“Here is your residence hall.”
The woman smiled, waving her hand to show off the large building. It resembled an old cathedral with tall, Gothic arches and windows. Made of stone, the building stood strong and looming. There was a large circular window that hovered above the wooden front doors. Inside the circle were intricate designs made out of the stone; it reminded me of the inner workings of a clock, each design resembling that of a gear of some sort.
“Oh wow,” my mother exclaimed. Her eyes grew wide and she ran a hand through her light hair. “It looks easy to get lost in.”
“It is,” the woman quipped, flashing an eerie smile in my direction. I smiled back slightly, raising an eyebrow.
“How do we get to my room?” I asked.
“I’ll show you.” Again with the creepy smile.
We followed her through the front doors—which slammed shut so loudly once we were through, that it scared me half to death. Once inside, we were greeted by numerous paintings of women.
“These were the original sisters that lived here,” our guide informed us. “There were sixteen of them.”
“Sisters?” I asked, stopping in front of one of the paintings. Balea Jennings the plaque beneath it read. The girl looked eerily familiar.
She was standing at a window, peering out at the painter. With long, wavy hair cascading down her back and spilled across her shoulders, the girl looked almost… free. Her face was happy, content. She looked as if she were going to climb from the painting and dance circles around us all. It wasn’t the long hair or young face that made me think of myself, it was the boy standing behind her. He was standing with her in the room, peering over her shoulder. He had dark eyes and brown hair.
One of his hands was on the girl’s shoulder, holding her gently. The other couldn’t be seen in the painting. The young man was smiling, revealing a set of dimples. Definitely a charmer, I thought to myself. Standing near our guide, I could feel her eyes watching me as I stepped closer to examine the piece of art. There was something about the piece that drew me to it, that called my name.
“What a nice necklace you have there,” the guide said to me. I jumped at the sound of her voice, my hand instinctively reaching for the chain around my neck. As if on cue, my eyes zeroed in on the painting. The girl was wearing a necklace that mirrored my own. Silver, with a small pearl hanging from it.
Glancing at the guide, she winked and turned away. “Now, back to the sisters. There were sixteen ‘sisters,’ as they liked to call themselves. They were the original group of women to inhabit this building. They were known for their beauty, as well as the various talents they possessed. There are many myths and legends that surround this fine group of girls; some believe they were witches, others believe they were wealthy women with a knack of influencing others to do their bidding.”
“What about her?” I asked quickly, pointing at the painting.
“Oh, Balea Jennings?” The guide asked. I nodded. “She has the best story, in my opinion.”
“What is it?” My mother asked. The guide began to usher us away from the paintings, further into the building.
“She was known as the— Oof!” I glanced up at the woman, only to find that she’d run into someone.
No, not him…
“Mr. Jennings!” The guide smiled, “sorry to run into you! I was just giving them a tour of the building.”
“How nice,” he smiled at my parents.
“Weren’t you the one—“
“To find your daughter?” He interrupted my father, “Yes that was me.”
“We wanted to thank y—“
“Can you finish the story?” I blurted at the tour guide, interrupting my mother. All eyes turned to me. All except a single pair. Even outside the dreams he couldn’t stand to look at me.
“I actually have to run back to the office,” the guide replied. “Braylon, could you show the Breckenwalds their daughter’s room?”
For a moment Braylon didn’t answer. “Sure. Right this way.” He waved a hand in front of himself, allowing my parents to take the lead. “We’ll go to our right now, through this corridor.”
“Do you know the rest of the story?” My mother asked him, glancing back at us.
“What story was that?” Braylon asked.
You know what story, I replied snidely. I watched as he stiffened next to me. Rolling my eyes, I answered for my mother. “Balea Jennings. What was she known for?”
“Uhh…” Braylon fumbled.
“Oh c’mon, you can tell us,” my dad laughed. “It’s not like the stories are true anyway.”
“Yeah,” I said cheerfully. “What was she known for?”
Braylon’s dark eyes narrowed at me. “You really want to know?”
I nodded.
“Fine then,” he replied. “Dream walking.”
My eyes never left Braylon’s.
“What does that mean?” Mom asked.
“The stories say she could enter people’s thoughts.” Braylon’s voice grew menacing. “She could do it any time she wanted, but she was mainly known for doing it while they slept.” He paused. “She was also known to be controlling. Always after something.”
As my parents erupted in laughter at the absurd “story,” I couldn’t move. Entering thoughts, visiting in dreams…
I’m talking about you.
YOU ARE READING
Wait For You
Teen Fiction"I've been waiting for you," he mumbles beneath his breath. I finally found him. After so many years of searching, we were finally reunited. I could feel the energy buzzing around us, a faint glow of particles surrounding our bodies. "You broug...
