#like. my mom is a thin person and she talks about tall boots that don't fit her calves it's literally insane

[autumnrory]

ugh taylor's boots are like the thigh high ones i tried but they were more vinyl-y and they squeaked so much i couldn't even consider keeping them and i still want some but it's so hard to find ANY tall boots be it up to the knee or past that that fit my calves

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Red Roses, Red Roses

Rated: 16+ For graphic descriptions of violence and gore, brief mentions of rape, mentions of torture, mentions of abuse, and disturbing images.

Masterlist

~All the pretty girls, they find

A way to keep you on my mind

I swear I heard you singing along

Cities pass like candy stores

And you're the one

I'm looking for

And so

I'm just a boy

Who's telling a girl

That when I grow up I'll buy you a rose

When I grow up, I'll buy you a rose~

"Okay, but what is the proper plural form of Nephilim?" I asked from the back seat of the Impala as it drove through the winding roads from the bunker and into town. "See, 'cause ' Nephilims ' sounds weird. So, is it ' Nephili ' like ' octopi ', or could it be ' Nephilice ' like ' mice '? I need to know this, guys."

The car was silent. Sam, Cas, and Jack were all thinking over the answer to my question and Dean was just rolling his eyes in the mirror.

"Maybe-" Sam started slowly "-Maybe it's just 'Nephilim'. You know, like ' moose '?"

"Yeah, that kinda sounds right, I guess." I nodded. Dean laughed and shook his head, glancing at me in the mirror. "What?"

"Oh, nothin'." He waved a hand. "I just don't get ya' is all."

"Yeah, neither do I." I shrugged and Jack must have found something funny because he snickered. "But what is it that you don't get?"

Dean shrugged. "I mean, I know you get rattled; Felix scares you and I get that. But you just take  everything else  in stride! How do you do that? I just- I don't get it."

"I told you this, Dean. I'm good at hiding my reactions to things and if I can't hide them then I use them to gain sympathy from others." I glanced at Jack, catching his eye. "At least, that's what I do until I can really trust somebody."

Jack smiled a little and tugged me closer into his side. He had been acting sorta weird since we'd all piled into the Impala for the drive into town. Jack had wrapped his arm around my waist and held me tight against him, almost as if he was keeping me away from the trench-coated angel on my other side. He kept shooting Cas these weird glances and I couldn't help but wonder what they could be about. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that Jack was being possessive.

Not that I was complaining about our close proximity or anything! Jack was really warm and winter in Kansas was, shall we say, not. Who was I to turn down free cuddles? Although those cuddles did kinda make me want to sink my teeth into him. He smelled so sweet and his skin looked so frustratingly soft. Maybe one of these nights I could sneak into his room and get a taste. That could make things better, I mean, half the torture of being around him was the curiosity of not knowing.

"And we're here!"

Sam's voice knocked me out of that potentially devastating train of thought and I followed Jack out of the car. Okay, ' followed ' is the wrong word. Jack pretty much just pulled me out of the car with him. He didn't let go of me. Weird.

The town of Lebanon, Kansas reminded me quite a bit of Copper Harbor. The main difference was that Lebanon was bigger... A lot bigger. The buildings were small and friendly, made of red brick and wooden doors and windows with glass that bulged out at the bottom. The streetlamps were iron and curled over the street as they should and there were planter boxes underneath display windows. The whole town just breathed in a way that said ' stay awhile '.

"It's Christmas time," I noted aloud, "I almost forgot."

There were colorful lights wrapped around poles and wreaths hung on doors with bells that jingled when they opened. There were even speakers placed outside that filled the air with all sorts of holiday music and I felt a smile split across my face as I started to sing along.

"Oh, no. Don't tell me you sing too," Dean chuckled as he held open the door of a discount clothing store. I was about to say something witty as a response but Jack beat me to the chance.

"She does! She sang to me last night," He said, smiling down at me. Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at the acute lack of space between us. Jack noticed and let go of my waist.

"Oh yeah? And how was that?" Dean asked, smirking.

Jack's brow's furrowed and his head tilted as he eyed me like he was trying to remember something.

"It was..."

' Please don't say anything that'll get me dead! ' I pleaded silently.

"It was  magical ."

Sam, Dean, and Cas all shared a strange look, but before anything more could be said, the shopkeeper waltzed in from the back room.

Her silver hair was cut short and straight with the ends tucked around her chin. She was a short, thin woman probably in her late forties or early fifties with a not-a-hair-out-of-place sort of attitude. I would bet twenty bucks that her name was Christie spelled with a 'Ch' that she would be sure to remind us of. Click-clacking her way over to us in a pair of atrociously hot pink six-inch heels, the woman regarded us over the tops of her thick, rectangular glasses which hung on a chain around her neck. She flicked her eyes over each person individually in a way that reeked of silent judgment and when her eyes landed on me I was tempted to flip her off. When she was satisfied that she knew everything there was to know about us, the woman fixed a painfully fake smile onto her face and greeted us, speaking slowly like we were uneducated simpletons.

"Well, hi there all! My name's Christie with a 'Ch', you know, like in 'Christmas'? What are your names?"

Called it.

"Hey, Christie. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam, standing really creepily behind me is Cas, and this one here is his son Jack." Dean pointed as he introduced everyone, sounding annoyed as if this was his tenth time meeting Christie which it probably was. "We're lookin' to get Marty here some warm clothes. Got anything, ah, petite?"

I shot Dean a pointed look to which he just smirked. It wasn't my fault he and his brother were so freakishly tall. In front of us, Christie ignored his request to do business and kept on chatting.

"Sam and Dean Winchester? I remember you, boys. Why didn't you tell me one of you had a daughter as pretty as this little vision? Is she yours, Sam? She looks a bit like you," She cooed, stroking my hair as if that was a socially acceptable thing to do. I almost bit her hand off but smiled instead. Her question caught Sam off guard.

"No, no. Marty's not my daughter," He chuckled nervously, shaking his head.

"Oh! My mistake. Is she yours, Dean?"

"What? No! O'corse not!"

I nearly smacked my face with my palm. Were these guys  trying  to look like kidnappers? Considering their age and the way I was dressed, oh yeah, this totally looked like a kidnapping.

Christie frowned and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to her side. Jack reached for me but Christie pulled me further away, glaring at him.

"Oh, dear me. I shouldn't be calling the police on you boys now, should I?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, trying to come up with some sort of excuse and Christie was already pulling out her phone. A very Isaac-like idea popped into my brain. I rolled my eyes and huffed, pushing away from Christie.

"Ugh! Why do you guys have to be so weird about it? I mean, if you have to dress like child abductors then you could at least  try  not to act like it!" I turned to Christie, shaking my head. "Yeah, sorry about them, ma'am. It's a really long and scandalous story and you probably don't wanna hear the details, but I'm not being kidnapped, I promise."

Christie perked up at the mention of scandal, she was probably just itching for some juicy gossip to spread around at one of her knitting meetings.

"Well, I should probably hear the whole story just to make sure," She said, almost buzzing with excitement.

"Are you sure?" I baited, "It's pretty bad!"

"Oh, you can tell me, hon! I won't tell anybody."

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

"Alright, so long story short, my mom is Cas's aunt and she's a slut who cheated on my dad, who's a straight-up loser. So, he only found out that I'm not his just last week and filed for divorce within two days because he finally has an excuse to get rid of me now. Except, surprise-surprise, my mom never wanted me either because I'm a useless mistake and so they both threw me to child support which Cas here saved me from because he's a decent human being!" I finished my rant of bull crap and inhaled deeply. Christie had bought every word.

"Aw, you poor baby! You get a discount, sweetheart, and if one of your parents ever comes in here I'm gonna wring their neck!" She continued babbling as she led us through the store while Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack all stared at me like I had eight heads. I smirked at them and shrugged a little.

Five hours and six oversized bags of clothes later and we were out of that store. We crossed the street and collapsed on some benches outside a diner, remaining silent for a while.

"That was worse than Hell!" Dean complained, tugging his boots off and rubbing his sore feet. "If I had to hear that woman talk for one more minute, I might have slit her throat!"

The rest of us made noises of agreement. Well, all except Jack who just shrugged.

"I thought she was nice," He said, though he too looked worn out.

"That wasn't nice, Jack. That was prying," Cas corrected him.

"Yeah," I agreed, "I wasn't sure how much more crap I could spout about your aunt, Cas!"

"Yeah, um, speaking of," Sam cut in, "You had that whole thing pretty handled, Marty. Where'd all that stuff come from anyway?"

"I've been on my own since I was nine, Sam," I lied, lowering my head and picking at my jeans.

"I get that, but-"

" Since I was  nine ,  Sam ." I glanced up to see Sam's mouth form into an 'O' of understanding. I looked away again, quieting my voice. "I know how to make up excuses that people won't question."

"Ah."

"You are  quite  the liar, Martina," Cas spoke up with a tilt of his head. The way his words curled in on one another made it impossible for me to tell whether his statement was one of praise, suspicion, or both. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jack eyeing Cas, his lip curled in a scowl that looked unnatural when displayed by his gentle features.

I didn't look up at the angel sitting in front of me. A tight smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I tapped the pads of my fingers against my knees.

"You don't trust me do you, Castiel?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral. Cas sighed and shook his head; I watched Jack's hands clench into fists.

"No. No, I don't," He said, eyeing Jack's reactions as well.

"Why not?" I still didn't look up, feeling the angel's gaze shift to me.

"You lie so easily to others, and you do it very well. What's to stop you from doing the same to us?" For once, Castiel's tone didn't seem accusatory. He sounded truly curious and... understanding almost. His words were something close to gentle.

