Author's Notes: This is a fic that I would have submitted to the Fractured Tales Anthology had I actually finished it. But my brain died out on me halfway through, and until now I haven't been able to finish it. I really enjoyed writing this though and hope to finish it someday.
Disclaimer: Naruto isn't mine.
Lullaby for a Stormy Night
If you want to see the vilest of the vile, the meanest of the mean, and the pinnacle of evil in the sorry species that is the human race, you might want to take a look at the 'children'.
Children, though they may look it, are hardly angels. They have no moral scruples, no regard at all for what is right and what is wrong, what matters is reward and punishment. They embody the true spirit of Machiavellian concept: the ends justify the means.
They are, in a word, dangerous.
It is a good thing, then, that they are given short limbs and puny muscles and primitive brains. If God had given them something else, they might well have taken over the earth.
And so it was that two children, Yamanaka Ino and Haruno Sakura, with short limbs, puny muscles, and primitive brains, found themselves at the threshold of a gargantuan manor instead of the president's office inside the United Nations building.
They were on the brink of committing a heinous crime – breaking and entering.
If they were adults, they might as well have spent the next thirty years of their insignificant lives behind forbidding steel bars. But no, they were children. And that made them all the more dangerous. The law was on their side.
At the end of the day, they might find themselves confined in their rooms with all their stuffed toys and dolls, ordered to 'think about what they had done' when, if there was any justice in this lonely planet, they should really be in a room devoid of windows, sitting on lone rickety chairs, handcuffed, half-bald, with a razor poised over what remained of their hair.
But if there was anything that this planet lacked, it was justice… and perhaps awesome rings like that of Saturn, but that was a different matter altogether.
Besides, punishment, for these two would-be criminals, was something that they could easily avoid—
"If we're very very careful, Sakura-chan. So try to be really really quiet, okay?"
And with the latter's nervous nod, the two children engraved their guilt in stone.
The one called 'Sakura-chan' was really but a mere accomplice. She was the brainier of the two, but she was, in no way, the 'brains' of the operation. She was timid, with no confidence to speak of, and therefore, in the world of children, labeled as 'follower'.
Yamanaka Ino, on the other hand, who knew only half of the words that Sakura-chan did but was armed with a smile that could charm a snake, was a 'leader'.
But both leader and follower consented to committing the crime and they were determined to succeed. They had a mission – an important one. The grown-ups were being tight-lipped about something. And in their malicious child-brains, they decided that they, too, had a right to know.
It did not matter that they would be adding insult to injury by invading the privacy of another poor (but probably evil) child who was on the throes of grief. It did not matter that two nosy kids were the last things that the grieving child needed. It did not matter that they were making light of a murder that caused the said child to be orphaned at the ripe age of eight. It did not matter that they were being horribly, horribly insensitive – after all, they were children.
It did matter, however, that their mothers told them never to come near that particular house because it was "haunted" – and in their primitive child-brains, that meant that the house was the stuff of fairy tales. After all, the word did appear quite a number of times in their story books, even if it did often come with a foreboding picture of a scary-looking house and a green-skinned witch.
Perhaps this was a chance for them to really become princesses. And they were fully armed too (with pots on their heads and swimming goggles over their eyes) so they weren't scared.
Besides, they were kept inside their houses for weeks on end, their parents all claiming that it was dangerous to go outside with that "kira" on the loose. They got bored. And that the grownups were communicating with each other in hushed whispers, strangled gasps, and knowing 'tsks' only frustrated them more. They had a right to know too, for Bob's sake.
And it was with this self-righteous anger (and Yamanaka Ino's insistent prodding) that Sakura-chan found the courage within her to turn the knob.
The door, heavy and obviously made of expensive things, gave a creak of protest as it was opened by the vile little child. She stepped inside, further solidifying her status as 'criminal'. She surveyed the scene in front of her, noting with awe the majestic staircase across the hall – but not because of the architecture. No, her mouth watered because she knew that they could use the banisters as slides.
She turned, intending to tell her leader and best friend that the coast was clear. But the said girl was nowhere to be found.
With panic rising in her little throat, her heart ta-thumping against her little chest, she gave out a small whimper. She was in big trouble… and unlike Yamanaka Ino, Haruno Sakura actually knew what 'haunted house' meant. It meant ghosts and witches and, according to her dad, a devalued property that, with proper care, a brand spanking new paint job, and ignorant but rich immigrants, might mean a landfall for any smart real-estate agent.
"Get out."
