𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐀 𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨

𝟐𝟒

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬

𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀

Sydney wipes off the blood and applies the ointment I use to heal back cuts and scratches.

I stare at the black fire breathing python tattoo, the trail of blood on my back is precisely drawn as if the python's fire is making me bleed.

The burnt scar underneath it gawks back at me, the only scar that I didn't got a surgery to cover, it still screams at me everytime I look at it.

I watch her hands shake a little bit as she drops the last bit of bloodied cotton in the dustbin.

She helps me get into the dress wordlessly, undoubtedly still in shock from what I said.

She zips up the back of my dress her hands trailing over the tattoo briefly.

Who knew she could be a tattoo artist?

Sydney had always wanted to be a tattoo artist but the family background she comes from with the fame and reputation never gave her more of a chance than letting her to help to run their family business of selling diamonds.

"What did you see?" She asks leaning by the bed frame.

"A lot." I offer vaguely.

"Exactly Leah, what?"

I beckon her towards the bedside drawer as I kneel down pulling out the old photo frame I discovered last night from the storeroom downstairs, where my pretty neighbour had seen a mouse.

Quite a scary mouse I'm sure.

Sleep eluded me like always but so did for Rosie.

I was walking around rocking her in my arms singing her the lullaby my mother used to sing me.

I kept the lights turned off just leaving the old fashioned scented candles burning when I heard the red door creek open inviting me inside.

I did promise to help them.

So I had walked in feeling brave enough to not turn on the lights.

Whatever it was there sitting behind the barrel didn't want to be seen.

It wanted to be heard.

I hear lullabies coming from the dark corners of this walls very often.

But the voice down in the store room is the most remarkable one.

Rosie had complained about my bold action but she knew she was safe with her mama.

I inspected the dust and cobwebs unraveling old items.

A broken cello with strings lost.

A couple worned out dolls.

A random few sealed boxes.

A cupboard full of women's clothes dating back to mid nineties.

And then there landed the photoframe near my feet making Rosie whimper clutching my neck tightly.

It was evident they had lured me in to show me the photoframe.

I had picked it up with just my two fingers and had dropped it on the kitchen counter.

The candle burning casted the shadow over the tainted red corners of the photoframe.

"I found this last night."

"What is this?" She kneels beside me staring at the black and white picture. "Is that fucking blood?!"

"Most probably."