Elizabeth
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 Posted: Mon Dec 31, 2007 1:33 am Post subject: A Penni Saved - 1: The Ground Is Getting Closer |
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A beam falls in an explosion of embers, flames licking up the sides eagerly, greedily. The air is full of smoke, thick and clingy, filling mouths, throats, eyes, rushing back in even as it gets coughed out. Eyelids close, but its as if it can squeeze past them, to claw at the orbs beneath. And even with them closed, the fire is still there, still rampaging, consuming everything, turning memories to the ashes that rained from the sky outside. It was the day of reckoning.
It was the day of reckoning, and when the world burns, there's nowhere to escape to.
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"Thanks a lot!" I exclaim as I hop out of the truck with a clink, dog staring after me with what I tell myself is a touch of forelorneness. The one-eyed preacher in the driver's seat gives me a nod and a smile, a "No problem, little lady."
I hadn't bothered to find out either of their names, been content just to pet the dog as it rested its head on my lap, not even caring too much when it drooled onto my skirt. It was just a little, and there were shorts underneath anyhow, so my legs had stayed dry. The preacher was nice enough, too - a little odd, a bit intense, but almost scarily easy to talk to. I'd had to watch myself to keep from telling him why I really wanted him to take me out this way. He wasn't too bad to listen to, either.
I guess that might be why I'm still standing out here, staring up at him, though I think the fact that he hasn't driven off yet, and is still watching me expectantly, almost like he's waiting for me to say something else, has more to do with it. It takes a few seconds of silence before my hand goes down to one of the pockets on my skirt - they'd been one of the main reasons I'd bought it, and worn it today, as they were nice and big, and I like having plenty of space to put my stuff - and start to untie the little green bow holding it closed. I don't think I have much money in my coin purse, but I guess I don't mind giving him whatever I have. He had driven me a fairly long ways, after all.
But he opens his mouth again finally, as if he's given up on whatever he was waiting for, and I stop my hand, in case a donation - or offering, I suppose - isn't what he's waiting on. "Are you sure I can't take you somewhere else?" he asks, looking around. "It looks like rain out here." He didn't lie; the sky was hidden, tucked away behind the darkness like it had been all day, and for what little of the night had already passed, but they had been starting to look unpleasant over the past few minutes.
"No, this is perfect," I assure him with a smile. "And I like the clouds." He nods uncertainly, still doesn't drive off, though, to be honest, I feel almost... grateful... for that. "So, where're you headed after this?"
"Got some business down in Texas," he tells me, voice darkening slightly.
"Oh." I wish I could think of something better to say. Second later, I do, if only a bit. "You're a long way from there."
"Well... It ain't exactly the kind of business I'm looking forward to." As if I couldn't guess.
"Can't avoid the past forever," I say, feeling wiser for having thought of it.
He raises an eyebrow. "Who says it's about the past?"
"Isn't everything?"
He laughs. "I suppose so," he agrees. "You sure this is where you want to be?"
'No,' my mind says. My mouth disagrees.
"Be careful then, little lady," he all but orders me, and I return the favor, ignoring the feeling creeping down my spine that he was going to do anything but. I wave to his truck as it drives off down the road, the first drop of rain, sweet and cool, falling onto my fingertips as it vanishes down the road.
"Impeccable timing, as always," I compliment the sky. It likes that sort of thing. I can just barely see my destination in front of me, and, though I enjoy the feeling of the rain against my face after the hot day, and the ride in the truck that didn't look like the phrase "air conditioning" had been invented when it'd been made, I know I need to get a move on before I end up getting more of it than I know what to do with. There's a path here, grass growing up from beneath the gravel, but I can tell the difference between it and the rest of the unkempt sea of grass, so I'm good to go.
I manage to get almost three steps before I trip and fall onto my bare knees and half-bare hands. The grass keeps it from hurting as much as it might have, but I still mutter a few choice words under my breath as I push myself back up, brushing the front of my skirt off instinctively, though it couldn't possibly have gotten dirty. Had it been a few inches longer, maybe, but in that case, it would have protected my knees some.
The cloth it was made from wasn't particularly thick - I wouldn't have worn it if it had been - but, as the arm warmers over the heel of my palms had proved, any little bit helps. I probably should have just worn my jeans, anyway. But, no, I just had to go with what amused me, and pick this, since it was all camo print, and, hey, I was sneaking around, in a very loose sense of the term. The skirt was only camouflage in the very loosest sense, too, though, so it was fitting. After all, it did leave a good bit of my legs, still not quite used to the the reappearance of summer and therefore so pale they practically glowed, exposed, and the little bows on the bottom hem would likely serve some purpose other than looking cute if it was real. They'd release the hidden compartments, probably full of dynamite or something. Maybe even cyanide, were I a secret agent.
