((A/N: A crossover of a few horror flicks involving pale children with single parents and dark under-eye circles—Mainly 'The Sixth Sense', 'The Ring', and 'Dark Water'. The idea came from a showering session, during which the radio signal was suddenly reduced to incomprehensible static, reminding me of 'White Noise' (which may or may not be part of this. Inconsequential, if you ask me)… But I digress: Even if the plot is full of holes, underdeveloped, and many of the finer details of all of the movies will be conveniently stringled away, I'd like you to make an effort to enjoy it. Flames are, like, totally embraced.

PS: I know. This chapter has nothing to do with the Ring whatsoever. But the story will as it continues-- It's not going to be all from one point of view.))

Dust to Dust
Chapter 1

Winter in New York sucks, no doubt about it. But live in a place like this your whole life and you learn to love the rude crowds, lack of space, and abundance of pollution… You just need to get used to it and get on with life, that's all.

When Mom first took me here, I didn't want to go. It was too far away from the city, even if it was just a trolley-ride over… The squalid, severe, barrack-like apartments I saw had no appeal to me at first, no matter how much my mother told me that the school near it was one of the best in the state, or that it was affordable considering that she was currently in the middle of a heated child custody dispute over me. (No offense to Daddy or anything, but I did like living with Mom.) I didn't like it until… Well, until I met Natasha.

This was back when I was barely five years old.

So much had changed in over a decade. Now, almost ready to leave the safe bounds of myhome and head off to college, I'm all packed and prepared to go… But not without closure. I have to say goodbye to Mom.

I don't realize that I've been standing in front of the run-down apartment complex for around ten minutes, just staring, until someone approaches me.

"Excuse me—Miss Ferdinford, I presume?"

"Er… What?" I struggle to remember the man's name—I'd lived here for a few months back then, and I couldn't at least recall the last name of the building's owner? Sheesh… Maybe it's been too long since I left. It wasn't his fault he didn't know me—I'd grown about two feet since our last encounter, after all. This poor guy, on the other hand, appeared to have shrunk a few inches in his age.

"Oh… You're not here to look at our vacant apartment?" A shade of frustration crossed the worn-looking, middle-aged man's face before quickly disappearing. "My apologies. Can I help you with something, then?"

"Uhh, just visiting. I used to live here, and kinda missed the place…"

This certainly seemed to pique his interest. "Oh, really? I don't seem to recall…"

"It's alright, Mr. Murray. This was when I was really young… I moved here with my mom." (Thank God, I finally remembered his name.)

His face began to almost magically transform into a sickly ashen color. "…Wait… How—How long ago?" he stammered, suddenly unable to form words properly.

"Thirteen years, almost. I'm Ceci… Remember?"

I really didn't have to ask. It was obvious that he did indeed. People don't forget things like that. In fact, I was surprised that he still lived here… Business had probably thinned to a trickle after I left. Not my fault, of course, but I still felt for him.

Poor guy. He seemed suddenly intimidated, unsure of what to do, and forming sentences was getting increasingly difficult for him.

"Oh… Well…. Then… Ah. I, uh, assume you know your… way… around, still… Not much has changed," he muttered in an uncomfortably awkward tone, backing up a step or two and forcing a grin. "So… I'll just… leave you to it then." Mr. Murray finished on a lame note.

I only sighed and nodded, watching passively as he speed-walked down the pavement, away from me. Again, I understood his reactions… He obviously didn't want to handle any sensitive or awkward moments from a teenage girl.

Lucky for me, even while alone I won't be having any of those aforementioned moments. This is fine. This needs to be done, and I've put it off way too many years for it to go disregarded now…

And so, upon setting my first foot in this grimy place in years, I've officially taken the plunge.

Mr. Murray was right—This place was in as sorry a condition as it had ever been. At the front desk, I foolishly expect to see Mr. Veeck again, purely out of habit. And then I realize that I'm never going to see him again, ever (not that I'm sorry to say so, mind you.) I'm fuzzy on the details, but as far as I know, he'd gotten a sentence of over ten years… Instead, there's a young Latino man sitting in his place, who only gives me a brief glance before returning to reading an out-of-date sports magazine.

I hardly notice. Butterflies are whirling around madly in my stomach as I step onto the rickety elevator, hardly able to contain my excitement at getting to see Mom again for the first time in years.

