Unheard Voice Chapter 11 and 12

Sue works to free Miranda.

Chapter 11

I sat nervously in the back of the car as my mother rode up front with the witch. The two women were speaking. My heart raced as I eyed the old woman in the passenger seat. She looked paler, but otherwise the same as always. A disgusted look covered her face. It was a look that I was glad she was not casting towards me.

Nervously, I shifted about as I thought of my meeting with Roger. If he had texted me the message, then I had overcome my lack of a voice… almost. I had not told my mother yet, but I no longer had my phone. I had lost it. Back when I fell in the abandoned high school, it fell into the dust and stone. I had to go back there and find it. I needed the recording he sent me.

But that was not the issue this very moment. At this very moment, we were on our way to Harriet’s house. With every second, we came closer and closer to the witch’s home. I turned my head to watch the houses go by. We were on one of the same streets that we used every day to return from class. Part of my heart screamed in stress as we broke off the familiar route and headed along a new street. The houses looked the same as on any other street.

We turned into a strange driveway… into Harriet’s driveway. I expected her home to be some mansion fit for a horror movie, but no… it was just an ordinary little home. It was probably just a little smaller than ours. My mother turned to me a sign, “Please, help her up the stairs. Let her lean on your arm.”

Nodding my head, I got out of the car and stepped up to Harriet’s door. It swung open as I approached. The aged librarian turned her legs out. They were swollen and were a little red. She reached out her wrinkled arm to take my own. Revulsion overcame me as the folds of her skin molded around my arm. It took every ounce of my will to keep from vomiting, and more as I walked her towards the door. Step by step, Harriet leaned on me as we ascended the concrete steps to her home. My mother rushed ahead to unlock the door.

I gagged on the smell as we crossed the threshold. It was the stench of dust and stale cabbage. Harriet guided me to a mothy couch. It sagged in the middle where the woman sat down. As soon as she released me with her grimy hands, I back away from her. I quickly checked out her home. The furniture was all the same black and floral pattern and wicker material. The cushions on her couches were flat and made for an uncomfortable surface. The fireplace mantel and the table tops were covered in old pictures. I stared back at a progression of her aging face.

Her entire life was laid out before me. The same portrait of her husband on their wedding day. Them holding their children. Graduations, and birthdays, and parties, and a dozen other moments showed Harriet and her husband. I eyed each in turn and a single thing showed back in all of them. In every single photograph, he husband was not smiling. His mouth was locked into a firm line… No, that was not true. Tucked in a corner, behind a large family portrait with two elementary aged children, was one where he was smiling.

It showed two women and a single man. They could only have been my age, maybe a little older. All the other photos pointed to the girl standing in the back with her hand on the boy’s shoulder as Harriet, but the other two… The teenage boy must have been her husband. He was sitting in a chair with another girl in his lap. Was that Miranda I wondered?

She had said that Harriet attacked her for a man…

My mind swirled as my imagination was consumed by a single thought.  The reason her husband never smiled was because of some spell he was under. He was only by her side for all those years. If not for Harriet, surely, he would have been with Miranda…

Were they friends once? Girls divided on a boy. I had gotten into a fight with Jamie back in elementary school over a boy. We had avoided each other for three years and that only changed when she moved away. Yes, I could believe Harriet had attacked Miranda for a man. Anyone drunk on power could easily do it.

My mother came in holding a cup of tea for each of us. Harriet gladly accepted the cup. I just sat down on an armchair which was at least three times my age and likely had not moved in at least two. A cloud of dust shot out and stung my nose. I stifled a cough, but my throat continued to burn. My reflection stared up at me from my cup. I raised it to my lips, but stopped before the fluid touched my lip. Over the ceramic rim, I watched as the two woman exchanged words. My mother’s face softened as she gulped down her cup. My heart grew slow as a grin covered the old woman’s wrinkled face. Chills swept over me and I lowered my cup, untouched.

My eyes fretted about the room. Eventually, my eyes returned to the old pictures. After a few seconds, my mother tapped me on the leg and pointed at Harriet. Her mouth ran through several motions which my mother interpreted, “You are looking at my pictures. That was my husband, Mark. He passed on a few years ago. Those are our children, Hannah and Robert. They live down in Colorado with our grandchildren.” Stupidly, I gestured to the picture of her and the other two. “She was a dear friend. It is sad what happened to her.”

