Staying Under

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

The way down the stairs was narrow and dark. All the lights had gone off after the last thunder. I hadn't wanted to get out of the bed, my safe haven with the warm quilt and Missus Piggy, but I didn't want to be alone when the sky was being so furious and scary. I also didn't like the loud voices downstairs—it was always loud downstairs because we always seemed to have guests all the time. But I thought I could hide behind the sofa like I always did, listening to everyone arguing and taking comfort in the fact that I wasn't alone.

There wasn't much light downstairs, either. A stranger sat on the floor. When he saw me from the stairs, he stood. I thought it was strange for a guest to notice me. Everyone usually ignored me as long as I stayed hidden behind the couch. Maybe I made too much noise this time. The stranger didn't look at me the way everyone else always did when they saw me—he didn't look away quickly like he wasn't supposed to be looking at me and neither did he look upset. Instead he smiled and held out his hand to me. It was big and pale, hidden by the same black cloth that covered his head.

"You are different, aren't you?" His voice made me shiver. It was soft compared to the loud thunder outside, but it sounded like it was made of many broken strings, distorted and spidery.

I took a step back.

The stranger didn't pull back his hand. "Come with me, child," he whispered. "You can be so much more."

My gaze flitted to Mommy and Daddy. They were lying on the ground. Why were they letting this stranger talk to me? They never let anyone talk to me. "No," I said. I wanted to sound just as loud and angry as the thunder, but my voice was small and high.

The smile died from his face. He withdrew his hand slightly, and then bent down to cover my head with his hand. I began shaking, but all he did was brushing back my hair from my face. "You will come to me," he said, and this time his voice was almost normal, sure and confident.

When he disappeared, I began crying. Mommy and Daddy still didn't say anything. Why wouldn't they say anything if they were awake? Their eyes were open, staring emptily at the ceiling. Red blood was everywhere. From their eyes, ears, mouth, nose, pooling under where I sat...

I woke up gasping for air, trying to remember who I was and where I was. Something wet covered my hands and for a split of second I almost thought it was blood. But when I murmured a spell to light up the nightstand, the only thing on my hands were clear liquid. I realized then that my face was also wet. Tears. I was crying.

Taking a deep breath, I wiped my eyes and tried to stop it from streaming out more tears. A glance on my right told me that Amy was still fast asleep. It was three in the morning. Every time I tried to pull myself away from the dream, it pulled me back to the memory. And that wasn't even the worst memory I had. I had been terrified and confused. Angry, much later. But the worst thing that had ever happened to me didn't come until years later

I remembered how I was discovered by the academy. It was my fourth foster home. In the previous one, I had gained myself a reputation as the freak. I just didn't want to be different anymore, so I stayed quiet all the time and never talked to anyone. At school, some teachers thought I couldn't talk at all. I was on the happiest place I could be at the time because no one was giving me a hard time for talking to animals or seeing people whom others couldn't see. I even ignored them these days—the ghosts.

Everything was as fine as it could be for someone like me—until my foster father started to come into my room at nights.

No one believed me when I told them because I had a history of 'making up stories' and 'telling lies'.