"Nothing, really," I answered honestly, "For five years, it was just  me . I had Isaac but I still felt  so  alone . I felt so small and scared and  purposeless . All I did was run and hide, it was like I was just waiting to die. So, when you guys offered me protection, I couldn't say no. I couldn't say no, even if I didn't actually need it."

"Didn't need it? What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, leaning his elbows on his knees. I shrugged.

"You guys saw a small kid getting attacked in that alleyway and you helped her out. You just made the same mistake that everybody does."

"And what mistake is that?" Cas pressed, squinting curiously.

"Thinking that small means the same thing as helpless," I took a deep breath, shaking my head, "It doesn't, and I'm not. I told you I was clever, you just never stopped to think about what that meant. What you guys don't seem to get is that I survived for  five years . I was just scared that if you knew then you would leave me there alone and I- I just couldn't."

"So, you lied to us?" Sam asked with a frown. I nodded.

"I did. I lied to you and I'm sorry."

"We wouldn't have turned you away, Marty," Jack said, softly grasping my hand.

"I think somewhere deep down I knew that. There were just these things I had to do to survive and I was so scared that if you knew about them, then you wouldn't want me. So, I lied. Because the only thing I could think about was how I just couldn't be alone anymore." I laughed in spite of myself.

Jack nodded solemnly before glancing up and getting distracted by something across the street. His face lit up as he let go of my hand and stood, bounding towards whatever had caught his attention. I didn't bother to watch him.

"Look, Marty," Dean sighed and shook his head a bit, "You seem like a pretty sweet kid and I like you, a lot. Now, I may not know everything about your past, but I know from experience that the only thing that can make up for your mistakes is trying your best to do the right thing now. I wanna trust you, Marty. We all do. But if you keep all these secrets, then we can't do that. So, can you promise us just one thing?"

"Name it."

"No more lies?"

"No more lies," I lied.

"Good." Sam smiled. "So, is there anything else we should know about you?"

There were so many things. None of which I could tell.

"Well, there might be one thing."

"What?"

I opened my mouth to speak but I was cut off by a flower being presented before my eyes. The flower was a rose and the rose was white. It was gorgeous and perfect, there wasn't a single flaw on any of the smooth petals and it was just one step short of full bloom.

There was a hand attached to the rose and I plucked the flower from his fingers, twirling it between my own.

"What's this for?" I asked as I looked up at Jack who beamed down at me the way I remember summer sunshine being like.

"It reminds me of you," He said simply.

"Why?" I chuckled.

"Um, because you said that you pretended to be innocent and helpless because you thought that nobody would want you if they knew otherwise. So, um, I-" He gestured to the rose's thorn-covered stem. "Well, t-this one has spiky-things on it."

"So, it does." I nodded, giggling at his strange explanation. Jack flashed me a grin and continued.

"At first, I thought it was just beautiful, like you, and I didn't see the spiky things until I picked it up. When I touched it, it hurt, but I took it anyway. See, it's still beautiful - even with the spikes - I still wanted it. So, I want you to know that even if you have spikes, I still want you."

Around. There was an ' around ' tagged on the end of that sentence, he just forgot to put it there. Right?

"Thank you, puppy. That was very sweet," I said, catching a glimpse of the flower cart across the street where he must have gotten it. The cart was unattended. In fact, the whole street was oddly empty. It was Christmas time, the street shouldn't have been empty, but it was and that gave me a very bad feeling.

Jack smiled so innocently it made me want to cry.

"You're welcome!"

"You paid for this though, right?"

Jack's face immediately told me the answer. "Is it not for free?"

"Nope, you stole it. You're criminal now," I joked.

"Oh." Jack frowned for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Well, when we grow up, I'll buy you one."

I had the chance to say something witty, so naturally, I replied with:

"Cool."

I mentally slapped myself. Of course, he says something cute and all I say back is ' cool '. My brain hates me.

I felt my cheeks heating up, so I ducked my head down. Deciding that we were in a shaded enough spot, I tugged the light-teal-colored baseball cap off my head. (I had been using it to hide my face from the harsh burning of the sunlight that drifted over the town.) The cap had a manatee sewn on the front and was one of the few things I had brought with me from my past life on the sunny shores of Florida. Laying the hat in my lap, I pulled my thick black braid over my shoulder and proceeded to weave the rose's stem into it loosely. Then, I flipped my hair back and smashed the baseball cap back on my head.

Meanwhile, the angel boy just smiled down at me as if he  hadn't  just said some of the kindest words I'd heard in five years. My cheeks felt like they were on fire and suddenly my shoes were extraordinarily interesting.

My attention was drawn away, however, when out of the corner of my eye, I watched Cas's back go ramrod straight. His head tilted to the side like he was listening for something, his eyes narrowing to one-quarter squint power.

"Cas?" Dean called to his friend. More like  their  friend, really, Sam and Jack were his family too. I guess I couldn't bring myself to call the angel my friend while I was lying to his face about everything I was.

"There are monsters somewhere here, I can sense them," Castiel said quietly. Jack stopped and tilted his head like Cas, focusing.

"I sense them too," He reported, glancing at me, "They're vampires." I sat up a little straighter.

"Put your shoes back on, Dean. You cannot rest while enemies are nearby," I said, smiling wryly and letting an edge of nervousness creep into my voice.

"How many are there?" Dean demanded, already taking charge.

Cas squinted harder. "Seven... Wait, no. There are eight."

"Where? C-can you sense that?" Sam asked.

"No-" Cas shook his head before turning to his surrogate son. "-But Jack can."

Cas sent a small nod to Jack who nodded back and directed his gaze upward, stretching out a hand. His eyes flicked into glistening gold and I could feel my hair stand on end as the air became charged with raw power. For a split second, I almost thought I saw the outline of feathered appendages sprouting from the boy's back. Then, Jack's eyes flickered back into their crystalline blue and I shook the after image away. Whatever I had thought I'd seen was gone before I could register it.

"There are two of them hiding in an alley about thirty yards that way-" He pointed to the left "-and there are five more. They're waiting for an ambush? I think? They're over there. In that really suspicious-looking grey van parked four cars down." He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and I leaned over to glance at the car. Jack had been right, the van totally looked like it belonged to the mafia or something.

"What about the last one?" Dean pressed, his eyes shifting around to examine his environment. Jack shook his head.

"I-I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I mean, I can sense it - I know it's here somewhere - but it's cloudy. I can't tell exactly where; it's like it's everywhere and nowhere at the same time."

Jack called the vampire an ' It '. Of course, he did.  It  was a vampire.  It  was a monster. What else does one call a monster? What else does one call  a thing  like that? After all, that's all  it  was; that's all  I  was. A  thing . Not a someone, not a person, not a  friend . A  thing . A  pest , a  nuisance , a  parasite  to be eradicated. Skrew all Jack's kind words and endearing actions; they didn't mean anything! He could never really love me back. It was only a matter of time before he realized that. It was only a matter of time before he started calling me ' It '.

' How long will that be, I wonder .'

I was pulled from my thoughts by a scream. It rang, high and sharp, and it echoed off the brick buildings.

"HELP! HELP ME!" A woman's voice cried.

"Max?" Jack whispered, his eyes going wide. I didn't know who that was and apparently, neither did Dean as he flung his strong arm out in front of Jack who began to sprint towards the sound.

"Who?" Dean demanded. Jack struggled to push past him but Dean wouldn't budge.

"That-that's Max! She's my friend! Those things have her! She needs our help!" He explained impatiently. Dean's face scrunched up.

"Wait, wait. Max? Teenage girl? White hair? 'Bout yea high?" The elder Winchester made a height comparison with his hand and Jack rolled his eyes.

"Yes! Now, come on!" Jack huffed.

"Oh ho! So that's why you're not going for abandonment issues over there?" Dean teased. Letting go of Jack, they started towards the sound of screaming. "Does Jack-Jack have a girlfriend?"

Jack stopped and faced Dean, confusion written across his brow. "Max already has a girlfriend."

"Oh."

The two dorks were brought back to reality when that Max girl screamed again.

"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP!"

Her voice was followed by another, a boy this time.

"HEY! HEY! HELP! ANYBODY! HELP US!"

"That's Eliot!" Jack took off down the street at a full-on sprint. Dean, Sam, and Cas hot on his heels.

"No, no! Please, go on ahead without me," I muttered, sarcastically, "Save the damsel! I'll just... wait here then."

Huh. Max and Eliot. I felt like those names should be switched around, but then again, I go by Marty, so who am I to judge?

Out of nowhere, I felt a stinging pain in my shoulder. A syringe. I knew the feeling well. Before I could react, the pain suddenly doubled, rapidly spreading all throughout my body like a viral infection.

Dead man's blood.

I whipped my head to the left to meet an all too familiar pair of brown eyes.

"What's bouzzin' gousin?" An accented voice jeered.

Then everything was black.

***

The vampires were taken care of rather easily. Jack felt like a Jedi Knight as he suspended them in the air, stringing them up like the murderers they were. They didn't even struggle. Like convicts dangling from a hangman's noose, the vampires knew as soon as they saw Jack's glowing eyes, that their deaths were nigh at hand. Jack thrust out a hand and caught them in the pulsing rings of his grace, a sound like drum beats underwater reverberating off the alley walls. With a grin, the boy clenched his hand into a fist and the monsters splintered into not but dust.

With the threat eradicated, the glow in Jack's eyes flickered out and he turned to the high-schoolers who he considered his friends.

