A/N: Hey guys! This is elementalxmen2015 here with a new story! I recently watched the movie A Haunting in Conncecticut and instantly fell in love with Jonah Aickman :D Well, anyway, I wanted to tell you a couple of things:
1) This is another one of those Jonah/OC fics, so please don't flame me!
2) My friend and I are tag-teaming and taking turns writing chapters, so if the chappies sound off, that's why.
3) I DO NOT OWN A Haunting in Connecticut! Just wanted to get that out there.
DO THE HOKIE POKIE IF YOU LOVE JONAH! *gets up and turns on Hokie Pokie music!*
Supernatural Love
1
Smoke and Visions
"Fire and Danger, two different things that become one in a flash,
They can only be extinguished with tears of grief we shed,
Like a ghost of the night, it is quiet and mournful,
Swift and waiting to be released
Like a cobra in its nest,
It is never to be underestimated or unwilling"
Fire and Danger, Victoria Burgess
Smoke.
Smoke filled my nostrils and lungs, causing me to wake up. I bolted straight up in my bed, realizing that there was a blazing fire outside my bedroom door. Heart racing, I ran to my dresser and grabbed as many garments as I could and stuffed them into the crack of the doorway, blocking out as much smoke as possible. I ran to the window and jerked it open and stuck my head out of it. I saw the fire trucks and police cars below my second-story window. I grabbed a white shirt and waved it at them, letting them know that I was OK and that they needed to come save me.
As I descended from my window, I saw my mom and little brother come running after me, my baby sister cradled in Mom's arms. As soon as I touched ground, she attacked me and smothered me in her arms.
"Oh, God, Charlotte! I thought you were going to die! Oh, thank God you're OK!" Mom cried out, smothering me with kisses. Andrew, my brother, embraced my slender legs and started crying.
"Char-Char, I thought you was gonna die!" he stuttered between sobs; his little seven-year-old face was twisted and snarled from his crying.
"Oh, Andrew, don't think that! I'm just fine, don't you see!" I exclaimed, embracing his shivering body. I looked back at the burning house with teary eyes. Everything was now gone. All our possessions, photos, lives, gone.
"Mom, what are we gonna tell Dad?" I asked. She gave me a sad look and passed Piper, my baby sister, to me.
"Honestly, I really don't know. This is just so terrible…" she said, sobbing into her hands. I had just noticed that Piper was crying the whole time. I wanna cry, too. Just cry my eyes out I thought to myself as I hushed her to sleep. I turned and watched the firemen put out the stupid flames with tears streaming from my eyes. What the freak caused that fire to happen anyway?
Turns out, Mom had forgotten to blow out a couple of candles, and one was too close to the wall… I think you can tell what had happened next.
Well, Dad got a call the next day, and he was not happy. I'm just glad he wasn't home at the time. Dad is a soldier in the army, fighting over in Iraq right now. God, I miss him…
Well, that happened a month ago. Now we're renting a rickety old house in Goatswood, Connecticut, a block away from the remains of my beloved home. Our insurance agency gave us enough money to buy mattresses, clothes, and other necessities. One of my aunts gave us the crib she used for her daughter five years ago, and our cousins gave us hand-me-down clothes. I'm not complaining, though, because they're pretty cute.
Although, the house could use a little work. It's old, it creaks, it moans, the paint is peeling off the walls, it smells like death, and there's this mysterious door in the basement. All of us have tried to open it, but it won't budge. It's really creepy because my art studio is in there, and I swear to Big Bird that there are people, ghosts, living in there. Watching me. Constantly eyeing my every move. And the worst thing is, I get visions when I'm down there. They seem to take place in the 1920s, and there's always one person that's in every vision.
He lived with his father, who had turned this house into a morgue and funeral parlor. His father abused him constantly. He always yelled at the poor boy, always calling him names, always beating him down with fists and words. The boy's name was Jonah, and he looked about fifteen years old; a year older than I am. Jonah had a special gift, too. He was a medium, someone who can contact the dead. I've seen visions of him and other people forming a séance, with his father standing at the head of the table. God, it's so terrible… Jonah had horrible convulsions while contacting spirits and it would drain so much energy from him that he would collapse…
Oh, please don't make me go any further! It's so terrible for words that I've actually painted and drawn everything that I saw, and without realizing it. I have pictures of Jonah's convulsions, his father beating him, the séances, and everything else I've ever envisioned. Mom wonders why I have such morbid pictures in the basement, and it's so hard explaining what's happening to me. She thinks I'm crazy. I've heard her talking about me with Dad on the phone. She's told him about my pictures, and she thinks it's because of the fire. She's actually tried to send me to trauma therapy at the hospital she works at.
