Chapter 1- Introductions
The dreams of a child are often the most mystical experience they've ever encountered. You could be anything- DO anything. And these dreams often end wonderfully- the mind of a child isn't meant to experience true terror. Unfortunately- mine did face this terror. And this terror follows me to this day, nine years later. My name? It's simple to remember, but I'll spell it out anyway. Jacelyn Ross- but if you address me as anything other than 'Jax', you'll find your own dreams clouded with terror, and that's a promise from me to you. I'm fifteen as of November 25th, and I'm nothing to look twice at. My house? Ha! A joke of a home. My stupid parents are gone practically every night- I'm like the freaking maid most of the time because my parents are too drunk to do anything else. Moving on from hasty introductions, I suppose you want to know what happened those nine years ago. The night that destroyed me and caused the nightmares to begin. Nightmares of broken bodies, strings being plucked, and eyes always watching.
It was just now 7:30 in the morning- particularly cold for late September. My town at this time was gray, and eerie. No one was active at this time because the fog was too heavy to see through. I only remember this time because it was the day of my mother's birthday, and the day I met. . . her. My mother at this time was getting ready, we were going into town for a girl's day or something (yuck). I was six during this time, my mother only twenty three.
"Jacelyn!" I remember her calling for me to come out of my room. "Jacelyn Ross! We're leaving in 30 minutes! Come on out so I can see what Susan has dressed you in!"
Susan was my mother's older sister who often came around to help with the basic chores and dealing with me; she was twenty seven. I remember slipping from my room in a particularly ugly dress. A red plaid dress with a black collar, white tights, and black Mary Jane's. My black hair was tied back with a little red bow, bruises on my arms and legs from rough housing with the older children in my neighborhood. "Coming, mother!" I replied with an utterly annoying high pitched voice. I took my place in the foyer, everything above my reach. Large tables stood around me, my father and mother's shoes placed neatly by the door while mine were hastily thrown to the side. My mother, who would still be as flawless as she was at this time if not for alcohol effecting her person, stepped into the room. She work a nice, clean cut outfit that scream 'I'm easy!'. Her blonde hair sat in ringlets around her shoulders, and her green eyes shown with the excitement of youth. She was the kind of beauty I longed to have, my polar opposite.
"Ah, Jacelyn. You look. . . lovely, dear." She flashed a smile, lifting me with one arm and grabbing her coat with the other. "Let's head out now before the town gets too busy." She suggested, locking our front door behind her once she stepped on to our porch. There was no automobiles in our town, only bicycles were permitted for the paper boys. Everyone else walked, or took the train for out-of-town purposes. The fog had cleared mostly by this time, but the air still had a pleasant bite to it.
"Come on, we're going to go buy mommy a new dress." She mused, a shopaholic. I remember complaining about the idea of spending hours in a store- how annoying I must've been to the birthday girl. Oh well.
We had been through very few stores, my mother's plan to leave early had backfired. As soon as the town was clear of fog, it was busy.
"Excuse me; Excu—Jacelyn, baby," my mother sighed, breaking from the crowd with me clinging to her hand. "Sweetie, sit right here while I go to get some change from the ATM, okay? I'll only be a couple of minutes." (What? I never claimed my mother to be a smart woman.)
Anyway, she left me standing across the store's entrance, my back against a brick wall. I remember my mother being gone longer than just a couple of minutes, probably looking at the booze they had to offer. My boredom had increased immensely, and I had deemed it appropriate to chase after a stray cat I had seen lurking around. My shoes pounding against the cobblestone street, I chased the cat through the crowd, the store long behind me now.
"Hey, kid, slow down!"
"Where's your mother?"
"What are you running from?!"
I remember people from the crowd asking, but I never replied; my mother had always told me not to talk to strangers.
"Help me. . ."
And then, I heard that simple request. A small voice racked with pain. By now, I was far enough from the crowd to be the only one to hear this plea. Abandoning my efforts to catch the cat, I stopped and glanced around.
"Over here! Please. . ." the same voice called out again to me. My eyes fell upon an alleyway that separated a shoe store and a salon. I hastily made my way to the alley's entrance, peering around before my eyes fell upon a shrouded figure. Their cloak was in tatters, the cowl raised to conceal the owner's face.
"Hey, lady. . . you okay?" I asked, my voice filled with caution.
"N-No. It's my side. I'm afraid I've been very seriously harmed. I fell on something- my own clumsy mistake- but now I can't stand. . . Please, will you help me? It hurts, oh, how it hurts. . ." the woman in the cloak replied. My childish ways were all too kind- my heart had swelled for the woman. How could I leave her? Thinking back on it now, I should have left that bitch to die when I had the chance- but hey, I was six.
