Malus

Chapter Five

The room was lined with candles. Candles that hissed, popped, flared, and came dangerously close to being reduced to smoke, clinging to the wick for dear life.

And there were voices. Terrible, mean voices that whispered, deafeningly low.

One voice cried out above the rest, and the candles became a circle, illuminating strange markings on the floor. The speaker stepped forward, his face hidden by a long, black hood. When he spoke, a deep voice came rasping out.

"Come closer, Chosen One," he rumbled. He tilted his head up and his mouth became visible, showing crumbling teeth and cracked, grinning lips.

A panicked whirl revealed another, younger man, tall and handsome. At first he looked like Edward, but his cheekbones were too sharp, his eyes too dark. Then he was not a man at all, but a slithering mass of black night. The snake bared its dripping fangs and the voices shrieked together.

"Malice prevails!"

#

"Time to get up."

The events of the dream were torn apart, reduced to scattered fragments as she opened her eyes. When she realized what was happening, she moaned and turned over.

"Mom, it's too early," she argued.

"It's Friday, Bronte. It's our special breakfast day! You want to let all these pancakes go to waste?" She only moaned in response, and Melissa abandoned all mercy. She pulled the covers off the girl and flicked the lamp on. "Get up, sweetie, or you'll have to starve. Come on."

Bronte reluctantly left the comfort of her bed, half rolling off. Luckily, her trek to the kitchen was aided by the heavenly scent of the promised breakfast. The aroma led her out of her room, all the way to the small kitchen table that was pushed up against the wall to accommodate for a want of space in the apartment.

"There's a good girl," her mother said, dishing out pancakes and bacon. "How did you sleep?"

She shrugged, reaching for the maple syrup. "I keep having those crazy dreams," she said. "But fine, I guess. I do wish I could sleep in a little more..."

"Ha," Melissa said flatly. She set the frying pan on the range and took her seat opposite the girl's. "You get plenty of sleep compared to the way it used to be. When I was a kid, school started at seven-thirty, and I had so many chores, I didn't get to bed until ten or eleven. You have it easy, kiddo."

Bronte smiled, discretely rolling her eyes. "Hey, Mom," she said, thoughtfully chewing a mouthful of pancake. "You know those dreams?"

"What about them, sweetie?"

"Well...they're creepy. There's all these scary people, and this ring of candles, and circles on the floor," she explained, setting her fork down. Melissa drew a leg up on the chair as she swallowed.

"I don't know what to tell you. Did you watch something at a friend's house?" She looked overly concerned for the situation.

"No. I think... I don't know, I have this feeling that it might have something to do with...my dad?"

"Bronte," Melissa cried, dropping her head onto her hand.

"I'm serious! It could be like...hereditary craziness, or ghosts, I don't know!" the girl shouted. She had to shove in as much of her argument as she could before her mother wrote her off completely.

"We've talked about this."

"Not really. Are you sure he wasn't, like, a ghost whisperer, or a wizard?"