A/N: Next update in around a week. Buffy will show up soon.
September 4, 2019
I still can't believe Aunt Faith is gone.
Okay, so she's always joked about kicking the bucket. Even said that one of these days her body will be found in some dark alley.
I didn't think she was literal. Or that she meant for me to find it.
Things are so strange right now. I love Dad, of course, but I keep getting these…feelings. Like I can't trust him, or that he'll turn on me, or something equally silly. And then there are physical sensations I feel when I'm around him. Like something crawling up the back of my neck. Not unpleasant, exactly. Just…strange.
When Uncle Angel and his family came down for Aunt Faith's funeral, I felt the same way. Same tingles.
But that doesn't even compare to the dreams I've been getting. Always the same exact dream, over and over until I wake up.
A school library.
I walk in, because there is no other choice. Nowhere else to go.
"Hello? Is anybody here?" I ask. Looking around the seemly deserted, darkened chamber, I see locks of blond hair swing by. Hair shorter than mine. I glimpse a skirt I would never be caught dead in.
I look over at the checkout counter and see a newspaper. And I can never see the date. There's a circled picture, with the caption "Local Boys Still Missing."
Someone taps me on the shoulder. I spin around, my heart racing, even though this always happens, every time. And as usual, I cannot see who the person is. A blurry face connected to a body dressed in tweed.
"Ooo! Anybody's here," I quip lamely. Same joke, every time. Gets a little bland with the repetition.
"Can I help you?" the man asks. A very familiar, very upper-crust British accent. Yet for some reason I can never recall just whose voice it is upon waking.
"I was looking for some, well, books. I'm new." But I'm most definitely
not new. I've gone to Sunnydale High since last year. Although since I didn't recognize the settings, I probably was new."Miss Summers?" And every time, he somehow knows my name. I don't know how or why, as I am certainly not
me. Not in this dream. I feel like I'm living someone else's life, doing what they've already done."Good call! Guess I'm the only new kid, huh?" Strange to open my mouth and have these words fall out, ever so naturally. But the point is it's
not natural; there is absolutely nothing natural about this at all."I'm the librarian. I was told you were coming." That is most definitely strange. I mean, who tells librarians about new students? The man walks behind the counter, reaching for something.
"Great! So, um, I'm gonna need 'Perspectives on 20th Century—"
"I know what you're after!"
The man pulls out a really big, old-looking book. Inscribed on the cover was the word "VAMPYR". It thunks down on the table and dust flies.
Then the voices start. A chorus of different female voices, in different languages, from different times. Different ages, different tongues. Always the same message.
"In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer."
Then the dust would dissipate and I would be in the desert. Cold, desert night. Chained to the ground. The beating of drums or something in the background. And fear would rise in me. Searching wildly for an escape, I see dirty, tangled black hair. Strips of rags covering my body.
Not me.
But whoever I was, it is always too real. Too real, the fear piercing my heart as I see a hovering cloud of black mist surge closer.
When the fear overcomes me, everything fades gradually and I hear Aunt Faith, sounding exasperated. "C'mon, sweetie. I told you I wanted to be cremated. How could you forget, Angie?"
That's when I always wake up. I don't know what it means. I don't recall any details, except for Aunt Faith's message.
I can't help thinking about the fact that her body is rotting in a coffin six feet under the ground right now. She probably doesn't want that. Probably wanted to be stored in a pretty ceramic jar where the worms won't get her.
What am I saying? I don't know what Aunt Faith would have wanted. She's gone. And dead people do not communicate through dreams.
Do they?
I can't wait to start school; can't wait to get my mind somewhere else.