She turned around to face the ghost, her anti-ghost magic rod (a.k.a. broom with mother's angel figurine taped to the tip) on the ready. Ino had warned her about moments like this. All she had to do was say, "The power of Christ compels you!" (with feelings) and whack the ghost on the head with her rod and it would be 'banished'.
So she did.
And when that didn't work, she tried plan B.
That is, she let out an ear-splitting shriek and ran.
A few minutes later, safe from the ghost under the cover of thick foliage, her 'armor' discarded, and nursing a bruised knee, Haruno Sakura found herself cursing the deserter, a.k.a, Yamanaka Ino. That she had serious 'trust' issues ever since that day was a different story, as was the fact that their friendship probably survived only because neither of them ever cared to mention the incident afterwards.
What mattered was that her mom's favorite figurine (though why little kids in stories like this always tended to ruin their parent's favorite things, she didn't know) was now kaput with the angel's head severed and one of its legs missing. She had a feeling that she would look the same way once her mom found out about what she had been doing.
For a ghost, that guy surely had a hard head. Weren't ghosts supposed to be transparent and wispy and eathe-ethe-earth-real?
Though, now that she thought about it, that guy was rather handsome for a ghost too.
But it did not matter – a ghost was a ghost and… he sure sounded mean… sad, too… for that matter… she felt kinda sorry for him. But she was a child, and ultimately, she felt sorrier for herself. Her mom was going to throw a fit once she realized that her favorite figurine had been beheaded.
So saying (or thinking, anyway), she took one last look at the porch and the door and the big house, and headed for home with a heavy heart, unaware that a boy with hair and eyes as black as soot was watching her discreetly from the window.
'The cosmic balance of the universe' – those were the only words to which she could attribute what was happening to her to. Well, she could also use the word 'karma'… but cosmic balance sounded cooler.
There she was, standing on the porch of a very familiar house, exactly like the first time. Except that she was thirteen (she tried not to think of it as an unlucky number) years older. Also, she was no longer standing with her deserter best friend, but with the love of her life. She also knew more words than she used to and could pronounce 'ethereal' without breaking a sweat. Simply put, she had grown.
Oh, and she was also drenched. They were supposed to go to her husband's ancestral house (to live there in marital bliss) but it started storming and after uttering an irritated 'damn' at the rapidly diminishing visibility on the streets, her husband had turned left, then right, left, right, then left again, and stopped in front of the big house. Then, he got out. She assumed that he was only looking for shelter. After all, it was unsafe to go on driving through a stormy weather.
If she was only a bit more observant, she might have noticed that they passed through a decent-looking motel on the way to the big house. But she was not. So absorbed was she in her dreams of consummating their marriage that she failed to notice that something fishy was going on.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the gargantuan mansion – and for the first time, she noticed that the passage of time had given it a more 'haunted' look.
But now that she was older (and much kinder, if not a bit perverted) and she knew that ghosts couldn't be banished by angel figurines tied to a broomstick (salt might work, though), she felt rather silly for doing what she did back then.
In fact, she would've deemed it a perfectly funny (and slightly romantic, in a comedic sort of way) story to tell the "love of her life", if only…
"Sasuke-kun, can you stop playing with that? It's bothering me."
With an eerie smile, the love of her life caught the head of a figurine as it descended and clutched it in his fist… tightly.
"Of course, Sakura."
She looked at him for a few long seconds, perturbed that he was acting quite oddly. In fact, in their eight years of knowing each other (the first three of which she spent pathetically pining for him while he rudely fended her off with sharp but uncreative and boringly repetitive barbs; the next two, she spent convincing herself she had had enough of him while he belatedly grew hormones and started noticing her and her apparent lack of interest; then for one year, he disappeared without a trace, giving her an emotional breakdown and a rude awakening on the fact that she still cared. He came back, changed and a bit subdued, and life went on. And the last two years were spent in an odd something-more-than-friends relationship with him before he finally popped the question, unromantically, seemingly out of thin air. Of course, being the pathetic sod that she was, she agreed.)—Ah where was she? Apparently, she got lost in the parenthesis. Anyway, in their eight years of knowing each other, this was undoubtedly the first time she had seen him act this way.
Still smiling, her husband reached out and turned the knob, opened the door for her, and gestured for her to step inside.
