To Burn The Bones. (A Paranormal Romance)

To Burn The Bones - PRO & CH1 ; Books, Hauntings & Dirty Secrets of The Spades.

Prologue & CH ;; UNO :)

Please enjoy. i have maybe 5 other chapts done, but i won't post till i get 110 reads and 10 votes :)

- Cathy

To Burn The Bones.

Prologue, Four Reasons.

A hushed sound of slight whistling fell around the darkened top floor room, the only lights being the reflecting moonlight, and a small desktop lamp. The shining yellow light coming for the lamp, made the deep lines, and dark circles beneath the whistler's eyes much more pronounced, as his light coloured on the green side eyes flickered up and down the page he held close too his face, rereading repeatedly.

Merreano Travisten (Murr-reen-oh Truh-vist-en)

The Thursday of a month I don't know, and the year I don't care about.

The assumption I have memories of a normal childhood, would be terribly, terribly, wrong. The answer is far from that. If anything, my childhood could be considered the worst years of my life. There are four main reasons for this.

One, I was born with the surname Travisten. Travistens, descend from the royal bloodlines in Great Britain, are one of the families, and you will know this if you haven't lived in a cave half your life, that inherit the power of spirit.

Two, my father can't love me. He can't even show slight affection for me, or it will instantly bring him horrid luck or, even worse, death. As assumed, I'm a Child of Despair. Meaning, I rarely show preference for anyone, I hardly ever love anyone, and if I do, telling them is impossible. As for people returning the feelings, only one has and now they're dead. I didn't kill them, but I might as well have.

Three, my mother is dead. She is - was, I painfully correct myself, - the only person in my life to ever look at me with care in her light eyes. When I was three, a year after my Auntie Yvetta, another Child of Despair, accidentally killed my Uncle Michael, my mother felt pity for my suffering aunt, who was rejected and thrown out by her only family. As they became friends, more, and more, tragedies occurred. My mother lost the twins she was carrying; my little sister suffered from a attention disorder - making her extremely annoying - ; our cat Meow died... anyway, that is only a few. Then, my grandfather, worried Yvetta may harm another, put her to death. He never felt any real attachment to her, for obvious reasons. The day after, while helping my small six year old self wash up, My late aunt Yvetta's bad luck spirit (As nicknamed by many) caught up with my mother. She unexplainably slipped on dry linoleum, fell and smashed her skull on the sink. Then, the spirit found me. Now, thirteen years after, I still suffer the consequences of that day.

And finally, Four. I wouldn't really consider this part of my childhood, but I have come to believe I am the only seventeen year old boy scared I might kill the girl I love, if I ever do, simply by loving her.

© ChattyCathy

:)

Chapter one, Books, Hauntings, and Dirty Secrets of the Spade's.

Weddings, Weddings, Weddings. Every time that word reached Merreano's ears, he felt moody, irritated, and harassed. But that wasn't anything different. To an outside person, Merreano appear an attractive, quiet young boy. But those who lived with him, or spent enough time with him, knew he was paranoid, and terribly easy to irritate.

Living in a family of egotistical, loud-mouthed, morons, as Merreano often mentally nicknamed them, Merreano felt trapped and enclosed, wanting nothing more than escape. At that moment in time, all those egotistical, loud-mouths, were gathered together in one consecutive place, drinking and shoveling exquisitely made food into their mouths carelessly.

Merreano allowed his eyes to wander from under the brim of his hat to just beyond the orchid and red rose covered arch, where he could barely see just between the large mobs of people. The dark, brick building, adorn with golden brown awnings, and deep jade curtains, stood tall and mighty calling him. Above the door, large bronze letter spelled out "SPADE LIBRARY."

Slipping out of his plum-coloured leather seat, he wound through the crowd his destination awaiting him. Barely missing collision with a drunken dark haired woman, the bride of course, he managed to reach the steps leading to the library with out any distracts or delays. Staring up at the building, he knew what it held inside. The only chance he had at a normal life.

Entering, a small, black bell chimed, announcing him, in a pitiful manor. Whistling softly, unfamiliar tune, to any others then him, Merreano smiled coldly, surveying the books resting upon the mahogany bookshelf.

"Do you need any help?" A voice called, and Merreano turned slowly, to look at a blonde-headed teenage girl, holding a questioning look on her face. Shaking his head and turning the brim of his hat down further, then quickly traveled to a different row of book. If she saw his face, she might have recognize him as the Travisten son and probably boot him of the library he so desperately needed to be in.

Silence once again engulfed the library, and Merreano continued his search. Gorilla hunting, Guide to nail-painting, Gyro recipes, Halloween celebrations, Ha -

"Hey, seriously, what do you need?" Merreano nearly leapt three feet in the air, but instead backed away from the girl.

He bent his head. "Thanks, but no. I can find a book on my own." The girl pulled the book from the shelf he had been looking at.

"Hauntings?" She asked curiously. "Heard the legends of The Travistens and Rocconnas? Then of course the Spades? How they're supposedly 'Haunted'? That's all Bull, you know." She popped bright blue gum, flashing her bright white teeth. "I would know. I'm best friends with Kathlynn Spade. The younger sister? You know her of course, unless you reside under a rock."

Laughing at her own joke, the irritatingly talkative girl failed to see Merreano's grimace. Before the Spirit of Despair came to him, about when he was two, his parents had chosen the Spade family to give them Merreano's wife. The Spade's had a daughter who was his age, but since she was promised to another, they decided on their younger daughter.

When the "accident." happened, as casually nicknamed by the press, the two families silently agreed to break off the engagement between the two and four year old. Thankfully, Merreano always thought.

Kathlynn Spade was a bratty, spoiled fifteen year-old, who held her head to high, and slit the front of her dresses to low. She never gave a second thought to her words, being blunt and thoughtless towards the world. It amazed Merreano that the peculiarly odd girl, who stood in front of him babbling indefatigably on that day in the library, was even Kathlynn's friend.

"Excuse me," Merreano interrupted the girl's rambles about pink hedgehogs and dead hummingbirds as politely as he could. He swiftly swiped the book from her hands. "I have to go."

"Waaait a minute." She clasped his upper arm with an iron grip. "Why are you looking up stuff about hauntings anyway?"

Merreano did his best not to yell, because the girl was pushing on the wrong nerves. "It's my business, not yours. Let go of me." He hissed lethally, his eyes glaring.

She let go. Turning his back on her frightened face, he heard her turn, and footsteps going in the opposite directions.

Unable to resist, and knowing his father would chew him out for it later; Merreano turned and called out to the girl. She turned around. "You said that Hauntings aren't real, Right?"

She nodded slowly, confusion covering her sharp features fully.

"Kathlynn's older sister, Penelope, is haunted. Child of Persuasion. Wicked with compulsion. That's the reason for her going to "boarding school", not a art education." at that, Merreano turned and walked away from the surprised girl, grinning cockily and satisfied with the release of that dirty family secret of the Spades. Later, after his father heard or read somewhere about the "Boarding school" issue, he would groan, and then send someone out to find Merreano who would undoubtedly have an amused grin on his lips.

/./././././././././

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God bless, Cathy (;