I raised my hands to ask for more, but my mother silenced me with a single look. I shifted about uncomfortably, from both the chair and the change in the air. Shaking my hand, I asked if I could use her bathroom.

“Upstairs to the left,” my mother translated the librarian’s words.

Gesturing my thanks, I slipped away. As my feet stepped onto the old carpet, dust rose into the air. It was the only thing that disrupted the air as I ascended the stairs. My movements seemed slowed as if by an unseen force. Biting my lip, I pressed on. The directions brought me straight to the old woman’s bed room. More photos watched my every movement. I could swear that a few were moving with me. My fingers brushed the aged comforter which lay over her bed. The center of the bed sagged in to tell me of its age. An unused wooden cane rest against the far wall with a layer of dust over it. It was unremarkable except for the mustang carved into the handle.

Shuddering from a cold wind that blew through the window to send the curtains dancing towards, drove me on. Her bathroom door stood open. My shoes having difficulty finding a firm grip on the slick tile. Many of the walls showed signs of water damage on the sheetrock. I rested my hand on the towel rack as I passed by and the whole fixture tilted. I jumped back fearing it would fall to the ground, but it held its post by only a few screws.

                My mind struggled to finish with the thought which truly drove me here. I had come up with the idea when I stole back Miranda, but now I could put it to use. Frantically, my eyes scanned her counter in search of a single item… a brush. The only thing that covered her counter was orange pill bottles. I pulled the first drawer in hopes of finding it. Instead I found her tooth brush, beauty products, and makeup. I slammed it shut so hard that several bottles topped to the ground. Cursing, I knelt down to retrieve them.

                Dust and hairs clambered onto my hands they touch the flooring. Vigorously, I shook them off. They felt disgusting to touch as I imagined where each could come from. I was just about to stand again, when I caught something with my eyes. It was only the faintest reflection of light, but I knew what it was before I pinched it between my fingers. It was a single strand of the woman’s gray hair. A smile parted my lips before it faded. It was just one, I needed more. Storing it in my pocket, I returned to rummaging among the drawers only to find no comb. What did she tame her hair by magic?

                Complaining to myself, I stepped back into her bedroom. I stepped as softly as I could, not know if the floor would creak with my weight. Placing one foot before the other, I snuck to her bed. All the while, the people in the pictures watched my every movement. My hands swept over her pillows for even the slightest crease. After several slow passes, I found them. A dozen tiny hairs that fell away at night. I judged each before stashing them in my pocket. Smiling, I danced down the stairs to rejoin my mother and our host.

                I stopped dead as I reached the landing. The two women looked at me with suspicion filled eyes. Did they think something was up? Did they know the real reason I went upstairs?

                “Did you find the bathroom alright?” My mother questioned.

                “Yes, I did.”

                “You did remember to flush, didn’t you?” I hesitated at her accusation. It was a true one. I never made the actual detour that I had intended.

                “Yes, I did.”

                “Odd. We never heard it flush. I guess we were too engrossed in our conversation,” she wrote it off. I felt my face redden. I had forgotten about the sound. I forgot that toilets made noise when used. Idiot. Trying to hide my shame, I returned to my chair and waited through my mother’s doting on the old woman.

                It was sickening to watch. Did she not know that the woman was a witch? Of course not. If people know she was a witch, they would have stopped her by now. She had everyone tricked with the defenseless old woman trick. How? The simplest solution was a spell, of course. Something that had to be spoken. Something that had to be heard. That’s why I was safe. I knew that. That’s why I had to help Miranda and confront the witch.

                I kept my musing to myself for an hour or more before my mother stood up. The old woman struggled to come to her feet, and my mother swooped in to help her to her feet. Stupidly, I raised my hands, “Do you need your cane?”

                “That isn’t my cane. It was my husband,” the old woman defended. “I don’t need one.”

                But my mother protested, “Sue, please go get the cane for Mrs. Harriet before we go.”

                Swallowing hard, I turned and for a second time, made my way up the stairs. The pictures seemed surprised to see me once more. Doing my best to ignore the sensation of being watched, I moved forward. A thought popped into my head as I moved… Could this be people she trapped? People like Miranda. Idly, I lifted one of them and tilted the frame this way and that, but I could not tell. When I looked straight at the black and white image, it was still, but when I watched from a distance… Forcing the thought down, I snagged the wooden cane. The horse shaped handle felt uncomfortable in my palm as did the dust that lay over it. Sweat mixed with the grim and coated my hands. Eagerly, I wiped my hand on my pants to get it off, but I could swear that it was still there.

