AN: I don't own anybody. Also, this is a prologue, I guess, because the rest of the story is in third person.
I must be dead. That's the only
logical explanation for this. Nothing but blackness outside my
eyes, nothing but blackness inside. I guess I was right about the
afterlife: I always thought I'd end up lying alone in the dark,
talking to myself for eternity.
I can still feel pain from the blow that must have killed me,
though. I wonder how long this will last? Wait. If I was dead, I
couldn't move, right? Of course not. So that's not it. Ew. The
back of my head, where it hurts the most, is all gummy and gross.
I don't think I'm currently bleeding, though. Sitting up might
not have been the best idea; the spots in front of my eyes are
blinking like crazy and the pain is getting more intense. Okay,
time to stand up.
That's a wall, right there. 1, 2, 3, 4. So this has to be a
closet or a crawlspace or something, right? Too small to be a
basement or an attic. A doorknob. Locked, of course. That would
have been too easy. I could bang on the door or the other walls
until my fists bled and nobody would probably come to let me out,
considering that someone apparently felt the need to knock me out
and drag me in here in the first place.
So I'm going to sit here and review what I do know right now and
try not to freak out too much. I know who I am. I know where I
am, in general--Pennsylvania, we got into town this morning.
We're at a rather run-down B&B on the outskirts of this
town I don't remember the name of it. I was separated from
the group, and by the time I got here, they had already staked
their claims to the bedrooms that have actually been assembled.
The woman who owns this place is in the middle of fixing it up.
Half the house is in more or less the same state it's been in for
the last 50 years, since the last family who lived here moved
out.
I found my room and dropped my bags. Then I went looking for the
others. I found Jack, alone in his chosen room. He got up from
the bed and started talking to me, asking me questions, engaging
me in conversation. I didn't notice it then, but I can see him
clearly in my head now; there was a little glint of warning in
his eyes right before it happened, but his voice had a strange
calm to it, like he was trying to be soothing, keep me from being
suspicious. I don't remember what he was talking about. It wasn't
important. I was about to answer one of his questions when I
heard the door close behind us. It was that quick--I didn't even
have time to turn around before it hit me. Something broad and
hard across the back of the head, and the next thing I know, I'm
flat on my back in here, speculating about whether I'm dead or
alive.
So the questions, then, are: who, what, why, and what happens
now? Am I supposed to stay in here until I do actually suffocate
or starve or something? I tried banging and shouting. If they
could hear me, they didn't bother to acknowledge it. What's going
on? I can't take this throbbing anymore. I'm tired. Maybe I'll go
back to sleep, and when I wake up, everything will be back to
normal. Maybe I'll be back on the bus and we'll all have a good
laugh. I think I'll lie down now.
I remember Peru. You could feel the eyes of the dead on you no
matter where you went, even when you thought you were alone. You
could feel their hands on you when you walked down the street. I
remember my parents, our friends, water, heat. I'm drifting
away... I remember this house?
No, these memories aren't mine. I do remember this house as it
looked a very long time ago, ramshackle then as it is now. It's
dark outside, and I'm trying to sleep. Then I hear it: the first
scream of what will be many this evening. It's the voice of
another girl. My sister. There are male voices raised in anger,
doors slamming open and shut. I step outside of my room gingerly,
trying to escape notice. I can see them outside. My brothers are
accusing her of ruining them. They demand that she break the
curse she's laid upon them. She denies it, denies knowing
anything about curses, she's screaming, she's scared. They
discuss how to prove it. Suddenly her head lolls back and she's
shouting something I can't understand in a voice not quite her
own. One of my brothers steps toward her slowly; Tom, he thinks
he's saving her, he can't stand to see this anymore. The first
cut is made. He thinks he's helping draw it out of her, that the
evil will simply flow out. It only makes her angrier--the words
are coming faster now. They try to restrain her desperate,
flailing limbs. Tom lunges forward again, determined this time.
The words get even louder, then softer and softer until she's
simply whispering gibberish, then silence.
And I watch them turn on each other. Tom is the first to go, the
weakest; he wasn't angry at her the way the others were. I think
he really thought he could save her. There are five more, and
throughout the night they battle, scheme, hide, and plot against
each other until only one is left standing. I recognize him as
William, the oldest. He looks around at the blood that has been
spilled, at what he has won, and after a brief moment of
satisfaction, it's over. He has no choice but to turn on himself
now. They have forgotten I was ever here...
I am drawn out of my head and I can see myself clearly. I am younger now, mousy and pale, easy to ignore. I watch the days pass quickly, flashing by fast. There aren't many left. I am the last one to go, starved and neglected. My sister's curse has succeeded in destroying those who would challenge her.
I am awake now, though I can't be sure I was ever asleep. I am sure more than ever that I must get out of here now. I will scream until there is nothing left. I will make my presence known. I will knock this door down. I will not be destroyed.