Also, I probably wouldn't have worn a white belt with it, even if I did like the flowers and vines that ran all around it. Though not necessarily, as I'm rather fond of it, as being one of the few articles of white clothing I own that has managed to stay that color for any length of time.
My shirt only partially fits in for this kind of work, too. It is black (mostly), so it has that going for it, but it's not like its one of those skintight leather cat suits you wear when you're stealing jewels in the movies. It's not even all that tight, though it was supposed to be. The picture on the website showed that it was, but, even with the smallest size, it still manages to look loose on me, even if it is the right length, ending soon enough to leave my belly button exposed. But, as my older sister often tells me, I'm too scrawny for my own good.
Still, even if it did fit a little better, it still wouldn't be perfect, since it isn't completely dark. Where the neckline would be, were I less modest, and/or if I actually had much of anything to show off, a stripe of gingham, ruffled at the edges, takes over, where it stretches almost to my neck, held closed with a pair of black buttons, as opposed to the zipper running down the rest of the shirt. Also, it doesn't exactly have sleeves, which might have been an important kind of detail, were it not for the arm warmers - also black - though even they have glow in the dark spiderwebs on them, so they aren't exactly what I'd call discrete. Nobody looks for shoulders and upper arms to be breaking into places...
Now my boots... They almost work. Nice and black, made of leather, or something close enough. There are a few straps across the top, for no particular reason, and they go up a little ways above my ankles, which is always nice, since I've found that helps me keep my balance, somewhat. The real reason I love them, however, is the three inch boost they give to my height. Not enough to keep me from having to tilt my head up to look my sister in the eyes, but every little bit counts.
Now, if I weren't lazy, I'd have unhooked the chain that hangs across the back half of them, laden with little silver skulls, as it makes it rather difficult to move silently. My sister pointed out earlier today, however, that it made my boots match my earrings - or the first set, anyway, though the dangly feathers below them didn't exactly fit the pattern - and I'd liked that enough to let it go, since noise probably wouldn't be much of a factor, considering it doesn't look as if there was another person around for... Well, for however far away the preacher has driven by now.
I guess they're not the best shoes to be exploring in, but they are the best I have with me. I hadn't brought much in the way of actual shoes when I came to visit my big sister, sticking mostly to sandals and such. I'd vaguely considered "borrowing" some of her shoes, just like I'd thought about taking some of her other clothes, but I knew she wouldn't have anything that would fit. She's nine years older than me - even if she still acts more like I'm ten or something than fourteen, though even that's not nearly as bad as it once was - and quite a bit bigger, in any possible way.
I'd been extra lucky earlier tonight, when she'd gotten a call from work saying there'd been some kind of accident, and they needed her to cover for someone right away. She'd never have let me do this if she were around, and, if she'd had more time to plan, she'd probably have gotten one of her friends to come "entertain" me. Why she thinks I still needed a babysitter, I have no idea - I guess some things are just hard to let go of. But not this time. I took the phone off the hook "in case" she tried to call - and she would - to go along with the suggestion I'd made right as she was running out the door that I might call mom and dad. And I have my cell phone with me, if she decides to try that instead.
It's kind of strange, really. I never used to be so good at fooling my sister, when she actually still lived at home. But once she went away to college, and, now, to her own apartment, I somehow managed to get tons better. Maybe it's the kind of skill that just kinda ripens with age, or maybe she's out of practice in looking for the old signs that she's being played. My personal favorite theory is that she's getting old. She has her own place to live, a real job, her own life; she can do anything she wants to - other than rent a car. But the old synapses and neurons and whatever else she keeps in her brain just don't fire as quickly anymore. Tragic, really, though I suspect she was never really all -that- smart, anyway.
At least she keeps a flashlight in her apartment. Or kept, rather, as it's currently halfway between resting in one of my pockets and getting pulled out to light my path. It seems like it will match the rest of this expedition - rather half-assed - but I'm glad to have it, no matter how small it is. If I manage to fall outside, I'd probably break my neck once I was inside. I would bet their electric bills have been kept up on just as well as their grounds keeping. The flashlight had a holder, black, looks like it was made to go on a belt. I hadn't bothered to take it out when I'd removed it from the drawer it was in, don't bother now, either.
