|PC's and Petticoats
Author: MiniMinchin PM
Madness emerges from a simple trip, all it takes is one tiny slip. It's time to turn the hands of time. What was once your's, is now mine... I hold the madness within...Rated: Fiction T - English - Mystery/Supernatural - Chapters: 7 - Words: 12,009 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 9 - Follows: 6 - Updated: 09-07-11 - Published: 09-24-10 - id: 6348300
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Who Am I?
The day slid into night and still the visibility outside had not changed. The darkness was still present and I found myself liking it more and more. I used to be a bright person; a person who wallowed around in the sun and lay on a beach...Now? I never turn the lights on in my room; I sit in darkness, reliving the experience in my head, over, over. I hear wolves howling at midnight and the sound of tortured screams echoing through the woods. Mum can't hear them. No-one else can. I can. I know they're there. I know they're real.
For once I move position. I am not sat on my bed. Instead, I find that I am perched on my windowsill, the outside one. I have no fear of falling the two-story height. I feel safe. Never before would I have called hanging out of a window safe, but I have changed. Things have changed, even people have changed. I have only been in rare contact with my friends... letters through the post with brief notes and questions. I don't reply. Not any more. They don't understand, they think I've gone insane. They think I'm strange... they don't care... they don't understand, not now, not ever. Mum doesn't understand either. Nobody does. Nobody will. It's now I understand this.
It is because of the nightmares, the voices, the memories... that I do not belong. I'm different now... I can't stay here. I'm changing, I know I am. Maybe its for the better, but I have a feeling its for the worst. There is no stopping it. Through my frightful thinking I can hear the wolves howling and sounds of swords clashing. I can hear children screaming and shouting cut short, replaced by the sound of drowning; drowning in blood.
It got louder. The screaming, the calling, the wolves howling; I cup my hands over my ears and lean into the window frame, trying to dull them, make them stop. They didn't. They got louder. Tears began to stream down my cheeks as my head was filled with everything that I did not want to remember.
Mum walked in.
"Kim! Get down from there now! You're going to fall!" She panicked, grabbing my by the collar of my turtle-neck top and dragging be backwards; off the windowsill and onto the cold stone floor. "How dare you give me such a fright! I work day and night to-" She moaned on. I tuned out to the point I could only see her lips moving in her rage. I don't belong here... I glanced over to the mirror, which was positioned opposite my bed, just left to the window. My hair was darker. It had changed from a light brown to an almost black colour. My skin, was paler than ever – now closer to that of a corpse. My eyes had lightened from their common blue to one much more supernatural. I was changing. "Kim? Are you even listening to me? What's wrong with you? You haven't eaten in days and you seem different. Kim? Hello?" I turned to stare at her. She scowled back. We hadn't been getting along as of late, not that we ever did. Everything was going downhill. I stood up, off the floor and took a step away from my mum. "I'm going to play with your sister, do what you like. Suicidal idiot." She walked out and shut the door once again.
My sister. Hate wouldn't be too strong a word. We never got along. At all. Bearing in mind she was eight years younger than me at the age of 10... but that was no excuse. I was different. I didn't belong. I had read in a book once, that all Hessian Mercenaries had supernatural looking eyes in their original colour. What drove them to looking brighter and more ghostly was the fact that they had seen so much death. Maybe that was why mine were beginning to change; although not quite to the Mercenaries extent. Most of themwere un-dead anyway.
I could hear my horse kicking at its stable door as if it was desperate to get out. I had recently settled on calling him Nameless, since he never did have one. Then something caught my eye through the window. I could see the vague outline of a horse and rider, crossing over the vast greenland and into the shade and cover of the woods. Blair? My heart skipped a beat. Had he been watching me? Had he not? My mind was once again all over the place and so was the contents of my desk. That was now everywhere since I had thrown it all aside to get a better look out of the window. Again Nameless kicked his stable door. And I smashed the palm of my hand against the window. I didn't belong here. I couldn't belong here. Not now. Not after everything I had seen, everything I had done.
I tipped over my desk. Threw all of my clothes out of the wardrobe and changed my trousers into black ones, from the faded jeans I was wearing beforehand. Socks and leather boots came next and I then made my way towards my bedroom door. I was leaving. My plan was short-lived. My bedroom door was locked, now the only option was my window on the second floor. Pulling my long-sleeves down on my black turtle-next top, I opened the window and peered down. It was a long way, sure, but I leapt anyway. The time, according to the clock on the kitchen wall, seen from my landing spot, was half past ten at night. It was somewhat darker than the "daytime"... So there was still some element of night.
Mentally saying a final goodbye to my previous life, I walked towards the stables where Nameless was still restless. This was it; my new lie begun now. Smirking to myself in the shard of mirror on the wall, I picked up the blackened reins and ran them through my fingers. My eyes were getting somewhat brighter.
Once I had saddled up Nameless, I lead him out towards the darkness of the woods. The darkness did surround all, day in – day out. I need to find Blair, I need to tell him what I have chosen. He needs to know I now understand why I do not belong. I do not belong.
I rode. Faster we strode through the trees, scattering long-dead leaves and bark from the trees. Faster, through the rotting wood and the bitter cold. I was afraid, yet I carried on. I knew Blair had to be around somewhere, he always was, when I needed him. He was always there.
Rustling. I pulled Nameless to a sudden stop and he reared up in protest. Calming him, I listened. I was weapon-less... if someone jumped out now, there would be no stopping them. The rustling drew closer, closer. It was at this point I looked up. Through the thickness of the rotting wooden branches, there was a distinct blue glow. The moon had made a ghostly appearance; graced the sky with its cold hope. It reminded me of Blair's eyes, a cold as ice and as sharp as his sword. Rustling. There was a sudden chorus of war-cries as I kicked Nameless into full gallop. I was being chased. Men with guns and white horses stayed close behind, firing shots which ripped through the air past my ears; the sound of blades being unsheathed.
Into a clearing we fled. There were more waiting. Nameless reared up at the bellowing sound of more war cries; catching me off guard and sending me to the ground. There was no stopping him, he ran as fast as his four legs could carry him, as far away as he could get. I was alone. They weren't far off now. It wouldn't be long before these murderers finally got to me. Murderers?I was also a murderer... back in Sleepy Hollow. It gave me a buzz thinking about it... but now, I had to run. Run myself as those back then did; away from Blair. I did not like being the prey. I'd much rather be the predator; at the top of the supernatural food chain.
I scrambled to my feet and began to flee. Hooves sounded close behind. I ran into another, smaller, clearing. It was then revealed that the war cries were from three men, dressed in red and white, upon tall white steeds; guns in hand, swords unsheathed. I backed off slowly. They knew I was helpless. They knew I couldn't fight back. One of them ran towards me; I dived out of the way. Another tried, I dived again.
Again I ran. As fast as my weakening legs could carry me. It was cold. Below freezing. My eyes were tired and my body responded; sending me crashing down a slope into another part of the woods; one I had not seen. I lay at the bottom; bruised and mentally broken. There were no leaves to cushion my fall, nor branches to snap. Instead, the cold hard ground welcomed me, the creaking of the rotting wood creating a melodic lullaby sound; it beckoned me to sleep. I could feel cuts and bruises over y body aching. My eyes would not open to reveal the landscape before me; my ears were only tuned into the creaking of the wood and the sound of footsteps coming closer. They had found me. This was the end.
A sword was unsheathed.