The girl from the mire

12

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Jane wakes upon the cushy pink couch between the end tables like a story laying in a book. Her eyes slip open and she stares transfixing into the dark, popcorn ceiling, knowing implicitly that the tiny bumps create a sound deadening trait. Jane imagines them as an endless snow world of upside down mountains and valleys existing on the dark side of a plafond moon. She could situate herself like this all night, relaxingly pretending to be dead, watching a world that "never was" take place. The sense in her ear is an issue for such a dream to bare its truth. She's pulled away and back to her situation by a loud banging noise. Outside. Another deep booming bending barrel clangour jolts her up and to her feet before the front of the couch. Someone else begins pounding another potential aluminum baseball bat against the sidewalk a few houses away. Genres of words are echoing in the street made by tumultuous voices bouncing back and forth between harsh pavement and plastic siding and roof overhang and olden wooden frame. The reckoning's from a close distance. And she hears what could be mistaken for exhilarating nervous laughter within the woods behind the house. Jane also notices all of the lights in the house are turned off and the only illumination is coming from the dim street lamp in front of their two story home. It's a certain slant of light that bares no virtue on the coming and going of the Ghosts outside or the three ghosts waiting to be ghosts inside. It's so dim that one has to wonder if the light isn't just more darkness.

And what is she wearing? Ghost sewn combat pants that look like rolls of black wax-less cerement and a black tank top of the same nature under a black patchwork Ghost jacket with a nice big grim reaper hood and mission worn black boots creating a cavern for her feet. Jane wiggles her cold toes within the crevasse. The boots are indeed a bit big but they seem laced tight enough to stay on. Directly in front of her is a Smith and Wesson .357 magnum and its holster leans against the frayed backrest of Rhie's green armchair.

"Hey, guys. What's going on? Why haven't we left yet?"

Rist stands at the living room window, peering out at the darkness and the street lamp like a shadow in the shadows. She's watching and listening to what's ensuing around the house's bay.

Hidden in the fog of darkness, Rist motions for Jane to come to her. Jane can clearly see her hand movement with her night time eyes and immediately creeps toward Rist. She sneaks up and Rist wraps an arm around Jane's waist and pulls her close. Rist's lips touch Jane's ear for a moment before she whispers.

"They've been around here all day. There was no way to leave. They've been very cautious but in the last half hour they've become reckless. I'm pretty sure the assholes don't think we're here. There's been hundreds of them around."

"Oh, shit. Did they try to get in?"

"They did. We hid in the crawl space. We also made sure all of the pictures in the house were with us. Rhie carried you down. They never came back in."

"Where's Rhie?"

"At the back door, keeping watch."

"Want me to handle them?"

Rist looks Jane in the eyes and her stare says, "not a chance."

"I'm not putting you through that again, Jane. I'm sickened that it happened at all. No. We'll find a way out of here without you being beaten and shot again. We kinda have a plan."

"I can handle it, Rist. It's not like..."

"But I can't, Jane! I can't! I can't watch that again! I can't watch you go through that! You're not sacrificial, Jane! You're my best friend...I love you. I care about you. It's not healthy to want to go out there and die again and again. I don't want you to turn into the monster! I'm afraid that you might not come back. You've said that your body is trying to eat your soul? What if it does? No, Jane. We'll find a way out that doesn't include you losing your soul."