Chapter Twenty-Nine

That One Time, I Fought A Bear - So Legit

Four Months Later

(Ryan)

"You remind me exactly of Xander - cute and all, but you should probably stay in the vehicle, Lo."

She laughed gleefully, sticking her head even further out the passenger's side window. Her long auburn hair blew wildly behind her, eyes crinkled in joy at the wind rushing across her face - I guess it wasn't exactly fair to compare her to my dog. Xander could never look so glamorously windswept, not like Harlow, anyways. She popped her head back into the vehicle, stretching her legs out in front of her and raking her small hands through her tangled mess of hair.

"You're no fun," she said, with a sly grin. "Xander knows where it's at!"

"Until a stray piece of gravel from the road shoots up and swipes him across the face," I said, rolling my eyes.

She grinned even wider, leaning across her seat to give me a light peck on the ear. "C'mon. That'd be pretty cool actually - I'd look so badass with a scar straight across my cheek!"

"Until you had to tell people it was from sticking your head out a speeding car's window and getting hit in the face with a rock," I joked.

"Well we'd leave that part out," she said simply. "We'll pretend like .. I fought a bear."

"And all you got was a smooth scar across your cheek?"

"Legit, right?"

"So legit."

She laughed, stretching her arms back behind her head and yawning. "All the more reason to get hit with flying stones."

I smiled, making a slow right turn onto the adjoining highway. On this humid August afternoon, Lo and I found ourselves driving down a smooth, South Carolina road, just a few minutes outside of the lovely town of Chaplin. We'd just wrapped up a four day investigation in a quaint little cottage-esque home in the heart of the city, and were heading back up to Pennsylvania to spend the last two weeks of holidays holed up in her apartment.

Which really, is where we'd spent the majority of our Summer already.

After Harlow and her team had destroyed the California Lions 20 to 3, the general morale of the team had been lifted. Although the win had been slightly ironic in their two weeks of loss and misery, the happiness and renewed sense of cheer had spread through all of them. On to the national championships along with twelve other teams across the country, the team had found the confidence and the excitement once more that they had lost and were sure they'd never get back again after Kimmy's death.

Harlow had come back from her three week semi-coma a week or two after the game. She passed all her exams with the usual high 90's, continuing her four year streak of scholarship wins that would put her financially through her last year of school. Back from her stint at rock bottom, she slowly started to laugh again, cheerfully and with sincerity, and her smile began to come easily, appearing without uncertainty and hesitation. She had learned, or rather re-learned, how to find happiness in life, and lived everyday once more with the cheer and enthusiasm I had originally fallen in love with.

The Summer had been one of the best I'd ever had. Nearly everyday was spent with Harlow by my side, every case we'd come across had gone smoothly and Paranormal State was doing better than ever. Most days were spent in my backyard, soaking up the beautiful sun of Pennsylvania, while most evenings were spent in Harlow's cozy apartment, snuggled up on the couch watching television (and when we weren't watching TV? Well ... yooou know, winky dinky super wink). Every day seemed brighter, happier than the last, and it was with a heavy heart that I realized there were less than two weeks before school and the general slum of fall came creeping back into our lives.

Harlow, however, didn't seem to notice.

Hand hanging out the window, tapping the side of the car, she was humming a cheerful tune and tapping her foot in time with her song against the dashboard. Those brilliant eyes were covered by oversized sunglasses, and her thick hair was blowing lightly over her shoulders. My heart skipped a beat just glancing at her. She peered over at me, mouth still turned up in her now permanent smile.

"Is it funny, being back in South Carolina?" she asked.

I smiled. "Naw, not at all. Truly, it was a wonderful place to grow up in. Beautiful. But I sure as hell didn't miss this heat."

She laughed, crossing her feet casually on the dashboard. "I lived here twice in my life, once with my family for about seven months, the other just for three months with a Foster family. And both times, what I remember most was the horrific Summer humidity."

"I forgot you lived in SC," I said, feeling slightly guilty. "Whereabouts again?"

"That's alright," she said chipperly, giving my hand a soft pat. "With the Foster family, I lived in Mount Pleasant, quite the ironic name for such a hellish city. But with my family, we lived in Newberry. Quiet little town, only about ten thousand people. But it was lovely."

"Newberry," I repeated, frowning slightly. "That's just up here a ways, isn't it?"

She peered out her window, clearly looking for any distinct signs acknowledging how close we were to her old stomping grounds. "Is it?"

