(Chapter 8 – The Day It All Began)

Leslie had left me, disappearing into nothingness. Once again, I was left to my own devices.

Though I didn't want to, I knew that I had to go inside my house; there was no other choice. With hesitant steps, I passed by the gated pin filled with oinking pigs and made my way to the open window. Crouching to peer inside, my suspicions were confirmed; the haunted stalked through my former living room with torches and guns in hand. Their beady, white eyes searched for anything that moved, hisses escaping from their decaying lips. The one closest to where I sat wore a clown mask, cracked enough to expose the rotting flesh underneath; in its hand, it held a shotgun.

I let out a disgruntled groan. I had no ammo and my only weapon was the small hand scythe I kept in my pocket; against torches, handguns, and a shotgun, this wouldn't end well. So, the only choice I had was to get creative and hope for the best. Once I saw the the masked zombie's back turned, I took a chance.

"Hey!" I called out. Immediately, I fled the scene and hid in one of the bushes near the side of the house.

Two of the haunted came climbing out the window at the sound of my voice. Slowly, they prowled in search of the noise; they split off – one going around the left side and the other towards me. With a plan of some sort (albeit a stupid one) in mind, I waited for its approach.

With cautious steps it neared my location. I held my scythe at the ready, grip tightened in anticipation for the attack. Once it was close enough, I whistled to gain its attention. The mangled head of the creature snapped in my direction and followed. I lunged from the bush, grabbing the head and repeatedly shoved my scythe through until the light of its eyes died out; the knife it held dropped to the ground. I picked it up and peered around the opposite corner toward the direction of the approaching haunted.

As it came closer, it let out a hiss; a hand gun was gripped in its right hand. Wasting no time, I dived back for the cover of the shrub and hoped that I could recreate the same result as the one prior. It rounded the corner into my field of view. Upon sight of its fallen comrade, its head zipped back and forth in search of the culprit.

Please don't come this way.

Unfortunately, it did.

From behind the bush, I could see a pair of legs moving in my direction. My breathing stopped, hand clenching onto the hem of my dress. The creature stopped only inches from where I sat. Guttural growls alerted me of its suspicion. All I could do was wait and hope that it wouldn't spot me in my hideout. Beads of chilled sweat trickled down my back.

Just go.

The time passed far too slowly before it turned on its heels and walked out toward the pen of pigs. With the opportunity presented, I crawled out from the shrub and followed. Once close enough, I latched an arm around its neck and stabbed the knife through; with a shriek, it fell limp to the dirt.

I let out the breath I had been holding and dug through its filthy pockets for ammo, which I was pleased to find. Just for good measure, I pried the handgun from its hand and stuffed it in my pocket; with the craziness of this place, I knew it was better to be safe than sorry. Taking my time, I reloaded my gun.

A cold hand wrapped around my ankle, nails digging into my skin.

I let out a cry of pain. The haunted at my feet bellowed a howl of rage while it clawed in desperation. With a startled scream, I stomped its face in; blood and brain matter splattered in all directions – including on myself. The hand released me, causing me to fall on my back. Looking at the damage done, I let out a groan; my ankle was covered in deep scratches. Blood trickled down into my shoe. I would have to take care of the wounds later; for now, I needed to take care of the rest of the undead.

Without a second thought, I whipped out my gun and ran to the steps of my front porch. The rocking chair still creaking as the wind rocked it back and forth. With quiet steps, I approached the front door and twisted the rusted knob; the door opened, making a loud squeak as I pushed. My ears instantly made out the sounds of the haunted upstairs. Running on my memories of the place, I knew that there would probably be first aid supplies in the kitchen.

Once I made it, I rifled through the cabinets and drawers for anything that could help – unfortunately for me, I couldn't find much. The only thing that was even somewhat usable was a large dish towel to stop the bleeding. I ripped the cloth and tied it around my ankle in the hope that it would do the job.

"Mama, can I go play outside?"

I froze. A child's voice startled me from my work.

"Did you finish making your bed?" a female voice, quite similar to my own asked in a somber, almost sleepy tone. I didn't even have to turn around to know who it belonged to. Shaking, I slowly turned around with widened eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," the tiny voice replied duly according to the requirements of her parents. It belonged to a little girl – the same which I had seen earlier in the barn. Her dress had changed into one of shorter length with sleeves that ended at her shoulders. With hands clasped behind her back, she stared in anticipation at her mother, who leaned against the kitchen counter, clutching her aching head. She popped a pill in her mouth and took a sip of the glass of water beside her.

