𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 [ˢᵘᵖᵉʳⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵃˡ]✔

prologue.

THERE FIRST THING SHE NOTICED WAS THAT IT WAS COLD. She couldn't move any of her limbs, growing increasingly agitated at her body's failure to respond to her brain's commands. But this had happened before, she had come back like this before. She just needed to breathe, inhale, exhale, until that cold and heavy feeling left her body. Her hands felt wet and sticky and as she could finally move her neck, she looked down to see them stained dark red. Blood.

Monica's mind was racing, more active than her body was. Where had she gone? Who's blood was on her hands? Why was she like this? None of them could be questioned, not until she'd gotten cleaned up first. Stiffly, she wriggled her arms and legs until she could move them properly and struggled to sit up. Her hair was a tangled mess of dark brown hair. She remembered changing into pyjamas before sleeping but now she was in torn jeans and a muddy t-shirt. There was cuts on her knuckles and her the wound on her left leg was dark with congealed blood.

There was only one thought that stuck in her mind, in the midst of all the jumbled up mess of memories. That she was looking for someone, she desperately needed to find them. Monica didn't know who they were, where they were or if they were even alive. But she knew she was running out of time. Wincing in pain she hauled herself out of bed and stumbled to the motel room's bathroom, looking under the sink for the First aid box. She slipped off her jeans and painfully started wiping her wounds with antiseptic.

Monica walked back into the main area of her motel room and looked around. The bed was a mess but there was nothing she could do about it. Her bag lay in the corner, still packed and her phone charging on the bedside table. Her memory was patchy since waking up but she knew she hadn't stayed very long at the motel. Picking up the discarded bed cover, Monica was about to start the long process of stripping the bed when she noticed something drip from the ceiling to the bed. It stained the white bed sheet a bright red.

Slowly looking up, Monica gasped, a scream stuck in her throat. Thick, sticky and dripping everywhere, blood trickled from the walls around her. She could feel her heart race in her chest, the hairs on her neck on ends. What scared her the most was that on the wall to her right, the blood seemed to be moving in weird swirling patterns. It made her skin crawl to look at it, yet she could take her eyes of the gruesome sight.

It was turning into what looked letters. Letters turning into words until they spelt out a name, one she'd never heard before but felt like she had. It was a strange name, not commonly used.

It spelled out the name, Winchester

edited 20/01/17
edit 2.0 21/04/17
edit 3.0 21/07/17
edited 4.0 29/01/18