"I'm positive," I said, squinting closely at an upcoming sign. "My stepdad lived in Greenville for a while and when we'd drive up from Sumter to go and visit him, we'd always pass right through Newberry and get there less than thirty minutes later. We'll be heading right through Greenville, so Newberry should be up along here."

She frowned a little, still peering out the window. "How strange ... I didn't even think of it being on the way home. Ooh .. oh look, you're right! Newberry, six miles. First right after the Boon dairy farm."

I looked quickly at the sign as we passed, and looked ahead to see if I could spot any sign of the dairy farm. "Just a little ways up ... what do you say? Wanna stop in for a bit?"

She frowned, deeper yet, looking genuinely perplexed. "I .. I don't know. I haven't been back there in almost twenty years, not since Brody died."

"We don't have to," I said quickly, trying to avoid the awkward situation we were fast heading into. "Just a thought, since we were passing by."

"No no, it's alright," she said, perking up a bit in her chair. "It'll be an adventure ... going back there. Walk down memory lane."

"You're sure?" I asked. "I don't want to bring back any bad memories ... "

"No, I'm sure," she answered reassuringly, giving my arm a light squeeze. "The house has bad memories, but the town was lovely. Really. I remember wonderful things about the people, and the little shops. Main street was so wonderful, like a scene out of a movie. I'd love to see what it looks like now. How it's changed, if it has at all."

I smiled, and nodded towards the upcoming sign on her side. "How far away are we?"

She squinted at the sign, hand still hanging casually out the window. "Five miles."

"Send Elf a text, if you don't mind," I said. "Tell her we have a change of plans - we're road trippin'."

She grinned. "More of a fun little detour, this is hardly a roadtrip."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, go stick your head out the window, why don'tcha."

(Eilfie)

"They're making a detour."

Sergey glanced in the rearview mirror back at me, and Katrina laughed in the front seat.

"Should've known," she muttered with a small smile. "The lovebirds are going on their honeymoon."

I smiled. "They're going to Newberry. Harlow said she used to live there, they're just going for a quick visit and will head back on the road again in an hour or so."

"And they said they were desperate to get home," Serge said, rolling his eyes.

"Well I think it's romantic," Tad huffed from beside me. "They're gonna have so much fun ... they're gonna hold hands, and get ice cream, and walk around, and wave cheerfully to the locals. Maybe they'll go to a carnival and take funny pictures. Maybe Ryan will win her an overstuffed teddy bear. Maybe they'll get hitched in a little white chapel. Maybe they'll be so happy, they'll never come home ... "

"Seriously, Heather," Katrina sighed. "You're so bizarre."

"We just spent over 72 hours in a haunted house, and I'm bizarre?"

"Yes," the three of us agreed in unison.

"Hmph," Tad muttered, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "You're all a bunch of asshats."

I smiled, but my mind wandered to Ryan and Harlow. What a lovely idea, going to visit Harlow's old town. I'd always admired the way their relationship worked. It was spontaneous, but fair. Ryan would surprise Harlow with homemade sushi one night (which he learned to roll all by himself), and Harlow would surprise him a day later with a Star Wars movie night party (complete with Yoda and Chewbacca handmade cookies). Everything was even, they were equal to the umpteenth degree. But it was more than just that.

They simply, truly, earnestly adored each other. You could just tell. Harlow loved him, more than I think I'd ever seen anyone love another person or another thing. When he spoke, she looked at him with pure adoration and happiness. She laughed when he joked, smiled when he reminised, frowned when he recounted a sad moment, grimaced when he told stories about scary cases. There was always a part of her touching him, whether it was a hand on his arm, a cheek on his shoulder, her fingers wrapped around his thumb. She basked in everything that was Ryan Buell.

And Ryan was no different. He never stood too far from her, preferring to be by her side than behind or in front. His body always turned inwards, listening, protecting. He remembered every word she'd ever spoken, every thing she'd ever said, every detail of every story she'd ever told us. His eyes brightened everytime he saw her, his gaze almost always refusing to draw away from her face. His entire body calmed when she was close, his mouth splitting into a grin whenever her name came up. Everything about her, everything she had, she was, she would be - he loved.

People speak of soul mates all the time. How they knew from the second they laid eyes on each other that their significant other was "the One". But it was rare, very rare if even at all possible, that others could see that feeling. Whether opposed to their union or not, there was really no denying it. Ryan and Harlow seemed meant to be. They were more than just a relationship, a status. They completed one another. Ryan had never smiled before like he allowed himself to smile now. All the times I'd seen Harlow before I knew her, she was tense, always frantically busy looking. Now, she was calm. Relaxed, at ease with the world. Both our world, and hers.