                “Here,” I motioned as I handed the cane to Harriet, careful not to touch her malformed hands. Her fingers wrapped around the head as she bore her weight down upon the poor horse. A foul stink filled her eyes as she ushered us from her home. It was a request that I was glade to accept. The evening air was a blessed relief from the stink that was inside. I shivered the in wind that nipped at my ears, but paid no mind as I climbed back into the car… All the while, Harriet watched me. Her eyes never blinked as my mother backed the car into the street. Relief swept over me as we sped down the darkened street.

                 A gentle rhythm thumped through my feet as we stopped at the corner. “This is a nice song,” I comment at the beating assuming it was the radio playing. But my mother only turned the car. My heart stopped as she pulled the car over, out of sight of Harriet’s house. I stared back at my mother in confusion.

                It turned to horror as my mother reached out for me, her hands patting me down. Pulling one hand back, she explained, “What did you take?” Her other hand edging into my pockets. I could feel the pressure going down onto the gray hairs I pulled from the pillows. How did she know? Did Harriet know? What was going to happen?

                “I didn’t take anything,” I lied. I spread my hands apart in a poor defense. Did she know I was lying? If she knew I took the hairs, then of course. The pat down continued for several more long heart beats. Finally, she sighed and sat back up in her chair.

                “Sorry. I jumped to conclusions.”

                “What?”

                “I thought you stole something when you went upstairs.”

                “Why would I do that?” I pressed.

                “It’s what I did when I was your age. I got arrested for shoplifting a couple times, too.”

                “Why would you assume that I would do something like that?”

                “You’ve been acting up of late, and… it just seemed like you might.”

                “No, mom. I stole nothing,” I swore.

                “Okay. You just seemed off. You’ve been off ever since we arrived here.”

                “Sorry,” I rubbed my fist to my chest.

                “Okay. Let’s get something fast from that place. The one we went when we first came here. I don’t have the energy to cook.”

                I stuck my tongue out in disgust.

                “Would you like to go home and cook? I’ve seen your cooking. You’re bad.” She did not wait for my retort, not that I had one. My mother put the car back into gear and rolled along the streets. Lampposts twinkled to life as we pulled into the parking lot. A rope was hung across the drive-thru, barricading it. A crude white sign reflected our headlights warning of the drive-thru being closed.

                “I guess we go inside to order,” I smiled weakly. She swung the car into an empty spot and shut it off. The smell of oily food assaulted us once we passed the door. My mother quickly excused herself the restroom, leaving me alone before the counter. The place was almost empty save for the staff and a single family. Their small child sat at a table all by himself. Someone had removed the benches from a couple of tables and replaced them with saddles. The young child sat happily on the odd sit, his little legs kicking an imaginary horse while he crammed fries into his mouth. I waved my fingers at the child who gladly returned in kind. A burly teenager behind the counter eyed me expectantly as I read the menu. His patience was quick to run out and he began to wave me forward. My hands swept over my body. Cursing myself, I realized I had no paper on me. Without that, I could not order… I could not speak.

                My head spun to the restroom, awaiting my mother. What was taking her? The cashier’s face grew red at my hesitation and he waved more feverishly now. Timidly, I stepped up to the counter and held up two fingers. The boy was confused and mouthed several words asking for clarification. I pointed to the menu and repeated with the fingers. He finally grasped my desire and pressed several buttons on his cash register. His lips parted in his next question, but I mimicked a small cup in my hand. Seeing it as the same size as their smallest size, I held one up and I nodded. He tapped the dispenser for the sodas and I tapped the Coke one. He immediately filled the drink. Assuming he was asking what else, I repeated the process again with orders for my father and brother.

                Just as the cashier finished the third order, my mother tapped me on the shoulder. “Sorry, I took so long. Your dad called and I told him we would be home shortly.” She then placed her order much quicker than I had done mine and then double checked the order before calling it good.

                “You know I hate ordering.”

                “Well, I’m not always there for you. You’ve got to learn.”

                “I know how to order. It’s just a pain,” I complained as we loaded our bags into the car. The warm bags scolded my legs on the short ride home. “This is a good song,” I told my mother as we stopped at one of the six stoplights in the town. A strong beat was strumming up my legs.

                My mother looked confused at me, “The radio is off,” she said. “What are you felling?” I began to tap in unison with the rhythm. My mother’s head spun like a top until finally she stared ahead and smacked herself with her fingers. “Blinker light. You mistook the blink for the radio.”

