When Brooke gets her arm painted with nightmares by
a girl longing for revenge upon no particular person, ghostly premonitions
appear. The red ink may be indelible, but far worse is the imprint it leaves
upon her soul…
Chapter One: "Speak Of Your Nightmares"
Morgan Smith was not an
ordinary girl. Her dark eyes held a hollow, haunted look that frightened away
even the bravest. Her pale skin was almost white, and she lined her equally
pale lips in red—blood red. Her hair was night, a cold, insensitive night, with
no gloss, no sheen, no signal to reassure others that this was just normal
hair. She dressed in black, matching her hair and eyes, contrasting with her
skin—long black dresses. People called her Gothic, but she wasn't even that.
Gothic kids were at least normal, socialized and had fun. Morgan didn't have
fun.
She was different.
Her eyes followed the blond girl as she sat at her
booth, drawing designs on a teenager's arm with a precise brush and silver
paint. At the county fair, painting was a way to make money. But with the blond
girl—it would be making more than money.
It would be making nightmares.
Morgan smiled.
*
Brooke Lanier dragged her best
friend over to the painting booth. He was taller than her after his growth
spurt, but Brooke was strong, and it wasn't hard to manipulate both him and his
arm.
"I don't see why you want to pay
to have someone doodle on your arm," Nick complained. "I mean, you can do that
just fine in class with a ballpoint, can't you?" Brooke sighed.
"Nick, you're my best friend and
all, but you are just such a guy."
"Yeah, that's why my name's
Nicholas," Nick said, "'cause my parents saw I was a guy."
"Never mind," said Brooke,
sighing for the second time, "I don't want to get into that."
She sat down at the booth and
held out her arm to the girl painting—her name was Morgan, or something like
that. The girl was in Brooke's history and math classes, but never answered
questions. Frankly, she scared Brooke, and probably the teachers, too, and maybe
that was why they never failed her—they didn't want her haunting eyes staring
at them for another year.
"Morgan Smith," the girl
introduced herself, tonelessly. She shook the jar of ink and then put on a fake
smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'm out of silver. Do you mind
red?"
Brooke shook her head. "No." She
had wanted silver, but red was fine. Whatever.
"Good." Morgan reached into a
black bag next to her chair and withdrew a small bottle of dark red ink and a
new brush, thin-tipped and with a long, dark handle. Brooke shivered—this
didn't seem like a good idea anymore. She wanted to get up and run, run far
away from this girl whose eyes were empty of anything. But that would be
impolite, and rude, and the girl was probably harmless, so Brooke stayed.
Besides, she couldn't drag
herself away from that piercing stare, and as the brush touched her skin, she
couldn't pull away from that, either.
Nick watched her face become
blank, and he shuddered. This was scary—was the girl turning Brooke into
herself?
"Speak of your nightmares," said
Morgan in a low voice, sending chills up Nick's spine. "Speak of your fears."
Brooke began in a monotone,
telling of moonlight over the hills and bloodcurdling screams echoing into the
night, of wolves sleeping and awaking for fresh meat, of angels killed for the
devil, of crushed bodies trapped under chunks of limestone. Nick listened,
amazed at what Brooke was saying, but Morgan was not listening. She was trapped
in her own world of promises forgotten, of lives lost, and of souls eternally
broken.
After a while, she finished, and
there was a long line of people behind Brooke, impatient. With a diagonal slash
through a line ending on the underside of her wrist, the work was completed,
and Brooke awoke, as though from a trance.
"Are you done already?" Brooke
questioned, amazed. "That felt like nothing!"
"Brooke, you were there for
fifteen minutes," Nick told her, helping her off the chair.
"Man, time flies!" she
exclaimed. "Well, let's get something to eat!"
Nick smiled, but as he looked
back at the booth, he saw Morgan take out the jar of silver ink again and begin
a new arm, putting the scarlet ink back into her bag.
*
"This is cool," Brooke said a few minutes later,
turning her arm over and examining it. "I mean, how creative."
No, Nick thought, not
creative. Evil.
Brooke, looking at it, seemed
engrossed. But as her eyes crossed a figure resembling a flower with a long,
winding slash, through it, her pupils contracted and she doubled over in pain.
A searing pain ran through her arm and an image entered her mind—
Falling, falling, a voice
taunted in her mind, you're falling, falling.
Brooke looked around, head
hurting from the voice. An endless field was strewn with bodies, lying lost on
the ground with bones broken, minds empty.
