CLAIMER: Okay, this feels so different writing such a thing. *hehe* This is just to let you know that the words are mine, but the spirits the represent do not belong to me. I don't think I want to piss them off any more than I probably have.


-Chapter One-
She Sings


She sings, this little girl I hear sometimes. She sings songs of which the lyrics are long since forgotten and the melody too beautiful for words. The innocence her voice speaks of brings back childhood memories from so long ago. This song...it usually sounds like a humming of sorts, and sometimes she breaks into a chorus, but other times it fades into silence.

That silence isn’t peaceful. It’s filled with tension and fear and other things one shouldn’t feel when alone. But I feel them. In this house, there may be only one person inside, but that one person is never alone. Not here. She’s with me now, watching me write this, her hand on my shoulder urging me on, begging me to tell her story. Her grip tightens, and I am lost for words. This being may be a child, but she is old and wise. She has been here longer than I have graced this earth...in a time when Victorian buildings abounded, and politeness was the key to society’s golden causeway of life. I look to the right, and I can see nothing but empty space.

I know she’s there. Watching. Waiting. She wonders why she can’t be free of this world, and I often wonder the same thing. I think of questions that only she could answer, and even then those answers would come in dreams that even I couldn’t recall. So I let her linger here, even though she may despise it. She makes me feel safe and protects me from those unseen creatures in this hellish place.

What is the night, except a morbid playground for beings like her? I hear her laugh in the midnight hours, and sometimes even the sound of a piercing agonizing scream befalls my ears. I cry my tears for the girl who has burrowed her way into the recesses of my heart. She seems so lonely, and I would see her done right. I would see her take a friend, if only she could. If only she could be seen by someone other than me. If you asked me of her name, I couldn’t tell you. I would venture to guess there’s a “T” in there somewhere. It just sounds right.

Sometimes we will awake to see Crayon on the walls, just the same as on the backs of my eyelids from my dreams...and this in a house that has been without Crayons for the past six years. Yet, five minutes later the designs will be gone, and the illustrated wall will be back to the creme color that has adorned the walls of this house for the past nine years. The thing I think is so strange, is that this house is nine years old, nothing that I know of stood before it. When I hear of such things in the night as padding feet, and mischievous giggles emanate throughout the hallways and into the rooms, bearing with it an eternal child: nameless, but not at all alone, I have to smile. No matter how abandoned I feel, I shall always have a friend in the little Haunt that scampers around my home in the darkness of night.

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