"Hello, Max! Hello, Eliot! It's alright, you're safe now," He chimed, nodding to each kid in turn and lifting his hand in greeting, though he refrained from actually waving it. Upon seeing him raise his hand, the kids shared a look of sheer terror and backed away. Jack frowned at their reactions, lowering his hand. "No, no! Wait, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you!"

Max and Eliot paused, trying to determine whether or not they believed him.

Unbeknownst to Jack, Max and Eliot didn't actually like him. ( After finding out about the supernatural, the teens were disappointed when the Winchesters refused to tell them more about spirits and monsters. Enter Jack, and his unfortunate lack of talent in terms of keeping his trap shut. ) Max and Eliot had only hung out with Jack once, and that was exclusive because they knew that he lived with the Winchesters. Against his better judgment, Jack had shown them a glimpse of his powers and though they thought his telekinesis was cool, the teens had agreed not to search the boy out again.

There was just something about Jack that unsettled them, frightened them,  terrified  them. Just like every other human who had seen what Jack could do; deep down, they were all afraid of him. Because he wasn't normal, he wasn't right,  he wasn't human .

"What did you just do to those guys?" Eliot asked, staring with eyes as wide as quarters. Jack thought it would be better not to answer that question.

"It's okay! They were monsters," He reassured.

"He disintegrated them," Cas deadpanned. Dean shot the angel a look. "What?"

"YOU DISINTEGRATED THEM?!" Max screeched loud enough to make Jack flinch.

"Yes?"

"You didn't just, like, proof em' away or something?" Eliot added, a little quieter.

"Um, no. No, I didn't."

"COULD YOU DO THAT TO US?!"

"Most likely, yes," Jack answered, thoughtfully, "I've never tried it on humans, though. But I would never hurt you guys, you're my friends!"

"You're really freaky, dude," Elliot said, shaking his head slowly, "And, like, not in a good way."

"I know." Jack hung his head. They were afraid of him. They hated him. He shouldn't have expected otherwise.

"I'm never gonna be able to un-see that," Max muttered, staring at the cement.

That gave Jack an idea, maybe there was a way to undo this.

"I know you're probably freaking out, but I think I know a way to make it better," He said, trying to sound reassuring.

"Nah, man. I don't want any of your freaky Aquaman powers used on me!" Eliot shook his head.

"No powers." Jack smiled despite how badly their words hurt. "I promise."

His stomach twisted with the lie, but they didn't need to know that. Max and Eliot shared another glance.

"Okay..." They agreed, hesitantly.

"I have a friend. Her name is Marty," Jack explained, leading them back to the bench where his family had left the girl. "She's right here!"

Except she wasn't.

That's when the Nephilim's phone rang.

It was a picture message. Marty sat unconscious tied to a chair in some shack. The text read:

"I really would hate to incur the wrath of the Winchesters, so consider this a ransom note. All you have to do is find her in time. Tick-tock. ~ Felix "

Max peered over Jack's shoulder.

"Hey! I know that place!"

***

"Welcomb back to the land of the livinc' where the livinc' are, in fact, dead!"

Okay, so she knew I was awake. I kept my eyes closed anyway and canvassed my new environment. Having grown up blind, I didn't need my eyes to see.

My hands were bound with zip-ties to the arms of the splintering wooden chair I sat in. The space around me was large but not cavernous as there was no echo. This was a shack of some kind judging by how the metal panels making up the roof clanged against one another in the wind. The shack was also dark to protect vampire skin from the sun, and in winter, no sun meant freezing temperatures. There was a weight covering my lap; someone had given me a blanket. I caught the scent of hay among other less pleasurable farm smells. I could hear the shifting of five pairs of feet surrounding me in a circle. This was going to be fun.

Opening my eyes, at last, I was met with the sight of a young woman around the age of twenty-two, lounging on a few hay bails. She was long, lean, and muscular with a round face displaying a crooked smile. I could see the end of a tie-dyed shirt sticking out beneath the fluffy black coat she wore. Her green and purple hair was chopped short in a punk rocker pixie cut that stuck out in at least five different directions. If I wasn't mistaken, a few of the strands appeared to be scorched on the ends. Her cheekbones were low and prominent and plenty rosy. She had full lips and a button nose that was home to two tiny diamond studs. The woman wore her dark green eyeshadow with plum-colored lipstick unapologetically. Her eyes, which were set deeper than most, turned down at the corners and sparkled with mischief. They were accompanied by thick dark eyebrows, the left of which had apparently gotten a third piercing since I had last seen her.

"Ah hah! So she  is  alive!" She said, her thick Dutch accent coating her words, "I was begininc' to worry that you had follen asleep... Again."

I shrugged despite my restraints.

"Yeah, well I can only sleep-in so long."

"You never were a morninc' person, were you?" The woman sighed, shaking her head. I watched her arrow-head pendant as it swung back and forth from her neck.

"Nope."

"And dat's why we're frien'ds!" She chirped.

"We're not friends, Elwyn." Okay, so maybe that was a bit harsh but it was better than pretending like everything was fine and dandy between us. Elwyn faked a gasp.

"You used my fuoll name! You muss be serious. Why so c'old,  mijn lieve ?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Spending five years as a walking corpse will do that to you," I answered, smiling thinly. "Why are you here, Elwyn? What's this act for? We both know that if I wanted to walk out of here right now, I could do so without a scratch on me. What do you want?"

"You might 'ave been able to woltz out of 'ere if you had a full tanc', dat's true." Elwyn nodded, in agreement. Then she tilted her head and frowned at me with pouty lips. "But you're quite weak now. I'm sorry, hones'ly. I t'ought dat you'd be able to 'andle dat much dead man's blood but you still look pale an' shaiky!"

"Well, I've always been pale," I replied, narrowing my eyes. Elwyn sat up, crossing her legs and putting a fist to her chin. Her brows furrowed and she looked at me with what seemed to be genuine concern for my well-being.

"How lon'g has it been since you fed,  liefste ?" She asked in a gentler tone.

"A little over two weeks," I answered honestly.

"Two weeks?! Nothinc'? Not even somethinc' piffy, like a ra'bbit?"

I shook my head and shrugged.

"Oh,  jij arme ding ! I know you ha'te it, but how could you do dis' du yourself?!" She cried, shaking her head in dismay. I looked away. Deep down I knew that Elwyn really did care about me, albeit in her own strange way. I was being harsh with her and that wasn't exactly fair. She was Felix's prisoner too.

"I more than hate it, Ellie," I said, speaking softer now, "But I just couldn't find a good opportunity. Besides, I can take it."

Elwyn rolled her chocolate-brown eyes.

"No you gan't, Mardina! Look at yourself! You're runninc' on foomes and it shows!" Elwyn huffed, her accident becoming more prominent as her emotion shown through. "Be hones'd wit me, dis is because of dose Win-kesters, isn't it?"

"Not exactly," I said, picking at a splinter on the wooden arm-rest. I knew the real reason and it was a stupid one. I mean, of all the ways to try to be better, starving myself to the breaking point probably wasn't the smartest. But I wanted to be good, pure. I wanted to be human. For him.

"Ah, I see." Elwyn smiled softly. "I was told aboud dat Nephilim boy, the rumors were wrong about him. I was watchinc' you two today; he's not a ragink' monster at all."

"No, he's not." I shook my head.

"He's a  zoet wezen , no?" Elwyn chuckled to herself, "Sorry, I don' know de word for it in English."

I nodded. The closest translation of her Dutch was ' sweet creature '. It fit.

"What's his name?" Elwyn asked without the slightest bit of hostility.

I smiled. "His name is Jack."

" Hou je van hem ?"

"I don't know," I said, shrugging. Elwyn smiled knowingly.

"Yes, you do. And if what I saw was any indication, he feels the same."

"No, he doesn't, Ellie," I sighed and gestured to the child body I was trapped in. "He can't. Just look at me! I'm just a sister to him and if he knew what I really am then he'd hate me!"

"So, dat's what dis is about." Elwyn nodded with understanding.

"What do you mean?"

"You t'ink yourself bad, so you want du be good for him. Dat's why you 'aven't been feeding," She explained, sounding matter-of-fact.

"Yeah, I guess so." I looked away.

"Well, das not good!" Elwyn leaned forward and cut the zip-ties that held me to the chair. Then she reached behind her and fished around a bit until she pulled her arm back and held it out to me, a blood bag resting in her palm. "Have a snack now and your  engel jongen  will never know!"

I glanced at it for a moment but it didn't take much to break my willpower. I snatched the bag from her hand and ripped it open, downing it like there was no tomorrow.

"You gan slow down,  geliefde.  I brough't more." Elwyn chuckled.

"You did?" I asked looking up.

"I had a sneakinc' suspission dat dis was goin'c du 'appen." She shrugged, tossing me another bag which I ripped into also. She reached behind her again, this time tugging around a small cooler full of the stuff which she pushed over to me. "I admire your willpower, Mardina. I don t'ink I'd have de kinda strengt for what you're pullinc'. How'd you do it?"

"Do what?" I asked, halfway through my second bag.

"Live with dose 'unters day in an' day out!" She exclaimed, "Esspecialy dat e ngel jongen ! Da kid smells like garamel chocolate! I envy your gontrol. How'd you stan' so close to him? I was eighty-feet away and I gould 'ardly gontrol myself!"

Well, at least I wasn't the only one.

"I gotta keep up apperences, Ellie. You know all about that." I knew I sounded guarded, but this subject made me uncomfortable.

"But you gould still get a taste. I know you gan make pepole forget t'ings."

I sighed, finishing my second bag and grabbing another.

