Warning: scary dream sequence. Also, this is the second version. I've cut it by about 500 words.
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Caw. Tap. Scratch.
Caw. Tap. Scratch.
Caw. Tap. Scratch.
The sounds sent shivers down my spine as I turned on my heel and took in my surroundings. Again, I found myself staring into the darkness without a sign of escape to ignite hope in my broken mind. This dream, and I knew it was a dream, would forever be stained with the feeling of dread, feeling of hopelessness, feeling of terror. It sent involuntary chills shivering down my spine, made my hair stand on end, and drew sweat to my brow.
My eyes could never quite adjust to the darkness. It was engulfing, there was nothing that I could do about it. There was no light. Nothing but the caw, tap, and scratch. Windows. There were always windows, but they couldn't be broken- no matter how much force I used. Crows. There were always crows and the tantalizingly annoying caw, tap, scratch of their talons along the unbreakable windows.
Creak. Every time I moved into the darkness the aging wood would creak and crack. It was old and brittle. There was dust, everywhere. I could never cough, and it seemed to cling to my mouth- it tasted like sand. My tongue wanted to badly to rid of the ugly texture.
Creak. More steps taken and more breaking wood. Maybe he floor would give way and send me crashing through the house like Alice plummeting through the rabbit hole. The sound was only interrupted by my thoughts . Fear was the only thing I fel-
"Adaline," a voice echoed through the old and tattered house. A voice carved from hell itself.
Cold chills were sent shooting down my spine.
Cold. Shivers. Fear.
"I know you're here."
I held my breath. I knew if I kept perfectly still that there was a chance I wouldn't be caught. Even the tiny sliver of hope was enough to keep my eyes glued shut. I gripped on the wooden railing so hard that I could feel the blood dripping from stray shards that had impaled me.
"Little child. I can smell your blood. Tastes sweet darling."
It laughs. Another chill was sent shooting down my spine. It was pure evil, pure darkness, pure disparity.
In its essence, the voice of that thing, is complete and utter evil. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the terror that shook me.
The caws grow louder.
The chills colder.
The voice nearer.
And then there were nails- brittle and undeniably sharp- like the feeling of chalk being scraped along a blackboard.
Electricity rippled through the darkness and there was nothing else but pulsing light illuminating a stairwell stained by a dreamer's fear.
"Get out of my head," I whispered through gritted teeth. Another chuckle.
"But, darling, you're the one summoning me here. Shush, this will only hurt a little," the darkness seemed to rejoice at the voice's proclamation. There were more bolts of lightning sent rippling through the air, but this time they soared right into my tiny body sending it alight with sensation and crippling pain. My screams were mixed only with the sounds of a crows and its,
Caw. Tap. Scratch.
Screams.
Caw. Tap. Scratch.
Laughter.
Repeat. Over and over and over again.
I wake up in a cold sweat. I'd had this dream so many times before that waking up screaming did nothing for me any longer. It is in my best interest to keep these night terrors to myself, lest I wish to wind up sitting in a chair across from another shrink that pretends to understand. You spend your life hunched over books, to tell people that "you're there for them" or "you understand" or "maybe try meditation". I don't need a master's degree to spot bullshit from a mile away.
So, instead of running to mommy I wipe my brow with my arm and stand up. Stretching my stiff muscles, I look in the mirror. My tanned skin is paled from the night terror, but that's not the most concerning thing about this picture. Because if your eyes travel down my slender body and land on my hands, there's blood. When I look down I see crimson staining my olive colored skin. Little pieces of wood are lodged in the palms of my hand as if I had been gripping something- but I had, hadn't I?
Figments of imagination. Learn to believe it, and then you will always have the answer. Tell yourself something so many times that it becomes the truth.That means I'm going to take a tweezer to my hands, and then pretend like I fell of the swing set last night and landed in the wood chips they use as ground there.
Step one complete and I move on to the next task. This is not the first time I've woken up from a dream that, somehow, mixes with reality. I know the drill.
Closing my eyes, I stretch my neck. A dull ache makes my brows furrow, but it would disappear soon enough. I don't bother looking at the clock. I know the sun hasn't risen. My floor to ceiling windows aren't covered with drapes that block out the sun. There aren't people behind us, so there is no need for it,and besides, I'm not one to cover nature. There's a little forest and stream that runs in our backyard and shielding myself from it seems like an injustice to a world filled with infinite wonders.
My bathroom is exclusively mine. Embellished with a large bathtub, shower, and gold-rimmed mirror, I have nothing to complain about. I turn on the water and slowly ease myself in. The feeling of water against my skin is a warm welcome.
Water does not wash away sin. You can cleanse the body, but cleansing the soul is simply unachievable by the minds of simple fools that don't understand the intricate system of these things. That's why humans feel guilt even after they're forgiven. You can take away surface pain, but unseen scars are the true pains of people scorned. While my dreams may not be as dire or serious as sin, they sure do leave a mark. And not just psychologically.
Before I knew it, I'd been in the shower for almost an hour.
Step two complete and I'm sitting on my bed staring at the screen of my phone looking at the thirty-two missed calls and seventy-three messages I'd missed. I guess you don't really know what you have until you've obliterated it with a lightsaber and sent it to the moon. Reid isn't even winning a text back. In fact, I swipe my finger to the left and scroll down until block this caller pops up and I don't even hesitate as I press the button.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
By now the sun rose, and I slather on some makeup, grab the keys to my Audi, and begin the descent into a hell I like to call high school. It isn't the learning part that has me so hesitant to even go to class most of the time, but it is the simply fact that there is a social class distinction so clear it is like night and day. It is subtler than big screen movies will have you believe, yet it does exist- of that much I can guarantee.