"Mom, I don't need therapy!" I protested.
"Well then explain all those pictures in the basement!" she cried out, becoming agitated with my stubbornness. She was always tired from work, and my "problems" weren't making it better for her.
"Mom, I know this is hard to believe, but you need to listen to me. I cannot help drawing these pictures, OK? I've been getting these visions when I'm down in the basement, and I can't help but to draw them. I know you think I'm crazy, but believe me, I'm completely sane," I tried explaining to her. She never listened. She always accused me of back-talking her when I gave her this speech. I eventually gave up on it. She had always thought I was a strange child, thanks to the clothes I wear (sort of a punk-ish type style) and how much makeup I used (eyeliner is my lifeline!), mixed in with my love for cheerleading, tumbling, and art.
"You know I can always pull a few strings at the hospital to get you into therapy," she said. I nearly exploded when she said this.
"MOTHER! I don't need therapy!" I yelled. After I had realized what I had said, I clamped my hand over my mouth. Then I felt a sudden sting spread across my face. My mother had slapped the fire out of my left cheek.
"Mom, I'm sorry…" I mumbled quietly, fighting back tears.
"Go to your room and stay there," she commanded, fighting tears as well. I obeyed, quietly shutting the door behind me as not to wake up my sleeping sister who lived across the hall. I lay on my bed and curled up in a ball with tears forming rivers down my face. Then I saw something flash from the corner of my eyes. I looked up and saw a very pale, almost see-through, teenaged boy roaming through my beat-up dresser and taking out completely different clothes than mine. The clothes he took out (and what he was wearing) looked like they were from the 1920s.
He stuffed the clothes into a dingy white pillow case and looked straight at me. He looked so familiar… I had seen those eyes before. His light blue-green eyes, his dark hair, his clothes, his pale skin, I had seen it all very recently. Right as I sat up to look at him better, he turned his head as his name was called.
"JONAH! JONAH AICKMAN, YOU BETTER NOT BE RUNNING AWAY FROM ME!" a deep, angry voice yelled from downstairs. It was Jonah from my visions! He ran through the closed door in panic. I followed him, carefully opening the squeaky door. I followed him down the stairs, running three steps behind him. Just as he had turned the knob to the back door in the kitchen, I saw his monster of a father grab him by his shirt collar and drag him down to the basement. Jonah struggled to become free from his father's grip, and succeeded in making his dad let go of his collar, but gained a hair yanking from his dad's angry fists.
They reached the door leading to the mystery room in the basement, walking through all my paintings in the process. Jonah's father let go of the poor boy's black hair and gave him a hard smack across his face. I could feel my clammy fingers gently stroke the red handprint on my own cheek.
"If I ever catch you running away from me again, believe me, there will be all Hades to pay! You got that?" his dad screamed. Jonah lowered his gaze to his scratched-up shoes and uttered a quiet "Yes sir". I saw a single tear drip off his chin as his father forcefully pushed him into the mysterious room.
"HEY! Leave him alone!" I screamed defensively as he slammed the door behind him. I ran to the half-glass door and pressed my face against the cold window to see if anything was going on in there, but it was pitch black as always. I could hear footsteps coming down the basement stairway. Crap.
"Charlotte Helena Jones! I thought I told you to stay in your room!" Mom growled. When she said my full name, I knew I was in trouble.
"Mom, I can explain!" I pleaded.
"Is it because you had another 'vision'? Because if it is, I don't wanna hear that crap!" she screamed, putting air quotes around the word "vision". I fell silent and hung my head low. I knew what was coming.
"Char, you are grounded for a whole month! No cell phone, no computer, no TV, and no Jenny's house Friday!"
"But, Mom!" I pleaded.
"But, nothing! Now go to your room! Now," she commanded, stamping her foot and pointing up the stairs.
"Yes, ma'am," I muttered. I unwillingly walked up the stairs and back to my room. Angrily, I plopped down on my bed and curled up into the fetal position. Life friggin' sucks, I thought, feeling the tears begin to burn my eyes. First, my old house burned down; next I'm getting freaky visions, and now this? What's next? Am I going to see visions everywhere? I thought. Boy, I had no idea.
A/N: Please tell me if Charlotte (Char for short) sounds too Mary-Sue-ish. I don't want to have a Mary-Sue in meh story!