Chapter One - THE GIRL THEY NEVER KNEW
It was late, nearly three in the morning, and Chloe Lane rose out of bed and retrieved the small package from where she had hidden it in an old shoe tucked away in her closet. She crawled back into bed, package still in hand, and from within the brown paper she pulled a blade the length of her thumb, shining in moonlight that poured in from the window.
Chloe placed the bag to her side and deposited a towel that she had taken from the linen closet onto her lap. Taking the blade in between her thumb and index finger, she began to make smooth, methodical slashes along her inner thigh, the only thoughts in her head echoes of all the torment that she had ever endured.
Ghoul girl.
Vampira.
Each incision she made went deeper, and blood had began to flow onto the towel.
And she couldn't feel any pain.
Chloe was suppressing tears only of all the ceaseless mockery, the lies, the hatred. And that made her hate herself even more. The cutting was a punishment, really. One that she couldn't either feel comprehend. No pain could match the way that she felt inside. Perhaps that was a reason why she cut - she just wanted to feel alive. She wanted to live happily and free of hatred, free of the world.
And sometimes, she didn't want to live at all. Those times she aided with medicines, taking sometimes an entire bottle of aspirin, smiling at death until Nancy or Craig would find her, only half-alive and cart her off to the hospital and force her to survive.
Chloe was starting to think that the next time it happened, she'd have to do something different. Something to kill her instantly, like placing a loaded gun in her mouth and firing.
Then there were times of dementia when she actually thought that she mattered. But every kind word, every friendly embrace… all lies.
And she had fallen for each and every single on of them. Stupid. So stupid. Philip had never really cared. In fact, he had downright reviled her before her transformation. Belle was too self-absorbed to even begin to have concern for anyone other than herself. She always ran around, smiling prettily, knowing and basking in the fact that everyone was whispering about how gorgeous she was.
Each of these things contributed to her secret self-loathing and were also the reason she could look back on each and every self-inflicted scar and only feel regret because she hadn't had the courage to press the razor deeper.
Tonight she wouldn't have the courage either, but deep down in her heart, she knew it was coming. Her death day was approaching quicker than she had anticipated and that was the only thought in her head that made her smile.
She had written and rewritten her suicide letter in a hundred different ways, but had eventually decided that no one would care enough to read it. The even might not notice she was missing, and would find a rotten corpse years later, the weapon that had delivered the death still firmly gripped in her hand.
Then, knowing Nancy, she'd run around the funeral, begging for sympathy and everyone would go home talking about what a good mother she seemed to be, completely disregarding the fact that it took Nancy four years before she went upstairs and accidentally found her dead body rotting in the bed.
Chloe sighed. Knowing Nancy, she'd be more concerned with the bed sheets than the fact that Chloe had killed herself. She had a humorous mental image of her running around, screaming about the bloody comforter.
The red numbers of her digital clock told her it was nearly four, now. She'd spent an entire hour cutting, more than she ever usually did. Blood was starting to dry on her inner leg, but she still wrapped the towel around it, just to be safe. It wouldn't do good to get blood on the sheets. She took the dirty blade and placed it in the trash can underneath her desk. The rest of the blades she deposited back into their shoe, in the very back of her closet.
This wasn't the first time she had cut. In fact, this was an experience that happened for Chloe pretty regularly. It was her secret, the only one she'd hold to her death. She couldn't imagine what she'd do if anyone discovered it. It was her solace, the only thing in her life that kept her head on straight. Without that, she didn't think she could handle any of it.
Tomorrow morning she'd put on her make-up and a cute little dress, she'd smile to people and participate in futile teenage banter and no one would ever know what she had done the night before. No one would ever find out what she was.
She crawled back into bed and smoothed the blankets around her, knowing full well she'd never be able to sleep after such a night. She never did, but only stared into the darkness until it was time for her to arise, and wonder what all the people of Salem would think about the girl they never knew.
It was late, nearly three in the morning, and Chloe Lane rose out of bed and retrieved the small package from where she had hidden it in an old shoe tucked away in her closet. She crawled back into bed, package still in hand, and from within the brown paper she pulled a blade the length of her thumb, shining in moonlight that poured in from the window.
Chloe placed the bag to her side and deposited a towel that she had taken from the linen closet onto her lap. Taking the blade in between her thumb and index finger, she began to make smooth, methodical slashes along her inner thigh, the only thoughts in her head echoes of all the torment that she had ever endured.
Ghoul girl.
Vampira.
Each incision she made went deeper, and blood had began to flow onto the towel.
And she couldn't feel any pain.
Chloe was suppressing tears only of all the ceaseless mockery, the lies, the hatred. And that made her hate herself even more. The cutting was a punishment, really. One that she couldn't either feel comprehend. No pain could match the way that she felt inside. Perhaps that was a reason why she cut - she just wanted to feel alive. She wanted to live happily and free of hatred, free of the world.
And sometimes, she didn't want to live at all. Those times she aided with medicines, taking sometimes an entire bottle of aspirin, smiling at death until Nancy or Craig would find her, only half-alive and cart her off to the hospital and force her to survive.
Chloe was starting to think that the next time it happened, she'd have to do something different. Something to kill her instantly, like placing a loaded gun in her mouth and firing.
Then there were times of dementia when she actually thought that she mattered. But every kind word, every friendly embrace… all lies.
And she had fallen for each and every single on of them. Stupid. So stupid. Philip had never really cared. In fact, he had downright reviled her before her transformation. Belle was too self-absorbed to even begin to have concern for anyone other than herself. She always ran around, smiling prettily, knowing and basking in the fact that everyone was whispering about how gorgeous she was.
Each of these things contributed to her secret self-loathing and were also the reason she could look back on each and every self-inflicted scar and only feel regret because she hadn't had the courage to press the razor deeper.
Tonight she wouldn't have the courage either, but deep down in her heart, she knew it was coming. Her death day was approaching quicker than she had anticipated and that was the only thought in her head that made her smile.
She had written and rewritten her suicide letter in a hundred different ways, but had eventually decided that no one would care enough to read it. The even might not notice she was missing, and would find a rotten corpse years later, the weapon that had delivered the death still firmly gripped in her hand.
Then, knowing Nancy, she'd run around the funeral, begging for sympathy and everyone would go home talking about what a good mother she seemed to be, completely disregarding the fact that it took Nancy four years before she went upstairs and accidentally found her dead body rotting in the bed.
Chloe sighed. Knowing Nancy, she'd be more concerned with the bed sheets than the fact that Chloe had killed herself. She had a humorous mental image of her running around, screaming about the bloody comforter.
The red numbers of her digital clock told her it was nearly four, now. She'd spent an entire hour cutting, more than she ever usually did. Blood was starting to dry on her inner leg, but she still wrapped the towel around it, just to be safe. It wouldn't do good to get blood on the sheets. She took the dirty blade and placed it in the trash can underneath her desk. The rest of the blades she deposited back into their shoe, in the very back of her closet.
This wasn't the first time she had cut. In fact, this was an experience that happened for Chloe pretty regularly. It was her secret, the only one she'd hold to her death. She couldn't imagine what she'd do if anyone discovered it. It was her solace, the only thing in her life that kept her head on straight. Without that, she didn't think she could handle any of it.
Tomorrow morning she'd put on her make-up and a cute little dress, she'd smile to people and participate in futile teenage banter and no one would ever know what she had done the night before. No one would ever find out what she was.
She crawled back into bed and smoothed the blankets around her, knowing full well she'd never be able to sleep after such a night. She never did, but only stared into the darkness until it was time for her to arise, and wonder what all the people of Salem would think about the girl they never knew.