A/N: Okay...never written in this fandom before. This story comes from an original plot derived from an University class exercise that uses summary, scene, flashback, and slow motion in a short story. It fortunately fits with the Supernatural episode, "Family Remains". Remember the girl in the walls? This is what happens BEFORE the Winchester brother's arrive. Note: Rebecca's son is not seen in this story.
For a Theme Writing Challenge over at The Hostile Takeover forums.
Nothing is Real
by: December Sapphire
Nothing was real, and everything had a purpose.
I remembered when I was little, trapped in the attic above the Jones family, the rotting smell of dead animal leavings, as well as mine, infested the room. I was a hermit, never leaving the attic. The dust collected up here would make me cough, and it only got worse over the years. There would sometimes be a small breeze coming through cracks in the walls from poor ventilation, swinging the small cross hanging from the window, but this often only happened during the winter, when small white pieces of fluff floated to the ground.
The ground, I've never seen the ground. The small window above was the only view to the outside, and a tree, as tall as a giant, would always be there to greet me. I knew what season it became from the tree. Otherwise, I would lose track of time.
It got easier when the Jones family were no longer taking care of the home, and it was soon abandoned. Food was still scare and often very bland, but I got to go outside for the first time. However, when I felt the sun kiss my skin, I jumped back in pain. My eyes stung and watered. After, I ran back inside, and never left.
Over the years, the dust in the home collected up more and more. My coughing increased, sometimes with small amounts of blood. I didn't know what it meant, but my chest felt like someone was always stepping on it.
The food, consisting of mostly rats and sometimes birds, built up. I would often throw up the meat for no apparent reason. The flavour wasn't always the best, and the only thing I could taste was the sour blood of the creatures on my tongue, but I forced it down anyways, even if I knew I would throw it up.
It was around a few months later when I started noticing them: people. At first I thought they weren't real, but I began to see more and more of them through small cracks in the walls. They would often come with their friends and produce smoke through their mouths, sucking on some kind of stick. They would also have this large bottle filled with a golden liquid. I can recall a few of these bottles up in the attic, probably left from the family before the Jones'. The burning taste would make me cough and gag. But these people made the house fill up with a stench of this taste. So I would try to scare them away, even though they were just my imagination.
They would be circling around a wooden board, their hands touching a small piece of wood on the board. I didn't know what it was, but their speech scared me.
"I call upon the spirits of this house," the male one said. "Come forward and announce your presence."
"This is stupid," the girl sneered at him. "They're no such thing as ghosts."
"Shut up and listen," another girl hissed.
The other boy remained silent, keeping his eyes close.
I always believed they were some kind of messengers from God, here to take me away. But they refused to leave, so I would scare them by running though the hidden passage ways in the walls, produce moaning sounds, and lurk in the shadows behind them, as they sat around candles. They would often scream or yell "ghost", but they were the ghosts, not me.
My purpose was not to leave. It was to protect this home from any messengers of God. These "people" would not stop me from leaving.
Besides, I had my family in the basement to take care of, The Jones' and their bodies desiccating after each, passing day. Their expressions: frozen. Eyes sunk in. Cheeks contracted. Even though they were falling apart and white bone showed through with a rotting smell, they were still my family.
I remembered when God told me to keep them around; I must do the sinful thing, and make them stay. So I followed his rules, and watched blood sink into the plush fabric while they slept. To keep them around—that was my purpose.