Missing

Chapter 5

Then, just as suddenly as the screaming started, it stopped. There was no more pain, no more sound, nothing to show that what had just happened wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

But I knew it wasn’t I knew the sounds were real; they had come from the mansion, from the second story, in one of the rooms that had its window boarded up. I had heard Peter and Jack, both of them, I knew the sounds of their voices and they had come from the mansion.

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Chapter 5- The Song

Breathing heavily my eyes streaming with tears, the thought of them in pain was just too much for me to bear. The screaming had only just gone away I didn’t want it to be real but it was just so hard to believe otherwise. I could hear the depth of Jacks voice and the scratchiness of Peters, and even though I hadn’t ever heard either of them scream before; I now believed I had. I don’t know what happened to them but I needed to pull myself together; for them. Easier said than done.

I was coiled on the cracked pavement, wet from the tears I had shed, the sounds of their voices had taken some of my strength from me, I was just mentally exhausted.

I tore myself from the ground and stood shakily on my wobbling legs. I went over to the picket fence that was rotting away, the white paint peeling off to reveal the week moist wood.  Leaning a small amount of my weight on it helped me recompose myself and slowing my breaths I noticed that through the cracks of the boarded up window where the voices ad been coming from, there shone a faint yellow light.

I had leaned over, getting a better look at the window, whilst non-intentionally putting more weight onto the old fence. A groaning sound made its way to my ears as I caught myself on my feet seconds’ before the segment of fence that supported me collapsed.  I took a few slow steps to the right where the fence to his front yard was, the old rusted latch made it hard for me to pry it open, it seemed to be almost glued in place. Fiddling with the latch as the minutes ticked by I became increasingly anxious. Giving up with the stubborn gate I walked around the perimeter of his property. Only the front was lined with the old wooden gate, after that the only thing protecting trespassers was an old barbed wired fence, it snaked and dipped, in dire need of repair. I found a week sagging area of fence and placed my hands in between the barbs, which were place an even twenty centimetres away. Pushing it down I swung one leg over and adjusting the weight picked the other up and reunited my legs once again.

Safely over the fence I had to face my next task, a slightly more daunting one.

I made my way slowly to the front of his house, ever so careful with my footing; I managed to get to the front without tripping over on any of the many hazards that laced his front garden.

I the huge mansion/house Old Bill owned was like much of his things, in need of repair. He had a grand two story house, with two balconies that looked like they were about to collapse and half of the windows were boarded up. He had a huge front porch, decked out with matching chairs and tables. From where I stood (behind a bush a small way away from the path to his porch) I could see his old tin shed, the one with the rocking chair and the old lady.

Remembering the lady in the painting sent reoccurring shivers down my spine, she hadn’t looked sinister, but how her actions mirrored Bill’s was scary. Not like one of those silly drama exercises that you have to do the same thing as your partner. He actually looked as if he were reflecting what she was doing, like she made him do it…

Squatting there remembering about the oldlady I tried to think if I had heard any other rumors f zOld Bill that might help me. Seeing as I was about to go and face my fear and get them I needed what I could remember to aid me.

Useless bits of information flooded through my head once I allowed it, I hadn’t believed any of it before, still now most was utter garbage. Things about magic and spells, dancing around campfires and making it rain and rumours of how he would follow people and stalk children. Most were rumours from kids or tales to get children to stay away.

But that’s all they were, rumours.

I racked my brain for anything else I could use. For someone in such a small town, where everyone knew everyone else’s business, there wasn’t much I could remember about him.  

Just as I was about to finally get up and go a memory tugged at me, a memory from when I was a child.

“Clara?! Clara?! Where are you??? I’m coming to get you…” Sasha sing sang in a high pitched voice.  We had been playing hide and go seek for the last twenty minutes and my friend, Sasha couldn’t find me. I was proud of myself, I really was! I had hidden in the kitchen, the pots and pans were dirty and in the sink. The cupboard that usually held them was vacant; I squeezed myself into it and closed the door as much as I could. I was starting to get uncomfortable. The shelf behind me dug into my back, fed up with playing I swung open the cupboard and went in search of Sasha.

I jogged around my house, trying to find her everywhere. As I was about to give up I found her, she was outside sitting down on the veranda, looking at my back garden. I snuck behind her, she didn’t see me, until I yelled “Boo!” She screamed so loudly, I couldn’t control my laughter.

After I had quietened down I asked her why she had stopped playing. She replied,

“Mummy keeps telling me stories about the man in the big house, and it starting to scare me. The other day I was talking with some of the other girls at playgroup and they were telling me a little song about him.” She confessed. I had heard a little bit about the man in the big house, Bill I think his name was, but Mum never told me scary things because she didn’t want me getting nightmares.

“Hhhmmm, I don’t think I know the song your taking about… Do you remember it?” I asked, because truthfully I had no idea what she was talking about.

She nodded her head wordlessly, and without further prompting began rehearsing the lines of the song.

“Silly, silly, Old man Billy,

Plays with children’s head.

When he’s done, with he’s fun,

He shoots them till their dead.

Silly, silly, Old man Billy,

His knife goes chop chop chop!

With every hack inside his shack,

He laughs with it nonstop

Silly, silly, Old man Billy,

It’s said he killed his wife.

Don’t go to his shed,

You’ll wind up dead,

Or at the mercy of his knife.”

Sasha sang the three verses of the song in a way someone might sing a nursery rhythm, but this was scary, and I could see why she remembered it. It left an imprint on her mind because she was so scared, it might yet do the same to me…

As I recovered from the memory I found I did indeed know the song, it stayed with me, and although it was just a children’s rhythm, I could see some truth in its words.

I only hoped the words weren’t as truthful as I thought. 

A/N

I want to thank SeaboundMoose and PalePorclain for helping me with the little song.  

I havn't had time to edit, so I will get there soon :) Sorry this is another short chapter, but I had to put something up, so I am still on track with updating it within every week... 

Please vote if you like it and if your comments mean alot to me :) I like to know what you think, good or bad.. :) 

Au revior (hohoho)