Warnings: Blood and gore. If you have a weak stomach I suggest you not go any further...
Otherwise...ENJOY!
Butterfly
Poppa told me never to go out after
dark. He said that The Holi come out and take children while they
play. During the day they're taken too, but Poppa watches me during
the day and he'll chase The Holi away with sticks if they come close.
That's what Poppa said. Poppa lied.
The Holi are creatures that
live in the woods near Little Willow, the village Poppa and I live
in. Megan from down the road said she saw a Holi, she said Holi are
neither male nor female and their eyes are completely white, not
really standing out against the pale, sunken skin on it's face. They
wear hoods pulled up, shading their features into shadows but those
eyes shine through. White eyes would, wouldn't they? Megan said that
one of them grabbed her but she fought it off. Megan must have lied
because The Holi can only be fought off by adults. Everyone knows
that.
Poppa was working in his woodshed and I was sitting on the
chair, singing softly. A tune from the back of my head, something my
Momma sang before she was taken by the Girro, but that's a different
story. I was sitting as I was told, with my legs folded up underneath
my bottom and my hands folded onto my lap. A fluttering of wings near
my ear first caught my attention, and I trailed off on my singing. I
mean, you can't expect a four year old to have that much of an
attention span, can you? I turned my head, ever so slightly, as not
to disturb Poppa and watched the butterfly as it glided out the door
of the woodshed. I glanced at Poppa and smiled slightly, he was busy.
Hopping off the chair, as most short people would have to do on such
a large chair, I tip toed out the door and followed the butterfly.
Innocence at its prime.
I followed the butterfly, confident that
if I got close enough it would let me stop and touch it. Let me feel
the silky texture of it's wings against my fingertips. I giggled
softly, oblivious to the shadows gliding away from the woods toward
me. The butterfly landed against the rock, folding it's wings up so
it looked like it had only one. I slowed down and crept closer, just
like Poppa did when he was trying to catch Skip the dog. My bare feet
pressed against the dewy grass as I walked closer in exaggerated
sneaky steps. The butterfly moved its head. Before this moment I
wasn't even sure if butterflies had heads, but it moved its head and
stared at me. I was staring right back, my nose inches from it.
The
butterfly changed, meshing into colors and inky shadows, crawling
over the rock. Silence. I fell backwards, landing on my bottom, eyes
wide. The butterfly grew and soon was towering over me, a black hood
shading its features, two red eyes staring down at me blindly. My
breath caught in my throat as a pale hand reached out, knuckles
cracking as it formed around my neck. He lifted me with ease. I knew
at that moment I was going to either be taken or killed. Even in my
four year old mentality, I prayed for death. I looked around me and
for the first time noticed the darkness. It was mid-day but the sun
wasn't in sight, the sky wasn't in sight and to me it felt like the
world was drenched in shadows. It was freezing, though it was summer
and the light breeze earlier had turned into an artic wind. My teeth
were chattering, grinding with pain, fear and chill. The grip on my
throat tightened, trapping the air in my lungs. The very lungs that
felt as if they were going to explode. He raised his free hand,
revealing long burnt nails, charred and deformed. If he were making
any sound at all I didn't hear, for the world was silent. My Poppa
wasn't sawing anymore.
He reached out and pressed the tip of his
nail to my forehead, the piece of skin directly between my
tear-filled blue eyes. Pain. A pain no child of four should ever
experience as he dragged it downward, splitting the skin. He was
silent. Always silent. I screamed, tears spilling from my eyes and
onto my blood-stained cheeks. The crimson liquid was pouring over and
fading as it mixed with the salty droplets, turning from crimson to a
lighter red. My throat was raw as he continued downward. Never
stopping. Never speeding up. Never slowing down. He reached my chin
and I felt bile rise into my throat, burning against the aggravated
flesh of my esophagus. He pulled his nail down my throat, leaving a
straight line, oozing with blood but not causes me to die. He
continued down, down my chest and down my stomach, finally stopping
at my belly button. I was panting by now, too tired to scream
anymore. I was letting out gasps and whimpers but he didn't speak. It
was finally over, is what I thought. I was wrong.
He reached out
and pressed all five of his fingernails into my chest, splitting it
further. A scream retched through my throat and my arms and fingers
twitched. I was bleeding. Bleeding from every pore on my body.
Bleeding like I was sweating. He continued, digging deeper and
searched around, pausing as he felt my heartbeat against his
fingertips. He hesitated for a millisecond before wrapping his hand
around the beating muscle. My whole body set on fire, or that's how
it felt at least. Vomit gurgled in my throat, trickling out the
corners of my mouth. I was crying, sobbing. He pulled out, holding my
heart in his hand and let the blood drip. It beat and I watched. My
chest heaved but I was alive. Miraculously, I was alive. He tilted
his head to the side, as if he was confused. I begged him, pleading
for him to kill me. Imagine! A four year old child, pleading for his
life to end. He ignored me. He looked up at me and reached out. I
flinched. He brushed the sweaty and bloody hair from my forehead. A
glitter of white passed into sight where his mouth would be located,
but it was gone a second later. He replaced my still beating heart
and wiped his blood covered hand on my shirt, the clots standing out
against my used-to-be tan jumper. He waved his hand and I was healed.
He dropped me and I was alone. The sky was a beautiful blue color and
as I stared at the sky a butterfly fluttered over my head and
disappeared into the woods.
A/N: I wrote this awhile ago, and although it obviously has nothing to do with Harry Potter I thought that it could. It could be several different things: a) an exaggerated version of a squib's encounter with a dementor, b) a completely different magical creature that has started causing chaos in a local muggle village, c) The wild imagination of a magical child, who wanted to scare their normal muggle friends. It can be several things, but I thought that since the Holi's apperance is so close to the dementor's, actually it's pretty much the exact apperance, but the actions are completely different then I'd just put this up here. R+R!