15-Day Writing Challenge

Day 13: Long Awaited

Day 13: You/Your OC Find A Newspaper Article, Dated 3 Days Ago...You/Your OC Are/Is In The Obituaries

One day, a girl awoke. It was very dark, so she didn't notice much as she pushed her way out of the drugging layers of sleep and into the daylight. In the brightness, she stretched her her arms high above her head and counted to ten, taking a breath between each labored number.

1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10

And then she opened her eyes. She was in a field of daisies, each blossoming flower lovelier than the last. The field was also full of gray stones, little monoliths that stuck out of heaven like sore thumbs. The sweet aroma of flowers making their magic floated on the breeze, and the daisies swayed.

The girl swayed along, her worn sundress hitching up to her thighs. Her auburn hair blew in tangled ringlets all around her heart-shaped face, and she closed her sickly yellow-colored eyes again, taking in the beauty of life.

Crickets chirped in the long grasses.

The girl's eyes snapped open, pupils dilated in fear. Someone was coming.

A big bearded man, wearing a flannel shirt and riding a tractor, came cutting across the field, crushing the daisies beneath the powerful wheel. The daisies died in silence.

"Hey! Young lady, who are you?" The man's voice was a gruff one showing little grace, similar to the man himself.

"I...I don't know." She looked around her, as if searching for clues. "I...can't remember."

"Well, we can't let a pretty young thing like you stay out here all alone, can we? Come on, girl, I've got a farmhouse just down there by the creek." He pointed with a callused thumb back in the direction he had come. "My wife will cook somethin' up for you, if yer hungry."

She looked up at him with big eyes, confused and lost. She didn't say a word. The man had started to put his tractor into reverse. Then he turned back. "Well, lady, are ya comin'?"

"Oh, yes! Thank you so very much."

She climbed into the back of the tractor, and they drove on the bumpy road of dead daisies, all the way back to the farmhouse. The man's wife was there, cooking dinner. "Have some bacon, dear?" She held out the sizzling pan to give the girl a better look.

"That would be wonderful, if you please."

So the girl sat down to a small meal of bacon and eggs. The man also ate a small meal, and he read the newspaper as he did so. "Oh, Margaret," he said to his wife," it looks like old Milly's finally passed."

"About time, I'd say. What old lady can hold on for 101 years in a farmhouse all alone by herself? And too uppity to take any help from us!" Margaret humphed.

"Yes, dear. And Joe's passed as well. Poor old Joe! Only 58! He worked too hard."

"Worked himself to death. But I already told you this several days ago. Is that an old newspaper?"

"Ah, yer right. This is from three days ago. Hey Marge, look at this! A young girl died recently. This here says it's from "being possessed by evil spirits". Her family tried to get rid of that spirit, but she ended up dying. Odd, ain't it?" The man scratched his beard.

"Oh, yes, that's quite odd. You don't hear much of that around here, what with..."

The girl didn't hear what she said next. For a horrid tickling had begun to grow in the back of her mind. It itched and it itched, spreading to all parts of her body, and it brought something back to her, flashes of something, someone. She had to do something to stop it.

"May I see the newspaper, sir?" She blurted out, interrupting Margaret's train of thought. The man looked surprised to see her speak.

"Sure."

She took it and looked at the obituaries. There was the girl he had been talking about. The girl in the picture bore a resemblance to someone she recognized. The itching grew more intense, and her heart seemed fit to burst. Oh, make it stop!

Soon, it was too much. Sitting in the quaint farmhouse, she let out an ears plotting scream, her rotting body gave out. Her chest split in half, and out flew dark smoky shapes of some kind, and as the smoky shapes left her, the remainder of her body crumbled into grey ash. The dark forms left her gleefully and danced into the mouths of Margaret and her husband, wide open from shock. For a moment, time froze. Then, it started again, and the two farmers opened their new eyes, all four a sickly yellow shade.

In unison, the two opened their mouths and hissed, finally.