George never misses.

5 Score and 7 Years In the Future

Catherine Blast was always told about her great grandmother. As a young woman she was irresistible, coy, adventurous. Someone to be admired, desired, and everything in between.

"-she was a great woman and you should respect her more. Ancestors aren't to be trifled with young woman." Oh good Lord. Not this again. Apparently great Grandmother had her own daughter under whatever spell made her so attractive. Even though she constantly spoke of her mother, Catherine loved her grandmother dearly, who didn't love theirs? It was just tiring hearing the same old speel over and over again.

"I know, I know Gramma. I promise I'll be more respectful towards her memory." A strange look seemed to cross Gramma's face. Almost fear or possibly even sheer terror at the mention of memory. It was gone so fast Catherine didn't question it. After all, Gramma was getting old and maybe she had a flashback to something traumatic from her childhood. Which would need to be considered at a later date in case it messed with her health.

Catherine stood up and kissed her cheek. She bid her grandmother goodbye as she walked out the door with a promise to visit soon.

The cold air bit her cheeks as her well practiced smile fell into a scowl. She hated her weeks when she had to visit Gramma. It was so tedious trying to talk to her. Goodness forbid doing anything interesting. But her father was busy, she'd give him that. As the founder of a popular company called Fined he was constantly being called away to deal with stock markets or whatever.

That didn't offer an excuse for her deadbeat siblings. Who chose instead to lounge about the house all day using up all the bandwidth. Instead Catherine was saddled with the task of caring for their grandmother. She could never hate Gramma for it, it really wasn't her fault that as she got older she didn't work as well.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I wish to leave all of my journals, stationery, and pens with my granddaughter, Catherine Blast. My house and all liquid assets will also be inherited by Catherine-" The lawyer kept talking but Catherine tuned him out. She couldn't wait to look at those journals. Her Gramma kept detailed notes on her great grandmother and Catherine being the only one who truly listened to stories about her, was bound to be curious.

The reading of the will came to a close shortly after that. Only one other sibling after her was mentioned. It felt like hours though. She did want to be there, she just wanted it over with. Then she could look at Gramma's journals sooner. She would always reference them for small details easily forgotten and never let Catherine see what they said.

Which made her curious beyond belief. She never did wish for her Gramma to die. Of course not. But the journals always tempted her. They were kept in a dark oak chest with beautiful designs swirling around the golden handles. The pegs swooped outwards giving the faint illusion of wings. Almost as if it was ready to fly far, far away at any given moment. A simple keyhole was featured predominantly in the middle of the singular drawer inhabiting the chest. With slight silver trimming it sparkled slightly in the light. It was one of those priceless pieces of furniture that any collector would die for. 

The key, was on the other end of the spectrum. An ugly little thing with its rusting exterior and multiple unknown splotches of colour. The key contrasted heavily with the ornate beauty of the chest. 

Catherine dug said key out of her pocket impatiently trying to shove it into the keyhole as quickly as she could. It was almost like something was pulling on her soul. A string that constantly pulled and tightened the longer she took to open it. At last she got it open and immediately the painful tugging ceased. 

She gasped and staggered back. 

There wasn't only the journals in the chest. A small boy sat curled up. He feet almost touching the bottom of his chin. Ribs poked out of a small chest and short brown hair fell in knots around his head, hiding his eyes from view. 

As if in a trance he slowly lifted his head up and looked at her. His sunken cheeks and huge bags under his eyes gave the impression of a living corpse. The sickly pale of his skin stood out even more when pushed against his hair.

His cracked lips bled when he smiled at her. Small rivers of blood flowed down his chin and dripped onto his trousers. He reached out his hands to her and Catherine couldn't resist stepping forward and scooping her child into her arms. In some dark crevice of her mind she revolted against having the boy flush against her body. The rest of her marveled at how right it felt to hold the boy near. 

"Mama?" The blood from his lips started to drip onto her shirt but she couldn't care less. Her child and her were reunited! He started crying into her shirt. Small, heart wrenching sobs.

"Sh sh, my doll. Mama's here." A strange voice came from her mouth. It wasn't her own. This one was like smooth honey rolling down a warm biscuit, sugar melting at the bottom of a teacup, or the satisfying feeling of hot chocolate running down your throat after a long day. "I'm sorry I had to leave you for so long. My granddaughter was not keen on the transfer of souls. Neither was my daughter. But that doesn't matter anymore, George. Mama's here now and we'll never be separated again." Catherine could feel herself slipping away. Smothered by the presence of something not quite human. But not quite not human. 

"I love you, Mama." George's tears were starting to dry and he went back to nuzzling his mother and letting her cradle him in her warmth. The chest was cold and lonely. He was happy the girl was curious enough to actually open it. By now Catherine Blast didn't exist anyway so it wasn't worth wasting the brain power on thinking about her.

"I love you more, George. Now in this new body I have access to the ones who imprison you, my heart. Remember our rule?"

For a child of his age he was rather smart. George knew exactly what his mother meant and he chirped, "Yeah! George never misses." the words an odd juxtaposition to his chipper tone.

"That's right. You'll never miss, George."