The buttons still have those nasty cigarette burns on them, floor numbers long scoured away. I still remember the arrangement, though, and push the button to the floor where I used to live (it seems less strange than just standing around in an unmoving elevator, waiting for something to happen)… However…

That's changed. Somebody seems to have fixed the leak in the elevator…

Nothing happens all the way up. When, finally, that tiny bell dings and the doors open, I am slightly more uncertain as I step out into the hallway, which smells expectedly unpleasant—like curry and rotten vegetables. I walk up and down the corridor a few times, and then tentatively knock on my old door, though the person that answered wasn't who I thought it might be.

Apparently, Mr. Murray must have found a family that either didn't know the history of this particular apartment complex, or didn't care. There were at least eight children screaming and running around as they watched a snowy children's show on the television in the background, and all of them came running to the door once I knocked. After hurriedly telling the resident adult-in-charge (who looked like she hadn't taken a bath in the last century or so) that I must've gotten the wrong place, I rush back to the elevator in confusion.

This is what happened for the next hour or so. I checked the next floor up, where Natasha used to live—A young couple now resided in that space, giving me politely sympathetic looks before shutting the door in my face. After that, I systematically checked the roof, the stairwell, and all of the floors (in that order) twice, looking for any trace of my mom. She had told me that she would still be here whenever I needed her, and she always kept her promises.

I'm riding the elevator down to the laundry room when the doors open ding open for the only other passengers to join me throughout the whole day. Eagerly, I look up, my heart fluttering once more in anticipation… But it only turns out to be three teenage boys, perhaps my age, going down as well. Apparently to the laundry room, too, because they don't press any other buttons once they're all on.

It's suddenly strange to not have the elevator all to myself—Some sort of sense of privacy, or security, has been breached. Subconsciously, I press myself against the dusty far corner of the elevator, as if to try to disappear into it and get as far away from these strangers as I can…

"Hey."

Oh, fantastic. Now one of them is trying to make conversation with me. Unwilling to participate, I only nod a bit in their general direction, not making eye contact. One of them mutters something incongruous to the other, but I don't quite catch it. Instead, I focus my attention on the meter telling us what floor we were on… Is it just me, or is it moving slower than usual? We're only on the fourth floor, and still going at the same sluggish, lurching pace.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, girl."

I turn my head towards him, doing my best not to glare from behind my long, dark hair that I have chosen to use as a barrier between us.

"Yeah, I see that."

Rude, I know, but the point is to be standoffish.

"Haven't seen you around here before. You new?"

"Visiting."

"Then what're you doing here, going to the basement, all by yourself, huh?"

"Nothing."

Their tone is beginning to confuse me. That 'friendly conversational' talk's beginning to border on taunting, and I don't like it a bit.

Now we're at the third floor.

"You know, you should probably have someone with you at all times."

One of the other two joins in, but I've turned my face away from them again. I don't know which one it is.

"Yeah, like, you should have a buddy. Or one of your little girlfriends or something… Heh…"

I can feel my back muscles clench and unclench involuntarily, and try my best to ignore them, but they continue to talk to me. I can practically feel them becoming increasingly annoyed at my lack of response towards them, the tension in this small elevator rising.

"I like your coat, girly."

Suddenly, there are fingers lightly tugging at one of the sleeves of my corduroy coat, though it is mere seconds before I instinctively tug my arm away from his reach.

"Don't touch me," I murmur warily, gazing at them out of the corner of my eye and wishing that I really could just disappear into the wall.

"Aw, c'mon, we're just being friendly!" A nasty grin, yellowed by cigarettes, at the edge of my vision.

"Well, I don't want to be friendly with you…"

My breath catches in my throat. Now, just now—I felt a drop of water on the top of my head. Looking up excitedly, my heart soars as I'm greeted by a familiar sight, the sight that I have been waiting for all day: The ceiling is leaking.

Another remark comes from behind me, the boys beginning to get a little frustrated with the fact that I wasn't showing any signs of retaliation, or that I even heard them at all.

"Hey—Look at us when we're talking to you."

A hand grabs my shoulder a bit too roughly and turns me to face the opposite direction, towards them.

"Don't touch me."

"Whaddaya gonna do about it, girly?" And, as if to emphasize his point, he spread his arms wide for a moment in an aggressive pose, leaning forward to tower over me.

"Leave me alone!" I hear myself snarl, my fists clenching. It was the first thing that had come to mind right at that moment. The constant drips of water are still coming down, only growing stronger by the moment. I don't notice, but mere moments later I'm standing under a steady, gushing stream of oddly discolored water.

The boys notice, though. Simultaneously, all three pairs of eyes flicker up to the ceiling, widening slightly in confusion. But it isn't long before something else catches their attention.

Two of them scream when they seea ghastly pale,dark-haired woman standing in front of them, drenched, eyes dark and wide with fury, spongy hands with rotting flesh reaching towards their faces.