Surprisingly, the flashlight puts out a decent amount of light once I twist it on. Not that it helps all that much when pointed at the ground, since I already knew the tangles of grass were there. I pretend it does, anyway, figuring the walk might seem shorter if I keep my eyes on the ground rather than the destination. I look behind me only once, after a gust of wind blew some of the longer grass at the side of the path against my legs, find only what looks like an endless field there, no sign of the road. I turn back around quickly, stomach twisting a bit. I'd been walking in a straight line; it's not like I could be lost.
Hopefully.
I go a few more steps before glancing up finally, only the find my destination looming over me. I admit - I squeak a little in surprise, am probably lucky I don't fall onto my butt as I take an involuntary step back. It's so much bigger than I ever pictured, and even creepier. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure it was nice, back in the day, almost beautiful, even. Having whole panes of glass in more than a third of the windows would have helped, rather than the jagged edges that are left now, reflecting the rays from the flashlight like a hundred mouthfuls of teeth.
Well, maybe fewer than that, though it doesn't seem that way as I guide my light up and across the side of the building, seeming to grow larger every time I move, until I wonder if I'll ever reach the edge. There are other things, too, the dark scars of graffiti, written too large to make out any more than the odd individual letter with the flashlight. I should probably be grateful for that.
One of the set of double doors a few steps and a porch away from me is still there, hanging on desperately, behind the series of two by fours that tries to hide the absence of the door's partner. One of the boards looks about ready to fall - a few others apparently already have. The fact that they're all from the bottom of the doorway, making a space big enough for someone a little taller than me to crawl through comfortably, and thrown off to the side of the porch, nails still poking out, just barely silver enough through their rust to reflect my light, suggests they had some help.
Despite all the trouble I went through to get here, everything I'm risking, my own eagerness to prove those idiots - and myself - wrong, still I hesitate at the first step. I tell myself I'm not sure how stable the porch is, after... A hundred years? Two? Could be less, but I seem to remember a triple-digit number being thrown about, while the legend of the building was being spun. Doesn't mean it's true, of course; it's a nice excuse, that doesn't require me to admit being a bit scared.
'Just breathe,' a voice tells me, one I've learned to rely on in times like this, strangely familiar, even when I can't figure out who it belongs to. It's good advice, as always. Simple, gets the job done, and I can evaluate the building with a fresh mind.
It looks like the kind of place that has ghosts, and by the ton. And, if even a fraction of the stuff I'd heard about how its inhabitants were treated was true, there would be plenty about. That would be, of course, if ghosts were real. I shake my head with a forced laugh, the sudden sound scaring me almost as much as the building. There are no such things as ghosts, or anything of the sort. And if there are... They'll be here. And they won't be happy. I somehow doubt people who die in insane asylums usually are.
Thunder crackles across the air above me, building up to a BOOM!, loud enough to shake the step, assuming, of course, I hadn't imagined it, and I'm not shaking hard enough to cause it myself. After a couple seconds, the lightning follows, tearing the sky in half, throwing me into a brief daylight that only makes the asylum look even creepier, when the shadows snap back into place a moment later. Right on cue, the happy little sprinkle morphs into a downpour.
The rain still feels nice and cool, yet fourteen years of lecturing seem to have stuck far enough in my mind to let me know this was the kind of thing you'd "catch your death" from if you didn't get inside and dry off quick enough. While I can do the first, the second won't be happening for a while. Risking pneumonia isn't on my list of things to do while visiting my sister, or something likely to convince mom and dad to let me stay with her for any length of time again.
The steps are already soaked enough to keep me from trying to run up them, the roof of the porch so full of holes that when I get on my knees to crawl under the boards, they splash a little water up onto the hem of my skirt. I leave the flashlight on, just stuff it back in my pocket before making my way inside. I can still hear the rain outside, beating against the walls, but its muted in here, almost peaceful. I pause, rub my arm warmers, now soaked, against the skin, and the scars, underneath, while the water trapped inside is still nice and cool.
The flashlight comes out again. The first thing it happens upon is the other door, not two inches away from the damp handprint I'd made moments before, the spiral tips of a quartet of screws gleaming from a hinge. I pull my hands closer to me. Even without ghosts, this isn't the safest place... I shake my head; it's not like it's a surprise. I already knew that, or else I wouldn't have worried so much about not letting my sister find out I'm coming here.