"You know, Elwyn? You almost got me." I smiled, shaking my head.

"What do you mean?" She asked, feigning obliviousness.

"For a second there, I almost thought you were still my friend."

"I  am  your friend," Elwyn insisted, "I defied Felix for you!"

"Then you ran right back to him the second I turned my back."

"I had too," She spoke, her voice regretful.

"No! No you didn't! You  chose  too. You chose  him  over  me !"

" Hij is mijn vader !  Ik moest !" Elwyn cried. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"I don't care!" I shouted back, "We were free! We both could have been free! But no, you chose to leave me all alone in the middle of the woods!"

"I knew you'd be fine," She whispered. I shook my head, pressing my lips together.

"No, you didn't," I growled. "Do you have  any idea  how long I wandered for?!"

"You made it out."

"Not in one peace. I lost things in there, Elwyn." I shook my head. "You left me there." Then, I let out a harsh, rasping, laugh and spat my next words. "And for what? To run right back into the arms of the father that never even loved you!"

Elwyn hung her head. " Het spijt me zeer.  I'm so sorry."

"You should be," I said, cooly. "Why do you always run back to him? And don't give me any of that ' he's my father ' bull crap."

"I don know. But what I do know is dat I am still your friend."

"Right." I nodded, smiling through tight lips. "Why are you really here, Elwyn?"

She took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that had slipped down her face, and looked up. "I game 'ere to save you," She said.

"Excuse me?"

"From dose 'unters!" She explained, "Felix told me dat you were with de Win-kesters and I begged him to let me c'ome rescue you. An' he said yes! He's so much kinder den he used to be; he promised dat he wouldn' make you do anyt'ing you didn' want to!"

Elwyn smiled at me and took my hand.

"Oh, yeah?" I scoffed, "Then what was that phone call, huh? What? Is killing my friend supposed to win me over?"

"Hey, I said dat Felix is kinder den he was." Elwyn sighed. "He's still Felix though. He was tryinc' to intimidate de Win-kesters into letting you go."

"I'm not being held hostage!" I insisted.

"But you are still in danger!" Her eyes softened, "Dey will kill you if dey find out what you are."

"I know."

"C'ome with me," She pleaded, "C'ome with me, an' Jack will never find out about you. C'ome with me an' he'll never break your heart."

I paused. Was there really any chance?

No. There was no chance. No chance that Felix could ever change. It was one in a million. There was no chance and  no choice .

"If you're really here to save me, then what's with your little posse?" The five other vampires had been unusually quiet for idiots of their caliber.

Elwyn shrugged. "In case t'ings get messy."

"We'll, then you better plan on things getting messy because I'm not coming with you," I said with a smirk.

"Why not?"

"Because Felix wants me dead, Elwyn, and that's not going to change."

The woman's face fell.

"I know you didn' mean to kill Madra," She whispered, gently. I shook my head and frowned.

"I didn't kill her," I hissed, "Felix killed his soulmate, not me."

"And he sees dat now. He knows dat it wasn' your fault, dat you couldn't gontrol it. He realises dat and he forgives you!" She smiled a little.

"And how many times did he have to beat you before he realized that?"

"C'ome on, Mardina!" She sighed, though I could see the pain her eyes hid. "Dis is an olive branch! Jus' take it!"

I shook my head and I laughed. I laughed long and loud and hard. I laughed like a girl gone mad. I had told Elwyn that I had lost something when she had left me in those woods, I wanted her to know what it was.

"No," I said. Then I stretched my bloody lips into a mad, humorless grin, "I don't want your olive branch."

"Why not? Its your best chance! Don you want peace?"

"Peace?  PEACE?! " I spat, "You know what he did to me, what he made me! You think after every thing he took away, that I would want  peace ? You think after what I did, Felix would offer me peace?"

"I don't want peace," I said, beginning the rhyme I'd heard when I was still alive, "I want war and I want my enemy's head hung like a boar. I didn't come for money and I don't want his crown, see, I've come to burn his kingdom down. So, come one, come all, to take a dance with the dead and stain the petals of the white roses red."

"Mardina, please!"

The other vampires in the room shifted, readying for a fight. But I was faster.

Launching myself from that splintering wooden chair, I threw my body forward towards the stack of haybales Elwyn had previously sat on. I had to jump to avoid the vamp that tried to grab my legs and that pushed me forward a little too much but it wasn't something I couldn't compensate for. Landing on my hands, I shoved my body up, and over the hay bales in a vamp strength enhanced backflip. I landed on my feet and flipped my hair back. The shed's door was in front of me. Sure, it was locked but the lock was only one of those slidey metal bars which are super easy to break and if I was going to fight five vamps at once, it would be wise to keep my back to the door that way I might be able to be thrown through the door and land outside instead of pushed into a dead-end wall. Also, if I was going to fight five vamps at once, I was going to need the proper tool for the job. Beside the door, my eyes landed on a tool rack. I spied my weapon of choice. This was going to be fun .

It was one of those weird four-prong rakes that I'm not completely sure is called a rake. A label on the shaft said it was a soil cultivator but I didn't care what it was called because I was fighting for my life. The four prongs were about five inches long and although the shed wasn't new, the equipment in there thankfully wasn't that old, so the four steel prongs were still wicked sharp.

I ducked, dodging the arms of another vamp before rushing for the tool rack. Another vamp sprang in front of me, blocking my way and I paused. This one had bleach-blond chin-length hair. I knew him. I remembered him from when I was in Felix's cage. This one's name was Boyd and he liked to touch things that didn't belong to him. I couldn't fight back then, but I could now.

"How's it goin', Boyd?"

"So, you remember me, do ya?" He jeered, beginning to circle me like a predator circling its prey. Little did he know, he was not the predator here.

"Oh, I remember you alright. See, Boyd, I'm not a good little girl-" He used to call me that, "- not anymore. I don't do what I'm supposed to. See, when it comes to bastards like you, I don't forgive and I most certainly don't forget."

"Well, I guess its a real shame that I forgot your name, then. You were one of my favorites!" He laughed, "Only thing I remember 'bout you now is how loud you used to scream."

I gave him a cold smile and lunged straight for his legs. Grasping his ankle, I twisted and pulled, sending him crashing to the floor. Then I lifted his leg, rolled over, and slammed my arm down on his knee. There was an ear-splitting snap and he screeched like an animal.

"Who's screaming now, Boyd?" I taunted. I sprung up and stomped down on Boyd's throat, crushing his windpipe. As a vampire, that wouldn't kill him which was good because I wasn't done with him yet. I was going to make him hurt. Why would I want peace when I could have revenge? Revenge felt good.

I rolled away when a red-haired vamp took a swing at my head. I bolted for the four-prong rake and brandished it the way you would a staff. The rake was long, about three inches taller than me, but I easily found the balance point. I spun it around in my hand as I circled the other four vamps.

"Mardina, we gan talk aboud dis!" Elwyn tried, grabbing my arm. I threw my head back and laughed.

"No, Ellie. We can't!" I flipped the rake over, using the blunt end to whack Elwyn upside the head with supernatural strength and speed. She was knocked out. "Stay down. You're not like them and I don't want to kill you."

The red-haired vamp ran at me again and I spun out of the way, flipping the shaft again and swinging it down as he passed me. Two of the prongs buried themselves in the base of the vamp's spine, judging by the position, between two vertebrae. He howled and tried to claw at my arm but I easily avoided him. A female vamp shrieked for her friend and lunged at me from the left.

I rolled my eyes. Pushing on the shaft of my rake I distanced myself from the redhead vamp and ducked away from the female's fangs. I reached out and grabbed her shirt, using it to pull her down towards me. I slammed my head into hers once, then twice to daze her. She stumbled as I let go and switched to grabbing the hair at the base of her neck.

"Night-night, cupcake!" I chirped. Then I slammed her face into my knee and tossed my weight over her shoulder, sliding my arm around her neck. I pulled backward.

That blissful crack was the sound of her neck snapping. Jumping up and using the wall to gain some momentum, I twisted the vamp's head all the way around. It was easy with nothing but tissue and tendons in my way. Her body dangled limp from where I held her by the hair, so I opened my mouth, letting my fangs extend, and I bit her head off.

The redhead vamp with my rake still stuck in him cried out and tried in vain to reach me again. It was pathetic, really. Grinning, I wrenched the rake upward, severing the vamp's spinal cord and pulling the prongs along with two of his vertebrae straight through his back. He fell to the ground, paralyzed from the waist down because two of his bones were missing.

Just as I was about to remove his dreadful cranium from his miserable shoulders, one of the other vamps jumped at me, managing to rake his grotesquely long fingernails along my back. I released no cry of pain as he tore through my skin before grabbing me by my shoulders and hurtling my body at the wall. My face slammed against a pole built into the metal siding as the rest of my body just hit the wall. I landed on the ground with a jarring impact that I was sure had broken a few things. But I couldn't feel the pain. I was too focused on my rage. I was seeing red, and for the first time, I welcomed it without fear.

"Not so tough now are ya?" He called out.

My body was broken and yet I stood. I felt invincible.

"I know I'm not tough," I laughed. I wiped away the blood that was dripping from my mouth and nose, looking up to smile pleasantly at the vamp. "But you wanna know what I am?"

"What?"

"I'm insane, and that tends to make up for the rest."

The vamp charged me but I twisted around and Spartan kicked him into the wall. Then, using a few hay bails to step on, I vaulted into the air and brought the rake down on the vamp's head, piercing through his skull and embedding the prongs in his brain. The spray was a little gross but I didn't care. He deserved it.