She was sure that there was a time that she thought his smirk was sexy. Now, though, she only thought it was downright creepy. Oh, wait, no – his smirk was sexy, not his smile, never his smile, Sasuke didn't have a smile, after all. So what was this she was seeing? An upturned variation of a frown? Well, that was more "Sasuke-ish" than a smile, so yes, it probably was an upturned frown. Sighing, she decided that she had better have that talk about the priest about what 'in sickness and in health' encompassed and if mental illnesses were included in its scope – whether it was his brain or hers that was impaired, she wasn't really sure.
Nonetheless, she stepped in, ignoring her irrational – what else could they be? – thoughts. Sasuke stepped in after her and spoke.
"Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring."
"Err… Sasuke-kun… I'll just ignore that Dracula quote… okay?"
Her husband only smiled, or rather, frowned upside down in response, that same creepy-and-not-at-all-sexy smi—er, upside down frown he gave earlier, and turned to lock the door.
Then realization sunk in.
"W-wait. Your house? Your house? This", waving her arms around frantically as she gestured at the wide and ornately decorated foyer, "is your house?"
"Yes. Didn't I say that we were going to my ancestral home?"
Sakura tried not to regret her 'I do', but the fear was beginning to gnaw on her.
'How often was it again that young wives of handsome but rich eccentrics ended up mutilated and discarded on a bushy roadside? Would she be a… a statistic? Oh God, what if she was in a poorly written ghost story?', were the questions that raced inside Sakura's mind as she heard the ominous sound of the lock clicking in place.
She watched, disturbed, as her husband slid a key into his breast pocket.
"It's not a regular lock," she stated, noting the lack of the familiar push-button-thingy that was present in most doorknobs.
"It's an old house" her husband said plainly as he removed his gray trench coat.
She was about to make another comment about the lock when the lights, two expensive-looking crystalline chandeliers decked with wispy cobwebs, were turned on suddenly.
She jumped, thoroughly startled. But when she noticed that her husband wasn't the least bit surprised by the lights going on suddenly, she gave out a nervous laugh.
"Oh, so your old house's lock is primitive, but your lights are operated by remote control?"
"No."
"There's somebody else here then?"
"No."
"Oh."
She looked around worriedly, unsure of what to think, she wanted to point out the illogical nature of her husband's answers, but Sasuke was moving towards the staircase.
"H-hey, wait up! Where are you—"
The boy turned halfway towards her, stuffing his hands into his pockets and flashing her a sexy smirk, the same one she fell in love with.
"Don't you want to consummate our marriage?"
Her insides, brain included, promptly turned to mush at his words and she came bounding after him without a second thought.
Glorious – that was one word she could describe their coupling as. There was also dreamy, mind-blowing, magnificent, earth-shattering, wonderful, heavenly, out-of-this-world, resplendent, divine, oh and there was also phenomenal. She could go on, really, but she doubted that she had enough words despite her much-improved vocabulary.
Suffice it to say that she was happy with how her husband performed in the marital bed. Of course, she shouldn't have expected anything less. This was the Uchiha Sasuke, after all. He was barely-suppressed-passion-hidden-underneath-a-cool-exterior personified.
She mewled contentedly and shifted in their enormous bed (What was the next size after king-sized, anyway? God, being with him made her feel like a lowly peasant.), basking in the afterglow of their coupling.
His arm was draped around her loosely and she could tell from his deep and even breathing that he was already asleep. She, however, was far from sleepy. But she was rather thirsty, and the sound of the rain pounding against the large windows was—
A bolt of lightning lit up the sky, revealing to her for a few seconds the world outside her room, and also the dark outline of a man crouched outside the window, one hand pressed against the glass.
She screamed in abject terror, but her voice was muffled by the sound of thunder rolling.
Almost to the point of panic, she tried to nudge her husband awake. Sasuke, however, merely grunted and looked at her with a sleepy eye.
"Sasuke, Sauke-kun, there's a man outside the window!"
"There isn't anyone there, Sakura, go back to sleep."
"But—but, I saw him, Sasuke-kun. He's outside the window and—"
Her husband only sighed tiredly and spoke in an irritated tone.
"We're on the fourth floor, Sakura. It's storming outside. There's no possible way for a man to be outside our window. Now go back to sleep."
"But—"
"Go back to sleep", Sasuke repeated with a tone of finality.
"I guess you're right," she muttered quietly, deciding to believe in her husband's words. They did make a lot of sense, after all. And sure enough, when lightning flashed once more, albeit weaker this time, she looked at the spot where she had seen the figure, and there was nothing there, "'twas probably just the trees."
Of course, she should have checked the whole window, especially the upper part. After all, mysterious figures don't necessarily stay stationary, especially if they're real.