The love between them was simply astounding. It could not be explained. It could not be duplicated. It could not be touched.

I truly, truly had thought, that it could never be touched.

(Ryan)

"No, Hun. The cone is the best part!"

She crunched on the last little bit of her ice cream cone, relishing in it's crisp.

"It has no flavor," I argued. "It tastes like crunchy cardboard."

She rolled her eyes, swallowed her last bite. "By itself, yes. But not with ice cream in it."

She pointed at my own half finished ice cream. "See? You have the crisp outside that hasn't been touched, but the inside - that delicious inside - is mushy and sweet because of the ice cream. You bite into it, and it's got the crunch. But then the overpowering sweetness from the ice cream comes through, and bam! Perfection!"

"You really, really, have spent too much time deliberating the yummy factor of ice cream cones."

"No deliberation needed. That, my Love, is common knowledge."

We both laughed, keeping up a steady pace down the cobbled streets of Main. She was right, the town was beautiful. We had parked on the edge of the city, walking in through rows and rows of beautifully kept suburban homes. Down one street of identical townhouses with window shutters and brightly painted front doors, down the next street of plain bungalows, all painted creamy colors and hidden under large Oaks. We'd made it to Main Street, where we'd window-shopped (admiring all the wonderful trinkets in the clothing store, the candy store, the grocery store, the furniture store), and had stopped in to Dee Dee's Ice Cream Shop to pick up little cones of locally churned ice cream. I had vanilla. Harlow had rainbow.

Now, coming right down the end of Main Street, we came to a halt at the corner of a four way stop. There were no cars, only the soft rumbling of them in the distance. Somewhere around this area, there was the shrill laughter of children at a playground. A distant tinkle of an ice cream truck. The pitter patter of a fountain, the low bark of a dog. I looked around, then over to Lo, who was gazing passively down the street to our left.

"Where do we go now?" I asked, following her gaze down the shady street.

"I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully. "Anywhere, I guess."

"What's so special about down there?" I said, watching as her gaze intensified slightly.

"I used to live down there," she said softly. "Two blocks down, on the corner house right next to the forest."

I squinted a bit, looking down to the edge of the street. The road ended at a bunch of trees huddled together, trees that seemed to stretch the length of the town. How far in it went, I had no idea. But there was gray in the distance, right behind the tops of the trees. A murky, almost black haze that hovered over the tops. The rest of the sky was ocean blue, cloudless and clear. It was just at the end of the this street, oddly enough, that the sky seemed to fade from blue to iron gray.

"That's not too far," I said casually. "Did you want to go look?"

Harlow frowned. "I'm not sure. Not really. But I should. Just ... to remember."

"You remember more than most people," I said.

"But I've also forgotten more than most," she said softly.

She intertwined her fingers with my own, holding them tightly and giving them a soft tug.

"Come on," she said, taking a deep breath and lifting her chin up courageously. "Let's check it out."

I nodded, and we began to make our way down the remainder of the sidewalk. There was an air of silence between us, because Lo's face was set in solemn determination, but mostly because I was completely unsure of what to say. Did I comfort her? She didn't seem to need it. Did I ask questions? I'm sure I'd find out soon enough. Did I joke with her? It hardly seemed the time.

The houses we walked past were all immaculately kept, their gardens overflowing with wild flowers. All but a few had giant trees out front, most had birdfeeders and all had white picket fences. The epitome of Pleasantville, if I'd ever seen one. Lo was looking ahead for the most part, but every now and then she'd look at one of the houses we were passing and smile slightly.

At the end of the first block, she nodded to the first house on the corner of the next.

"I had a friend who used to live in that house," she said reminiscently. "Mary. She was my age, and I'd spend the majority of my time playing with her in their backyard. They had this stellar play structure, and a tire swing attached to that old Elm in the back."

I noted that gigantic tree protruding over the high white fence in the back. I couldn't tell if there was still a tire swing attached to it or not, but the house was in beautiful shape. White as snow, their front door a brilliant red. French windows, a wrap-around porch. I couldn't blame her for spending so much time at Mary's home - it was unbelieveable.

"You think she still lives there?" I asked.

Harlow shook her head. "She moved out about a month before I left Newberry. Her Dad was offered a job in Maine at a University, so they had to leave. It was sad, seeing her go. She was my first real friend."