"You're next, pumpkin," I called to the last vampire left standing in the room.

I crossed over to him and he managed to block my first two blows but then I smashed the blunt end of the rake into his face a few times and he was unconscious. I heard a groan and turned on my heel.

"And that brings us back to you, Boydie-Boo!" I cheered, stepping on the paralyzed vamp's hand as I passed him. I leaned over Boyd who was still on the ground, gasping for air. "Hello, sweetie. How are we today?"

All Boyd did was gasp and choke, he couldn't speak as his vocal cords had been stepped on.

"Aw! Did you get a boo-boo?" I pouted at him.

Then I grabbed Boyd by the throat at lifted him into the air. He struggled against my grasp but could do nothing. He couldn't even beg.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Can't you scream for me?"

He shook his head and spat at me. So, I threw him into a wall. Boyd fought to stand, using the wall to stagger upright.

"Come on, Boyd! Fight! Are you going to let yourself be beaten by a girl?!" I taunted him and pulled on the fear that was already constricting his mind. Revenge felt so good.

"You-you're not a girl," He panted, "You're a monster!"

I hummed, tapping my chin with my finger.

"I guess history will have to be the judge of that, now won't it, buddy-Boyd?" I dragged my rake along the ground, though all the blood of his friends. There was a wonderful metallic grating noise as the prongs scrapped across the concrete.

"Please don't! Please! I'll do anything!" It felt good to hear him beg.

"Unfortunately," I continued, "I don't think you'll be around to plead your case!" I hefted the rake.

"No! PLEASE!"

"Bye-bye, Boydie-boo!"

I swung the rake upward with all my might and with a sickening crunch I rammed its prongs up through his jaw. I said I wanted him to suffer. Pulling him by the prongs in his face I brought his screaming form over to the tractor sitting at the back of the room. I rammed the shaft of the rake through two spokes of one of the tractor's wheels. All it took was the flip of a leaver to send the wheels spinning.

Turn, turn, turn and scream, scream, scream, then a nice snap, crackle, pop, and then suddenly, Boyd's head and body were two separate objects. I was very happy. Then, the random vamp I'd knocked out woke up and yanked on my hair, throwing me over his shoulder.

I tried to land on my feet but failed, tripping and stumbling backward. I landed on my back and scrambled to get up. As I did, I noticed the perfect white rose that Jack had given to me had fallen out of my hair. It lay on the ground in a pool of blood. Jack said it reminded him of me, of the way he saw me. Well, it wasn't innocent or perfect anymore. But neither was I, so I think it matched me better now.

The vamp rushed me and tackled me to the ground, pinning my arms to my sides as he snapped at me with his fangs out.

Bang... Bang!... CRASH!

The door burst open and light from the setting sun poured in, falling directly on the last vamp's face. He cried out and tried to scamper away, like a rat from a cat.

"It's about time! You guys are late to the party!" I shouted.

"Yeah, sorry!" Dean said from the doorway, "Who would've thought there were so many old sheds in this town!"

I didn't get a chance to reply.

I felt the air prickle and spark, charging with a tambour of power that I recognized but had yet to experience to this degree. I turned my head in time to see Jack, eyes glowing gold, passing by Dean with his hand outstretched. Golden waves of energy shot from his being with a sound like drumbeats from the depths of the sea. The waves caught the fleeing vampire and time around him slowed to a crawl. He was lifted into the air and revolved to face his reckoning. The Nephilim's lips tugged into a cruel grin as he saw the fear in the vampire's eyes.

Suddenly, the pulses of energy stopped and the vampire was flung towards Jack, landing face-first in the dirt at the boy angel's feet. Jack knelt down, his expression seeming to consider the trembling, pathetic thing in front of him.

"P-please!" The monster managed to choke out. "Mercy!"

Jack looked up at me, his eyes soaking in my bloodied face. Apparently, that was all it took. Jack's eyes hardened and he turned back to the vamp.

"You. Hurt. My. Friend."

Jack grabbed the vampire's head in his hands and started to squeeze. The vamp screamed as the pressure increased until his skull just couldn't take it anymore. There was a crunch and a wet sucking noise as the vamp's head collapsed in on itself. I liked that sound.

"That dude's still alive," I said, casually jabbing my thumb at the red-haired vamp I had paralyzed. Jack turned to where I had pointed, ready to squeeze another brain out of its shell.

"Jack!" Cas called from behind him. "No!"

The Nephilim scowled at Castiel and I admired the rage I saw in his eyes. This wasn't my Jack but I liked this version just as much. No, Jack wasn't human, was he? He was more like me than I'd thought. Jack snapped his fingers and the red-haired vamp crumbled into dust. The sight was actually sort of pretty.

When Jack turned to look at me his eyes were completely soft and full of concern. There was my Jack.

"Are you afraid of me now?" He asked in a whisper.

"No," I replied flatly, shrugging my shoulders, "Why would I be?"

"I killed them." Jack hung his head. "Right in front of you."

"Am I supposed to care?" I smirked, hoping my voice didn't sound as harsh as I thought it did. I was just barely beginning to come off my rage-induced high. Jack eyed me with confusion and relief.

"You're hurt," He observed, moving over to me.

"Me? Nah! This is nothing." I gestured at the bodies scattered around the shed. "You should see the other guys!"

"Stay still." Jack placed his soft, gentle, hands on my face to examine my injuries and I felt a warm tingling as he healed them. "There. I fixed you." He whispered. It was more to himself than anything but I still heard it. It made me laugh on the inside.

Yeah, no. Nothing could fix me. I was broken beyond repair. It was my insanity that held me together. Does that sound like the sort of thing that can be fixed?

"Thanks, Jack-Jack!" I chirped, smiling brightly at him.

"You're welcome, Marty," He said quietly. Jack's eyes flicked down, focusing on my lips like he wanted something but wasn't sure how to ask.

"Um, M-Marty?" Sam's voice broke whatever spell the two of us had been under and I glanced over to him.

"Yeah?"

"Did you, uh," Sam pointed to the carnage surrounding us, watching me with weary eyes. "Did you do this?"

I shrugged, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder at the tractor. "Yeah, mostly. But the tractor helped."

"I'm guessing the tractor did that?" Dean pointed to Boyd's head with its jaw still run through with the prongs of the rake. I walked calmly over to the severed head, grasping it by the hair and pulling it off the prongs before returning with it back to the boys. Sam, Dean, and Cas all stared at me with eyes as wide as quarters as held up the head.

"Dean, this is Boyd," I said, keeping my tone as sweet as possible.

"Huh."

"Say hi to Boyd."

"Uh...Hey, Boyd..."

"Good." I grinned as if I was holding a puppy instead of a severed head. "Now let me tell you about Boyd. Boyd liked touching things that didn't belong to him. He worked for Felix and Felix liked hearing little girls scream and cry. So did Boyd. Boyd was very good at making little girls scream and cry, little girls like me. Weren't you Boyd?" I asked the mutilated cranium in my hand. I moved the severed head up and down in an enthusiastic nod, holding it by the hair as if it was a marionet.

"You were very good, yes you were!" I cheered. Then, like the flip of coin, I snapped my focus back to the Winchesters, wiping my face and tone clean of all emotion.

"So, I used a tractor to rip his head off because he deserved it and now he won't ever make another little girl cry ever again. Right, Boyd?" I asked the severed head. I grabbed the head's bloody, splintered jaw and clacked it's teeth together like you would a ventriloquist dummy. "You bet your britches!" I made the head answer, mimicking Boyd's voice.

"D-did he-" Sam stuttered. I flicked my gaze back to him, allowing all three to see the harshness in my eyes.

"Whatever you're thinking, the answer is probably yes."

"Marty?"

I turned to Dean. "What?"

"Put the head down."

I dropped Boyd's severed head.

"Come here." The hunter opened his arms and I faked a sob before accepting the hug. "You weren't gonna tell us about that, were you?" I shook my head. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're safe now."

"Thank you for not throwing me away, Dean," I said softly. The elder Winchester chuckled.

"Don't thank me, Marty. After all, how could we throw away someone so Bad-Ass?"

"Am I awesome now?" I asked.

"You were always awesome."

I laughed and the Winchesters trusted me more than ever. Their mistake.

"Dean, that one's moving," Castiel called our attention over to Elwyn, who was just waking up.

Jack was quick to react, sending a golden blast of power to throw her against the wall where he kept her pinned.

"Wait! Wait!" She cried, "I didn' 'urt Mardina! I swear!"

"Do you work for Felix?" Dean interrogated, pushing me behind him.

"He's my fah'der but I'm not like him! I want du 'elp her! I jus a messenger!"

"Whaddia say, Sammy? Should we shoot the messenger?" Dean asked, keeping his cold eyes on Elwyn.

"No! Please!" Elwyn begged, tears slipping down her face. "I didn' 'urt her!"

"You know, if we shoot the messenger, Dean, it sends one Hell of a message." Like his brother, Sam could turn on the killer inside him like a switch.

"Felix is in Floree'ida, okay? Dat's all I know, I swear!" And it was all she knew because Elwyn had never had a backbone. There was no strength in her.

"Guess its up to you, Marty," Dean said, turning to me. Elwyn looked at me with wide pleading eyes. I regarded her with ice in my own. No second chances. Monsters don't get second chances, I know I never did. I knew I never would.

"I'm your friend, Mardina! Tell dem I'm your friend!" She pleaded. I shook my head.

"You only cared about me when Felix wasn't looking." I was almost shocked by how apathetic and passionless my voice sounded. I watched her without compassion. "You were never my friend."

