Aveline

Chapter Eight - Betrayal

Sorry this took so long to get up! I had a lot going on and no time to write.

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I turned, following Blanche into the depths of a haunted house. 

"I'll stay out here in case you get ambushed or something," called George.

The big double doors creaked slowly open at her push, revealing a shadowy interior. I used my magic to make lights appear on the walls and ceiling, and immediately regretted it. 

The house was a mess! In some places, the floor had rotted to reveal black holes leading to what I assumed was the basement. I shuddered at the scent of mould, rot, decay, neglect and mildew in the stagnant air.

Why would this place be left to mould like this? More importantly, didn't Blanche say she lived here when she was five? She looked to be in her early twenties. If it was habitable a decade and a bit ago, it wouldn't look like this. Maybe similar, but a little less advanced on the journey back to nature. This looked like it hadn't been touched for at least a hundred years, maybe more.

Again, I got the feeling she was hiding something. I hope it's something epic, otherwise I'll feel stupid.

She stopped suddenly and I almost walked into her. What was that for?

"My mother was a writer," she said softly, walking over to an old writing desk. No way was that made for her mother. It was super old. About as old as the house, though someone had clearly been taking care of it. The top left drawer had jo dust on top of the knob, I noted Someone had been here recently.

"She would keep all her works in here," she opened the top left drawer. "And would never let me look. She didn't have time to get them when we left. It was so sudden. She grabbed my brother, grabbed my hand and left. I wasn't even allowed to go get my toys or clothes." That must have been awful!

"Why?" I asked. She let out a soft, bitter laugh.

"She said Papa had gone insane and wanted to kill us. She didn't tell us what she did to him." Something in my mind clicked. What she did to him. . . I couldn't be right, right? But how else would she know the history so accurately?

"The story you told us," I breathed, realisation slowly dawning on me. "That wasn't just the house's story, was it? It was yours. The woman was your mother. But you never mentioned yourself in the story." She turned towards me and frowned.

"Of course I didn't mention myself," she snapped. "No-one ever acknowledged my presence accept for Papa, and he was out all the time. I was left alone with Susan and Annie and Lacey, my dolls, all day.  My only friend was Blanche." Lie. "Mama never paid any attention to me from the day my brother was born." Lie. "I never liked him."

"Why not?" I asked. Who could hold a grudge against a baby? A little bundle of cuteness and giggles.

"He would cry all night. Mama never got any sleep. It made her a little crazy, I think. All the crying. That's what pushed her over the brink. That, and Papa cheating. Or at least, that's what I used to think." She grinned manically. "Until I did some research. Turns out crazy runs in the family." I took a step back. Crazy runs in the. . . oh no. She wouldn't. 

"You wouldn't." I tend to say what I'm thinking. Communication is a useful skill! Or so I've heard. I've never really bothered to try. 

"Oh, I would. After what happened, I never really liked redheads. Mama was one. And since your brother is outside, no-one will know what's about to happen. And George will never suspect me. I'll run out sobbing, telling him you were attacked. But don't worry, your sacrifice won't be in vain." She smirked. "I'll get Elsie out of the attic. And I'll marry your brother." Perfect plan, accept for one thing. 

"Ew." I wrinkled my nose. "George? That's kinda gross." He's my brother, I had to. She scoffed.

"Either way, you're going down." Yeah right.

"George!" I screamed. "Blanche got hurt!" Her smirk faltered.

"No I didn't," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. I fake gasped, putting a hand to my chest for added drama. I'm all about the drama.

"You didn't? Oh, my mistake. You see, I thought you got hit by a piece of falling ceiling and fell unconscious. My bad." I smirked. I made a piece of the ceiling fall onto her, knocking her onto the floor. I watched with satisfaction as she didn't stir. 10/10, would do again. I mean, she was asking for it when she targeted redheads in general instead of just me. I'm a bit of an asshat, but redheads? Now that's just plain old offensive.

George ran to where I was standing.

"Blanche!" He yelled. "Is she. . ." He trailed off. "Avey, why are you smirking?" I pulled my phone out of thin air. It had been recording her confession. I smirked again. I'm so damn smart.

He watched with his mouth in an O.

"And here I thought she was pretty!" He scoffed. I rolled my eyes.

"You look around the house for any signs of Elsie, and I'll stay here and make sure Blanche doesn't wake up," I said. He nodded and went off.

"Blanche? You gonna wake up?" I asked once he was gone, shoving her arm with my toe. She didn't react in any way so I shrugged and walked up to the desk. I pulled the drawer open.

'Hair of flax,

Eyes of steel,

Creamy skin,

And a heart of coal.' 

My jaw dropped. Blanche's mother hadn't been a writer. She was a poet!

'Mountains high,

Valleys low,

You sigh,

As the wind continues to blow.'

'The evergreen tree,

The bubbling brook,

You I never see,

No matter where I look.'

I nodded in approval. I had always loved rhyming couplets. I mean, the poetry was awful, but rhyming couplets in general are something I like.

"Ughh," groaned Blanche. "You b!tch! Let me out immediately!" I didn't even bother turning to look at her, choosing instead to keep on sifting through the cracked, yellowed pages.

"I can't right now, how about the forth of never? Or maybe the ninth of in your dreams?" Snicker. Thank you, internet, for that fabulous bit of sarcasm. What would I do without you?

"Aveline!" Screamed George from the other side of the house. I heard him running towards me.

"Gigi? What is it?" I asked him. Usually he doesn't scream my name while running through haunted houses.

"It's Olivienne," he said. My mouth dropped open.

"Wha-what about her?" I asked, stuttering a bit. Olivienne did that to me. She was the one person I was truly afraid of.

"She's escaped." And with those two words, my fate was sealed.

She's back.

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Meanwhile, at Avey's house:

Charli rushed to a garbage bin, puking up the contents of her stomach. She groaned, and promised herself never to eat candy ever again.

"Hello," said a pleasant voice from the TV room.

"Avey? Is that you?" She called. The voice sounded the same as Avey's. It chuckled.

"Oh, no. I'm not Aveline. But not far off. Now, why don't you stand up?" Charli complied. And then everything went dark.

So, I'm going to take the rest of the week off publishing. I'll be back on Monday!