They've fallen, fallen, said the
voice. And you'll fall, too. Fallen, fallen.
Fall.
Nick caught her.
"What's wrong?" he asked
frantically. "Brooke, what happened?" Her blank, frightened gaze answered him
as she turned her eyes to him.
"Falling," she whispered before
her body went limp. Nick stared at her, then yelled for help.
"TYLER! HANK! SOMEONE!"
*
Brooke's eyes fluttered open,
and Val's worried face came into focus.
"What happened?" Brooke asked,
throat dry. Val smiled happily.
"You're awake! We've been
waiting for, like—"
"What happened?" repeated Brooke
urgently. Val's blue eyes were troubled once more. A voice spoke up from the
other side. Nick.
"We were, like, walking, and you
just suddenly clutched your arm and stomach and said 'fallen' or something and
then went unconscious." His tone was worried, and Brooke tried to roll over to
see his face, but to no avail.
"Falling," she said. "They were
falling. I was falling." She pushed herself over again, trying not to disturb
the IV tube in her arm, and looked into Nick's brown eyes. Val sensed they
needed some 'alone' time, and exited the room, followed by her mom, dad, Tyler,
Caitie, and Hank. Alex had come, but left earlier to get back to the station.
Without Brooke, the filing might take a while.
"We're lucky they let us in to
see you," Nick commented, making conversation. "But I guess since you weren't
in critical condition…" Brooke rolled back onto her back and closed her eyes.
"At Kingsport Hospital, it's procedure
not to let anyone but family in for at least two hours, or until the patient is
out of danger," Brooke told him. "They instated the rule a few months back. But
if you've been here for a while… how long was I out?"
"I've been here since they let us
in," Nick informed her slowly, glad he didn't have to look into her eyes to say
this. "Which was last night."
Brooke inhaled deeply,
registering what he was saying—she had been unconscious overnight… and he had
stayed with her.
"Thanks," she whispered.
"Thanks."
"Yeah, well," Nick said,
uncomfortable, "Val and your parents have been here ever since you even got in,
so…"
"You," said Brooke to Nick, a
smile touching her lips, "are very lucky it's a weekend." Nick laughed at that,
too. She was right, of course.
"Very lucky. My mom would throw
a fit if I skipped school, even if my best friend's in the hospital."
"Oh, like your grades could be
worse," Brooke commented with a laugh. "I mean, what, you're failing PE? How do
you fail PE?"
"My coach doesn't like the fact
that I can't do hurdles," he sighed. "How am I supposed to jump over three-foot
tall blocks? I didn't even like leapfrog when I was a kid. And then there was
that whole issue with the rope and gymnastics…" Nick was inflicted with
acrophobia, so he couldn't climb the rope in the gym—and Nick doing gymnastics
spoke for itself.
"Poor Nicky," Brooke said
teasingly. "Did the rope scare you?" Nick glared at her.
"And you were born into a family
of monkeys," he informed her, "to be able to do it that fast."
"I set a record," said Brooke
smugly. "Unlike some people."
"I'm going to go if you don't
stop it," Nick warned her, his eyes flickering with humor. Brooke shook her
head—hard because of the hospital pillow—and laughed. But before she could make
a witty reply, a yawn escaped from her throat. Nick started to stand up.
"Yeah, I'll go now," he said
agreeably. "Take a nap."
"'Kay." Brooke snuggled into her
pillow and yawned again. Nick stood there, undecided, for a few minutes while
she fell asleep.
"I'll be here for you, Brooke,"
he whispered. Her eyelids didn't flicker, so he assumed she was in a deep
sleep. "'Cause I like you a lot."
As he left, Brooke's lips curled
into a smile before she fell asleep again.
*
Her eyes opened for the second
time that day, though this time it was less of a climax than the first. Val and
Nick were the only ones there—her parents had gone to get some coffee at the
cafeteria, and Tyler and Hank had to go back to the station.
"Hey, Brooke," Val said,
realizing she was awake. Brooke blinked and struggled to sit up. The IV tube
was disconnected and a new IV bag had been put on the stand, ready in case she
needed it again. "Look what happened in Texas. It's horrible, it really is."
Val handed her the newspaper.
Brooke stared at the picture of the meadow with dead bodies lying on the grass,
mangled and broken.
BODIES FALLEN WITH FORCE OF BOMB, read the headline.
Brooke screamed.
A/N:
How do you like it? It's my first horror fic, and I hope the plot is at least
semi-original. Well, review please and tell me about your opinion!!!