She really had poor observation skills, which was why she was in a dire situation (but she didn't know that yet). It was also due to her poor observation skills that she failed to notice that there actually was a figure outside of her window, clutching to the flat surface like a lizard, with both hands pressed against the glass and legs bent at an odd angle. More interestingly, she failed to see that it was peering down at them with interest.
Kill it.
Mother!
Fugaku… Fugaku, please…
Kill it, I tell you—
Get her out of here! Get. Mother. Out. Of. Here.
Kill it! Spawn of Satan—
No—
Kill it!
Fugaku…
Kill the child now or it will destroy us all!
Just get her out of here, damn it! Mikoto, Mikoto, don't listen to her, shhhh..
Kill the child!
Someone get her out of here!
Please, Fugaku, it hurts, so much, plea—
A scream, shrill, blood-curdling, abject terror condensed.
"Sakura, Sakura, wake up. You're having a nightmare."
She opened her eyes, trying to control her breathing. Slowly, the concerned face of Sasuke slid into focus and she tried to remember where she was and why he was beside her. It took a moment for the memory of their marriage to register, what with the sound of the woman's scream still ringing in her head – or was it her own scream, she didn't know.
"I—I—Sasuke-kun, it was—"
"It wasn't real. Now go back to sleep."
Her husband then promptly rolled to his side of the bed and went back to sleep. Trying to stifle her annoyance at his callousness, Sakura huffed and stood up since simply 'going back to sleep' was certainly out of the question. She was far too shaken by that nightmare, especially since she was the type who rarely had nightmares at all.
She walked over to the door at the far corner of the room, the one leading to the bathroom.
She wanted to wash her face, hoping the cool water would calm her nerves and get rid of that faint sliver of sleepiness that still clung to her distraught brain. But the moment she stepped into the bathroom and took in the gigantic bathtub on the far side of the room, all thoughts of simply washing her face drifted away.
The large tub was fit for a princess. And she, Haruno Sakura, whose modest middle-class upbringing ensured that her last memory of being able to actually stretch out in a bathtub was when she was 11 years old, decided that she would indulge herself, and treat herself as the princess she had always secretly wanted to be.
Humming to the tune of 'Someday my Prince will Come', she walked over to the tub and opened the three faucets, wincing at the grating sound of disuse they made. As it was, one of the faucets made a coughing regurgitating noise before spurting water, rusty water. She watched as the tainted fluid made its way down the drain, and she was oddly reminded of the blood she spit out whenever she lost a tooth during her teenage years.
Shaking her head, she dismissed the morbid thought, plugged the drain, and let the tub fill up. The warm water was creating a nice mist, she noted, rubbing her hands in anticipation of the luxurious bath she was about to have. She looked at the faucets again and, satisfied that nothing was amiss, she walked to the cabinets near the sink to see if there was a nice bottle of bubble bath waiting for her.
There was none. There was, however, a wonderful but dusty jar of rose petals. And in Sakura's princess-y mindset, petals worked quite nicely to create a 'royal' atmosphere. Barely containing a girlish giggle of glee, she discarded her sleeping gown and took the white terry cotton robe that was hanging on a hook. At first she thought it was Sasuke's, but when she put it on, she was surprised to see that it fit snugly. She would gladly chalk it down as a sweet gesture from her husband, but as it was, she simply could not believe that Sasuke would actually do something remotely romantic.
Her brows furrowed in confusion and in an irrationally jealous suspicion, Sakura walked over to the tub. But no further thoughts were spared to the robe's mysterious origin when she saw how nicely the tub had filled up, with the mist swirling over its surface. She sat down on the tub's thick rim and set the jar of petals down beside her. Smiling softly, she dragged her fingers over the water slowly and elegantly (like a princess!, her mind had quipped). The mist dispersed at the intrusion, revealing – much to Sakura's horror – a bloated corpse.
Of course, she screamed. Loudly.
She also fell on her butt – something which was awfully un-princess-like, sprawled as she was in an unflattering position. But in Sakura's current state of mind, she could not seem to bring herself to care. Ignoring the way her behind was smarting, she stood up and, being the brave girl she was, checked the tub for the corpse. She was sure that she saw something. But then again, there was nothing inside the tub, so, ever so logical, she decided that it probably was her imagination. The dream probably made her brain hyperactive or something.
She did not have the time to make any more theories about what she saw as the door suddenly flew open and in came a bedraggled Sasuke.