                “At least we know it is working,” I joked at my own amusement before we pulled up to the house. I shouldered my backpack while my mom snatched up the greasy bags. My brother had cleared the kitchen table for us. My backpack sent a weak quake upon hitting the floor as I slipped into my chair. Hurriedly, I scarfed down my burger before escaping to my room. Tossing my bag onto the bed, I dragged out Miranda’s book. I stared at the leather binding as I fished around in my pocket for the gray hairs.

                I’ve got the hairs, I thought as I opened the book.

                That’s great. The words were etched into the next page. The letters were abnormally large.

                The only thing left is the incantation. I can’t speak, but I have it on my cell phone. I just need to retrieve it and I can get you out.

                A what? I read next.

                A cell phone. I guess those weren’t out when you were free. It has a video recording of someone saying the spell. It should work.

                Do it. Please. I can’t stay in here any longer. Her please bite at my heart. I had to get my phone, but that was not possible now. For a moment, I thought of sneaking out of the house. Could I make my way across town at night undetected? Maybe, but… My musings were interrupted as Joe flopped onto my bed. Hurriedly, I slammed Miranda’s book shut. The gust of force nearly pushing the gray hairs to the edge of my desk.

                “Rumor has it that you and mom had it out in the middle of class,” Joe jumped to his question.

                “We had a talk.”

                “That’s not what I heard. Sounded pretty intense.”

                “It was. There were some harsh words. But…”

                “But she needed to know them. I get you. You still mad at her?”

                “A little,” I answered by holding my thumb near my pinky.

                “Liar.” He was right. The anger had not subsided yet.

                “Think you’ll be okay with mom in class tomorrow?”

                “I don’t know.” I through my hands up. Joe got up and moved towards me.

                “Think you’ll go to the Homecoming dance this weekend?”

                “What?” I was confused at the random question. “Why? Who with?”

                “What about one of those people you had lunch with? Yeah, I saw you. Might be fun. I hear they got an awesome sound system. You should be able to feel the beat pretty good.”

                “Doubtful. I am grounded.”

                “I think mom will let you go. She’s not that much of a stickler. You’ll just be my date.” All I could do was raise my eyebrow at him. There was no word needed for my question. Rather than reply, he reached out and snatched up on of Harriet’s gray hairs from my desk. “What? Are you going gray already?” His comment drew my ire and I slapped him across the belly. “Oh, you wound me,” he joked before tossing the hair into the trash and strode away chuckling to himself.

                As I retrieved the discarded hair, a thought pressed into my mind. The dance… That could be my cover to escape my parents. My lips curled into a smile as the details came together.

 

 

 

Chapter 12

                I kept glancing over my shoulder as I emptied my backpack into my locker. My mother watched the passing students to my luck. I was hiding Miranda and the spell book and a few other objects in my locker. Hopefully, I would be able to retrieve them later. Everything was for my preparations. For now, I had consigned myself to another day in school with my mother serving as an interpreter. Yesterday’s argument still hung in the air. My nerves twitched at sitting beside her throughout the day. I could detect a hint of distain in her signs this morning.

                “Finished,” I waved my hands. My mother fell into step alongside me. Together we settled into our places for my first class. I silently complained that Mrs. Farris was still out sick and I was left. As the lectures began, I watched as my mother’s hands shifted. Though my eyes never left my mother’s fingers, my mind was elsewhere. There was one thing I still needed to save Miranda. Just one thing, but that was hidden in a burnt-out building. I had to get my cell phone back. I had to go back to the old school.

                That thought kept plaguing my mind all day. I had everything I needed. I was certain, but what could go wrong? The last time I was there, I fell through the floor. I still had cuts on my legs and was pulling splinters outs. What would happen if I fell again? There would be no one to help me. What would my mother say if she found me there again? Grounded would be the least of my punishment. That was assuming she did not kill me.

                I could not think that way. I had to do this. Miranda needed my help. And this was the only way. No one else truly believed me. Roger may know about the books, but he was hesitant. He had barely seen the spell book, and never Miranda’s. There is no way, I could ask him to come, least of all with his broken leg. No, I was alone.

                “You okay?” My mother questioned between classes. “You were making faces.”

                “Just thinking?”

                “About what?” she asked as we passed by a poster for Homecoming. “Is that it? You want to go to the dance?”

