The True Story of Emily Lockwood / g. karim

𝟡. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕃𝕦𝕔𝕪 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕪𝕝𝕖

~ / Episode Two- Part Two \ ~

"Take me to church"

❀

--It was shaping up to be another eventful night, it seemed. Emily would have traded every one of her plants to be back dozing on the sofa with George, chess falling to the ground - forgotten.

Instead, they were fighting for their lives in the attic, all because Lucy had an amazing idea to bring a source into their shared space.

"Lucy, if you have any idea what her source might be," Anthony was tense as they scoured everywhere, constantly on edge for the return of Annabel Ward's vengeful spirit. "now would be a really good time to say."

"Oh, um," the girl was clearing feeling panicked, judging by her breathing and how dizzy her emotions made Emily feel.

"Take your time," George suggested sarcastically - Emily felt proud "we're not under any pressure."

"That was sarcasm, Lucy," Emily said, her dagger held at the ready as she stood, muscles taut. Suddenly, Lucy gasped. Annabel's ghost had reappeared, screeching out again and zooming towards Lucy. The girl jumped backwards, narrowly missing Emily, who lunged with her silver blade.

"Where is it, Lucy?" Anthony asked lowly, everyone more on edge now than moments before. It was sickening. Emily just wanted to sleep, but no. Of course the universe had other plans for her.

They backed up into one another until their backs were touching, rotating about slowly. This was basic, second-grade defensive positioning, but it still proved to be very useful. That way, no one was left to take care of themselves.

They were always a team.

Lucy explained that the ring was in her bed, somewhere.

"Oh. And now we're all going to die." George said nervously. Emily was just as afraid, but played it off.

"Well, we're certainly not going to survive with that negative attitude," she whispered back harshly. If they weren't facing imminent death, she imagined he might have glowered at her.

"I don't know, it could be," Lucy replied, when Anthony asked her if it might be in the bed.

"We have to contain it," Emily stated plainly. "else this witch'll just keep coming back."

"Didn't anyone tell you not to speak ill of the dead?" his voice wavered.

"I'd consider that a compliment!" Emily squeaked, as she noticed the mist of Annabel's plasma regaining itself in the corner.

"Oh, shit," George summed it up. Yeah, that was about right.

"George, switch," Anthony said, and they did. Now, Anthony stood facing the woman down, brandishing George's sword. Emily stood by his side, rapier drawn and at the ready. In her other hand, the antique blade.

"Get behind us," She breathed, praying that they listened and kept themselves safe. "Ladies first, Anthony," Annabel was rising again.