The Patron Saint of Monsters

Chapter One

Oleander is a flower infamous for its toxicity, when one suffers from oleander poisoning they have a multitude of symptoms, from disturbances in vision to heart palpitations and sometimes even death. Most cases of Oleander poisoning are self inflicted, done as a form of suicide. Trent had read up on Oleander years ago, when the Jameson's had just chosen the name for their lovely daughter. At the time he had thought it rather sick, a twisted appellation to christen someone with. He saw pictures of the various blooms that blossomed on the notorious plant, his favorite version was called "Cherry Ripe", it was a bright pink shade that aroused his memories of his blood stains on the bathroom floor from some of his bouts of self harm. He was not entirely sure why as it was not the correct color nor shade, he felt as though it just filled him with the same sense of peace and sanity.

Oleander Jameson also loved the color of the petals on the cherry ripe class of her namesake. Her room was decorated in a way that was almost an homage to her name, with creamy walls a pale pink that was more achromous than flush with an errant accent streak above her bed, in the perfect shade of her favorite flowers hue. The same almost bordeaux shade of bright pink that coated her lips, a stain from the saccharine falsely fruity flavored punch that the girl had favored since her early childhood. Trent, unbeknownst to Oleander, did not actually live under her bed, he followed her around every day and night since she had banished him from playing with her, due to immense fear. He trailed after her incessantly, and on an abundant amount of occasions saved her, from a multitude of perils, spanning all the way from preventing her from falling into a busy street during her skylarking, and from various predators human and non. Sometimes while she was secluding herself in her room, content with solitude he would hide in her ambry, gazing at her through the doors slats, enveloped by her numerous sweaters and other clothing items that smelled like her. It was one of the few things he could do that left him feeling close to her, he missed her extraordinarily and was dumbfounded at how much comfort articles of cloth could bring him.

Oleander was no longer a child, she was in fact rapidly approaching an equal amount of animate existence, that he had been at when he decided he was not going to age any further. He was hoping she would experience a different outcome at the end of the year. He was also hoping that she was happy, he was dubious of her beatitude. He was undoubtedly unhappy, he knew that the only way he could be happy was if he found a way to actively participate in her life, to be able to converse with her once more, and to ensure her happiness with much more ease. Trent in life had never been what one would consider socially graceful, he was awkward and constantly uncomfortable. He suffered from a coarseness that greatly exceeded the customarily amateurish ways of the typical teenage boys. He had done all the normal things, he had suffered through a plethora of nights in which he woke up panting in a pool of sweat with freshly ruined sheets. He had fumbled around with girls who caught his eye but never could catch his heart. He had had a group of peers who he had sat with at lunchtime, smoking on the wall surrounding the back of their high school. He had avoided all after school functions with them, in favor of getting high and clumsily strumming guitars. His friends had sometimes made him almost happy, but the moment he was alone all of the bad thoughts that plagued him came flooding back. Trent had not enjoyed being alone in life, but towards the end of his, he hadn't been able to bear the company of others.

Oleander seemed to prefer the company of words than that of people, that was why when she had been a child she had adored Trent so completely; he was all the good parts of people and he had read to her whenever she had asked it of him. She had never had to try with him, he never chastised her for being odd like her parents had. But now, at seventeen years old, she barely remembered the imaginary friend of her youth, she did however, recall with perfect clarity the night he had frightened her. Oleander was convinced that her house was haunted with a dastardly and depraved spirit; one who preyed on small innocent girls. She still had to sleep with a nightlight, a fact that she was so ashamed of that she rarely let her friends spend the night, choosing whenever possible to have slumber parties at their homes instead. Their were moments when she saw apparitions in the corner of her eyes and other times when she was overwhelmed with a wary feeling, causing her to sprint quickly up the stairwell, never braving to look behind her.

Trent despised that his presence was capable of triggering the inert alarms of danger inside of her. He was willing to do anything for the girl, and sadly she was unaware of that. He was unsure which was worse, the moments when she was unaware of his presence or the times when she was frightened by it. She always seemed aware of his existence, and while he hated that he had traumatized her, he thought that there was a slim possibility that he could somehow use her awareness of him to his advantage. If only he could make her to remember the way things had been before the incident that he did not care to think about, yet could not seem to get off of his mind.

Trent knew why Oleander was always opting to sleep in places other than the house that had once been his home, and he was quite thankful that she didn't seem to realize that instead of being the monster under her bed, he was the monster who trailed along behind her like a languishing in love puppy dog. That's why he was surprised when four bawdy girls burst into her room so briskly that the burly wooden door slammed against the wall when a resonating knocking.

Oleander sat up quickly and dropped the novel she had been engrossed in. "What are you guys doing here?" she asked startled and agitated, they knew she was not fond of loud noises or surprises.

"You know how you think this place is haunted, well we decided to research things and it turns out that kid who went to our school like before we were born and killed himself, the dead kid everyone used to talk about. The one our parents were all worried about us being like? He lived here and shot himseflf in the bathroom or some shit and his family refused to live here and they found all these journals of insane shit and then your parents bought the house for way cheap." A tall blond named Valerie said, stepping in front of the other three girls.

"Of course we would live in a place tainted with trite teen angst," Oleander started with a roll of her brown eyes, "my parents did after all, name me after a goddamn poisonous plant."

"Yeah we know Ole, but you might be on to something with this whole haunted house thing. So we brought over my Ouija board." Trina interjected excitedly.

Oleander distastefully eyed the board the girls had carried in, it was a pale purple but other than that and its feminine font it looked like ever other Ouija board she had seen. She scoffed and retaliated with "I am sure you guys just wanted an excuse to play in my spooky house and use your dumb ghost panel." Using annoyance to mask her fear, Oleander was a firm believer that you should not disturb nor attempt to summon such possibly ghastly things.

"Please." pleaded Rebecca.

"Fine." Oleander uttered with a sigh, looking over at the clock on her wall, "It's late, are you guys going to sleep here?"

The girls nodded gladly, enthusiastic at the thought of spending an extended period of time in the gorgeous estate that was the pinnacle of the wealthy neighborhood. Oleander walked over to her stereo choosing to play "Nightmare" by Artie Shaw in order to set a semi spooky mood. She smiled, her friends excitement was catching, she just hoped that nothing too frightful occurred.