OK, my parents dragged me all the way up the mountains. . . for what? An antique shop. My parents were somewhere in the old place. I was in the car. But. . . since I am bored to death. . . might as well take a look around, right?
I quickly got out of the car, and made my way to the entrance. It was wooden, and in an arch-shape. As far as I could tell, there was no actual door. It was like they were inviting in a robbery. It's coming to them, if it hadn't already!
I snooped around, looking for something interesting. So far, all I could tell was that everything was old and drab. Until, I came across this one tiny room. It was so tiny! I could barely fit in it. But, In the middle of the room, was a table. A table with a red cloth overtop, and on that was a stand. On the stand was. . .
A dark purple umbrella. Fascinating, right? Doesn't sound like it. But, it interested me. I cautiously moved toward it. I felt a pull. Like it was calling me to it! Ridiculous! Yet, it was. The end of the umbrella was fringed all girlie-like and puffy. But the handle was gorgeously made. There were carvings in it. It looked like it was wood. Mahogany, for the looks of it. I reached out to touch it, but. before I could, I saw something in the corner of my eye. It looked like a silhouette.
As I turned my head, it vanished. I looked around me, no one was there but me, and the umbrella. But there were tons of places to hide. I turned around and started looking. Everywhere I looked, no one was there. After about a half hour, my parents started calling me back.
As we got on the road, it got very foggy. we could barely see anything in front of us. A few minutes down the mountain, something seemed to be, well, forming in the mist. As we got closer, there was a little girl, walking. When we were about ten feet away, a tiny arm stuck outwards, along with a very tiny thumb. The symbol of a hitchhiker.
"Don't pick her up. . ." I begged. She was giving me the creeps. And she reminded me of something. . . Like she's been there my whole life, just, at the back of my head somewhere. But I couldn't put my finger on it.
"Oh, Corey, your just being stubborn, look at her! She looks. . . well, five! And she probably doesn't have a home or anything." That was my mom's way of saying "She's dirty, cold, and young, we're picking her up whether you like it or not."
When the little girl entered the car, i tried getting a better look at her. She had a pale blue dress on and pink bows in her hair, most of the hair wasn't even in the bows, it was tangled all over her face. She wasn't wearing any shoes. I made a scrunched-up face. I was the type of guy who needed the right hairstyle, the perfect pair of jeans, and the best pair of shoes.
"Hello!" my mom said cheerily. "where you heading to?" The little girl didn't reply. Only quietly cried. All you could hear was rain starting to drizzle outside.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"April. You should know that by now." She fidgeted.
"Well, since you have no place to go, would you like to stay with us?" My mom asked. The girl cheerily nodded, and the rain stopped. Almost as soon as it came. I took my eyes off her face, and looked down at what she was carrying. In her hand was an absolutely beautiful,
Purple umbrella.
Hey, I told you it would get stolen eventually. But it doesn't seem possible. I just saw it in the shop! And how could she have walked, or even ran all the way down the mountain without us passing her? Well, kudos to her.
The rest of the ride was quiet. But, we took the girl home, and we got her a pair of shoes, signed her up for school, got her toys, dresses, and all sorts of things. And she was a good girl in return. She would take her baths, put her toys away, and went to bed when told. This went on for about half a year. It was the end of April. . . The month I mean. We made jokes to April (the girl) about her name, and her birthday, being in April. She never did tell us when her birthday was though. She only said it was her birth month. I suspected she only knew she was born in April, and she didn't know the day.
Well, anyways, it was the end of April, and a strange man came to our door. He claimed his naewas May. And he wanted to see April. He gave us a card.
May C. Zons
Florist
6847 Month Av.
I shoved the card in my pocket when April came down. She looked at the man. I only saw one thing in her eyes.
Fear.
And I knew, right then, that this man was awful. And that this little girl didn't know him. I looked at the man. I looked at him long, and hard.
"Can I see her now?"
"Uh, do you have to?"
"Yes, I must" He took her hand, and he dragged her outside, He immediately started walking with her behind.
"Hey!" I followed close behind, But they were going too fast for me. All I saw last was them going into an alleyway. When I turned the corner, All I got was a dead end, and no sign of creep-man, or April. Except,
A dark purple umbrella, now with bloodred spots.
Now, I know, you think this is an average horror. But, you dont know the what if's. What If I lied? What if I am the little girl? The umbrella? The killer? What if I was the ghost. What if not everything I said was really true? If I was the killer, it would make sense for me to not rat my own self out. Are you sure of anything in this?
Of course you are. You always think that. All of you are the same. It IS just a STORY, right? Live in my eyes for a day. Nothing is unreal. Nothing is just a story. Its fact. Killing is very much real. Death exists. And death works for Agony. Agony. . . Agony is not the boss. Agony works for me. Agony is like the vice president while I am the president. Am I Satan? Even he isn't as evil as me. He cowers in front of me. I am the Inbetween. The Inbetween is the place people gowhen they aretoo bad for heaven, and hell. Every nightmare, every chill, every death in the frozen night, Ever method of torture, every kill, or homicide, genocide, or terrorist,is my delights. I am very much real. Just like this story.