We passed Mary's house and kept moving at a quick pace down the street. With every step we came closer to Harlow's old house, I felt her squeeze my hand even tighter. Her face was still set with determination, but her eyes were oddly glazed and fearful. I gave her hand a quick squeeze, and she smiled apologetically.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Just weird being back."

"You think you'll recognize the house?"

"Doubt it," she said simply. "Knowing the people in this town, they sold it to a wonderful family just starting out, and they painted it, fixed it up, put in a nice garden, probably put up a fen - oh, my goodness ... "

We came to an abrupt halt at the last house next to the forest, and I could tell that it really hadn't changed much from when Harlow had lived in it.

She had been wrong.

Clearly, a new young family hadn't moved in. In fact, it looked like the last family that had lived in there had been Harlow's. The windows had clearly been boarded up for years, but many of the boards had come off and were laying in rotting pieces around the foundation of the home. Nearly all the glass had been smashed from the windows and from the small squares in the front door. The red paint had peeled to reveal a chalky grey beneath, and their were gaping holes in the roof of the house, the shingles all hanging barely by a thread.

Harlow dropped my hand from her own, staring in awe at her old digs. The fence wasn't really a fence anymore, just a few jagged pieces of wood littered around the lawn - the lawn, which was overgrown with weeds and yellowed grass. The sidewalk was cracked, laying in pieces in a crooked pathway to the front cement steps, which seemed to be crumbling right before my eyes.

"I didn't think it'd look worse," she whispered, eyes round as globes, arms hanging limply at her side.

"Well, it .. I'm sure it looked better," I said, completely at a loss for words. "Did it ... was it nicer, back when you lived here?"

She blinked, but said nothing for a moment. Her eyes were fixated at the ruins of her old home.

"It was never nice," she said quietly. "But the paint was still there. And the windows - only two of them were broken. The fence was in one piece, but we never had a gate. And the lawn's much the same, definitely a little longer ..."

We both stood in silence, Harlow clearly trying to take in the complete destruction of her old home. Me, pretending to feign nonchalance at this delapidated hell of a two story. I was about to take her hand again when she abruptly lurched forward and began to walk up the shattered sidewalk.

"Lo!" I snapped. "Don't go in there .. it's not safe!"

But she didn't listen.

On she trudged, down the crooked and smashed pathway, looking every now and then at the weeds surrounding her. I looked wildly around me, and seeing no one near, I bolted up the path behind her.

"Harlow. Harlow!" I muttered, meeting her small strides quickly. "Lo, this place isn't safe - look, it's been boarded up. The floorboards have probably all rotted out, we can't - "

"I have to remember," she said quietly, quickening her pace up the path.

"There's probably animals living in there," I muttered, following less than a meter behind her. "Wild animals. With diseases. That will bite your face off, Harlow."

"No there isn't," she said, stopping at the foot of the crumbling front steps. "We can't go in this way. Gotta go around the back."

She bolted again before I could grab her arm, walking quickly and without hesitation around the West of the house, ducking and disappearing into a hole in the jagged, rotting fence. FUCK!

"You're going to kill me, woman," I muttered, ducking with slight trouble through the same hole she'd gone through.

I ambled and forced my way through, nearly faceplanting into the dusty, dewey weeds below me. I peered up, but saw that Harlow had disappeared. The house stretched on for a solid 40 feet, but there was a wide open space behind it, cracked cement nearly being overun with weeds. I bolted through the nearly waist high grass, trying desperately to find Harlow.

I came to the end of the house, and peered around it's corner. There was thirty feet of empty land stretched out behind it. Most was covered by weeds and yellowed grass. In the far corner there was a deep well, clearly an in-ground pool. Next to it, a large square of cracked cement and stone, what had clearly been a patio once upon a time. On the edge of the once-veranda, Harlow stood very still, gazing up at the house to her right.

I trudged through the rest of the grass, coming to a halt on the cement beside her. She didn't seem to notice I was there - her gaze was still set on a broken window two floors above. She looked slightly distressed, but there was still the stony sheen of determination running through the sharp lines in her face.

"You didn't tell me you had a pool," I mumbled, looking at the mosquito and mold infested hole to my left.

"There was never water in it," she muttered, eyes still fixed on the window above.

"What are you looking at?" I asked, looking from her, up to the window, then to her again.