"No!" Elwyn screeched, "No! I 'elped you! I 'elped you when dey beat you!"

"But you never tried to stop them."

"What?! No!" She sobbed. I smiled at her slightly.

"Go tell Madra I'm sorry."

I sent Jack a nod and with a snap of his fingers, Elwyn was nothing more than flecks of grey drifting to the ground.

Turning around with a sigh, I could feel the eyes of the four others as I bent down and scooped up the rose Jack had given me. I cradled the precious flower in my hands, watching as the blood dripped from its petals in big heavy gobs. It had been perfect once. It wasn't perfect anymore. It would never be perfect again. Or perhaps it could be, just not the right way. Because the blood was oddly beautiful with the way it stained the petals and pooled in the center of the rose.

"I can get you another one," Jack spoke up, "And I'll pay for it this time!"

I turned back to him, smiling down at my little rose.

"No, its okay, Jack. It's a crooked kind of perfect. I think I like it better now."

~All the pretty girls, they find

A way to keep you on my mind

I swear I heard you singing along

Cities pass like candy stores

And you're the one

I'm looking for

And so

I'm just a boy

Who's telling a girl

That when I grow up I'll buy you a rose

When I grow up, I'll buy you a rose~

Lyrics from: Buy You A Rose by AJR

(Author's Note: You may or may not have figured it out by now, but Martina Imogene Linville is insane. MARTY IS NOT THE HERO OF THIS STORY. SHE IS NOT A GOOD PERSON. Marty also had Borderline Personality Disorder before she went insane. So, even at her most stable points in this story, she is not to be trusted. Remember, she manipulates peoples emotions. She makes them feel what she wants them to feel. Any other character's actions may or may not actually be their own. Please keep this in mind going forward.)

[meltingalphabet]

Don't go into the treehouse

Trigger warning: this story involves sexual violence

“Don’t go into the treehouse.�� It was the first thing Maddie ever said to me.

We met at McCormick Middle School. It was my first day and I was new to the area, so while everyone else found the friends they had made in elementary school and immediately formed tightly knit clicks, I stood in the hallway alone, watching the blurs of my happy peers swarm around me, isolating me further.

I looked down at the thin piece of grey-white paper in my hand.

Second Period. 6th Grade Literature. Mrs. Caldwell. Room E312.

The cardboard paper folder Ms. Stein, the guidance counselor, had given me was in the crook of my elbow and I scanned the map of the school printed in blue ink on the back. A plastic sign with the letter “A” hung above me. Hall E didn’t seem too far, but were the 300’s to the right, or the left?

After getting lost twice, I jogged through the door of my second period English class just as the tardy bell rang throughout the mostly empty halls. I collapsed into an empty desk right inside the doorway, banging my elbow against the metal bar that connected the seat with the attached desktop. I bit down on the inside of my lower lip in an attempt to hide the pain, uncomfortably aware of the loud sound I had made and the many eyes that now lay upon me.

A heavy-set woman in her early forties stood from the large desk at the corner of the classroom. Her thin grey hair was dyed a drastic orangey-red while inch long silver roots sharply contrasted with the fake color. She walked towards the door of the classroom, and turned towards me. My heart pounded hard in my chest. She lifted her hand and, using a worn wooden ruler, pointed to the whiteboard behind her. There a meticulous seating arrangement had been drawn. On the square that represented the desk by the door - the desk I now sat in - was the name George Henderson in neat, red lettering.

My cheeks burned as I scoured the chart on the wall as fast as I could, trying to find my name. I could feel everyone watching me, judging me for being an outsider, for not knowing the particularities of Mrs. Caldwell long before graduating the 5th grade. It was taking me way too long to find myself when my eyes caught it: Lindsey Graham. I looked across the room, ignoring the many eyes turned my way, and found the empty desk meant for me at the back corner of the room.

I hunched my shoulders up to my ears in an attempt to make myself as small as possible as I navigated the narrow paths to my correct seat. I sat and tried to breath deeply, to calm my fragile nerves. Or to at least look calm to the room of middle schoolers around me.

Mrs. Caldwell cleared her throat and began her introduction to 6th grade literature. The interest of my peers waned and they quickly forgot about the awkward new girl. Yet, I still felt eyes on me.

I turned and beside me was a petite girl in a black shirt and black baggy pants. Her eye makeup was heavy and dark, and her large lips were a dark purple. And she was looking at me. We stared at each other for a moment before she turned her face downwards to her desk and the spiral notebook in front of her. She quickly scribbled something and handed me the sheet of paper.

On the sheet of lined paper she had written “Hi, I’m Maddie.”

I blinked, not really understanding. I looked up at her, and she was staring at me again, but this time the corners of her lips were turned up into a small smile. I waved at her timidly, returning the smile.

It was nice to have a friend.

“What tree house?” I asked, startled by the sudden interaction. My square piece of pizza, lukewarm with cheese coagulating in grotesque shapes, sat on the plastic tabletop in front of me.

“You just moved into 220 Hedge Road, right?”

“Yeah?” I said, saying the word as a question instead of a statement.

“I’m your neighbor, my family lives at 218. The red house. There’s a treehouse in the woods behind us. Don’t go in it.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because Mr. Itch lives there.”

We sat at the round lunch table, the other five chairs remaining empty. I took a sip of my chocolate milk and looked up at the bare sky above us. The clouds stood motionless. Heavy and thick. I looked around. The outdoor section of the cafeteria was far from full, the day too overcast to draw a crowd.

Maddie picked up a french fry, examined it, and then shoved it in her mouth.

“Who’s Mr. Itch?” I asked, unsure whether my new friend was an appropriate choice. It’d figure that my only friend at my new school would be insane.

Maddie’s eyes skited to mine as she held another fry aloft. Her voice was low, “someone bad. Someone you don’t want to meet.”

At home my mother asked if I had made any new friends. I thought a moment before responding.

“Sort of.”

My mother continued cutting vegetables without looking up.

“How does one ‘sort of’ make a friend?” She asked, her rich voice light with amusement.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out.”

Maddie and I had lunch everyday that week. She was an odd girl, but she was friendly and smart and easy to talk to, so by Friday I indeed thought of her as a friend.

I woke up Saturday morning with an urge to explore the woods out back. I wasn’t intending to defy Maddie’s warning, but she had made me curious to see if there even was a treehouse back behind our houses. The air was cool, crisp with a slight fall breeze. I put on my denim jacket and headed out.

The woods behind our house were sparse, each tree several feet away from any of its neighbors. Yet, the wood was deep enough that one couldn’t see more than ten feet without obstruction. I stood at the edge looking in, digesting the sight slowly, like masticating a thick piece of meat. Red pine needles covered the ground in a thick carpet, and the bare branches of the trees stretched high above me.

Looking back behind my shoulder, the blue-grey wood of our new home looked dark, but not necessarily uninviting. The windows were too dark to make out any person or thing inside, making the house appear empty, void of warmth and light. But it was not cold. I liked our new house. It seemed to have a wisdom to it. A knowledge that only homes that have stood for sometime can possess. I faced the woods once again, and stepped forward.

The pines cracked and crunched beneath my boots. The woods felt deserted - I didn’t see another living creature as I explored.

Soon, I reached a decent sized stream - almost a small river - that gurgled lazily past me. While large rocks lined the sides, I couldn’t see a convenient way to cross. The stones away from the river banks were covered with quick moving water, making them non-traversable. I looked around and saw a tree trunk that had fallen across both sides of the water twenty feet or so down the stream. As I approached it I realized that it was a log that had been cut in two, the halfs laid side-by-side to form a narrow bridge. It didn’t look new, but it also didn’t look particularly old.

I followed the tree trunk and then continued straight, reasoning that the bridge was put there for a reason. My hunch proved correct as I stepped into a small clearing. A squat tree stood in the middle. Stood is the wrong term - more like crouched. On it’s thick branches rested an old treehouse, approximately five or so feet above my head. The wood was stained from years of rain and snow. Slats had been nailed into the trunk and lead up to a trapdoor in the floor above.

The clearing was quiet, still of even a faint breeze. An indistinct smell of musk hung in the air which tickled at my nostrils. I scrunched up my nose instinctively and took a few steps towards the treehouse. The smell grew stronger as I approached. I reached out a hand and rubbed the tree’s bark. It was surprisingly smooth to the touch. As I stroked the tree, relishing the feeling of it beneath my fingertips, the musk around me was interrupted with a new smell, something more floral. Or maybe more woody, I couldn’t tell. A shiver ran down my spine, and I slowly backed away from the tree. Something was wrong. Something… wasn’t right about it.

A groaned emanated above my head, neither human nor the groan of weighted wood. I turned and briskly walked away, Maddie’s warning echoing through my brain. The smell of wood and earth following me all the way back to my new home, now more comforting than ever.

A month later, I had forgotten about the treehouse and was beginning to adjust to my new life. Maddie and I started to have weekly sleepovers. Each of our homes proving to be both alien and exciting to the other. Maddie’s house was pure chaos, especially compared to my own. I don’t have any siblings and both of my parents are academics, so our house has always been full of books and a warm quiet. Maddie, on the other hand, is one of five, all louder than the previous child it seemed. Maddie’s younger brothers - identical twins named Steve and Brad - seemed to make a hobby of running from one floor to the other screaming at the top of their lungs.