As I race into parking lot of J. Richardson High School, I turn heads. It's not surprising since I'm the only one in a town filled with homebodies, who drives a sports car. It makes statement. Taking a deep breath as I park the car in the far corner of the lot, I watch Reid make his way towards me. His tall, muscular body is so defined that you can see rippling muscles-even through a loosely fitted shirt. Turning the engine off I toss the keys in my bag, and open the door to what would not be a pretty scene. I don't take well to grovelling.
"Adaline!" His voice almost cracks at my name, and the bags under his eyes suggest that he has been crying, but not even the slightest tinge of sympathy manifests itself within my brain.
I walk past him and click the lock button- the car beeps. "Reid, I haven't responded to your texts for a reason. I don't want anything to do with you, now would you please either lose my number, or stop calling me?" I phrase it as a question, but he knows it's a statement. The entire time I'm walking away there is a satisfied grin is plastered on my face.
"This is ridiculous Adaline-you know I love you!" He turns heads in the parking lot, and now we have company. He's following me, I can hear his heavy footsteps behind me and slowly closing in. How annoying, I think.
I stop walking. So does he. My eyes wander at the teens pretending to have a conversation when they clearly aren't. I could give them something to talk about. It is the first day of grade twelve, and I'm not really in the mood to deal with this kind of drama on the first day. Adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder I simply turn back around and walk away. My hand is raised above my head, flipping him the bird.
The heat from outside quickly turns cooler as I walk into the school. Bless whoever invented air conditioning. I didn't need to go look for my timetable, I already knew that I had AP English first period with a rather annoying teacher. His voice, I know, is going to drag on and on and on endlessly in a heap of useless noise. I made my way through the hall, and only stopped when I felt my phone buzz. It wouldn't be Reid.
Where are you, Blondie?
A smile immediately erupts on my face. My one true friend was already on the lookout for me. I hadn't bothered texting him last night when I got home, he never stays up past a certain, early, hour.
I saw your car, answer you dummy. I'm surrounded by grade nines trolling for dick, come save me please.
Lucas just haS a face that everyone adores.. High cheek bones, sandy blonde hair, stern but welcoming look always plastered on his face- he looks like a sculpture. I can hear his voice coming from the front foyer, and follow the sound.
Sure enough, there he is surrounded by five short, fully caked faced teeny boppers. "Lucas."
My voice was monotone. "Adaline," he said with a smile that showed his perfectly white teeth.
One of the darker teens looks up at Lucas and pouts while saying, "You're still going to show me where the science classes are, right?"
"He most certainly will not," I say as I link my arm through his and cast them a sideways glance. "Take a look at the map in you backpack- I saw you shove it in there earlier."
The five of them simultaneously turn red-faced and quickly begin to make their way up the set of stairs directly behind us. They knew where they were going. And, they don't even turn back.
Lucas takes a step back from me and shakes his head. "You didn't have to be that rude. But, much appreciated."
"I did. Plus, it was sort of fun," I say as he just ruffles my hair.
I'd told Lucas about Reid on the way to class. Needless to say, he was less than thrilled at my confession. Just as I'd begun to move towards the classroom, he had opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He told me that we'd catch up later.
Confusion. It is something I tend to feel when Lucas does this sort of thing. He's always saying never mind, even when I think he's about to tell me something important. It always leaves me confused and dazed, in a way. People are peculiar beings, and they cannot be explained by so many words. Their behaviour says one thing, but then their voices tell a different story. Then, you're left, as I often am, in a state of undeniable confusion.
I groaned internally when i realize that I have to actually socialize. The only person I really associated with isn't in this class, and the people I hung out while dating Reid are all idiots. I won't even be saved by them.
It doesn't take long for the sky to change, the sun disappears behind dark and ominous clouds. It looked as if were about to rain, but that isn't surprising. It rains more often than not. The humidity is a sure sign that there is a storm brewing.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" His voice is like sweet elixir that smooths over my ears so beautifully. But, it also sent a chill down my spine.
I scoff. "It is. What do you want?"
He sat down beside me and rested his head on his hand, smirking. The boy people know in town for lighting shit on fire just stares at me."No need to be so rude. Just here to keep you company."
"I don't need company. And even if I did, you'd be the last person I went to for it," I say as I turn my head back to the window. "You can leave now." I don't bother turning back to get lost in his deep blue eyes, that were the color of the raging ocean.
"I would, darling. But," he points to a paper hanging from the blackboard and smiles, "seating plan."
I cuss. This is going to prove to be the worst class I take part in. Maybe, I could just switch out and take regular English, but I knew that wouldn't really be acceptable.
I turn around just as Mr. Burns walks into the classroom. I hadn't even noticed the rest of the students pile in and take their seats. "Here are my rules," I whisper to him, "do not talk to me, do not look at me, do not even breathe in my direction, understood?"
He shrugs and I wish I could wipe that satisfied look right of his carefully sculpted face. "No can do, sweetheart." He winks at me as our teacher begins the class.
"Rhetoric," he starts and I already know I'm going to be falling asleep in a matter of minutes.
Hey people,
Okay, so let me know what you guys think by commenting below. Any thoughts on the boys?
See you next week,
Maria