And So She Burned

2. Unrealistic and Unable

We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones. --Stephen King.

As the killer of my mother sat watching, I screamed. I wanted to do something, but was frozen, quite literally, with fear.

I stared at my mother with averse horror, and realized that it couldn't be real, you can't sense people, and if you can't sense people, then this must have been a hallucination.

So I closed my eyes and counted to ten.

But is it not inevitable, that whether you believe it or not, the darkness will always be there? It does not leave ignorant souls alone. It simply choses to prey on them—us—silently.

Monsters do not pause for weak souls.

My mother was dead, and I could not do anything about it.

Mom was strung up high from the ceiling of the garage, her blood splattered on my Ford truck. Her neck had been carved messily into, but this person, if you can call this sick human that, clearly made the cut with precision and motive.

The sick human, the one that almost cut my mom's head off and tied her to the ceiling . . .

The sick human that was still here with me.

The sick human that would probably kill me, too.

Later, when I would wonder how I knew that there was a terrible presence with me, it would make no sense to me, though I am quite sure that if I had stayed longer I would have died, died a thousand times over.

Why would they make it obvious that Grace Stella Seravi had been murdered violently? They wanted to taunt someone with it, I was sure.

I was considering that they were thinking something along the lines of 'see, I killed your family, and I'll come for you next.'

All of this went through my head in less than a second. But my current problem was just making my grandmother and sister aware that there was a homicidal psycho on our property.

So I ran out of there, forcing my legs to unfreeze and start pushing me away, stumbling, back to the main building. I knew that there couldn't be any blood on my clothes, but I felt like it.

Blood is everywhere. On my hair, on my face, on my body. It is encrusted into my nail beds, and will not go away.

Ever.

I held my head from the vision. I must be going crazy. Visions. Of blood. Blood really seems to set me off these days. I honestly wanted to never see another drop of blood. If I never saw any red liquid again, it would be too soon.

I figured that the killer would want to pursue me, and did not feel like making a dumb horror movie decision, so of course I refused the beckoning anonymity and security of the forest.

Instead I darted through the lawn, staring up at the large brick mansion and attempting to beat the psychotic person who had killed my mother to the rest of the vulnerable people in the huge house. I swung a glance toward the forest on the edge of my vision, but I couldn't risk going in there, despite the cover it would bring. I was not a stupid little girl in a horror movie who runs off into the woods when there is a lockable house so close by.

The forest was not teeming with life, not like it was moments ago. It was dead silence and at the same time, my head pounded with the loudness of it.

By the time I arrived at the porch, the presence had faded away. I put a hand to my chest, hair swirling around me. Maybe it was stupid to trust instinct on the killer, but they were gone, I was certain of it. So I opened the door to the manor, and shouted, "Grandma! Ella! Someone!"

Ella, my sister, rushed down the stairs. She was eighteen, but was taking a year off of school before she would head off to college. She looked incredibly similar to me, with freckles and big blue eyes and a doll-like build. The only difference was her curling blonde hair that piled down her back and her face free of makeup. "What is it? What's wrong?" She was in pajamas, but it looked like she had just showered.

"I went—I went into the garage—" My panicked sentence was cut off by a choking sob, my first one since I had viewed the body. "Mom is d-dead."

"What?" All of the color drained from Ella's face. "No."

I nodded, tears streaming from my eyes. Ella shook her head, and I could see that attempt to be strong for me, when I was falling apart. "How?"

"She . . . her throat was slit."

Ella's mouth popped open. I could tell that whatever she had been expecting, that wasn't it. She looked torn at wanting to run away or comfort me. In the end, sisterly love won out, and she hugged me. "It's going to be fine. We . . . have to look for Grandma. And call nine-one-one."

As she pulled away, I saw her double in on herself, just a bit, but enough for me to know that she felt the same as I did.

It felt like my chest was being crushed. My heart was being chipped at. I thought I was going to die.

"Grandma," Ella called, her voice breaking. After a few moments, when nothing happened, she turned back to me, "You call the police. I'll go find grandma."

There were tears on her face too, now, and I nodded, reaching out to squeeze her hand. We were in this together. We had to be. Our mom was dead, and I assumed that I would be going into Grandmother's care, and Ella would hang around for a while. So that neither of us would be quite as alone.

It didn't turn out exactly like that, however. In fact, not at all. I picked up the phone, hands trembling. My tears were on the verge of sobs, but I had to stay articulate so I could give the operator my address.

I slowly dialed the number and put the phone to my ear. "Hello, this is nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

"M-my mom was murdered."

"Okay. Can you tell me where?"

"My garage. I live in Seravi Estate." I gave her the actual address of the estate and then hung up.

I looked up to see my grandma following Ella down the stairs. "She's really dead?"

I nodded, sniffing. Why? Why mom? Grace had been a good person, though definitely rich, but she had never done anything to warrant this. Was it just cold blooded murder, then? Not that any murder is okay . . .

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't notice when Ella came up next to me until she whispered, "Do you think it was Dad?"

I looked up at her sharply, "I don't know." Something in my face or tone must have tipped her off to not push the subject further. I didn't think I could handle discussing those details.

My mom is dead, I thought as the police arrived.

My mom is dead, I thought when the lawyer spoke to us about her will.

"My mom is dead," I whispered as I broke down later that night, sobbing until my head ached and I fell asleep from the pure exhaustion of the day.

Death came for her.

Who else will it come for before I'm gone?

A/N

Tadaaaa. The second chapter. I must admit, I am not looking forward to the next few chapters. Auna will be in a really dark place, and I don't want to try to separate what she is feeling with what I'm feeling because then it probably won't seem as realistic. But it's all good . . . I shall keep writing. I am not giving up on this story.

Bye.

~Macks