Oh dear, she didn't wake him up with her scream again, did she?
She groaned, not at all liking the idea of Sasuke thinking he had married a complete nutcase. She opened her mouth to apologize, but when she saw the look of anguish that crossed his face as he looked at her feet, she followed his gaze and gasped.
Dismally, she bent to stem the bleeding on her foot. Apparently, she had knocked the jar over and it crashed to the floor, scattering the petals all over the bathroom floor. As it was, the red petals were getting lost in the red of her blood.
"Shit.", she cursed, annoyed that her plan to treat herself like a princess for once was ruined. Sasuke had knelt in front of her. But she was too distraught over the pain on her foot to realize that he had picked up a single bloody petal.
"These—"
She looked up at the sound of his disdainful tone, surprised. He had not used that tone on her since those first rocky years of their relationship – or rather, those first years of her pestering him for dates and walks.
"—were my mother's."
"I—I'm sor—", she started, feeling guilty about what she had accidentally done, but then he cut her off, not allowing her to finish her apology.
"Next time, don't snoop around."
Angry, she sent him an icy glare. But her effort was wasted, as he had already turned his back and left. The bastard had not even cared about her bloody bleeding foot! And besides, this was her home now, and she had every right to—wait.
Did he just say that the jar of petals belonged to his mother?
If memory served her right, his mother had been dead for thirteen years. But if that was so, then why were the petals – the rose petals scattered on the floor – so fresh they could have been plucked yesterday?
She briefly considered the possibility of another woman, but somehow, she couldn't make herself believe that perfectly logical explanation. Which was a pity, really, because even if it would have been painful for him to have someone else, then at least it would have been logical and she wouldn't be here, scared out of her wits.
She looked at the floor again.
Heavy and sodden with her blood, the red rose petals looked mortifying.
Her hands were stained with blood—and for a moment, she pretended that she was a mass murderer who got off on cannibalizing babies sautéed in rose petals. But, oh who was she kidding? The blood was hers and the rose petals were the mysteriously fresh ones that her husband's mother supposedly owned. She was nowhere near as cool or even as interesting as a cannibal. She was just plain old Haruno Sakura – newlywed and neglected, with an injured, but properly (and expertly!) bound, foot – and she had to wash her hands.
There was no way she was going to wash it inside that scary bathroom, though. For all she knew, the faucets could very well start dripping blood like some horrible cliché horror story. Not that it would matter if it dropped blood, anyway, because really, her hands were already bloody – very bloody. But then the whole 'washing of hands' thing would be counterproductive… and spooky, even if it was a bit cliché.
So really, she needed another bathroom.
That was what sent her into the halls of the mansion, her elbows – because, really, it was a shame to get the beautiful thing dirty – on an intricately designed doorknob. It should have been difficult, but after opening half a dozen or so different doors with her elbows on the horribly long hallway (because, really, all the doorknobs were pretty), she had mastered the act right down to an art. After all, she was Haruno Sakura, and she was, if anything, a fast learner. Or maybe she just had a knack for opening doors with her elbows.
Finally, after another successful attempt on opening a door with her elbow, she had found what she was looking for – a bathroom. She then proceeded to step inside but was stopped in her tracks by a vision.
For a few seconds, she just stood there and stared at Sasuke's form through the semi-transparent glass door of the shower. It took a few more seconds for her to remember that Sasuke was her husband and that they were newlyweds. And wasn't it the most "newlywed" thing to do to sneak into the shower with him and maybe have a bit of… fun?
But as she was about to step forward to commence with her plans, the object of her affection slapped one palm against the glass – one bloody palm. And she meant bloody literally, not in the bad-word sense. His bloody fingers had stained the glass with obscene strips of red.
Her mind told her that maybe he was hurt. Her instinct told her to run. And from her experience, the latter was far more reliable. So she bolted, or rather, limped as fast as her injured foot would take her.
She was about halfway to their room when he caught up with her, grabbing her elbow. Sakura looked at where his hand met her skin, expecting to find blood. But there wasn't any. There was water, as his hand was still moist, but there was nothing else. Confused, she turned to look at his face, but then she felt him take her hand in his – quite a rare occurrence; one wherein, had the circumstances been different, she would have internally squealed in glee. It was too late, but still, she looked at their joined hands and saw what she expected to see – blood, pale and diluted.
Whether it came from her stained hands or his, she couldn't be sure, not anymore.
She couldn't even be sure about what she saw in that bathroom anymore. Was it, perhaps, her imagination acting up again? Was she having hallucinations again?