                “I don’t know,” I shrugged, not wanting to expose my true feelings. “I don’t have anyone to go with.”

                “Neither does your brother. You could go together.”

                “But, I’m grounded.”

                “We can budge.”

                Slyly, I smirked at her. She had given in too easy. No matter how mad she had been on me, she was still a loving mother panged with guilt from our argument. She was like any mother. She wanted me happy. And she wanted me to forgive her… for dragging me across country… for my isolation… for accusing me of stealing. She needed my approval.

                My mother avoided real conversation as the morning worn on. She did not even bother to ask if I understood the concepts. She just allowed me to be there.

                She followed me to a table at the back of the lunch room as we were freed from morning classes. We were alone as I rocked back and forth on the stiff metal chair. Nervously, my eyes darted about. Some people eyed my mother. She was the only adult in the entire room. After several minutes, someone’s curiosity got the better of them, and joined as at the table.

                Idly, I waved at one of the girls I met the other day, Kathy, pulled the chair out to join us. Automatically, my mother jumped in and her mouthed her question. My mother was quickly pulled between Kathy’s voice, and my hands as they flashed out the message, “She’s Kathy,” I introduced, “A friend.” I linked two of my fingers together lightly. The two women exchanged quick words while I fished out my notebook.

                “Do you want me to interpret?” my mother asked.

                Vigorously, I clicked my fingers together in a “No,” with my left hand while I wrote with my right, “What’s up?” I passed my message to Kathy.

                “Just came to see why you didn’t join us today.” I inclined my head to my mother. It was ever such a slight movement, but Kathy caught it. “You going to the dance tomorrow?”

                “Maybe. You?”

                “No. I’m a ranch kid,” she wrote down.

                “Ranch kid?” I circled the phrase.

                “I live out in Granger, a ranch town outside town. I’m on the bus for almost two hours each way. I don’t have a car, so unless my folks drive me in, I don’t come into town.”

                “Sorry to hear,” I scribbled back. As I moved to offer the pen back to Kathy, my mother jumped in.

                “You could stay with us,” my mother. I was flabbergasted. I did not expect this. I did not expect her to offer harbor so abruptly. My plan to help Miranda would be foiled if she came. My heart raced as she thought. Silently, I prayed that she would decline… And part of me veered the other way.

                “I can’t. I don’t want to impose.”

                “No. You wouldn’t be.”

                “But, I wouldn’t have a dress.”

                “I’m sure Sue has one you could steal,” my mother offered.

                “I’ll need to call my folks and get their approval first. But thank you.”

                And it was this that landed Kathy in my room that evening. Back and forth, we were passing a notebook between us. Her loopy handwriting covered much more of the pages than my tiny scrawl. We shared stories of our differing upbringings. She told me of growing up on the ranch, tending to cattle, learning to ride. It was not long before we found common ground. Both of us grew of in very insular circles. Mine was my fellow deaf students, and her were the few people who grew up around the ranches. She shared stories of her group that the others would never allow to be known.

                For the first time since arriving in the dust ridden town, I found myself laughing on the floor. My ribs and face hurt from laughing. Tears stung at my eyes as I struggled to read Kathy’s handwriting. She rummaged through my wardrobe for something to wear for tomorrow night. She mocked my floor turning into a fashion runway. One by one, I cheered or turned down each of her outfits.

                While we gossiped and joked, images of the woman trapped in my locker kept flickering through the frivolity. Her predicament was there as we joked, and slept, and spent the next day. And it panged me constantly. Every time I found a smile on my face, her plight swept it aside. Thankfully, Kathy never caught onto my grimaces and was poor at reading the emotion in my penmanship.

                Quietly, my heart yearned for when we would leave Saturday night. I shifted about nervously. My dress swished about as I turned side to side. It was longer than I preferred, but would ward off the night air. Kathy was looking out the window awaiting our ride. One of Joe’s new friends had offered to bring us with them to the dance. Quietly, my mind ran over my poor excuse of a plan. As soon as I got to the school, I would sneak off to my locker and retrieve my bag. From there the only thing I needed was my cell phone, lost in the old burned out school. Then, I could free Miranda.

                My eyes shifted over to the window. The sky was darkened and had let loose a light rain this morning, but as the temperature had dropped the rain had turned to snow. Lights bounced through it as cars drove by. Kathy pulled away from the window and offered her hand. I glanced down at my top, and pulled a small notepad from my cleavage and offered it to her.