I contemplate staying here - technically, I -am- inside. If there are ghosts, surely they'd be hungry enough to come find me, rather than making me seek them out. But it doesn't really prove a lot if I stay right by the door, not to mention how quickly its getting boring. If nothing else, there has to be more interesting stuff to look at than a fallen door inside, while I wait for the rain to die down some.
The next room doesn't prove me right, big and empty, the only interesting thing a pile of broken glass where the window had been broken, a rock in the center, water slowly flowing around it all. I know its silly, but I don't look too closely, afraid to see my reflection there. Not only do I already know what I look like - probably a drowned rat at this point, dark red hair (partially from the rain, mostly from dye) plastered against my head, and just the very beginning of my back, purple eyes with likely more than a hint of fear in them - but I also remember a horror story I'd read once, where somebody had gotten trapped in a mirror in a haunted house. Or it might have just been their soul... Either way, it got broken, and the person went crazy. Can't say I need that.
Not that I believe that sort of thing. Of course not. I'd just rather not chance it.
The flashlight dims for a moment as I step into the next room, moving further inside, away from the windows, until I give it a smack on the head. "Don't you dare," I warn, uncertain as to just what I could threaten it with. It brightens up, maybe even a little more than before. I start to smile at it, until I notice the center of the light it gives off almost looks like an eye, staring back at me from the floor, always watching, never blinking. I stay quiet, discretely tear my own eyes away to figure out what room this might be.
There are a few things off in the shadows, look to be chairs. I decide not to let the flashlight get any closer to them. I know they used to use electricity as a treatment. How, I don't know, but I always imagined it would be like electric chairs from movies, that criminals got executed on. I can live without knowing if I'm right.
I pretend not to notice my trembling hands while I walk through the room, trying to keep from seeing the chairs or the light. 'I'm not scared,' I insist. It's just an old building. I could stay here all night. Though, of course, that would be stupid. 'It's even,' I tell myself, 'kind of stupid to stay here any longer,' and I must agree. Sure, if I wanted to, I could hang around for a few hours, but I'd proved my point. I hadn't gotten my soul sucked out and swallowed, and...
Its hard to pretend nothing's wrong when I can barely get my pocket open to grab my cell phone; I do my best. She was going to kill me when I told her where I was, but it would (probably) be better than waiting for the rain to die enough not to threaten to drown me by the time I reached the road, much less by the time someone actually showed up who was willing to pick up hitchhikers.
'It's cold,' I nod. 'That's why my hands are shaking.' And why I feel like I'm about to pee in my pants. 'I'm catching a cold, just like mom always said I would. I'm not scared. Just need to get back to the apartment and dry off, or else I'd stick around until...'
Then my hands go still, as does every other part of my body, with the exception of my heart, which sounds louder than ever before - strange, since my blood feels like its frozen in place. It couldn't be... I had to have...
There it is again. A voice I hadn't heard in years, that I never expected to again.
What is she doing here? No, let me rephrase - What the -hell- is she doing here?!
I feel the ice that crept around my body replaced with fire, and I bolt forward, flashlight sending its beam all around, sometimes dulling, other times looking fresh and renewed, generally bouncing back and forth between the two so, even if I had time to worry about it, I wouldn't know which it would be a second later. For all the attention I was paying it, I could have just shut it off, but that would take too much time; I needed to keep going. The voice sounded like it was getting further away all the time...
I hear a sound, even further away, sounding suspiciously like my cell phone's ring tone, and I reach down to pull it out of my pocket. Just to see if it really was it, I tell myself. I'm not going to try to call anyone to get me, not until I figure out what's going on.
That pocket is empty, flapping open.
Crap. Must have dropped it when I was trying to get it earlier, back when I heard the voice. I contemplate going back to search for it, try to decide what I want to find more.
And then the flashlight dies, bathing me in complete darkness for a few precious seconds while my eyes adjust, try to drag in the light that must be coming from the window, since I can tell its there, somewhere in front of me. There's the voice again; I turn to face it, dash forward, straight into what is, miraculously, the first thing I've run into so far. I can't tell what it is, but I back away quickly, knee throbbing, back into something similar, except this one moves when I hit it, while I'm trying to grab onto it for support. The flashlight falls, hits the bottom of whatever it is with a sickening crunch.
I kneel, praying it had just fallen onto the ground, but my hand is met only with dust, and what I hope are cobwebs and not actual spiderwebs. The bottom of the thing seems to be a few inches above the floor, and the sides, oddly enough, are slatted, but without enough space for even -my- arm to reach through to the inside far enough (or possibly in the right space, since the flashlight -could- have rolled off to the side, I suppose) to do any good. Even on tiptoe, I can't reach the bottom, either. Thunder rumbles, lightning crashes, giving enough light for me to see the shape of a stool sitting a few feet away. I run into it as well, but at least I find it, drag it over.
