To Survive without the Guardians

Chapter 1: Since They Had Begun

Haven's ears strained to pick up the silence. It was Friday, and she hadn't heard it yet this week, so she was sure to hear it soon.

"How has the first week of school been?" the red-haired woman across from her asked. Preliminary questions before getting down to business. Haven Avery knew the drill.

"Good," she replied. The typical answer for a typical talk, one she had had many times before. She composed herself and concentrated on the part of the wall directly on the other side of the room. If it was up to her, she wouldn't go to counseling, but, alas, it really wasn't. When one saw things no one else did, it was thought to be a sign of mental illness.

Haven was used to this room. She sat in a soft blue chair while the counselor, Mrs. Ryan, sat in a brown one next to her desk. A rug with an array of blues and greens on it lay on the floor between them. Posters with inspirational messages and signs of different mental disorders decorated the walls. It wasn't an unfriendly place, but it wasn't a place Haven wanted to be in, either. She had been going to the same Marbleville High School counselor since she was a freshman two years ago (as well as an out-of-school one for a much longer amount of time), and her parents still wouldn't let her stop, no matter how much she insisted nothing was wrong with her or how many times she tried to use a factual argument in her favor. The fact was, she had been attacked by "shadow ghost people" since the age of eight, and no counselor, no medication, no anything had made her see them less or stop entirely. They weren't nonexistent. But the fact was, nobody would believe her.

"Have you had any episodes this week?" Mrs. Ryan asked.

"No." Haven shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The shadows were bound to show up soon. "I haven't been attacked yet."

"That's excellent," Mrs. Ryan said, nodding. "Maybe their frequency is decreasing." Haven resisted the urge to laugh.

"I doubt it. They'll probably attack soon, maybe later today." The thought of it sent chills down her spine. No matter how many times it happened, she never got over it.

"Maybe they will because you expect them to. They're just in your head, Haven. No one sees them but you. You're smart- although quite stubborn in your ways- so you should be able to tell there is no explanation for your 'shadow ghost people' other than that they're just hallucinations."

"I'm not stubborn," Haven retorted, and she looked down at the thin white line below the back of her right hand. "I just look at all the facts. And the fact is," she held up her warm ivory arm, showing Mrs. Ryan the scar on her wrist for the thousandth time, "they were the ones who did this to me. They physically harmed my body. A hallucination can't do that. There was nothing else sharp or dangerous around when it happened, so it couldn't have been me."

"You could've cut yourself on the edge of something."

"Someone would've noticed."

It had happened while out shopping for new clothes when she was about nine. She had listened to her counselor back then and decided to try to prove to herself that the shadow ghost people weren't real by standing still when they showed up, attempting to show no fear instead of running. That had been a bad idea. They had hurt her that day, the only time that they had that severely. They wouldn't hurt her if she fled at that point in her life, and so, since then, she had always run. No one else had been able to come up with an exact story of what happened that made them comfortable; they had just written it off as an accident, that she must've hurt herself while her mom's back was turned that day. But spinning around at the sound of crying to discover that blood was running down her daughter's arm had given the woman- and everyone else within a close proximity- quite a shock.

Just then, Haven heard it- the noise her ears had grown accustomed to picking up for her own safety. Silence. Uncomfortable, unnatural silence. The presence of the shadow ghost people always brought silence. She didn't know why. Maybe everything else in the world could sense them, just not see them. Haven sure could sense them. They had an aura of fear.

Mrs. Ryan noticed the change in Haven's mood immediately.

"What's wrong?"

Haven's heart rate sped up. She needed to get out of this room to somewhere where she could freely run and hide.

"I have to go." She bolted out the door before Mrs. Ryan could stop her, not like she would. People knew not to anymore.

Haven looked to her right to see the shadowy ghosts gliding toward her from the end of the hallway. She turned and ran, not daring to look back.

Soon, however, she saw them catching up to her out of the corner of her eye, felt their darkness getting closer. But she kept running. She avoided their long, tendril-like fingers and sped up to a full sprint, aided by adrenaline. No matter how many times it happened, she was always afraid that one day they wouldn't let her live. She wasn't sure exactly what they were or what their goal was, but the one time she had tried to be brave, she had been cut with a dagger. Bravery wouldn't help her.

Rounding a corner, she sprinted into the girls' bathroom and hid herself in a stall, locking the door. How she wished that she was fully protected, that each compartment went floor-to-ceiling! But that wasn't the case. She couldn't protect herself with anything. When she was younger, she had tried to fight them with things like kitchen knives, but it never worked. They had split apart and morphed back together. Defenses were useless against shadow ghosts.

And unfortunately for Haven, she hadn't hidden well enough. The shadow ghost people floated in and looked at her balled up on the toilet seat with their empty gaping eyes devoid of all compassion. They grew closer to her, reaching out with their misshapen hands, flying through the air with their legless bodies and teasing her short honey blond hair. Haven squeezed her eyes shut, her heart beating in her chest, and covered her face. This was the part she always hated. She felt their darkness close in around her like a living, breathing cage of fear.

"You can run, Haven," one of them whispered to her, its inhuman voice sending goosebumps down her arms, "but you can't hide. You can't hide from us. We will always find you." She felt a slight sting of pain on her hand and listened to the silence recede, then peeled open her eyes. They were gone.

It always happened like this. They chased her until they caught her, then repeated the same useless but terrifying sentence as if to prove a point. She didn't know what their goal was. She didn't know if there was something she could do to make them stop. And recently, they had started to hurt her a little right before they left, carrying weapons far more often than they used to. It would be even worse if she didn't show enough fear, but today, it had satisfied them.

She looked at her hand to discover a thin scratch that barely bled and tried to calm herself down. No matter how many times it happened, she still felt afraid when it did. She never got over it, aside from ceasing to have constant nightmares about it a few years ago. That was just the way it was, just like she had long since learned that she couldn't outrun them. She always tried to hide instead, but it had yet to work once.