Her feet move across the leaves.
Ankles wobbly in the heels she's wearing as she steps over fallen logs resting on the ground.
Before her eyes, she watches her breath pool around her face in soft tendrils.
It's cold in Pennsylvania for reasons unknown due to the season.
Inside of her head, the voices whispered, un-intelligible but angry and violent; rushing her forwards and away from the party she'd been attending. She hopes her cousin Hazelle won't mind her slipping out the back door.
The owners of the voices control her body, giving her coordinates on where to go. They whisper faster and faster, words slurring together and jumbling and she knows she's getting close.
At one time in her life, this would've scared her. Not being in control.
Now, she craves the feeling.
It's sick, she knows, that finding another body will quench the always present thirst to scream, but she's never been one to have a healthy mind.
She barely makes it over the hill. She's tripping over herself now.
She's being led towards the park, she can see the merry-go-round in the distance.
The swings on the swing-set limply move back and forth. Like a ghost child is on them, kicking their legs back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Two legs stick out of the playhouse resting in the darkness. Blood is scattered all around, along with thrown about intestines.
There's so much blood. So much. It makes her throat pinch, ready to wail.
Stumbling closer, she sees the young girls face. Left completely alone and beautiful.
Dark hair is scattered about, clumping as it reaches just below her breasts and tangles into the innards of her stomach that have been ripped apart.
Her legs are missing. Completely painted away from the scene.
Something isn't right. Something isn't right in Hemlock Grove.
Then again, it never was. This town breeds evil, on corruption, and on deceit. She knows the first one better than anyone else if her past has anything to say about it.
She ducks down. Her fingers are steady as she hovers her hand over the young girl's forehead. Not touching, but sensing the girl's spirit.
The girl's spirit is drenched in confusion, agony, and terror. She almost chokes on it, it's so much emotion. All of them breeding together to form some type of emotional incest.
Pulling her hand away, she sits back on her knees, breathing in the smell of nearly festering flesh. It won't be long before the flies and the sun comes.
The ache in her throat is enchanting, digging and digging at her vocal cords. She chokes out the very words she says to all of her departed friends. There are many.
"Bhí tú cróga," She whispers, her Irish tongue flicking out to form each world.
Something is happening in Hemlock Grove, she can feel it more now than ever. This isn't going to be the last pretty young thing's corpse to be calling for her in the middle of the night.
With that final thought, she screams.
-
translation: you were brave.