My stomach feels a bit odd as I stand up on the stool, as if it wants me to know it votes this to be a bad idea. Or that it knows exactly what is going on. I'm not sure which, don't care. I don't actually know which way I came into the room anymore, and if I have the flashlight, at least I'll have something to blame it on, if smacking it doesn't make it revive.
My gut is right.
I hear a cracking sound beneath me as I bend forward, barely have time to register it as the stool before it breaks, spilling me forward. For its effort, my tummy finds itself hung over the edge of this thing I'm trying to get into, as it starts to swing, with a horribly loud creaking sound. I have long enough to consider pushing myself backwards so I can land on my feet, then I lose the chance.
I think I scream as I slide forward instead, twisting so that I don't hit my head. Instead, my whole body bangs against the hard wood at the bottom of whatever this is. The creaking turns into a pair of loud snaps, and suddenly, I'm falling again. I -know- I scream as the whole contraption hits the floor, rattling the teeth in my skull. I only have a little squeak left for the final crash, a split second later, the one that comes from above, almost like the lid of a coffin falling into place, accompanied again by that far off music that could almost be my cell phone.
On the plus side, all the commotion seems to have wakened the flashlight, and it sputters to life again, shining through wooden bars, to light the figure beyond, smiling at me with that amused look she always had when I screwed things up. "Nadine?" I whisper, more because my lungs are still low on air than for dramatic effect.
"Hi, Penni," she smiles. "Where are your glasses?"
It is her, little Nadine. And I can call her that for once in my life - she looks like she's still eleven, same as last time I saw her. Not that it matters now, as she still towers above me when I'm lying on my stomach. I can't see her eyes to tell if they're green or not, but her hair shines like gold in the flashlight's beam, flowing almost as if in a breeze, and, just as always, she looks miles prettier than me, even three years younger rather than six months older. As always, I feel like a little kid in her presence.
Certainly doesn't help that I realize, finally, just what it is my flashlight is shining through the side of to a short and rusted length of broken chain beside it, what I'm laying inside. "What is a crib doing here?" I ask, as if a figment of my imagination could answer.
She doesn't, sticks out her tongue. "Haven't you gotten over your 'answering questions with questions' phase yet?"
I ignore her, best I can, telling myself I should be happy as a clam Jen isn't here to see this. She would just love this crib thing, would have loved it even more that summer, back when she tricked me into diapers. I still can't believe I was dumb enough to fall for that, to get myself stuck as a baby for her amusement. It's even harder to think I'd almost been convinced I missed it, a few years ago. What can I say? I was a stupid kid.
I shake my head, trying to clear all those thoughts out of it while I roll over onto my back, start to sit up, reaching up to lift the lid that had slammed down after the whole thing fell, only to have her hop on top. So quick, so graceful, even in the dim light here, so like everything I know I'm not. I swear I can almost feel the denim of her jeans brush against my fingertips...
"Oh, come on, Penni, don't you want to talk for a little while? We haven't seen each other in so long." She giggles, making my skin crawl. What is she planning?
Nothing. She's not planning anything, damn it! She's dead, has been for longer than I can remember! Last time I "talked" to her, I was just a baby. And all those other times... Well, those weren't her. It was just me. That was the whole point of coming here.
I guess it was about two weeks ago now, back when school had just let out for the summer. I think we'd gone to Steak 'n' Shake that day - yeah, I'm pretty sure, because I remember I was just finishing mixing up the whipped cream up with the rest of my milk shake when she'd asked the question.
Lilly is pretty, too, like Nadine, except nice. Our little meetings had been her idea, back last year, when she was going off to high school, leaving me in junior high by myself. We'd always get our moms to take us to some restaurant once a week, so we'd be able to see each other, since I live out in the middle of nowhere, which had gotten deathly boring with both Caileigh and Jen gone, and she lives in town, with stupid neighbors who complain if we giggle too loud during sleep overs. Still don't know why they -wouldn't- want to be up at 1, anyway. It could be mostly all the sugar and caffeine I'm usually on by that point, but I love being awake then. Then again, I'm sure part of it has to do with mom still making me go to bed at 10:30, because she's a total freaking whore.
Not that Jen is much better. Oh, she acted like she was going to be the cool older sister, and let me stay with her and do whatever I wanted, but when I get there, what does she say? "It's 11, Penni, you'd better get to bed." Completely unfair.