"I'm not looking," she whispered, closing her eyes tightly and scrunching her nose. "I'm remembering ... "

I said nothing for a minute, just followed her gaze to the window above. It was a circular one, tiny shards of glass sticking out at different points from it. There was a giant, jagged circle in the middle of it, like someone had thrown a boulder through it years earlier. I looked at my feet, right below the window, and saw a faint dent in the cement. It was more a crack then anything, but it was oddly round and even more oddly angled. There was a very faint, brownish stain in the middle and top of it, and an even fainter brown stain that encircled it. I couldn't make out what it was - but my guess was paint. One of the few things that weather has trouble eroding away.

"Remembering what?" I asked quietly, after a minute or two had passed.

"Brody," she whispered.

I felt as if I was invading an intensely personal moment. This was Harlow's home, her memories. I shouldn't have been here. This was all her. I was an intruder.

A split second later, as if she had read my thoughts, she reached out and took my hand in her own cold one. Her eyes popped open, and looked over at me, her face astonishingly sad, but resolute.

"Sorry," she said again. "Sorry. I just had to ... be here. This spot."

"This spot means something?" I asked quietly, looking around at the dead leaves surrounding us, the pieces of chipped paint and stone littering the ground.

Harlow nodded, pointing tiredly to the dent in the concrete a few feet in front of me. "That does."

I frowned, my heart beginning to race unexplainabley in my chest. "That? That crack?"

She nodded again, wincing a little. "She died there. Brody."

I stared at the crack, the faint brown stains. The oddly shaped dent. And then, with a sickening jolt in my stomach, I looked up to the shattered circular window above.

"She ... jumped?"

Harlow blinked, staring at the spot on the ground. "Yes."

So there it was. The answer I'd been hoping to hear since I'd met Harlow.

But now?

I wasn't so sure I was ready to hear it.

"That's how it happened," I whispered, and I could literally feel the blood drain from my face.

Harlow nodded again, looking once more up to the broken window. "She jumped. Straight through that window. She didn't even have a running start, she just sorta ... fell through."

I looked in horror at Lo, her face pale but emotionless. There were no signs of tears, no betrayl of emotion shining through those eyes. There was only calm, with a vaguely solemn frown.

"I saw it," she whispered. "I was in the room opposite of that one. I walked in, and ... down she went."

An eerie silence filled the air between us, the chirping of birds, wooshing of cars and barking of dogs completely quieted by the surrounding gloom. Harlow said no more, just stared blankly at the spot on the pavement. A faint creaking from inside the house startled me, but there was no movement through the broken windows. The creak simply came from the weight and burden of the home, no more.

Lo let go of my hand, and walked silently to one of the smashed windows a few steps ahead. She stopped, rested her hands on the moldy, rotten windowsill, and peered in. I followed, trying to be as silent as her, walking purposely as far as I could around the patio dent. I stopped next to her, followed her gaze into the home.

From what I could tell, this used to be the kitchen. The marble countertops smashed, thick with dust and crumbling. Half of the cabinet doors had been ripped off and carried away, the door to the oven broken and hanging from a hinge. There was no fridge, not anymore at least. The tiles were grey and covered in a thick layer of dust and mold, with great chunks peeling up from the concrete floor. I could see bits of faded yellow underneath the grime, and a lone chair lay broken and rotted through in the center of the room. On the far right of the kitchen was a staircase, half the steps missing, that went straight up but disappeared behind a sharply bended wall. Next to the staircase, a pitch black hallway leading to the front room.

"Kitchen," I said softly.

"It's seen better days," she replied, humorless smile on her face. "Not much better, mind you. But better."

She leaned her arms on the broken sill, looked solemnly into the kitchen.

"That staircase led to the upstairs hallway. On the left was my parents room, the right was a bathroom. Behind it was a joint double bedroom, mine, Brody and Kingston's. The circular window right above us, that was mine and Brody's room. Kingston had the smaller one attached to it."

She nodded towards the long, dark hallway. "That went to the front foyer. To the left was the living room, right was the dining room. Behind the dining room, the the right of this wall, was the den, and a little half bathroom attached to it."

"You remember it well," I noted.

She nodded. "This was the second longest time I've ever spent at any given home. Six months. I thought it was permanent."

She fell into silence again, looking with a slightly pained face back into the kitchen. I stared along with her, thinking back to the story of that fateful night she'd shared with me. She'd run down that exact flight of stairs, right after Brody had thrown herself out the window. Run right down to see her mother kill her stepfather. I looked to the left wall and saw a hole, no bigger than a quarter, dusted but still visible right below a broken framed picture of a daisy. Like the dent behind me, there was faint brownish stains all around the hole. Less faded than the one around the crack in the patio, but still barely evident.