Am I—
Any further thoughts were suppressed when he lifted their entwined hands and placed her palm on his cheek, staining it lightly with the grotesque substance. Transfixed, she looked at him as he gazed at her with an unreadable but intense expression – one that was pleading and predatory at the same time.
But the moment was fleeting, and it was gone before she could dwell on it.
"Come on, you need to wash your hands."
His voice was husky, bereft of its usual smoothness. But if he was shaken, then so was she, probably even more so. And all Sakura could really do was nod and follow him noiselessly into their room.
What do we do, Fugaku?
Fugaku, it's him. He did it.
Fugaku?
Please, don't ignore me. Fugaku. Tell me what to do.
You know what to do, Mikoto.
But he's just a boy. He's our boy.
Exactly. That's why it's our duty. It's best to do it now before—
"—Before what? Tell me!"
"Sakura, wake up. You're talking in your sleep."
"H-huh?"
"You were talking in your sleep."
Comprehension dawned slowly, the curtain of confusion gradually lifting and making Sakura realize how silly she must have been. Her cheeks reddened when she saw her husband looking at her with a lazy smirk.
"Must you be so weird?", Sasuke playfully teased.
And when he leaned over for a sweet kiss, the witty retort that was on the tip of Sakura's tongue promptly disappeared.
It is probably a newlywed's prerogative to stay in bed all day. Sasuke and Sakura, however, seemed to have abused that privilege. As it was, Sakura emerged from their bedroom well past the time for afternoon tea.
Sasuke stayed behind, having already succumbed to the lure of slumber. He had argued that the sound of the rainstorm outside made him sleepy and that she'd have to excuse him while he snoozed off.
That was all well and good for Sakura, who was looking for a place where she could have a long and private chat with her best friend.
Giggling as she dialed her friend's number on her mobile phone, Sakura slipped into an empty room. As she waited for her friend to pick up the phone, she took her time to examine her surroundings. The room was spacious but very spare. The only piece of furniture that could be found was a heavy oak table. There were other objects atop the table, but they were covered by a dusty white cloth. Beside the table was a large wooden cross. It was obviously meant to be hung on a wall. But instead, it was merely propped up on the table's side, hiding its front from view. Sakura stepped forward, intent on examining the items further. But then Ino picked up.
"Hello?"
"Ino!"
"Sakura! Oh my God, it's you! Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to call? Here I was thinking that maybe Sasuke was a psychopath – he does fit the bill, you know, with all that broody perfection – and that you became his poor, poor victim!"
Sakura had nothing to say to that. For one, there might have been some truth to what Ino said. Strange things have certainly been happening. And for all she knew, she could very well be a victim, or a potential one, anyway.
"Sakura? Hello? Are you there? Why is it so noisy there?"
"Wha—huh? Ino, it's not—"
"Are you in a temple? I can barely hear you above the din of all that chanting—"
Outside, a bolt of lightning lit up the sky and illuminated the room.
Sakura jumped, startled when the sound of something heavy crashing to floor coincided with the rumble of thunder that followed the flash of lightning.
That "something heavy" turned out to be the crucifix. It was now lying on the floor, its front exposed. Sakura could see strip-like dents on its wooden surface, deep scratches that looked like they were made by human hands, a child's hands.
"Ino?"
Nobody answered.
"Ino, are you there?"
Still, there was no response. Her initial shock dispersing and turning into outright fear, Sakura forced herself to take a few calming breaths. Somehow, she knew, there really was something going on. There was something in the pregnant silence of the stately old house, something hidden, something sinister, something evil.
"Ino? Please answer."
But to her disappointment, there really was no answer. She took her phone and looked at it. Grimly, she noted that the signal was completely gone.
The rain really started pouring then. She could hear the storm intensifying.
Again, there was a flash of lightning.
"Sakura?"
She whirled around to face her husband, but from the side of her eye, she saw someone else – a woman, with long black hair, wearing a pristine white dress. Sakura blinked and looked again to the place where she saw the woman, but it was empty.
"Sakura? Are you okay? You look a bit pale."
"I—I'm okay, Sasuke-kun. I—"
"Come on, let's go back to bed. And don't wander off."
"Sorry, I—"
She didn't get to finish her apology again, as he was out of the door faster than she could blink. Sighing, she glanced one more time at the spot where she could have sworn she saw someone, and seeing that it was empty, sullenly followed her husband out of the room.
TBC. Someday. I hope.