Anywho, Lilly's mom hadn't actually brought her that day - she hadn't for a while. I don't think my mom liked that much, even though she said it was nice to have the time to get some shopping done without me asking why we couldn't get this or that, or complaining about her taste in whatever she was shopping for (like I really do that any more... too much...).
It was either Kara or Glenn who'd driven her. I can never remember whose car it actually is; I've seen both of them drive it about the same amount. I asked them once if they were dating. Sometimes I wonder if that's one of the reasons they decided they hated me. I guess they're both going to be seniors, come summer's end.
"I thought it would be good if you knew some upperclassmen, you know? Other than me," Lilly had explained it to me, the one time I'd gotten up the courage to ask why she always invited them to our hanging-out sessions. "And I thought you'd like them. But, if you don't, then I can tell them to leave, no problem. It's up to you, Penni."
I'd shaken my head, told her it was fine, feeling a little ashamed of being annoyed at her for something that she only meant to help me. I'd regretted it ever since, never quite enough to make me bring it back up. And never as much as I did that day, when Kara interrupted me while I was telling Lilly why I wouldn't be keeping up our meetings for a few weeks.
"Hey, isn't that the place with the, uh..." Kara began. I assume. It was difficult to tell for sure, since she was holding a cherry stem in her mouth at the same time, trying to prove she could tie a knot in it with her tongue. It's the translation that makes the most sense with what Glenn said next:
"The haunted loony bin? Yeah, that's it."
Lilly looked up then, too, and I dragged my eyes away from my milk shake. However, -she- actually knew what they were talking about. "Yeah, I've heard that," she nodded. "Closed down back..."
"I think it was like the 1800s or some crap," Kara shrugged.
Glenn must have picked up his napkin at some point during all this, since I then noticed something white floating at the corner of my eye, saw him moving his makeshift ghost back and forth on his side of the table. "Whooo, haunted," he whispered, I imagine trying to sound creepy.
I'm not sure why I did it - they hadn't been all that bad so far that day. Maybe I was just feeling tired, or maybe I had a headache. Maybe I'd been hoping to actually talk to Lilly without having to listen to them. Whatever caused it, I rolled my eyes, said what I'd wanted to on so many occasions, usually more so than this.
"Shut up."
If I'd been thinking clearly, I'd have known that would only make the problem worse.
"Yeah, stop it, Glenn, you're scaring her!" Kara slugged him on the arm, making me glad she didn't consider me enough of a friend to do that - it looked like it hurt.
Glenn just smiled. "Oh, I'm sorry... Forgot lil' Penni is still afraid of those big bad ghosties."
That's when I made my second mistake: I let them know they were bothering me. "I am not!" I insisted, just a hair louder than I'd meant, crossed my arms and glared at them both.
"Of course you don't, hon," Kara nodded patronizingly.
"You should go check it out, then," Glenn suggested.
"Yeah. You'd feel right at home at an insane asylum."
I didn't realize Lilly was following me, though I'm sure she called my name at least once, until I nearly slammed the bathroom door in her face. I don't remember a lot after that, although it's difficult to -forget- her begging me not to go, as if she could read my mind, tell what I was planning on doing already. Maybe she could.
I probably would have followed her advice, too, if Jen hadn't been called off to work tonight, likely wouldn't have gotten the chance to go off to the edge of town by myself otherwise. It had felt like fate then, like the world was giving me the chance to prove to myself that I hadn't been lying that day, that I didn't believe that ghosts were real, or that the moon had been out to get me when I was a kid, or that stars could talk to me, had in point of fact assured me one night that the moon might still be there, outside my window, but he was a captive now, he was in chains, trapped like he'd kept them trapped.
I don't believe in any of that. Not any more. The moon was just a pretty light, that's it. And Nadine was even less, because there's no such thing as ghosts. What better place to prove that than here? Not that I'm doing a terrific job of it.
"You're not real," I tell Nadine, feeling even more sure of myself now, but needing the feel of those words to remind myself that's really what I believe now.
'Just tell them you don't,' someone had told me once. 'Tell them, and close your eyes, and when you open them again, they'll be gone.' I don't remember who said it now, but it feels like a person who knew what they were talking about. So I close my eyes.
The fire is waiting for me there, like always, the smell of burning hay, the ache in my arms awakened anew. I ignore it as best I can - something else that person taught me, I feel certain.
