Her name… was Alyssa Melantha Gillespie-Mason, although Aysa was easier to say. She was 4 years old today. She had long black hair that fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were a light crystal blue with a silver glow, that darkened to purple around the edges with golden honey colored fleck. Mommy had always said her eyes were pretty. And her Uncle Douglas agreed, always saying he was happy they had both decided to grow their hair long instead of keep it short. Apparently her mommy had liked having short hair when she was younger. Truthfully Aysa liked having short hair; it was easier and less annoying. It was weird having long hair, but it was okay.
Today her mommy and uncle had taken her out to go shopping for her birthday. Her uncle was really her Godfather, and looked after her mommy. But he would always be Uncle Douglas to her. Even if he was old and grey.
She hummed happily as she walked along the street. It was a bright sunny day. No clouds and the sky was the pretty blue she had always liked. She happily glanced from side to side. All the people were walking around. Some were happy like she was. Some were angry and annoyed. She couldn't help but giggle. She had always loved watching people. She never liked crowds and preferred to stay inside, however she liked watching and studying people.
It was a habit she had gained from her Uncle, seeing as how he was a Detective. And her mother was always suspicious and paranoid, so she knew how to watch and read people. She liked to make up stories for the people that she saw. Her Godfather and mother would just laugh, and say it was possible. They loved to read them, even though she couldn't spell that well or write… They usually just ended up writing it down for her.
She would make little stories, about what they did before and after they left. What their names were, what kind of families they had. As she got older they got better. Mainly because she could think of more details, and her Uncle was always helping her. Her mommy would even write them down in a special book for her to remember.
Although, she had a twisted since of humor and liked gore. Most of her stories always ended with them dying. She said it was because she never saw them again, that and death was the inescapable and honest truth. Mother had been a bit shocked but had allowed it. She had just gained a bitter smile, and said no one in the family was normal. Godfather had just shook his head, and pulled out a cigarette. She continued and hoped to be a writer one day. Although, she really wanted to be the greatest horror writer ever. That was her dream. That had gotten her mommy and uncle to laugh until they had cried.
She didn't like it when they cried…it was painful. And annoying.
She blinked and moved so the person in front of her would not bump into her. She shook her head slightly when he mumbled something her mother had told her was bad to say. Really people were so rude. She was only 4, but she knew humans to be cruel. She looked back and saw her mother walking directly behind her. While her Uncle had stopped to get some drinks. Her mother was really pretty.
She was pale like herself. She had long black hair with honey blonde streaks throughout. She said it was to remember both parts of her. Aysa never understood what mommy was talking about, most times. But that could be because she was so little. Her eyes were a honey brown hazel, but they would almost glow gold when she was angry. And sometimes she could see streaks of blue or purple in them. Similar to her own eyes. It was an unnatural color. Then again, momma always said they were never normal.
She reached back grabbing her mother's hand and smiling up at her. Mommy smiled back slightly. That was when she saw it. Something shinny reflected in the glass in front of her. And a moment later a loud noise was everywhere.
People screaming. That was the noise.
It was loud and annoying, and she almost wanted it to stop. She blinked as she felt something dripping from her face. And momma was falling. She looked down watching as momma hit the ground.
Red, this particular shade was called Crimson or blood. That was what her uncle had told her. That pretty red, she had always liked. It was staining momma, and it was on her as well. She knelt down to her and frowned at all the sticky crimson. No blood. That was what Uncle said it was when it was around a person.
She reached down trying to make her mother move. She was so still. And cold. She tried to move her, but her mother was so much more heavier than normal. And seeing as she was so big she was heavy to begin with. She pulled her hand back glancing over all the blood. Her eyes caught that shine again. It was the knife like thing sticking from her mother's heart.
Her eyes stayed locked on that knife. Even when a splash was heard. The blue from the slushies mixing with the blood to make the same color as the edges of her eyes. She blinked when her uncle's arms came to wrap around her. People were screaming still and sirens could be heard.
They both sat there starring at her mother. The purple grew as it spread along the side walk, staining the pretty white dress she was wearing just as the blood had. As they were finally pulled away, uncle was able to grab mother's locket. And when no one was looking she grabbed the knife. For some reason she couldn't part with it. She would soon learn, without her mother's protection and powers… that she was about to enter hell.
There are times when you're sitting down, or you're walking that you catch something out of the corner of your eye. A flash or a shadow. Every time you turn around nothing shows up. That isn't how it is for me. Every time I turn around something is there, just waiting for someone or something to see it. And I always have the honor of seeing whatever is standing nearby.
