Sing Me a Lullaby

Monster

February 12th, 1998

There are many things Emily finds scary. The first and foremost is the inevitably of death, the loss of her mother a grim reminder of that. The second is any kind of horror stories of the supernatural variety, the way they make you recoil at your own shadow afterwards. But recently it seemed her fears had taken a more tangible form, and as the branches scratch her face in her frantic race to safety, she can't help the hysterical laughter that bubbles at the thought of being chased by something not even her worst nightmares could conjure up.

I'm going to die.

She feels it when her foot snags and she falls. In the painful twist of her ankle and the taste of dirt as she rolls down, a curse leaving her bloodied mouth.

I'm going to die.

She feels it at the crushing weight on her chest as she collides with something solid, at the cold and numbing embrace of snow surrounding her. At the stillness that follows her stop.

I'm going to die.

It's a mantra she is pretty sure she'd be voicing, probably screaming if it were not for the lack of air in her lungs. If her vision wasn't blurring, her head wasn't screaming in agony.

The last image she sees before darkness consumes her is that of bloody claws resting on the white snow, just beside her head. Hot, acrid breath caressing her face, and familiar blue eyes.

I don't want to die.

____________

April 11th, 1997

Emily stands alone, if she concentrates enough she can feel her heart beat in tune with the raindrops hitting her face. She closes her eyes and imagines, the wind isn't cold but a warm summer breeze, and there is a soft, comforting weight on her shoulder. For a moment she feels safe, warm, loved. She imagines that the arms she holds around herself aren't her own, cold and shaking, but her mother's. She imagines she can her her sweet voice singing that same old lullaby.

So maybe she is surprised to find that the wet trails running down her cheeks are tears instead of raindrops, maybe she is surprised when she opens her eyes and sees the grey headstone of her mother's freshly dug grave. Maybe she is finally ready to believe her mother is gone.

But maybe she isn't.

They buried an empty casket after all.

April 26th, 1997

Dinner is a yellow paste that was supposed to be Mac & Cheese. Apparently, neither her nor her father, are any good at cooking. She sits at the table alone and forces herself to eat, promising she will buy a cooking book tomorrow.

The television drones on, something about an escaped specimen, filling the smothering silence that always seem to surrounds her now, but the emptiness is still suffocating.

She knows he is grieving, but so is she.

November 24th, 1997

She lies awake, unable to sleep. Her mind keeps going over the fact that her closed window was wide open this morning.

She made sure to close it tonight, she double checked and even locked it.

The last few weeks had taken their toll, she is having nightmares that leave her feeling watched, paranoid. Every sound or shadow feels like a threat in the darkness, and as her tiredness finally wins, she swears she hears a soft creak at her window as if the lock is being pushed back.