The house was loud but cozy. At dinner time, all nine of us sat around the large round dining room table, the home cooked meal that Maddie’s mother made spread out before us. Maddie’s brother and sisters would fill the air with ideas and events, troubles and successes. Maddie’s mom made a point to include me, asking about my interests, what subject at school was my favorite, what subjects I hated. I liked her mother. Unlike my mom who was tall and lanky, slow speaking and methodical with cold steel-grey eyes that scrutinized every detail, Mrs. Harris was short and stout, quick tongued with laughter so large it seemed to engulf her whole being. Her voice was high with constant excitement, almost in a manic frenzy. Questions and answers piled on top of each, leaving the other party little room to respond. Her eyes were a bright warm brown, the edges of which were constantly wrinkled with her wide smile. I’d answer her questions and nod at her responses and suggestions. She’d tell me how much she loved *Jane Eyre* at my age, scold Steve to stop kicking Maddie’s younger sister Lana, and ask me if I was enjoying my mashed potatoes all in one breath.

Maddie was the second eldest. Her brother, Tim, was five years older than us. The first time I stayed with her, I couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. He had brown subtle curls that framed his long face. Dark stubble cast a slight shadow down his strong jawline and across his high cheekbones. His brown eyes were clear and focused. They weren’t the warm eyes of his mother, but were colder, revealing confidence and power. He didn’t look at things, but instead stared with a great intensity as if scrutinizing everything, trying to see beneath the skin, the image, into the depth of something’s essence.

I wanted him to look at me with that intent stare. I wanted him to touch me, to kiss me, to want me. But he paid little attention to me. I blamed my young age, my lack of curves, of breasts. I felt ugly and young sitting at the dining room table across from him that first night as he shoveled forkfuls of food into his mouth, fully engrossed in his novel. I was painfully aware of my mousey hair and heavily freckled face, still round with youth. After dinner, Tim went straight up to his room, barely saying a word to any of his family members.

Maddie and I spent the evening eating popcorn and oreos while watching rom-coms with Mrs. Harris. It was an unexciting evening, but I loved every second of it. The friendship, the comradery. At eleven, I set up my sleeping bag on Maddie’s floor. It wasn’t long before I heard faint snores coming from Maddie’s bed. As I lay there, I realized that my mouth was dry and uncomfortable. Probably from all the junk food we ate, I thought. I slowly got out of my bag, careful not to let the nylon shell rustle with the movement, and made my way down to the kitchen.

As I passed the living room, I noticed Tim sitting on the couch watching television. The room’s lights were off and the flickering screen cast blue and black shapes across his face and chest. My cheeks grew red when I realized he was wearing nothing but a pair of plaid boxers. I didn’t notice I had stopped until Tim jerked his head towards the doorway where I was standing frozen in place. I was suddenly, horribly self-conscious of my pink Hello Kitty pajamas. Tim’s brown eyes drilled into me, his face expressionless, his stare blank but penetrating. Slowly, he pushed himself from the couch and approached me. His long limbs hung down loosely, his body relaxed. Yet his gaze was firm and holding, his eyes not leaving mine. My eyes were open wide in absolute horror, stuck in place with no apparent need to blink. An attractive, mostly naked teenage boy was approaching me, staring straight at me. I tried to quell the tremble that threatened to run through my frail body as he reached me. He stood tall in front of me and I craned my neck to look up into his face, ignoring the chest hair that covered the front of his torso directly in front of me. He continued to stare into me as if he was trying to see something hidden behind my skin, under my face.

He leaned towards me and I thought I would lose control of my bladder. I wasn’t ready for this. I didn’t know what to do or what was going on, but I knew that the fear echoing inside of me, making my insides feel empty and far away, wasn’t right. Whatever this was, this closeness, this intimacy, it wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

It was wrong.

His lips stopped beside my ear, his breath warm and moist against my skin, causing my flesh to prickle.

“Boo.” He whispered.

I turned on my heels and ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time until I reached Maddie’s room. I ran in and slammed the door, my heart pounding, tears forming in the corner of my eyes. Maddie groaned and turned, but did not wake.

Curling back up into my sleeping bag, hugging my knees to my chest, I shook with the memory. A memory that both frightened and excited me.

I avoided Tim from then on. Part of me was still attracted to him, even more so from our bizarre encounter, but I prefered to admire him at a distance. To think of him and to replay that night, but the idea of talking to him or having his eyes on me again caused my stomach to twist. He was better as a fantasy than a reality.

As the school year continued, I found my heart fluttering for other boys in my grade, and even went to the school dance with Matt Rickson. Maddie and I continued to have regular sleepovers at each others homes, but I was able to keep a distance from Tim that made me forget him.

Almost.

It was late one night, me and Maddie had been watching slasher films at her place. Maddie had fallen asleep and was snoring peacefully beside me as I watched the final girl run through the woods, tripping over branches, her white shirt brown with mud, ripped to expose her moist flesh, cut and ripped by man made tools and nature alike.

The film ended with dawn breaking over the untamed southern landscape, our heroine - only powerful in her ability to not die throughout the night - hopping into the back of an unsuspecting farm truck.

As the credits ended, the room fell into an uncomfortable darkness. Still not totally familiar or comfortable with my surroundings, I sat there, unsure what to do while my friend slept beside me.

“Maddie?” My voice was small and timid in the empty air. Her snoring continued.

I heard a noise in the hallway and looked, squinting my eyes to try and see through the darkness. A light turned on down the hallway, slightly illuminating the space around me. I stood and followed it to the kitchen. The fridge door was open.

“Mrs. Harris?”

A lanky figure stood, his cold eyes piercing me instantly. I froze. He smiled.

“Hiya Lindsey.” He said, his voice dripping my name out, as if it were a bloated, heavy liquid.

I swallowed. “Hi Tim.”

He closed the fridge door lazily, “what are you doing up so late?”

The clock on the kitchen wall beside me read 2am. “Just watching movies.”  I shrugged, trying to make the gesture seem nonchalant. “I’m going to head to bed now.” I added, sliding my back foot past the kitchen barrier.

“Wait.” Tim said, a command disguised by a charming half grin. He walked towards me, his stare gluing my feet to the floor. Something about the way he looked at me terrified me. I imagine it’s how a wolf looks at a lamb. When he was standing in front of me, his chest only inches away from mine, he asked, “do you want to hear about Mr. Itch?”

The name rang in my ear. I remembered the first conversation I ever had with Maddie, months before.

*“Don’t go into the treehouse.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mr. Itch lives there.”*

I shook my head, taking a step back away from Tim. Tim reached out a hand and firmly grasped my upper arm. A small whimper escaped my lips and I tried to take another step back, but Tim tightened his hold.

“Has Maddie told you about Mr. Itch?” he asked.

I nodded, slowly.

“I bet she told you he lives in the treehouse.”

I pulled at my arm again, his hand remained tight around me. I looked back down the hall, towards the dark living room. I knew I should yell out for help, but my throat was too tight - my instincts to be quiet at night, to not wake anyone up, keeping me silent even though I knew I shouldn’t be.

Once again, Tim moved his lips to my ear and whispered, “sometimes, Mr. Itch leaves the treehouse.” His breath felt scratchy against my skin. Hot tears welled in the corners of my eyes. “Mr. Itch likes little girls, and sometimes, Mr. Itch leaves the treehouse to come and get them.”

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me against him. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong. I felt something move by his leg and I squirmed to get away from it. It felt like something really really bad. Something I didn’t want to touch me.

“Tim!” Maddie’s voice broke through around us, like shattering glass.

Tim let go of me and I ran to Maddie, who hugged me protectively while glaring at her brother. My head was buried in my friend’s shoulder, but I could hear Tim snort as laughter caught in his nose. I felt his heavy presence pass beside us, his footsteps growing faint as he climbed the stairs towards his room.

We only had sleepovers at my house after that.

The air hung heavy with the crisp autumn air, and the leaves on the trees were painted with every shade of red and yellow that nature had to offer. It was Friday and like clockwork, Maddie was on my front porch at 6pm. My mother and I greeted her warmly. It had taken some time for my mom to get used to Maddie’s thick black eyeliner and dark lipstick, the studs and buckles, but she had grown to know and love the sweet girl beneath all of the black.

We were an odd couple of sorts. I wore knit sweaters and plaid skirts, thick stockings and mary janes while Maddie looked like she had just stepped out of a Hot Topic after a shopping spree. But we loved each other like sisters.

That night, I awoke suddenly. My bed was comfortable and warm from my body heat. I turned, pulling the covers tight around my shoulders, determined to close my eyes and drift off to sleep once again. Then I realized what was off in the room, what had waken me: I couldn’t hear Maddie’s breathing.

I opened my eyes and peered over the edge of the bed. Maddie’s sleeping bag was empty, flat against the carpet. I cautiously dropped my legs to the floor and, tiptoeing to avoid making a sound, I walked into the hallway. The bathroom door was open, the light off. I continued past and down the steps to the kitchen. Maddie wasn’t there either.

Light moving beyond the small window above the sink caught my eye. I stepped to the window and peer outside. A flashlight beam danced across the ground, bobbing steadily towards the forest. I could make out two figures behind the light, one tall and lanky, the other short and thin.

Maddie.

I raced upstairs, still careful to not make a noise - I didn’t want to get Maddie in trouble for leaving the house so late at night - and threw on a pair of jeans and some wool socks. In the mud room, I stepped into a pair of old boots and grabbed a jacket from one of the hooks along the wall. A wicker basket full of an assortment of odds and ends one might need for the outside sat in the corner. I reached inside and my hand quickly found a flashlight.

I was off.

The cold air pierced my naked neck and cheeks as I jogged through the now familiar woods. I slowed only as I crossed the makeshift bridge over the creek, which gurgled and ran menacingly beneath me. My flashlight illuminated the wood before my feet and reflected in the water black with night.