It was her medication.

My mother. The resemblance between us was fascinating. She was much younger than me at this point in time, close to her mid-twenties; almost a decade difference. Her hair was cut to her jaw, hanging in loose waves. Though the spectral forms were colorless, I knew that her locks were an auburn hue like mine. Blunt bangs ended just above her furrowed eyebrows. She wore a dress similar to the one the child version of me wore but down to her ankles. Sewing was a hobby of hers, therefore sometimes limiting our varieties of fashion.

But her features were akin to my own. The same familial slender, pointed nose and oval face of the Dean side – my mother's side of the family. It made me gasp, confirming the words of those who used to make the comparison.

She let out a long sigh. "I suppose you can," she consented. However, this approval was short lived.

The door flew open. A tall man in his early thirties came storming in. The inhabitants jumped, along with me at his sudden appearance.

"I want you both to stay inside today," he ordered, walking in the direction of the living room in search of an unknown object.

My mother glared, her fist that still lay on the counter squeezing. Whether it was from concern or anger, I had yet to find out. She followed the man. When the little girl version of me attempted to copy Mom, she raised a hand, urging her to stay put.

However, being an unnoticed third-party in this scene, I did what I could not twenty-seven years ago. I followed behind. As I walked into the other room, however, the figures became blurred. Their voices were muffled, unable to distinguish their heated words. In confusion, I walked back toward the kitchen.

Little me stood in the dining area, her head bowed as she studied her feet. She knew that something troubling was happening, but attempted to shut out the disturbance. I could feel her anxiety. I knew this day quite well.

It was the day that my dad tried to kill Ruben and Laura.

I was just as helpless as myself as a child, unable to stop what was about to happen. In a fury, I kicked the folding table, knocking it and a few chairs over.

"Why didn't you do something?!" I screamed at the girl, trying to grab her but to no avail. My hands merely passed through her form as if it were vapor. With this I grew even more furious. "Why didn't you stop him?! None of this would have happened if you hadn't stayed!"

My dad came storming back in the room, my mother on his tail with a look of concern contorting her features.

"No one leaves this house! You hear me?!" he bellowed before marching toward the the front door.

"Tell me what's going on!" my mom demanded, grabbing him by the back of his overalls.

He turned around, anger painted across his features. A box of matches was clutched in the opposite the one that was gripped on the doorknob. "Just let me take care of this," he commanded, his voice softening with the fear in his wife's eyes.

"Don't do it!" I screamed.

"Keep Alice in here. Neither of you go outside and everything will be fine."

Mom stared into his eyes, hesitant about the situation. Finally, she let him go, allowing him to join the others to perform the deed which started a never-ending cycle of misery.

"Why did you let him go?!" I shouted at her form. She gazed ahead, unhearing.

I turned back to the door. "You did this! You brought this on us!"

"Mama, where's Daddy going?" little me asked in a squeak, her eyes wide with fright. She bit her lip, hold a lock of long, red hair in her hand and twisting the strands around her fingers.

Mom looked as if she didn't know what to say. "Go to your room, Alice," she whispered.

The child did as her mother commanded, retreating upstairs to her bedroom. Her bare footsteps patted against the hard wood.

I barged up to my mother. I stood an inch taller, but just close enough to lock onto her unseeing eyes. "Why?! You never did anything to stop him! It's your fault! You let him ruin our lives! And for what?! Why didn't you stand up to him?!"

With nothing else to pour my distress into, I pounded my fist into the door. If not for the fact that she wasn't there to feel my wrath, I would have aimed for her. She deserved every bit of it.

"You let him do this to you! Mothers are supposed to be there for their kids, and you left me! You hurt me because you couldn't take the pain! Well, I couldn't take it either, Mom! I needed you to be a mother for me! Was that too much to ask?!"

But my ranting soon came to an end. High pitched squeals and the clanking of chains erupted from behind the front door. My eyes widened as I jumped back in surprise. The apparitions vanished.

Bang

The door shook against the brute force of the creature.

Bang

There was no time to run upstairs. I had to hide.

Bang

The lock was breaking. I scrambled to an empty dresser and shut myself inside.

