Forgotten - A Skulduggery Pleasant Fanfic (COMPLETE)

7

A/N: I am in such a strange place with my writing at the moment, and I think this chapter shows it really well. Like, is this a really intense horror novel or a comedy..?? What is up with my writing?
Alice

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Allara woke to the sound of screaming. She sat bolt upright in bed, the piercing sounds seeming to burrow into her ear and attack her brain, making it difficult to think, difficult to understand.
She leaped out of bed and onto wooden floorboards which creaked loudly under her weight. Her brain tried to communicate to her that that wasn't right, she didn't have floorboards in her room, but the screams drowned out any comprehensible thought pattern.
She left her room and stepped onto the landing of a two storey house.
A very familiar two storey house.
It was pitch black outside the smashed windows, the wood warping and bent under the weight of the roof. The floorboards creaked and shadows flitted across walls that shouldn't have been seen amidst the milky darkness.
Allara's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the house.
The house from Halloween night.
The house from a month ago.
She turned her head and saw the door, twisted and warped. The handle, an old, rusted thing, gleamed dully.
Immediately Allara spun and started down the stairs, trying to ignore the screams which came from that room. She had to get out.
The door stood open and waiting in front of her, leading out into a blank black space. Allara made her way towards it.
Something, anything, was better than being in this house. She caught a glimpse of a man in black, smiling from the room with the smashed chandelier. He held an old-fashioned camera in his hands, and as she bolted past, he raised it to his eye and snapped a photo.
The flash blinded her, made her stumble, and when she got her vision back the door was shut and the grinning man was standing in front of it, hand on the door handle.
Allara screamed, her sound briefly matching the others and creating a horrifying chorus. She spun and ran for the hallway behind the stairs, seeing a voice recorder on the floor. It melted into the floor as she ran past, turning as red as blood and slipping between the floorboards.
Allara stumbled into the empty room and into the corner, turning her back to it as she watched both entrances in fear.
The grinning man poked his head into the room at the far entrance, before the rest of his body solidified underneath him and he made slow, exaggerated steps towards her.
"Allara!" A scream. The voice didn't match the others.
Allara looked around for anyone, but nobody was there. The man was halfway across the room now, still smiling, holding a glinting knife in his hands. Shadows moved across the walls in panicked flurries, getting faster the closer he got to Allara.
"Allara!" The voice was louder now, almost drowning out the screaming. Allara felt the world around her fading.
The man was in front of her.
He reached an arm out.
He gripped her neck, and squeezed.
Allara felt tears running down her face as she gasped for air.

"Allara!"
Allara opened her eyes and gripped her neck frantically, trying to pull imaginary hands off.
She breathed heavily, clutching her chest. She couldn't see or understand the world around her yet. She tried to breathe in deep, and eventually it worked. She was getting enough air into her lungs. Slowly, the black dots covering her vision faded and she saw Tanith Low staring at her with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance, which quickly disappeared when she noticed Allara was responding.
"Are you alright?" She asked. Allara only nodded.
"Good," Tanith nodded to herself, "do you need me to get you medicine?" She asked.
Allara nodded again, quietly thankful.
Tanith left the room and a few minutes later returned with a glass of water and some pills.
A month after her Dad's sentencing, Allara was now living with Tanith Low, the woman who she had disliked immediately upon meeting. It had been rough, but slowly, Tanith's charisma and persistence had made Allara put up with her. They still had a long way to go, but at least nobody was hating anyone's guts.
Plus, Tanith had a habit of wandering around the house with a sword on her.
Allara looked outside to see dawn light shining through her curtains. She climbed out of bed and her feet hit soft carpet. Allara breathed a sigh of relief. She knew she wasn't in that house anymore, but she was still on edge.
She pulled back the curtains to reveal a quiet suburban street and a pudgy man in a floral shirt gardening. Allara reeled away from the window.
Fearless's backside was to her, and his pants were hanging low.
A bit too low.
Allara gagged and shut the curtains again, shaking her head to get the memory out.
At least now, the nightmare had almost completely been forgotten about.

Allara stepped out of her room and stretched, trying to shake the tiredness off. She turned to head into the kitchen and ran into Tanith's face.
Allara screamed and jumped backwards. Tanith was standing on the ceiling, and looked a little bit shocked at Allara's reaction.
"Wh-what are you doing?" She asked, pointing at Tanith.
"Hm?" Tanith looked up and down, "ah, yes," She walked down the wall and back to an upright position, fixing her hair.
Allara just blinked.
"That's my power. It's called wall-walking." Tanith explained. When Allara didn't respond, she continued.
"I can also unlock locked doors."
"Ah. Okay..." Allara backed into her room and started closing the door, "that's cool." She shut the door completely to a very confused Tanith, and sat on her bed, staring at the wall.
Upside-down people and flaming hands.
It still seemed too strange for her to comprehend.
Suddenly she heard a buzzing coming from her dresser. She looked over to a new text from Gregor and Anastasia.  She shuffled over and picked up her phone.

Just letting you know that we miss you, hun.  Hoping all is well and you can come see us soon. Greg and Ana.  X

Allara smiled.  She had fought against Tanith fiercely to be able to keep her phone, and thanks to her winning, she was able to keep in touch with Erin's parents.  She had told a little white lie about the house fire and they believed it, thankfully.  She texted them at least once or twice every week, and planned to visit when her Dad got out of jail.
She texted them back and put her phone down, looking at the shut curtains. 
She wanted to go home.