The Wishing Well

Chapter 7

Author's Note: It's been so long since I've read this manuscript that I'm enjoying reading the chapters again myself. Thanks for the lovely comments! :)

The next morning, her first thought was that things were stranger than usual. She was probably waking up from a nightmare, nothing more, but words had run through her mind that she didn't think were hers. But that wasn't possible; they had come from her mind, but she just didn't remember them:

For several minutes it was dead silence—save for the wind, which refused to give up its call. Solely because he was not speaking.

The first time, Olivia didn't think much of it. The phrase slipped her mind as quickly as it had entered. She sat up groggily and tied back her sweaty hair, dreading the day that was ahead of her. She knew it wouldn't be any easier than yesterday.

Save for the wind, which refused to give up its call...solely...solely because he was not speaking. It's better as one sentence.

Olivia jumped. I've never been this slow to wake from a dream, she thought wearily. I need coffee.

No, I don't need coffee. I hate coffee. This voice wasn't hers.

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut for several seconds. She was just hallucinating, still tired—that was all. After washing her face with cold water, things would be better. It would help get rid of this dream.

Finally he whispered, “The wolf strap.”

“What's a wolf strap?” Olivia cried. “What's going on?” She groaned loudly and stormed into the bathroom. The freezing water helped numb her face, but not her thoughts.

His companions hugged themselves against goosebumps, and...hm.

There were goosebumps on her arms, too. Olivia rubbed them away and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “I can't be hearing voices now,” she whispered, backing away. “Because I'm not crazy. I figured that out last night.”

I need a nap, said the other voice. Olivia could hear its frustration. I'm coming up with things that don't fit the plotline at all.

“What plotline?” she whimpered. Instinctively she called, “Mom? Mommy?” Then she remembered her mother wasn't home, because she was always working. Olivia could lose what little sanity she had left, and she was all alone. Ever since they moved here, she had to deal with things herself—and she'd lasted until now. But her hands trembled as she went to the kitchen for coffee.

His companions hugged themselves against goosebumps, and a few of them...turned away from the cursed object. Filled with resent.

They turned away from the cursed object, filled with resent.

Olivia stared dumbly at the coffee pot in her hand. It was a cursed object? How come she didn't resent it? She set the water to boil, then thought of making a heavy breakfast to distract herself. If she tried turning on the stove, would she get burned? Toast would have to do for now.

“I'm hearing voices. This can't be healthy.” Lonely tears welled up in her eyes. Olivia stared at the coffee pot as it boiled, sobbing quietly. She was a little girl, scared of the monsters in her closet—only now, they were in her head.

What's going on? the voice demanded suddenly.

“I don't know,” Olivia whispered.

Olivia looked up at the window through tear-blurred eyes. She couldn't leave the house now. She needed an asylum, but it wouldn't be here. There had to be an asylum in Boise, right?