The Whispering

Chapter One

~Chapter One~

I saw her again today. This time she looked to be in her late twenties talking to people who only exist within her memories. From the looks of it, she doesn't know she's dead...

"SANG!" I jump at the sound of my mother's shout and drop the pen I was using to update my journal. "Get your little ass down here."

Oh, no. What happened now?

I slide off my bed with shaky limbs and hurry over to my closet. Just inside the door is a loose floorboard, and I use my small fingers to pry it up before gentle placing my leather-bound journal safely inside. After making sure everything was back in place, I hurry down the creaky stairs and follow the sounds of my mother's angry ramblings to the kitchen.

"Yes, Mother?" I ask with my eyes lowered to the floor. An old nervous habit has my finger drifting up to my lip, pressing it against my teeth as a way to comfort myself.

"Don't act all innocent with me." She yells in a deep scratchy voice, creating more nervous tremors throughout my body. She only sounds like this after taking more than the amounted of prescribed medication given to her. "What do you think you were doing?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whisper. "I've been in my room all day like I was told to be." I hear her heavy weight moving towards me, and I hold my breath.

"Don't lie to me," she seethes before grabbing a fist full of my blonde hair and jerks my head back. Her dark brown eyes are glazed over from her medication but it doesn't dim the malicious hate swirling inside as she looks down at me. "This little innocent act of yours is complete bullshit and it's starting to grate on my nerves."

Her thick fingers tighten painfully within my hair as she pulls me more into the kitchen, and I gasp at the sight.

The doors to the refrigerator, oven, microwave, pantry, and cabinets are all wide open. All the drawers have been thrown to the middle of the floor with everything from inside scattered everywhere.

The creepiest part, though, is what's on top of the pile.

All four of the old wooden kitchen chairs have been stacked precariously one on top of the other on just one leg each.

"I didn't do this," I whisper as I continue to stare at the mess created in the kitchen.

"Don't you dare say it was that stupid ghost again," she snarls as she uses her grip to swing me around to look at her again. "Your imaginary Mr. Thomas story hasn't worked yet and isn't going to." I finch at the name she's given this thing that's been following me for as long as I can remember.

Always lurking in the shadows, doing everything in its power to torment my life.

"I'm not going to put up with this shit anymore." She yanks my head back and shoves me into the pile of drawers. Hearing the scraping of the chairs, I cower in a tight ball and cover my head with my arms just before the chairs come crashing down on me.

The edge of one connects against my shoulder, hitting hard enough I know a bruise will form later. While another falls on my side, knocking the breath out of me.

"Clean this mess up and go to your room. You've lost your right to eat today and tomorrow for lying." I hear the tiniest of chuckles and peek through my arms to see an evil smirk on her pale face. "I'll be speaking with your father when he comes home tonight. I'm sure he can think of a good punishment for your bullshit behavior."