Well, this is actually my first fanfiction. It's basically a "what if the necromancer who came to Lyle House that day wasn't the movie-loving blonde with a stutter we all came to know and love? What if it was, say, a tough, sarcastic brunette?" Enter Shia, said tough, sarcastic brunette and see how she comes to Lyle House and makes an impact on her fellow group home members.
I hope you like it— and I hope that you review and let me know what you think. Good, great, bad, awful, okay?
Disclaimer: I do not own Darkest Powers.
I rolled over in bed, my mind still lost in my dreamland, ghosts and monsters haunting my sleep. It was almost peaceful, really. Unlike most, I wasn't quite disturbed by nightmares. It was simply evidence of my thoughts, fears, and imagination showing itself to me in my sleep due to my subconscious mind. What could possibly be wrong with that?
"Little girl! Get back here! I have something to say to you!" The words thundered in young Shia's ears. The little six-year-old girl ran away from the terrifying thing that looked burned up and scary. Even to her, it was a dreadful sight— and she would sneak into the living room and watch her older sisters as they watched horror movies, screaming when it got to the climax. But here, in the flesh, it was just downright horrifying.
In bed, I let out a whimper, only half asleep. Part of me was waking up, as if aware that my alarm would soon be going off.
She ran away, only to realize that she couldn't hear him chasing her. Had he stopped? She paused, turning around to see where the ghost was. Had she lost him? When she ended up face to face with burned, blackened flesh rotting away, she screamed and screamed and screamed. He plunged his hand out and it went right through her, causing her shrieks to become even louder, fueled by absolute terror.
"Hey, listen to me, kid. I have something to say to you."
The alarm clock blared and I jolted up in bed, rubbing my eyes. The dream had been very vivid, all too lifelike. The six-year-old Shia even had her short hair up in the cute little pigtails that she was horrified to know that she'd worn from the time she was four to the time she was seven. That was scarier than any ghost or monster she could dream up. I looked at the clock and widened my eyes. Ten minutes late? Maybe that wasn't too late, but I was slow in the mornings— every minute counts, after all.
I pulled on my worn black skinny jeans and a white v-neck tee with a picture of a howling wolf on the front. I slid a dark brown bangle bracelet on my wrist and wrapped a colorful scarf around my neck. I entered the bathroom to get ready, fussing with my long, wavy dark brown hair that tended to get so knotted up in the mornings that I swear Medusa had better hair days. For makeup, I only really wore black eyeliner and a sweep of mascara and the black looked good against my tan olive skin. Plus, it was simple and easy to do in the morning.
It also made me look mature, in my opinion. Well, really, I didn't need any help with that— not only did I have curves, but I was never the kind of girl that would act fun and silly with all my friends or joke around. Despite the fact that I was really petite, people tended to think I was even older than I was— fifteen— the second I opened my mouth and words came out. The closest to joking I got was my sarcasm— which Kayla, my best friend, swore was really funny. After making sure that my hair was cooperating, the waves cascading down my shoulders, and that my makeup looked good and wouldn't smudge, I looked up at the clock and winced.
How could ten minutes knock so much time off of your morning routine? Hopping in the bathroom, I pulled on knee-high leather boots and a leather jacket and ran down the stairs and out the door just as the bus slowed to a stop at my driveway. "Almost missed it," the obnoxious bus driver said in a snotty tone, "didn't ya?" I ignored her and slid into my assigned seat. Assigning seats on a school bus should be illegal or something since I was next to two snobby girls who went on an on about boys and clothes and this and that.
Okay, sure, I like all of the above, too, but I don't need to obsess over any of it in such a high-pitched voice. I mean, don't they have anything better to do, anything, just anything more important to discuss than who liked who and whatever or were there lives really that bland? I pressed myself against the window, desperate to just ignore them. Things would get better soon, right? Who knows, maybe I'd get lucky and go deaf in the next five seconds?
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Nope, unfortunately, I can still hear. And I was really disappointed, too. I zoned out the rest of the ride to school, desperately tuning out their constant chatter until I got to school and met my friend Kayla by my locker. Kayla's a bubbly, yet brilliant blonde with about ten million times more social skills than me. "Hey, Shy," she said. "Oh, by the way, you're coming to the dance Friday."
I slanted her a look, my hand on the textbook I was pulling out of my locker. "Oh, I am, am I?"
"Yes, you are. You're coming with me and Brett." Brett and me, I thought in my head, but didn't bother voicing the thought. I didn't always speak with perfect grammar, either, since sounding right and being grammatically correct could sometimes be two very different things and I usually ended up selecting sounding right— but that didn't mean that I didn't know when I made a grammatical error.