                “They’re a late,” she scribbled down.

                “Snow must be slowing them,” I insisted. Joe arrived a moment later. It was odd to see him so sharply dressed. He rocked his shoulder uncomfortably in the formal wear. It did not suit him. A jersey would fit him better… that or some dirty jeans and t-shirt.

                “Three minutes,” he tapped his fingers at me as he hid his cell phone into his pocket. And on the mark, a truck pulled into the driveway. Joe ushered the two of us forward. We took seats inside the cabin, while Joe joined a few other guys in the open bed of the truck. I was crammed in with two other girls that I did not recognized. Both older than me with unpleasant looks on their faces that faded as we moved away and shadows swept over.

                The girl beside me pushed me out of the way as she leaned forward to converse with the driver. He was heavy set boy who dared not to turn his head to respond. I settled into the cushions as I found a comfortable spot in the overly crowded truck. Craning my head, I watched as Joe chatted with the others in the back. They bounced up and down as the truck sped over bumps, and hills. Kathy sat beside me in silence. She was as alien to this circle as I was. Light flashed over us as we approached the school.

                All the lights in the school blazed into the night. A bitter chill nipped at my heels as I stepped out of the truck. Kathy took my arm and guided me in to the gym. Inside, we were greeted by bright lights of various colors, streamers, and balloons. Above all of this I could feel the thrum of the speakers blaring music. The beat rattled my bones. Kathy’s eyes scanned the room for the rest of her friends, distracting her from me. Her hand slipped from my arm.

                And that was my chance to slip away. I pressed myself against the wall. The hard brick chilling my skin. I took one final breath, before running. The fabric of my dress wrapping around my legs. No one minded me. I was just another girl in the writhing mass that filled the gym. I burst into the empty hallway. The rumbling of the music faded as I traced my way to my locker. Slipping out of my heels for a pair of warn tennis shoes, I prepared myself. A small bag swung on my shoulder as I left the building. I gave a long look at the bright building I was leaving. I pulled my jacked tight around me as I thrust myself into the night.

                Snow fell onto my shoulder as I walked down the sidewalks of the small town. I should have been shivering, but I paid no mind to the cold. Miranda’s weight on my shoulder gave me a fiery determination that ward off the weather. Lights of passing cars blinding me as they passed by. My shoes left imprints of my passing as I broke my trail.

                A freezing air filled me as the darkened building came into view. It was a dark blotch in the night. The falling snow blew in behind me as I stepped through the door. The white flakes mixed with the black ash. Blindly, I fumbled in my bag for a small flashlight that I brought. Its feeble light disturbed the shadows of the old building. My heart raced as I stared at the scene before me. Memories of my last visit returned. My leg ached as I recounted the fall which broke Roger’s leg. The shadows left the building and crept into my mind as I wound my way back towards the stairs. I placed each and every step gently upon the dust strewn floor, fear of falling through the floor reared again. I could see myself landing flat in the debris below, unable to move. I would lay there undisturbed and unknown until I passed.

                No, I told myself. I can’t think that way. I had to keep moving. My fingers caressed the walls as I glided along my path. A black well filled the stairwell as I arrived. Each puff of breath coalesced in a crystal mist while I waivered at the lip of the abyss. Each time I stepped down, it was like falling into a bottomless pit. The light barely piercing the dust that filled the air. An eerie feeling crept up my spine as I reached the basement.

The basement creeps of our house was bad enough, but it was twice as bad here. The bones of the building lay bare in spots. Much of the drywall was charred. Only a little graffiti was here. The basement had mostly been left untouched. I guess others had the same chills that I had down here. My eyes darted at each and every shadow the peeped out of hiding at me. The constant feeling of having someone watching me plagued my mind, but my pitiful light showed nothing to fear.

My eyes kept shifting to the ceiling. Eagerly, I awaited the hole that I fell through. I stumbled over a darkened beam, and landed flat on my chest. Soot filling my nose and mouth. I coughed hard to clear my throat on impulse. My fingers clawed into the grit of the school. A beam of light eked out ahead of me from where my flashlight landed. I crawled forward to the plastic tube and wiped the grim from it, only to smear it around. Sighing, I brushed myself as best as possible. My hands ached from the impact, but as far as I could tell, I was unharmed.