It never had worked quite as well as they seemed to think it would. I open my eyes again, half expecting to find myself back in the midst of the inferno, watching helplessly as my refuge from the world crumbles to the ground.
I'm not. I'm still in a giant crib, flashlight struggling to stay alive beside me. And Nadine is still there, sitting above me, smiling.
"If I'm not real," she says, "why don't you just take off the top and leave?"
I glower at her for a moment, then take her suggestion, thrusting my hands upward with all my strength, hoping (somewhat ridiculously, given just how much strength I really had in my arms) to send the lid sailing across the room, perhaps even through the window. I just end up with a couple of sore palms, and an amused Nadine.
"Satisfied?" she grins.
I shake my head, feeling tears starting to flow down my face. "You're not real!" I scream at her, pounding on the top of the crib again. "You're nothing!"
I swear I hear a crack, and turn my head to see it, starting to reach for the flashlight until a bolt of lightning lit up the room, all the way down to the hole in the floor, and the fingers snaking up out of it.
"You're not real," I whisper.
"If you say so," she shrugs, jumping down. "See if I ever try to help you again."
"Like you ever helped me," I scoff. "You've never liked me! You always get me in trouble!"
"How can I do that," she smiles, "if I'm not real?"
"Screw you," I growl, beginning to sit up again, but the top still doesn't budge. For a moment, I'm almost relieved; she -hadn't- been keeping me trapped after all. Maybe I was right.
"I just wanted you to see," she tells me, sounding almost sad as she walks away.
Then my hand brushes against the chain.
There's no convenient flash of lightning, so I raise my flashlight, heart beginning to pound, lips uttering a hundred different prayers while the voice tells me, ever so faintly, that I don't need them, this isn't what I think.
It is. There's a chain wrapped around the top of the crib now, holding it closed, and snaking away into the darkness. As I follow it back with the flashlight, I see it snaking along the ground, through a pile of broken glass, and finally up the wall and out of the broken window.
"It's not what I think," I whisper to myself. I'm just imagining this, too."
The chain snaps up suddenly, going taut, stretching up into the sky, up and up. The clouds part for a moment, just enough to show me where the chain was headed, for him to smile at me, I'm sure highly amused to find me like this.
No! No, he's not! It's just the moon, he - it, not he, it! - can't be amused about anything, more than any other hunk of rock.
I turn over, deciding I'd rather do that than risk the flames again, and find myself facing a sea of legs, attached to which is a group of faces, dead eyes staring coldly down at me in my cage. They all look strangely familiar, yet, at the same time, they seem like they belong here. One is holding a clipboard in a hand that looks like its about to snap off under the weight. Another has a syringe, dangling precariously between the only two whole fingers it has left. They're all wearing white.
"You're not real, either," I promise them, wishing the thumping in my chest would quiet down. Don't want them to think it's too strong, or it's the first thing they'll go after.
I close my eyes, for as long as I can bear to feel the heat against my face, as long as I can listen to myself saying that it was over, that everything was gone.
"You still have your house," one of them says as I open my eyes, except... not. "I know you went to the barn to deal with things, but it isn't healthy to try to hide from your problems all the time."
"That's all I know how to do," I repeat myself, from all those years ago, from a time I hadn't remembered, not until now. "I tried to face them once, but the stupid moon is just too tricky, I don't know what to do."
"Well," her voice echoes from then, that same strange smile, almost comforting if not for the confusion spread across it, coming to her face now, looking much spookier with that pair of dead eyes above it. Her eyes had been blue. Bright blue. "That's what we're going to help you with."
The chain tightens, gives a sudden yank, and the crib shakes. I drop the flashlight in surprise, the all seeing eye it exudes falling onto the woman with the clipboard, spreading across her face. She looks as surprised as a zombie can for a second, and then she stumbles backwards with a moan. The others watch with muted fascination as she falls, writhing, onto the floor. Then they start coming towards me again. They don't seem very happy.
"Go away!" I warn them. My hand is on the flashlight again, on the holder, like a sword's sheathe, or the holster for a gun. But more like a sword, I tell myself. Like a sword, that isn't nearly as powerful, until you take it out.
I unsheathe the flashlight, force my hands to be steady as I slash the beam of light across their ranks, the eye opening and closing greedily as it moves over their faces, filling the room with the screams of those with enough vocal chords left to make any sound, as they fall to their knees, half-rotten bones snapping as their bodies contort in pain.
I don't have time to feel sorry for them. I turn my attention to the other side of the room, ready to release my weapon against the chains, hoping it has enough power now to gnaw through them, to get me free. It might have, if it hadn't died halfway through my roll.
