle Steven really died of an accident or had he fallen foul to some strange being that haunted the woods?
Another thought crossed her mind. What was the chance two more people would disappear? And without a trace? And why would the rest of the searchers refuse to continue their search? Why would grown men be so afraid? Why would tracking dogs act so strange and not want to enter the forest?
Something had happened that day. Something unnatural. Something had taken her uncle and two of the searchers and it had frightened the others away. And now?
Now it was coming for her.