Sweet But Psycho
Phoebe was always a weird kid and always had trouble making (or keeping) friends, even during high school. At age five she began talking to others no one believed existed except her, by age ten she was obsessed with ghosts and the supernatural; mostly vampires. Phoebe's parents started to worry eventually, but she soon learned not to talk to people about certain things. Once she realized the strange occurrences happening around her wasn't happening to everyone else Phoebe became a lone wolf, or at least she kept her mouth shut when it came to anything paranormal. Ever since she was a child Phoebe knew something about her, perhaps her energy, attracted all types of characters to come up to her randomly. Half of them are human, but more often than not - monsters. She's faced creatures of all kinds since she was little. The only thing that scares Phoebe, other than heights or bugs, is the fate of humanity. Her best friend Gregory couldn't even scare her when they first met.
A/N: This is a trigger warning. This chapter contains vulgar language such as; fuck, bitch, and whore.
Fight or Flight
Phoebe remembered her last day in Georgia, it was another rainy day just like this one. She was currently walking to school having not yet received her driver's license while others were taking theirs a year earlier. Must be nice coming from old money, Phoebe thought as she lifted her head towards the cloudy doom-and-gloom sky.
She was fifteen now.
Lightning flashed briefly, giving the whole country a momentary shine of mock-sunlight. The rain wasn't too bad at least. Despite the ominous forewarning of a heavy downpour soon to flood the lakes, the streets would fill to the ankles. She tugged her hood closer around her face and tucked strands of purple hair inside of it.
She just washed it this morning and her hair had a tendency to get oily real fast, especially if it got wet right afterwards.
Hate it.
Phoebe remembered when her hair was once blonde. But not bright, nor dark either. Somewhere in between.
She liked to call it golden, but dirty.
She remembered a lot of things, including Jen whom she hasn't seen in a long time.
Sometimes Phoebe would call to her in the middle of the night, hoping she was in some way still lingering around. For awhile after the move Jenny stuck to her side. Once her tenth birthday hit, Jen disappeared. At first Phoebe had figured she was resting and would pop back up in the morning, perhaps hiding in the laundry hamper like that one time. Days turned into months and months turned into years without a sound from Jenny.
She remembered Jen was pissed shortly after she turned 10. The dramatic, temper-tantrum kind of pissed.
Crack.
What was that?
Phoebe skidded to a halt on the side of a long, sloping road recently paved over with tar. Her Doc Martens made a crunching, scraping sound on the wet concrete-like path. The road she was walking on was less traveled by (ancient) and a ragged two-story house sat on the grassy hill on her left, a mile away but still looming like a forgotten timepiece. It was a structure worn down by centuries of neglect and abuse.
The windows of the house were almost all busted out, it's front door missing and replaced with a rotted slate of plywood. Half of it's roof was missing. Possibly flooding the lower level of the house during the worst storms. There could be all sorts of wildlife inside who have called the place home and eventually abandoned the building too. It was a death trap if Phoebe ever saw one.
Perhaps it was a wild animal?
Stepped on a branch.
There was one tree on the property, but it's branches held no leaves. It looked dried out and skinny enough that the slightest breeze should knock it over.
Like it was dead, but somehow still alive.
Yet the grass is as green and healthy as a spear of broccoli.
Thud.
She had never experienced anything before walking down this road. Why now all of a sudden?
"Come out and show yourself! Whatever you are. I'm not scared of you!"
Phoebe still held onto hope it was a raccoon, or a possum.
Scrape.
What the fuck?
Slipping a hand into her hoodie's pocket Phoebe gripped the cold metal of a switchblade, one she carried at all times. "Little bitch!"
Her gray-green eyes darted around the area, surveying her surroundings with a focused eye. Nothing to be seen.
No movement.
Groan.
Zombies?
Ghouls?
Phoebe growled, pushing aside the sudden prick of fear twisting her insides into knots. She was a fighter. Not a bird fleeing for safety from a cold winter. The noises were definitely coming from that creepy, old house though. She dared a glance at the watch around her wrist (a gift from her father) - 6:40.
There was no time for this dickhead, supernatural or not.
She didn't wanna miss out on this morning's breakfast and she was sure most of it was gone by now.
One more peak at the house.
One more look, if nothing is there then she would run the rest of the way to school.
"Hey, you there! What do you think you're doing on my street?"
Surprised, Phoebe jumped at the sudden holler and finally came face to face with the source of the weird noises. It was an older man, late thirty's to mid forty's. His hair was matted with blood and who knew what else on his head, he had a mouth full of missing or broken teeth. It looked like his breath would smell just like death too. Although his clothes were baggy she could tell he was nothing but skin taped to the bone.
An alcoholic, drug addict.
"Whoa! Not what I was thinking at all!"
She bolted.
The strange sounds came from a homeless man.
That house was fucking livable?
"You woke me up, whore! Get your ass back here!"
Footsteps chased after her, but they were uncoordinated.
She wouldn't glance back though.
Phoebe was no fool. That's how girls in horror movies died.
Look back and you're toast.
Grunt, crash!
This was not fear that made her run, this was survival mode in full effect. Who knew what kind of diseases the man had or what his intentions were.
She knew that if she was caught, she was going to have to fight for her life.
Not today.
Phoebe had no idea what was behind her and didn't care so long as she got far away, fast. She didn't see a root from the tree lift itself out of the ground, tripping the hobo up on his shoes which were three sizes too big. The root moved on it's own sending the man flying face first onto his "property" and the grass surrounding his body where he fell with a loud crash began to turn black. Sinking until it swallowed him whole.
All in one moment, before he had time to realize what was going on and scream for help.
Like something out of a horror movie.
'Out on the road there are fireflies circling.
Deep in the woods, where the lost souls hide.
Over the hill there are men returning,
trying to find some peace of mind.
Sleep my child.
Under the fog there are shadows moving.
Don't be afraid, hold my hand.
Into the dark there are eyelids closing,
buried alive in the shifting sands.
Sleep my child.
Speak to me now and the world will crumble.
Open a door and the moon will fall.
All of your life, all your memories.
Go to your dreams, forget it all.
Sleep my child.'
Opeth, Death Whispered A Lullaby