"No!" I scream, banging it against the floor of the crib. The moon's laughter echoing through the room. The crib screeches closer to the window, as I throw myself against the opposite side, trying to slow its progress, trying to do something. "Let me go!"
I don't know if he heard me - the screeches of the zombies were dying down now, so I guess he could have - or what, but, amazingly, he does. The chains slowly begin to unwind from around the top of the crib, and to slither back up into the sky. I let myself relax for a moment, just waiting for the next wave of his attack...
"Penni?"
I turn, get blinded by the light shining into my eyes, coming ever closer, along with the person holding it.
"Jen?"
She looks around the room for a few seconds before letting the light fall on me again. "I have to admit, Penni, I love the crib, but what in the hell is it that you think you're doing?"
I shrink back against the other side of the crib, wondering if the moon might be willing to try to drag me out of here now. "I-I got trapped," I told her. "I dropped your flashlight in here, and then..."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
I shrug, watch her struggle with the top of the crib for a minute before yanking it open. "I was just... exploring..."
"On the opposite end of town?" She grabs me, easily lifts me out and sets me on my feet. "When I -told- you to stay in the apartment?"
I nod quietly, biting on my bottom lip to keep from bursting into tears after everything. I can still see one of the zombies, behind Jen, give a final shudder, and I whimper slightly.
"Penni?" Jen's voice gentles a bit, and I grab her right before my hands start to shake again. "Let's get you home," she says, giving me a kiss on the top of my head as I start to cry anyway. I nod as she silently hands me back my cell phone, open, the screen slightly cracked, and let her lead me back out to the porch, to her car, parked among the grass growing in the middle of the walkway. "Where's your bike parked, baby?" she asks. She doesn't like the answer.
She drives me back to her apartment, and by the time we get inside, I've calmed down enough to know what to expect.
Sure enough, when I try to sneak back to the bathroom, hoping to give -her- more of a chance to calm down, too, she grabs my arm and steers me into the kitchen, sits me down in one of her chairs while she stands in front of me, like an interrogator in a cop movie.
"I have to go to the bathroom," I complain.
"It can wait," she tells me, like she'd know. "We need to have a little talk, don't you think?"
I consider shaking my head; I doubt she'd find it amusing, even if she had given me a chance. Instead, she launches into some rant that somehow makes this whole thing about her, and was this my way of repaying her for letting me stay with her, and did I think mom and dad would ever trust me with her again now? And how she'd had to find somebody to cover for -her- when I hadn't answered my cell.
-Then- she moves on to me, and how I was lucky Lilly had answered her phone (why in the world she had Lilly's phone number, unless she stole it from my phone, is something I decide not to bring up just now) and even luckier she'd been willing to rat me out when I didn't answer for -her-, either. Oh, but my luck wasn't limited to that, oh no. I was even more lucky that I hadn't gotten in the car with some crazed lunatic, and just what was I thinking going -hitchhiking-? Not to mention breaking (since I'd so obviously broken the stupid door) and entering.
"I'm sorry?" I try at the end, in the slight hope she might, deep down, feel sorry enough for me to accept it. I guess it might have helped if I'd met her eyes while I said it, rather than staring down at my lap, where I'm playing with the hem of my skirt, wiggling a bit.
"Why don't you try telling that to mom and dad after they hear about this?" she suggests.
That would certainly end well. "You're not going to tell them, are you?" I ask quietly.
"Well," she glares down at me, crossing her arms. "Maybe we could come up with some sort of... bargain..."
I roll my eyes. Totally should have seen that coming. Dummy.
"What do you think? You think we could come up with something? Or do you just want me to tell them?"
That's when I feel my bladder - never the strongest - give way, and I quickly move my hands away from my skirt as I feel it growing wet, warmth spreading across my bottom and my face.
"That's what I thought," she says, a hint of a smile playing across her face as she reaches her hand. I take it reluctantly, and let myself get led to her bathroom, hoping she'd at least let me pick what to wear to the store we'll surely be going to after my bath. Assuming, of course, she doesn't already have a package of diapers waiting for just such an occasion as this. She always was a crafty one...
The moon grins at me from the bathroom window. I tell Jen to close the curtain.
"It's a nice night," she claims, "now that the storm's died down."
"Just close the curtain."
"Do you -really- want to keep telling me what to do right now?"
I shrug and give up. It's not like this is any big surprise, I guess. I always had suspected she was working with him.
Guess I was right.
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