"So, you want me to be the third wheel on your date to the dance why?" She rolled her eyes and gave me this look. She'd been trying to get me to have more fun and 'put myself out there' or whatever since the dawn of time and had refused to give up. No matter what I said or however many times I turned down a chance to party or socialize, she was persistent. Whoever won our little to-go-or-not-to-go battles varied by I knew I would win the war, so who cares? Still, does being a third wheel with a couple that have been together for one year, three months, and four days— Kayla was obsessive about this— sound at all enjoyable? No.
"You wouldn't be a third wheel," she protested. I just looked at her. A couple plus a tag along equals third wheel. A third wheel is a term that means a person awkwardly being dragged along to a date, despite what the couple says about how it won't be awkward. This is a well-known equation in high school society and one that is indisputable. "Well, hey, maybe you'd meet someone there. That's the beauty of a school dance. I mean, girl, you're looking hot these days."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks— however, why would I want to meet someone who lurks around at school dances and preys on the weak girls so lonely at a school dance? I mean, come on, I have standards, you know."
"'Standards' is not the word I would use. Stick up your ass? Maybe." I glared at her and she raised her hands in the 'I come in peace'gesture. I rolled my eyes.
"Okay, so I'm picky. What's it matter? It's not like there's anyone in this school that would interest me."
"There are, like, 800 kids in this school. How do you know that not one of the 800 would interest you?"
My only response was a shrug. "Well, I have to get to class," I said, noticing how the numbers were dwindling. She nodded and headed in the other direction, shooting a look over her head that screamed this isn't over. I was nearly to my classroom when I felt a sudden rush of wetness trickling down and my eyes widened. What was that? Did I just… oh my God. I rushed to the nearest bathroom, wincing as the bell rang. Well, I would just have to deal with being late, I decided as I locked myself in the stall and stared down at my underwear, eyes wide.
I had just had my period. Even though most of my friends had gotten their period when they were eleven or twelve, I hadn't gotten it until, well, today. I had started to wonder if I was ever going to get my period. "Evidently," I murmured, "yes." I gathered a thick wad of toilet paper as a temporary pad, muttering about how unprepared I was for this and that I should've had to deal with thisawkwardness years ago, not now. I groaned, as I made sure I was ready to get to class. After washing my hands, I couldn't help but run a brush through my hair and touch up my makeup. I was going to be late anyway, right? Why the hell not?
After finishing up, I entered the empty hallway and wondered how exactly I would explain this to my strict male English teacher. "Hey, kid! Come back here." I turned around to see some guy in a janitor's uniform.
"What?" I called back in a strong, clear voice. "I was just in the bathroom. I'm on my way to class," I said, belatedly adding a "sir." Adults were big on respect, right?
"I've got some things to say to you!"
"Sir?" I was hesitant as he was racing toward me. If he was running toward me like that, shouldn't his feet be making a sound? What? Acting on pure instinct, I dropped my books and started running down the hallway, my steps thundering down the stairs to the main floor. The door to a classroom opened. "Shia? What are you doing?" I ignored the voice, just running.
The janitor caught up to me and his face changed into this awful, melted image that looked like something out of a horror movie— I should know, I've seen my fair share. I admit it, I screamed. Who wouldn't? I'd always liked scary things. They were cool— when they were, hmm, fiction. I kept running until I was cornered into a classroom on the main level, racing for the window.
"Shia Hastings, stop right now!" I whipped my head to look at the vice principal yelling in her stern voice, a teacher next to her— Mr. Grey, I think? The janitor came, walking through the vice principal and leaning over me. I shrieked, scrambling to open the window when Mr. Grey tackled me onto the floor. "Get him away from me! Get him away from me!"
"You have to listen to me, he's right there! Can't you see him! Oh, God, get him away from me, just get him away!" I babbled on for another minute, struggling to free myself and get away from the burned man tormented me, telling me to listen to him. There was something he needed to tell me. I could see him. I could hear him. What was that supposed to me? Obviously, I could see him! Why couldn't anyone else? I was getting hysterical and I barely noticed when too many came and a needle pierced my arm.
Get him away… Get him away… My thoughts were fading as I slipped into unconsciousness.
Get him away…
I hope you like it! Again, I hope you'll leave a review with your honest opinion. What am I doing right? What am I doing wrong? Like it? Don't like it?
Until next chapter— peace!