I pressed on. A change in the light overhead told me of the breach. I looked upon it in fascination. How did I survive that fall? I wondered. It seemed so high above me, like I had fallen so hard to crush the earth beneath me. I waved the flashlight back and forth, searching for a gleam. Nothing. So, I got down on my knees, and ran my fingers through the dust. Each time, I found something solid, something that resisted my touch, I picked up and fingered the edging. A stone, wood fragments, metal piping, and melted plastic; I found them all and tossed them against the wall. Some bounced back and found their way back into my work area.

I clapped my hands together as I found it. It was a small rectangle of plastic. It was my phone. Eagerly, I tapped the broken screen. Nothing happened. I pressed the buttons frantically. Still nothing happened. It was dead. I sighed heavily. I knew this would happen. I knew the battery would be drained. In the dark, I fumbled along the baseboards for an outlet. My fingers edged out the blacked marks as I searched. Foot by foot, I scrambled forward. Finally, I felt the familiar bump of a power outlet. Dropping my bag on the floor, I peered my flashlight inside. My hand shifted the contents about. A smile broke over my dirty face as I pulled out a power cord. It easily plugged into place in the wall and my phone. Again, nothing happened. I was not surprised. I did not expect the building to have power. Surely, the town had shut down power to this building.

Shaking my head, I put my phone in my bag. Guided by my flashlight, I set off. My light only barely casting shadows over my footprints. A sense of relief swept over me as I ascended the stairs. The felt thinner as I left the darkness. Light seeped through the door towards me, but something was obscuring it. As I moved forward, I saw two men hobbling into the old school. The pungent smell of alcohol wafted over me long before I came within reach.

I blacked out my flashlight in fear. The two men stumbled along, obviously drunk. I pressed myself into the wall. Desperately, I wished to become part of it as they neared me. To be invisible. Their mouths flapped about, but I never heard their words. They were even with me and still they did nothing. Slowly, they moved past me. I sighed. And I forgot that was a noise.

The two men turned to the sound and they saw me. Crooked smiles split their faces. Their irregular movements were hard to follow as their zoned in on me. Fear surrounded me. It paralyzed me. One of the men slammed his hand against the wall, sending a shockwave through my back. His smiling face spoke in a language foreign to me. He leaned closer to me as his free hand stroke my check. I could smell the foulness that came from the men.

While he was fixated on me, I kicked. My leg connected with soft tissue of his gut and he crumpled over. His friend back away in surprise. Even in the pitiful light, I could see his eyes widen. That was all I needed. I bolted. My feet slammed into the ash-strewn floor, sending a cloud of dust into the air. My hair was whipped back in my wake as I flew towards the light that seeped through the door up ahead. I dare not spare a glance back. In the dark corners of my mind, I watched as those two men ran, faster than me, fast enough to overtake me. That fear spurred me faster still.

It spurred me out the door, down the road, and away. I paid no attention to where I went. All I focused on was running. The falling snow rushed past my head, illuminated by the light of the streetlights. I ran and kept going. My heart bounded hard in my chest and I gasped in each breathe of icy air. And still I pressed on.

Finally, I skidded to a stop. My shoes leaving a streak in the fresh snow. I stood there panting. Slowly, a smile broke over my face. I had it. I had my phone. I had everything. I had everything I needed to free Miranda. The only thing I needed was power for my phone.

Slowly, I scanned the area. The snow was falling heavier now. It blotted out the mountains and hills that encompassed the town. Homes filled the area, but there was one building that rose above everything in the surrounding area. The Library. Its windows were filled with a brilliant light that pushed back the winter storm.

Idly, I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen. Nothing happened except snowflakes covering the cracked screen. I lifted my head. The snow was coming down heavy now. Several inches of snow had fallen just since I had entered the burned-out school. Snow was creeping into my shoes and melting into my socks. I had already lost the feeling in my toes. I rubbed my arms in a vain attempt to warm myself.

I looked at the area once more. Only the small homes that surrounded the library filled the area. For a moment, I thought of knocking on the door to one of the houses, asking to come in out of the cold. What would they say if a strange girl showed up asking to come inside? But no, that was just asking for trouble. I could not go up to a stranger home and ask that. That was the plot of so many horror books I had read.

No, I had to go to the Library. I had to get out of the storm, and the only safe harbor here was that building. I became solid and unmoving as I composed myself. My mind raced for a plan. I knew Harriet would be inside. Where else would she be? At home recovering? No, surely not. Taking a deep breathe, I broke a path through the climbing snow and set a course for the Library.

Author's Note

Opinion of plot, character development, story telling, etc...