Bang

The front door burst open as the pig head-wearing creature rammed its way through. Metal hooks scraped against the hard wood floor with each heavy footstep, chains jingling. Only the flickering glow of the flames in the fireplace gave me visibility through the crack of the dresser door. The beast's elongated shadow appeared and disappeared on the wall in front of me as it stalked the lower level of the house. Heavy, almost dog-like, panting echoed. It let out a roar of rage at my absence.

I covered my mouth to stifle my own erratic breath with shaking hands. This creature had chased me before while in the hospital, but this time there was no vent to save the day. All I could do was wait and hope that it would give up its search.

On the other side of the door, I could hear shattering glass and the smashing of wood. It continued to bellow a mix of squeals and howls while it seemed to destroy everything in sight. Clawed hooks scraped at the walls, followed by stomping footsteps.

It was getting closer.

I stopped breathing, heart pounding in my ears. A black figure snuffed out the light of the fire through the crack. It was standing right in front of me. With angry snorts, it turned from side to side, scanning the entire room. Hooks went flying with the motion, forcing the dresser door completely closed. It let out a snarl.

The wardrobe groaned in protest before it and I were sent falling face down on the floor. Fortunately for me, the beast was scrambling up the stairs before it could hear me let out a quiet, "oomph." Footsteps grew quieter before I finally knew that it was in a more distant part of the house, continuing its destruction.

There was nothing but pitch black darkness. Panic was setting in.

I attempted to push the dresser on its side, but to no avail. Guns fired. The haunted upstairs squealed while the beast howled. In a fit of frustration, I turned over and kicked at the backside of the wardrobe. Repeatedly, I pushed and kicked as hard as I could, praying that I would make it out before the creature came back to check my hiding spot.

"C'mon!" I groaned.

Finally, the wooden back snapped as my feet rammed into it. I continued to kick until there was a hole big enough for me to fit through.

Then the smashing upstairs stopped.

I quickly climbed out and attempted to sneak toward the, now doorless, front door. The beast descended the stairs, right on my tail. I bolted outside and headed straight for the side of the house to hide. Heavy panting, pounding footsteps, and squeals followed behind. There was nowhere to go.

I would have to fight.

Turning around, I fired all I had at the creature's head but it remained unfazed. It charged, and I dived out of the way onto my side. Scrambling to get up, I continued to run and shoot, but to no avail; it refused to give up its chase.

"What do you want from me?!" I yelled.

I ran back inside the house and up the stairs. At the head of them, I found the masked haunted with shotgun still in hand. In a desperate attempt, I pried it from his fingers and fired as the beast barreled towards me. For a moment it stopped, finally affected by the bullets. I continued to fire until I ran out of shells, but still it wouldn't give up.

In the room at the end of the hall, I saw a flickering light. Praying for a miracle, I ran towards. The dead zombie lay decapitated on the ground, a torch just out of its reach. I picked it up, turned around, and swung. The pig-headed beast shrieked, clutching its head. Violently shaking, it writhed in agony before turning tail and running back down the stairs and out the door.

"That's right. You better run," I snapped back before grabbing my aching head. (I know, not cliché at all.) I wiped the sweat that had begun to cloud my vision and gently rubbed the back of my neck.

I took one last look back toward the room I had just been in, eyes growing wide in realization. Immediately, I turned back around and walked inside. The blue paint still clung to the walls, now faded and chipping in places. My little twin-sized bed still sat in the corner unmade, just as it was the morning that my father told me to pack my things to leave. Clothes were thrown around carelessly as my mother and I decided what to bring and what not to bring. The dresser containing them was left open, revealing my little shoes and dresses that were left behind.

But one item in particular caught my attention. On my nightstand was a sunflower, dried from age. However, to my surprise, the petals still clung on after all this time. I dared to pick it up and study it under the light of the moon, twisting the stem in between my fingers. Though I had no exact memory of when I was given this flower, I knew exactly who it came from. Just the thought of him drove me mad. Anger mixed with bitter sadness seemed to envelope me.

But I refused to let him reign over me any longer.

I looked down to my hand and found the sunflower crushed in my palm. As I tilted my hand, the dust trickled to the ground in a small heap on the grimy, wooden floor. I let out a sigh, the chains of both regret and intense anger binding me to that place. The unbearable weight felt as if it were crushing me. A tear fell, trailing down the contours of my cheek and dripping onto the floor below. And I wondered, could I really hate him? No. But could I forgive him?...

With this question in mind, I walked away.

A/N: Revised.