Chapter 2:
Immediately gripped by her rising fear, she struggles to emerge from the evocative cemetery.
Her eyes scan for movement nearby, only to be alarmed by the ecstatic glow of the lamp post shining boldly against the dark night.
She stumbles twice, using the arch of the wall as a grip for her body.
She's tired, clearly.
She rummages through her pocket, praying for some loose change for the taxi home.
"Can I order a cab to arrive at The Green-Wood Cemetery, as soon as possible?"
•
1:51am.
She's tipsy, so struggles to place the key inside the hole, in an attempt to enter her one room apartment. Her hands are shaking immensely.
Unable to recall how many drinks she's had tonight, she fights to place one foot in front of the other, as she struggles to make her way inside the hallway.
She switches on the light, bringing the invigorating apartment to life.
The furniture is rustic and dark, sprinkled liberally with cushions. Although, the cushions are dusty, giving off the impression that they haven't been touched in years.
It's cold.
Very cold.
The floor is a dark walnut, filled to the brim with grime and filth, smudges and stains of alcohol splodged here and there.
The apartment seems worn out; tired.
Poking underneath the eating table is a packet of beer, untouched.
There's a pile of laundry heaped up by the sink, clusters of maggots and lice biting at the rims of her insanitary clothes.
Even if she painted all the walls black, the atmosphere bordering her apartment couldn't become any darker.
The apartment is surrounded by furniture, so why does it feel so empty inside?
Although her apartment is uncomfortably large, she is instantly alarmed by the intoxicating smell of bleach arising from her kitchen nearby.
Startled, she emerges from the hallway, making her way towards her dining table.
Suddenly, her body begins to shake intensely, as she struggles to hold herself upright.
Vomit clogs in her throat as she swallows hard to keep it down.
What. The. Fuck.
Feeling as though the blood flowing through her veins have frozen, her fingertips begin to feel like ice, as she brings them to her face, screaming in immense shock, creating deafening cries through her lips.
Her eyes struggle to break away from the body of her best friend Oaklyn, lying across her dining table, her face as white as snow.
Her eyes are still, ever illuminating Fallon's soul.
They say the eyes of a human portray the window to their soul.
All Fallon can see is the pain, torment and agony.
She can see how every emotion swarming through Oaklyn's body has come together to form her final facial expression. Death.
It forms a picture of the mind that can be recognised in an instant, and comprehended so easily, in full depth.
She touches Oaklyn's pale hand, driven by the soft feel of her milky skin.
She smiles, squeezing her wrist with love.
Her eyes finally break free from Oaklyn's gaze, as they wander towards the pool of colourless bleach perched next to her body.
She picks up a glass filled with it, swirling the drink with her hand.
She sniffs it, pulls a face, then places the cup down.
She places the palm of her hand on Oaklyn's face, startled by her cold touch.
Leaning over, she whispers in her ear,
"I'll always love you"
She kisses her forehead one last time, wiping the dripping tears from her eyes, before walking out of the room.
She closes her bedroom door.
And begins to cry.
And cry.
And cry.
YOU ARE READING
The Darkness Within
Mystery / ThrillerIt's late. Very late. Sweat oozes from her skin as she strolls through the dark alleyway. She's weird. Unusual. Traumatised by her husband's death, she struggles to ignore his continuous hammering memories that float through her mind. His smile...