My breath caught as exploded out of the woods and into the clearing, the treehouse looming in front of me. I approached it for the second time. It was bigger than I remembered, the tree beneath its floor more knotted, its branches more twisted and tangled. It’s trunk black and thick, its roots ripping through the earth around it, stretching towards me.

A high pitched scream filled the air startling me into action. I recognized the voice immediately as Maddie’s, and before I realized it my feet were pushing against the hard cold dirt, racing me forward towards the treehouse.

Thrusting the flashlight into my jacket pocket to free up my hands, I grabbed the piece of wood in front of me meant to be used as a ladder rung. It was nailed into the tree trunk, and as my hands wrapped around it a piercing chill cut into my skin. I yelped in pain, but did not let go. I reached for the next rung and my breath caught sharply as the wood seemed to cut into my hand like a knife. Pulling myself upwards was agony, but Maddie’s scream kept me going.

Concentrating on moving one hand in front of the other, trying to ignore the burn of the cold wrapping around my legs and wrists like tendrils and the cutting of the wood beneath my hands, I bumped my head against the floor of the treehouse with a hard bang. The sensation quickly faded into the cacophony of pain assaulting my nerves and I looked up. There was no discernable way to open the door towards me, so I pushed with one hand, holding tight to ladder to keep my balance. The door opened a crack, and then fell hard above me. It was too heavy.

Moving one foot and then the other up a rung, I pushed again, this time straightening my legs to rocket all of the force I was capable of towards the door. It swung up, and fell back away from the opening with a loud crash.

With a hand on each side of the opening, I pulled myself into the treehouse.

I sat along the edge of the door, my feet dangling out over the ground below. My breath came fast and hard with the pain radiating through me. I squeezed my eyes shut to prevent the tears from forming completely and sucked snot back into my sinuses and down my throat.

Opening my eyes again began the scariest moment of my life. A stabbing pain seemed to separate my skull as I looked at two identical rooms superimposed over each other at once. It felt as if my being was pulled apart as I watched two realities play out in front of me, both as real as the other. The closest thing I can compare it to is the visual mess that happens if you take off your glasses while watching a 3D movie. My stomach twisted with the sensation, and I thought I was going to be sick, both by the tableau in front of me and the sensation of two overlaid images, my eyes unable to focus on either one.

Time felt like it was frozen, like a paused movie, as I took both scenes in.

In both, the interior of the treehouse looked the same, as if someone wanted to recreate the sublime hyperbole of macabre gore you usually only find in a haunted house during Halloween, but this time with real blood and viscera. The walls were streaked with red, clumps of organic matter pierced with chips and splinters of bone forming masses in the sticky substance. Raw animal pelts hung from the ceiling, tied with twine along with skulls and teeth like repulsive windchimes. The largest collection of ripped flesh and broken bones hung in the middle of the room like a gruesome mobile hung over a child’s crib to create a lifetime of nightmares. Vomit tickled my throat as I noticed the corpse of a cat nailed to the far wall, its front paws stretched to either side, its back legs nailed one on top of the other in a hideous recreation of the crucifixion of Jesus. Around it’s head was a crown made of thrones. Blood flowed from where the nails bit into the wall. Dirty cloth, wet and clumped with blood, lay along the walls in shreds. The smell of wood and earth filled my nostrils, mixing with the rusty smell of blood.

I tried to focus my eyes to see only one image to no avail. The scene was too muddled. But as I strained, I was able to see enough of each.

Tim was on top of Maddie, his hands around her wrists, his weight pushing her down into the wood. She wriggled beneath him, crying out in pain. Her pajamas were in a pile beside her, ripped as if torn from her body. A low grunting noise was coming from Tim as he heaved up and down. The smell of sweat mixing with the foulness of the air.

It was only a moment before my eyes rejected the effort of focusing and the images blurred into each other once again.

I inhaled sharply, terror reverberating through me as I squinted, focusing on the image behind the image.

Tim was in the same position, his arms holding Maddie down against the dirty wooden floor. Above them was a shadow, almost like the shadow of a man, but the darkness of the shadow was heavy, actual matter instead of an absence of light. Its silhouette was stretched upwards, its limbs, or what I assumed were limbs, elongated downwards, towards Tim and Maddie.

The shadow, thick and viscous, began to draw forward. Maddie’s body twisted and her face distorted as she screamed again. Her voice seemed to echo against the meaty shadow. The top of it, what I thought of as its head despite lacking any defined shape or feature, came down to her mouth as the rest of the being laid over her. Tim continued to hold her down, allowing the beast, for that is what it was, to lie on top of her, and to enter her. The smell of cedar filled my nose, accompanied by a earthy wet scent, not the scent of dirt, but of a burning rubber. I recognized it as tar. The scent burnt the delicate skin inside my nostrils and assaulted the back of my throat.

My head began to hurt looking at the double image, and I felt nauseous. A different type of nauseous than I was used to. It wasn’t accompanied by an urge to vomit, but instead my brain spun as if I were on a rouge merry-go-round. Now that I’m older, I realize the sensation was the same as drinking too much too fast.

I swallowed, pushing my mind forward through the haze and the spinning. Finding a more solid mental footing, I breathed deep and lunged forward into Tim. Startled, he fell to the floor. Maddie was crying, blood staining her thighs. I grabbed her and pulled her down with me. We collapse out of the trapdoor, and fell to the hard ground. I heard a sickening snap, and my stomach dropped with the sound. I stood, and then fell again, my ankle screaming with pain.

Maddie, standing naked beside me, grabbed my arm and pulled me up and over her shoulders. Using her as a support, we ran towards my house. As we left the clearing, I turned my head to see Tim climbing down the ladder, his pants hanging loosely around his thighs as he held them up with one hand, the other falling to the rung below him, holding his weight as his feet hopped down to the ground. The tips of the grass was white with the first frost of the season.

I turned back to the forest before us. The bridge over the creek was only a few feet away. We were slow, but steady. Tim’s angry cries rose behind us, but we didn’t slow.

The bridge groaned with our weight, the wood too narrow for Maddie and I to walk next to each other. We had to rotate, Maddie first, me still holding on to her weight, using her as a crutch. Sideways, facing the openness of the rumbling stream, Maddie stepped cautiously forward as I hopped beside her. As Maddie’s bare feet touched the other side, I felt the cut tree trunk sag with additional weight.

Tim’s pants were fastened around his waist again, leaving his hands unhindered. They reached for me greedily. As I screamed, my good foot slipped under me and I fell on the narrow bridge hitting my tailbone hard. My broken ankle dangled uselessly over the side of the bridge as a sharp pain radiated with a shudder up my spine.

Tears in my eyes, I looked up at Tim, who loomed over me, his face twisted into a deranged smile. His prey had fallen, and he had the upper hand. His eyes were wide bulging circles of white, red, and brown. His hair stuck up in odd angles, and his chest heaved with excited breath. He reached a hand down to me and I closed my eyes.

Before his fingers could tighten over my shoulder, I heard a dead thunk. I opened my eyes just in time to see Tim land with a yell into the water below us. Behind me, Maddie stood, breathing hard, a large branch in her hands. Her face was set in pure hatred.

She looked down at me and extended her hand. I grabbed it and together we stumbled to the house.

The next few weeks were a blur. Tim was sent to the hospital with hypothermia and I was wrapped in a cast for my broken ankle. Once Tim recovered, he was taken into police custody. Maddie and I had to testify against him. We had to describe what he had done to us in all its brutal detail. But I never mentioned the black shape, the beast in the treehouse and the magic spell it had cast over my eyes and mind. The case was simple. Open and shut as they say on crime shows.

Maddie came to live with me and my parents after the trial. Mrs. Harris was devastated that her eldest son was sent to jail, even though his sentence was only for a few years, and Maddie felt herself alienated from her family and her home.

I avoided discussing that night with Maddie. I wanted to ask her why she went with Tim in the first place, and I still want to ask about it, but I know it doesn’t matter. All that matters is what happened in the treehouse.

I’m 16 now. Maddie tried to commit suicide last year and is now living in a special home for troubled teens. I haven’t seen her in months. My last memory is her pale face looking out at me from her window at the house, the trademark black eyeliner and dark purple lipstick making her look like a drowned corpse under crystal waters, searching for me. For help that I could never provide. For healing that could never be.

Tim was released and is living back with Mrs. Harris. He’s on the sex offender’s list, but it doesn’t seem like enough. They say he won’t come after me, that I’m safe, but I don’t feel safe.

Since that night I dream of Mr. Itch a lot, the dark shadow beast, his arms reaching for me as I’m frozen to the floor in fear, unable to tear myself away or to even look anywhere but his dark faceless head. I wake up most nights screaming. My mother comes in and hugs me, hushing me and telling me it’s ok, letting me calm down in her reassuring grasp.

Last night though, as Mr. Itch bent down, his shadowy presence only inches from my face, his body hovering just above my own, he changed. The slinky wet mass shifted and morphed into a human. At first I thought I was seeing Tim, that it was those hands that will haunt me forever reaching, grasping, holding me down. But the face was older, much older, even older than Tim would be now. The face was harsh, a thick rust brown beard barely brushing against my chin.

It was Mr. Harris. Maddie’s dad. My memories of her home came back with a new focus. A focus that included a large, portly man, face stained red with alcohol and fatty foods. His nose wide, his skin greasy. Mr. Harris. The quiet father, sitting at the end of the dining room table, an open beer can beside him. The father who disappeared during Tim’s trial. The father who no one’s seen in years. The roofer.

The man who always smelt of cedar and tar.