I woke up with such adrenaline to do cartwheels for miles. These long forgotten nightmares and back flashes have been going on for the past 12 years, ever since the accident.
When I had woken up after the wreck, I realized in utter disbelief that I could communicate and view the deceased. The dead passengers had followed me and tried to talk to me, but all they were able to say successfully was 'Carlyle,' and everything else was gibberish.
In reality, the spirits aren't as intimidating. My mind seems to like to make them scarier than they are.
I never tell anyone about my night terrors, except for Brandt. He never listens nor responds, for he does not like to talk about the dreadful night that took his young life.
A vibration was heard on my nightstand. It glowed the name 'Jackass,' on the screen.
Underneath the name, it read,
"Hey, there's a party this Saturday at Camille's house," nothing else showed, until something else popped up.
"I heard that Grey is going to be there," with a small winking emoji.
I was too shook up from the nightmare to respond.
I arose from the mattress and slipped off yesterdays clothes, in favor of a red loose fit shirt with lightly stained jeans and white fleece socks.
On my way down, I had no heard a single noise from Brandt's usual daily ruckus. Probably up to something, I thought casually.
My phone buzzed in my pants pocket. I opened it and saw Grey's name in the address bar.
"Hey, it read, "you going to Camille's on Saturday?"
Shit. Guess I'm going now. I plop on the couch and type at lightning speed, the keyboard clicks ringing in the air.
"You bet, see you there :)"
I closed my phone, wondering what lie I'm going to make my mother to enable me to go to a party that probably includes alcohol.
The smell of sizzling bacon and the pop of fried eggs sounded from the kitchen. I poked my head in, the delicious scent wafting in my nostrils.
"Morning, sweetie," my mother called.
Padding over to the black marble counter, I mumbled a weak,
"Morning," and grabbed a plate.
I heaped it with a golden piece of toast slathered with butter, two steamy eggs and three crispy pieces of brown pork bacon.
I went off to find Brandt. It was peculiar he wasn't up and moving, by now he would've built a card tower, or following me and pulling my hair.
I nibbled my bacon, contemplating the crunch.
A low moan suddenly pierced the air, making the bacon fly from my hands. I cursed silently and set my glass plate on the cherry wood coffee table.
Another noise, but a wailing scream. My mothers voice from the kitchen.
I rushed to the kitchen, slipping on the smooth floor with my socks. I entered the doorway, and saw my mother, wild eyed and and frantic. She was shakily pointing to a corner of the room, where several lit candles floated and a moaning sound took place.
I squinted my eyes and viewed a thin white outline of a small child.
"Brandt!" I yelled angrily,
"Stop it!"
He looked at me, saucer-eyed, and all humor gone and replaced with worry. He pointed behind me, snuffed out his candles, warped, and disappeared. The candles spilled to the floor.
I realized in horror what Brandt had been pointing at. My mom. I had forgotten she was trembling there. I had yelled at her dead son in front of her.
I slowly turned to face her, all the color drained from her face. She was shaking. I held a hand out to her, and she eyed it like a wild animal. She spoke quickly, and softly. Almost desperately,
"Carlyle," she whispered.
Pausing, and then blurting,
"Did you see Brandt?"
She bit her lip. She knew she had asked too much. I drooped my head and stared at the ground.
"Yes," I mumbled, with a voice so soft and ghost-like, it even scared me.
I dropped my hand and glanced up from the floor, peering in her smooth edged face. It read pure terror.
To comfort her, I took one step towards her, and, in return, she took one back. I had scared her more than Brandt had.
She turned to the griddle and continued making her buttered english muffin.
"Okay," she said clearly.
She still looked shaken, but not as much as before. Her shoulders were tense and she kept looking behind her shoulder at me. I tried to speak more, but she shushed me with a wag of her manicured finger.
I gave up and retrieved my plate from the living room table and scampered up to my bedroom.
When I got there, I realized the small bite out of my toast. I faintly laughed and shook my head, Brandt, I whispered.
A swoosh sound called from my pocket. Grey had texted me back.
"Great! I heard the party is going to get a little 'hot' after a while, maybe... we could... ;)"
What did she mean? Dance? Kiss? Or did she mean..... I didn't know, but I responded,
"Sure, why not?"
I paused, then typed,
"I can't wait to see you :)"
YOU ARE READING
Whispers Of The Damned
МистикаCarlyle Redson is the all around average-American teen. Average height, average weight, average IQ. High school was a breeze for him, with baseball, a social life, and girls, you'd think his life was a little too average. But, with some average stuf...
