Secrets can Kill

The Truth About Black Socks

  Hey all its Aby! Just warning you, there may be some mildly disturbing content in this chapter, so read with caution. Enjoy!

     Meg stood in the dark hallway of the house she and her parents had lived in when mom was alive. The pictures on the wall were barely visible in the dimness. The house was quiet save for the sound of thunder and the pound of rain on the windows. Of course, Meg knew what happened next, as she always did. But as she tried to force her feet to move one way(towards the front door), they moved in the exact direction she didn't want them to take her, and she moved farther down the hall. As she turned into the nearly pitch-black living room, a flash of lightning illuminated the scene before her.

   In the middle of the cozy living room, lying in a pool of crimson blood, lay her mother. Her head was turned towards Meg, a pale, terrified look frozen on her beautiful yet unmoving face. Blue vanes had appeared on her sweat and bloodstained neck and her mouth was agape in a scream of  frozen, unheard fear. Her black hair was stuck to the floor with blood. All that blood......

   Meg awoke with a start that almost made her jump out of her own skin. She was covered in sweat and tasted salt in her mouth. At first she thought it was blood, but she quickly realized it was tears. She was crying. Damn Dream, she thought. I hate that god damn dream!

   The dream terrified her once a month, normally around the start of her period. But she had finished her period a week ago, so that wasn't it. Maybe it was stress. Or the fear of flying to a strange country to stay with a stranger, who also happened to be her relative.

   She had been eight years old, small and innocent. She had come home from school, all proud of herself because she had finally passed a spelling test. She had expected to find her mother in the same place she always was, on a yoga mat in the living room, bent into some strange position. Meg would wait until she was finished, then hop onto her mothers lap on the couch and tell her about her day. Then they would sit down and watch Scooby Doo until her dad came home to make dinner.

   But on that fateful day, she had come home to the scene from her dream. She had screamed and run into the street screaming for help. Finally her neighbor came out and said he'd call the cops. Then she'd run back into her house and clung to her mothers lifeless body until the paramedics pried her off. She remembered being soaked from the pouring rain and shaking violently from the cold, but unable to feel any kind of emotion.

  The funny thing was. She used to love the nursery rhyme about black socks and how they never got dirty. But after that day, she learned the truth. That day she had been wearing little black ankle socks, and they had been covered in her mothers blood. The truth about black socks is that not matter how many times you wash them, you can always see the stains.

   Oh stop being so cynical! Meg told herself. She sat up and swung her legs off the hotel bed. She looked over at the clock, it's red glowing face was the only thing she could see through her tearful eyes. It's fluorescent face read 4:08am. Damnit! There's no way I'm getting back to sleep after that. She slid off the bed and grabbed her phone. No new texts. No surprise there, it's not like she had any friends. She grabbed the cloths from yesterday off the end of her bed and got dressed.