Project Shady

Any Last Words

She sucked in a breath moments before pulling the door open. It creaked and shuddered as it scratched the bottom of the floor.  The noise was overwhelming in the dead silence of the house, Clara six years old paused in her tracks, straining her ears to try and listen for any sense of movement. Nothing, so she continued on her journey, her little bunny teddy hanging limply from her left hand.

The bunny dragged a little on each step as she descended down the stairs. Since she was so light her little footsteps made minimal noise as they hit each step. Once at the bottom she found herself in the hallway, the spooky black shadows of the trees from outside the door projected themselves onto the floor in front of her. Clara saw the dark thin twigs shadows as a game. Clutching, onto her teddy she tiptoed through the shadow, standing in small gaps that weren't shadowed.

After making her way through the shadow, Clara set her sites on the living room. This meant there was another door she had to get past, however, it would be more of a challenge as the handle had to be turned in order for it to open. The problem young Clara had was that she wasn't tall enough to reach it. But, that wasn't going to stop her, Clara had stayed up most nights figuring out a way to successfully get it open.

Before she'd left her room, she'd taken with her a thin bandanna, which she wore whenever she dressed up and played pirate. Clara had managed to tie the ends together making a secure knot and turning the piece of fabric into a lasso. Now, all it took was her to wrap it around the door handle and pull.

Just as she was about to pull something cold and hard pressed itself into the back of her head. Suddenly Clara was no longer a six years old, playing at sneaking around the house without getting caught at night. She was now twenty, with a gun pressed firmly at the back of her head.

"Any last words."

°°°

Clara shot up in bed, bringing her fist to her mouth and biting it to prevent the scream that threatened to break free.

"Can't I dream about fluffy unicorns just once," she muttered flipping the duvet off her so she could sit at the edge of the bed.

Her feet dangled off the bed as she took deep breaths. After she felt in control of her lungs again she peered over to look at the clock 6:00 am, flashed at her in bold red digits. Sighing she heaved herself off of the bed slipping her dressing gown on over the shorts and vest she wore. There was no way she was going to back to sleep again, something she was very much used to.

She felt like she was six again as she pulled open the bedroom door, this time it didn't make much of a sound apart from a small scuff as it ruffled the carpet. Shaking her head to stop thinking about the dream she just had,  she closed it behind her before making her way across the landing and down the stairs.

It was when Clara came to the shadowless hallway, that she had to stop and think. Which direction was the kitchen, left or right? Left or right? She repeated over and over again until she decided left. Left was not the right way.

"Where do you keep the glasses?" Clara mumbled to herself as she rooted around the kitchen opening various cupboards in search of a glass.

"Bingo," she exclaimed in triumph upon finding a low down cupboard stashed full of glasses in all shapes and sizes. Carefully she plucked out a tumbler one and carried it over to the sink.

All she wanted was a glass of water, but her brain decided against it. The sink was located under a window and when Clara looked up from the tap, a face appeared one that she only saw in her nightmares.

"Any last words."

The sudden shock of the face made her lose her grip on the glass and it slid from her grasp smashing into tiny pieces on the tiled floor. But she didn't notice she was too busy repeating ' it's not real,' over and over again. It was only seconds later when she looked down, she noticed the broken tumbler.

"Shit," she cursed, knowing that the crash was bound to wake either Marshall or Whitney or both.

Shaking the image from her head, she knelt down to pick up the shattered pieces of glass that had scattered across the floor.

"Yo doesn't worry about it," Clara let out a yelp as the voice startled her. She hadn't heard Marshall approached, too busy focusing on her thoughts to notice.

"What about Whitney it's glass she could cut herself," Clara pointed out, standing up, "were you looking at my arse?"

"No. Don't know what you're on about," Clara raised her eyebrows, watching as Marshall averted his gaze, choosing to look down at his feet instead.

"Right," she replied drawing out the word. "Sorry if I woke you," she added changing the subject, knowing he was going to deny the action if she asked again.

"Nah it's ok I would've woken up in a bit anyway to get Whit ready for school," he spoke, his eyes moving to scan over her face, sensing something wasn't right. In all honesty, he hardly knew the girl, but the pained expression in her eyes made him sure something was wrong.

"You ok and don't shrug and say no," he said bluntly, staring her down as if challenging her to say no.

"Why ask if you already know the answer," she pointed out. He continued to stare, not even moving as she tried to get past her.

"Did you have a nightmare or..."

"Nightmare makes it sound so childish," Clara bit back, the harshness in her tone taking him aback a little.

"Then what would you call it? He asked, confused by her words.

"I don't know. What you call having a happy memory ruined by one that still makes you terrified to this day?" She quipped back. Marshall's jaw hanging open in slight shock, he hadn't expected her to say something like that.

"PTSD," he guessed his voice a little edgy, showing how unsure he appeared to be.

"Maybe," Clara shrugged.

"You're just going to dismiss it like that. How often do you have a happy memory ruined by a terrifying one?" His question was met with silence. Clara's eyes cast down looking at the tiny shards of glass surrounding her.

"Do you..." Marshall paused mulling over the best words to use, "do you see it in every day or hear it or..."

"No," she said sternly. She'd lied as she shoved past him to head out of the kitchen, but she stopped to whirl around and face him,"you don't know me. You don't trust me enough to save your life. So guess what I ain't gonna even tell you about mine."

All Marshall could do was stand and stare as the black-haired woman left his site. Out of the kitchen and upstairs to lock herself most probably in her room. He sighed and bent down to pick up the remaining shards of glass that Clara hadn't gotten.

"Only known her not even a day and she hates you. Good job man," he mumbled to himself as he disposed of the glass in the bin. However, he couldn't dwell on the matter any longer as he was met by a tried looking Whitney entering the kitchen.

"Morning dad," she mumbled rubbing her eyes.

"Morning," he gave her a forced smile. His conversation with Clara still fresh on his mind.