There are times when you get a feeling something bad will happen, or you have a dream that plays out soon. When it does happen you claim it déjà vue. You have dreams of a person constantly and they soon die. I always know when something strange was about to happen. I always know when someone is about to die. Though all of it paled in comparison to the dreams… This had all started after my mother's death. And by the age of 5 I couldn't make any of it stop.
In the past I was foolish enough to try and tell others. I was called insane. I was foolish enough to try and save them, or stop what was going to happen to them. I was named a freak. I was foolish enough to tell someone when something was going to happen to them. I was called a Murderer. I was foolish enough to explain when strange things were going to happen. I was called a witch.
Needless to say, I learned to keep my mouth shut. If I saw something, I ignored it. If I felt something I made sure I wouldn't get involved. If someone was about to die, I made them hate me, so I felt no sympathy. I made sure I never got involved with anything anymore.
My foster families were always terrified of me, and they came to hate and fear me...always sending me away. This Foster Family was different. Oh, they feared me…they knew I was un-normal. They knew the stories. They had seen what state I had been in. They had been told of my family. They knew how many times I had been switched or transferred. However, as long as it didn't affect them they didn't care too much. My 'mother' hates me more than fears, and my 'father' is too afraid to be himself. My 'siblings' though…they were the real problem they were afraid of me and loathed my very being.
The only reason they kept me to begin with… was for the simple fact… that I had money on my head, and an inheritance to back me up. They were greedy people, or perhaps they were just too used to the luxury… That was why I chose them. They wanted money and nothing else. As long as I and my account manager kept them happy and semi satisfied, I wouldn't be shipped back. I was happy. Even if it was only because I wouldn't have to up and be in a new environment within weeks.
Although two of my 'siblings'. My used to be brother and my sister, had accepted me. So perhaps they were the reason I hadn't killed anyone yet. And like I said, my 'Father' wasn't bad. For some reason males liked me better than females. And I don't mean in a perverted sense… I usually end up being hated by females, but that was fine as I hated them just as much.
Right now…we are in the middle of moving. Where you might wonder? Why to Surry, England. A small perfect suburb known as Mongolia Crescent in Little Whinning was to become my home.
My name is Alyssa Melantha Gillespie-Mason. And I am 9 years old.
Hadriean James Potter was a very lonely boy. He had lived his life with no friends, and really no care at all. He lived with his Aunt Petunia, his Uncle Vernon, and his Cousin Dudley. He had come here when he was a 1 and a half years old, after his parents had died in a car crash. His family had made sure he knew exactly how unwelcome he was and how they loathed having to take care of him.
He lived his life by doing the chores of the house. As he got older his Aunt gave him more advanced and dangerous ones. By 6 he was using the dangerous chemicals to clean instead of mopping and rags. By 8 he was cooking on the stove, before then he made sandwiches and helped with ingredients. By 7 he was cutting the grass and using the weed remover.
He took care of the garden, he got the mail, he cleaned the house, he cooked or helped with the meals, he put the groceries away, he did the laundry, He did the dishes, he took the garbage out, he cleaned his Uncle's car at night so it was always perfect in the morning, he went shopping, he did Dudley's homework, he polished the silver, and any other random task under his aunt's careful eyes.
His Uncle spent as little time with him as possible. He barked at him, insulted him, and punished him. It was rare that Uncle Vernon truly punished him. Usually he was thrown into his cupboard, hit in the head, thrown into a wall to be threatened, but it rarely went past this. Not to say it didn't though... Oh, no. There were times Harry had been slapped, smacked with his uncle's belt, punched, and when Dudley had been 'threatened', beaten.
He knew it honestly wasn't so bad. He was given food, not as much as he would have liked though. He wasn't beaten, maybe...4 times in the past 7 years he had been here. He had clothes, Dudley's old clothing he was interested in anymore. His family didn't want him, but they did take care of him. They didn't send him to an orphanage like they threatened.
No...he just had no confidence, was pessimistic, had low self-esteem, and was extremely lonely and miserable...
Mira: Welcome to my story. This will be a crossover between Silent Hill and Harry Potter. Harry will be in the next chapter, as well as how they met. Vote for pairings. Yaoi, Yuri, and Het are accepted. The only ones I won't take are Harry/Ginny. I never liked that pairing. She's cool, but not for Harry. And also this will have a Sequel. In which Harry and Aysa will leave London. As well as Harry's lover in this story if I keep them alive. So vote for where the sequel will take place.
Either chose from Anime, or books.