"Oh, my. . . what can I do?" I asked, beginning to approach the woman.
"Will you look at my side? Tell me what's stuck there?" she asked, finally raising her head to look at me. A cold feeling spread through my body as my eyes made contact with hers. A stunning silver, her eyes were, yet they were effected by a look of pain. Her hair was a snowy white, with two front sections extending to her waistline whilst the rest remained choppy and around her shoulders. A curious look, the kind of haircut you would see in video games.
I nodded, leaning down as she moved her cloak away from her side. "What's this? . . . It's. . . A knitting needle. . .?" I blinked, my fingertips touching the end of it. From my peripheral vision, I could see her look at me with a smirk before she grabbed my arm.
"Oh, is that all it is?" she asked me, her other hand pulling out the knitting needle quite effortlessly. My eyes widened- the needle had been embedded so far into her side, yet it came out without one drop of blood on it. "Thank you, child, for your help. Now I can begin my work."
At this point, I began to fight against the woman's iron grip with all the power my six year old body could muster. "I will transfer my hell to you. . ." she watched me with a look of sadistic amusement.
"Mother! Mother!" I shrieked, my eyes locking on the woman's needle. My efforts had paid off, I had managed to squirm my small hand out of my enemy's grip as she brought her needle down. I scrambled back, pain exploding on my cheek. Something warm trailed down to my chin, the smell of metal filling my nostrils- blood.
"Oh, you're fast!" the woman commented, standing upright without any problems. Once more, she thrust her needle at me, but I had been ready. Dodging the needle by only a split second, I bolted out of the alley. I let out a shriek; I could feel her hot on my heel, laughing hysterically. I glanced over my shoulder, and sure enough, she was there, her eyes crazed, a smile across her face.
"Mother, mother, help me!" I cried out, shadowy figures racing beside me. I slowed some, looking at them with a gasp. They were people- but not the kind of people you'd see walking along the streets every day. They looked pretty much normal, but their eyes were as dark and grey as graphite- drained of any color.
"How do you like my puppets, little one? Aren't they lovely? Look, that one is your age." The woman said, drawing closer. My eyes looked on to the puppet she had mentioned, a girl about my age who only looked at me blankly in return. The woman took this opportunity to grab me once more, her knitting needle above her head.
"Mother!" I once again cried out as the needle slide my upper arms and sides. But, suddenly, I heard a voice break through my violator's laughter.
"Jacelyn!"
This is probably the only time I was so relieved to hear my mother's voice. The grip on my arm loosened.
"Shit. . ." I heard the woman breathe. "Oh, well. I'll come back for you one day, kid." She smiled at me then was gone in a flash, leaving me behind in a shaking, sniffling mess. Soon, I was grabbed again, but by much gentler hands, my mother's hands.
"Oh, Jacelyn! Look at you! What have you done?!"
"The puppets, mama. . . A-And a knitting needle. . . " I breathed.
I rambled so much about knitting needles and strange women that it wasn't but two days after the incident that my mother and father dragged me to the hospital.
"Your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Ross is extremely ill, it seems. Her mind, her dreams, her thoughts all revolve around this woman. But, based on your daughter's description, the police have determined that no one in this town fits the bill. Whatever your daughter saw that day was nothing more than a hallucination- a trick of the mind. The damage done to your daughter was her own doing- she is simply, well, insane." The doctor had told my mother and father.
"But. . . How can that be? What could have done this?" my father was quick to demand.
"A child's mind is imaginative- much more so than an adult's. Perhaps what she imagined was a character like she described to us. In doing so, she may have let her imagination get out of control, causing her to believe something was really trying to get her. A daydream, you could call it." The doctor offered- they had no reasonable explanation for my parents. And so it was decided that I was a mentally ill person- and after a while, I believed it, too. Hallucinations came more and more often, I always saw them lurking around, the puppets. Yet, no matter where I saw them, there was one place they never managed to reach. And that place was my nightmares. SHE consumed those, her and that damn needle.
After a while, I developed insomnia; I didn't need sleep- I didn't want it. So instead, I would peer out of my window and stare at the clock tower than stood magnificently in the center of our town. The clock face was a brilliant stained glass, reflecting colors of all kinds whenever any light hit it. Yet, after a while, I stopped looking at that, too. Why? Because one night, I swear I saw the figure of that woman staring back at me from one of the clock tower's inner rooms. . .
And that is what happened to me those short nine years ago. I had my sanity stolen from me, and for what? That woman's sick sense of humor. However, my story is just now getting started- after all, what's the point of a story without an ending?