Water was flowing into the elevator now, which had stopped—Holes were being punctured in the metal ceiling and wallsfrom sheer pressure, dark water pouring down us like the flood from the Old Testament.

I am the only one not afraid when the lights suddenly snap off, senses reducing to terrified screams and pleas for help, the slamming of fists on the walls and doors, and sheets of water pounding against fragile human bodies. They probably think they're drowning—I'm not sure if that's the right conclusion to come to or not, for them.

I can only cling to the railings on the sides of the elevator quietly, awaiting the return of light…

There are no more screams.

Now the lights slowly flicker back to life, and the elevator starts back up just as the water begins to drain out of the elevator and into the shaft, though I'm sure that more than a little bit was leaking into the corridors of the apartments around us. I'm completely soaked through, from head to toe, but… To say the least, I'm absolutely fine compared to the limp bodies and torn, soggy cloth on the floor all around me. No blood, though, thank goodness…

I shouldn't have worried, though. Mother is too kind to kill.

"…Mommy?" I manage to murmur, my voice sounding empty and hollow in place of the rushing water.

There is only another moment of emptiness before warm, gentle arms encircle me. Dry arms. Mother's arms. I can only close my eyes and bask in her loving warmth as she smoothes down my wet hair with one hand, pressing her lips against my forehead.

It's strange—The last time I had seen her, the top of my head barely reached her navel. Now I have the advantage of an inch over her.

"My darling girl…" I hear her softly whisper. "You've grown up."

All thoughts previously held about the young men next to me vanish in an instant, and tears involuntarily spring to my eyes at the soft whisper of her sad words. "I'm sorry, Mom," I choke out, feeling a sob coming on. "I'm sorry I didn't… Didn't come to see you before now."

Guilt is welling up in my chest like a spring, forming a tight knot in my stomach. I feel that, to some degree, I've practically abandoned Mom up until this point, even if I do think about her every day.

But still, in that always-gentle way of hers, Mommy forgives me.

"Shh…" she croons gently. "It's alright. I'm just glad to see my baby girl now."

I rest my chin in the crook of her neck, the flow of the rivulets running down my cheeks already beginning to stem. "Thank you. Thank you, Mom…"

It's funny, how just a single sound can change the entire picture. Just the wrong thing at the wrong time can change your whole outlook, your mood, your physical well being… Be it chance or preordained, this was wrong. It was horrible. It was terrible. It couldn't be happening.

A tiny, usually ignored sound reverberated through the peaceful lull that had fallen over the temporary sanctuary my mother had created for me and herself in the elevator, for just a few moments of peace and privacy… And shattered it.

That tiny bell in the elevator door.

Ding!

Looking up, I could see fear manifest itself in even my Mother's steady eyes. The doors were supposed to stay closed, just as they had when she had comforted me thirteen years ago, letting me know everything was going to turn out fine… No matter how hard Dad had pounded on the door, or how loud he yelled for me, it didn't budge until she had let it. I had calmly walked out, my hair braided in just the way only she could, and offered my own words of comfort to Daddy.

But, as the creaky doors slide open as naturally as breathing, I can almost feel my heart being gripped by the cold fingers of fear, its beating becoming rapid and compressed. My morbid panic feels as if it is strong enough to turn the blood running through my veins to ice.

Mom has disappeared in less than the blink of an eye, leaving me alone and wet in the damp room with no one but the incapacitated bodies, and I'm suddenly shaking with cold...

But all that stands in the dark entryway is a tall young man with large glasses and dirty-blond hair—perhaps in his late twenties—clutching a bag half full of clean laundry.

As he calmsteps into the elevator, shoes squeaking on the wet tile, he doesn't even spare a glance toward at the guys on the floor.

He only stares at me.

Into my eyes.

And, as he's pushing in the button to the main level,I know he's seen her.

((A/N: Turned out much differently than I had planned. Originally, it was going to start out with teenage Ceci being dramatically chased into the building by a group of ill-intentioned men, before being barely rescued by the ghost of her mother once they step foot into the building. As good as it sounds, it didn't offer in the way of scene-setting, and so I opted for this only slghtly-different approach. Not sure if it worked—I usually prefer third-person narration in the past tense, and it was hard to keep this new strange tempo flowing here. Too much 'I' and 'me' for personal taste, but it seemed to fit the bill for what was needed. Will be alternating POVs in later chapters.

Oh, and give me some kudos for the length, at least. 7 pages is 2 more than the longest chapter I've written for personal writing… Sheesh, maybe I really should finish up my other projects. Or maybe you can just sit back and admire the beauty of unfinished work. Hah.

-MAD))