In the Middle of the Bed (A Saira Collings Story)

December 5th, 1994 (Mary's Story)

Hello, everyone. You may know me as Saira Polaris, that famous author that writes stories about ghosts. But my real name is Saira Collings. You may recognize me from the famous show Ghost Adventures on Travel Channel. If so, then I clap for you. If not, then I suggest you watch it; it's a very good show.

Anyways, that's not why I am here. I am here to discuss a secret very close to my heart. Well, twenty-seven secrets, at least. That are on my back. Constant reminders of the pain I have caused others.

So, buckle up boys and girls. Get your tissue boxes ready, wrap yourselves in blankets, and read what I have to say if you dare. You may think this story is meant to scare you, but that is not my goal. My goal is to spread the word-the truth-behind the rumors circulating around me.

Now, let's go back twenty-four years, to kindergarten. To the first person I watched die.

- - - - - - - - -

Her name was Mary Saraz. She was a cute little thing: soft blonde hair done in a ponytail, two missing teeth, large brown eyes. Everyone loved the playful little girl. She would never hurt a fly.

But apparently her father would.

You see, Mary's father was a famous movie producer. So, he had a lot of connections. One of his connections was with Marison Rhoces, the leader of the Timbre Wolves, a gang based in Kansas City (they'll appear later, I promise). Apparently, Mary's father made Marison angry (I don't know how. Cheated at poker? Lost a bet? Was too friendly with his girlfriend of the week?), so, naturally, the gang leader had to ruin Mary's father's life by killing his only child.

Mary was playing by the road near the playground. She was singing a song she made up; I could hear it from where I played across the miniature soccer field. Then, Mary passed the old, beaten up, flat soccer ball to me. I smiled at her, and started playing soccer with her, passing the ball across the frost-glazed grass.

Then, the most unexpected happened.

A large black SUV rolled by while Mary came to stand next to me, to show me a butterfly she caught. A gun pointed out of the passenger side window, and a red dot appeared on her chest. Before I could point out the strange anomoly, a gunshot resounded through the air. Mary dropped, red flowering out on her chest.

I was only told this next bit later, when I had calmed down enough to stop fighting everyone and giving them bloody scratches. Apparently, the gunman also thought I was a good target, and had fired at me. The bullet seemed to pass right through me. Not the pass-through-me like it didn't hit major arteries, bones, or muscles. No, to the people watching me, it seemed to pass right through my chest like I was made of smoke. The silver bullet imbedded itself in the tree behind me, where it still is to this day, I believe.

I dropped down next to my new friend, and I saw the life leave her brown irises like the blood pouring from her chest. Teachers and students alike crowded around me, some trying to pull me away. But I didn't leave her side; some voice inside me told me that if I did, then she would die. Even though I was five, I knew exactly what death meant. It meant you didn't come back.

My hands were against her chest, something my mom taught me, since she was a scientist and nurse. She told me to use pressure when I had my bloody noses, so I applied pressure to Mary's tiny chest, imagining that her chest was just a giant nose.

When the last of the light left Mary's eyes, tears began fall down my face, mixing with the blood on my pants, the bottom of my shirt, the ground, turning the red liquid into a glittering array of clearness and red rivers. The teachers finally pulled me away from Mary's body, but my eyes stayed locked on her. My hands dripped with her blood. Her last words to me echoed in my mind. Look at this butterfly, Saira. It's so pretty and amazing.

If only I knew that more blood would be spilt in my life. From twenty-six other bodies. From my own family.

I got my first scar that night. It traveled all the way down my spine. It burned like fire, waking me up from my nightmare about seeing Mary's body over and over again. As the lightning traveled down my spine, a voice whispered in my ear,"That is only the first, Saira. More will come, with time."

It frightened my five-year-old self, to say the least. If only I had listened to the voice, all those years ago. Then, maybe I would've stopped all the death in my life. Maybe.

AN: Hello, readers! I hope you like my new short-story. If you do, please comment and star. If you have any ideas for other short-stories, or books you wish for me to read, then just say so in the comments. Love you guys! Keep reading!