This entire home, from the kitchen, to the bedroom, to the patio outside - it was tainted. Stains of blood, holes from bullets, cracks from skulls hitting pavement. The smashed glass was because of vandals and weather, but I had a feeling much of it had already been trashed before Harlow had left the house. The girl standing next to me, the inhuman beauty we all envied. This was her reality. She was a tragedy, she came from a horror story. She had risen above to the person she was now, but here was the reminder that it hadn't always been this way.

Her arms dropped from the ledge of the window, and she took one more long glance into the kitchen. Turning to me, she took my hand in her own and gave it a soft tug.

"I'm done," she said quietly. "Let's go home."

(Chick)

It was always so dull when Harlow wasn't home.

I'd never admit that to her, not in a million years. God, she'd gloat me to re-death. But I could admit it now, in private. The house was so quiet, so uneventful. I had no one to talk to, nothing to do. I mean, I rarely did anything to begin with. But without her? It was even worse.

I was sitting on the couch this late afternoon, watching the Biography channel (seriously, why did Paris Hilton have her own episode? Are we really beginning to count her as person?), reminscing about my own fantastically intersting biography (not). The apartment was silent, besides the quiet hum of the fridge, the low volume of the television and the faint noise from the downstairs tenants radio. I was almost enjoying my afternoon of mope.

But then something very strange happened - strange even by a dead girl's standards.

The TV screen cut to black, turned on again, cut to black once more, then turned on again, but this time to pure static. Black and white dots, the irritating hissing of the white noise. I sighed, rolling my eyes - there we go, she'd forgot to pay her cable again. That girl, I swear ...

I moved up and off the sofa, towards Harlow's bedroom, where at least I could sit in silence and not have to the listen to the spitting of the broken television. But before I could even cross the room, I noticed something odd at the end of the long hallway.

Beneath Harlow's closed bedroom door, I saw a bright white light, brighter than any light I'd ever seen, living or dead. The light beamed from beneath the crack underneath her door, so vivid and dazzling it illuminated the entire hallway better than any lamp or light ever could've. I stopped in my place, squinting at the beam flooding through her door.

But the light changed, very suddenly and very drastically. It darkened a bit, still bright but much less pronounced in it's glow. A small black spot emerged, pale against the light, but becoming darker and darker and wider and wider as it creeped towards her door. The light was fading, the dark was building, until the darkness had completely enveloped the light and the hallway was pitch black once more.

And then, the strange part.

The darkness was pure, but the thing that had begin to slither out the crack in the bottom of her bedroom door was not. It was blacker than black. Darker than the night, vivid against the opaque background behind it. It seeped beneath the cracks, odd shapes, the consistency of tar, or molasses. It seeped and slimed and crept it's way beneath her door, until there was a large puddle of the black mass lying flat on the hardwood of her hallway.

I stared at it, terrified to move but unsure if it was something even remotely threatening to me. How much more could something hurt me? I was dead, wasn't I? But this thing .. it sent impossible chills up my arms, down my back. It was nothing I'd ever seen before, both before I'd died and now.

For a good two, three minutes, the thing remained motionless, sucking the remainder of light from every inch around it. It didn't move. Just blobbed in the same spot, soundless, dark and forbiding. But a second or two later, something began to emerge from the center of it.

I thought it was growing up at first, but then realized very shortly after that it wasn't a continuation of the inky mass. It was the top of a head, a head with shaggy brown hair, the color of raw umber but darker. I couldn't tell if it was dark brown or light black, but I soon lost my focus on the exact color - because a face began to appear.

At first just the forehead, a rich complexion, olive in tone. Smooth as silk, flawless as a Summer sky. The brows came up, richly arched and perfectly level with one another. From beneath the murk, I saw two hands rise up, both a similar color to the face I could see, saw their fingers wiggle and clutch desperately at the floorboards in front of it. With a noise like a giant suction cup being ripped from a wall, the head came fully into view, and I felt my stomach twist into nothing, my heart explode into a million pieces.

The head emerged, followed in rappid succession by the remainder of the body. It was a girl, no doubt about it, but a young girl, no older than eight, nine years old. She stood in the center of the black mass on the floor, looking around at the walls, taking in her surroundings. She didn't move, but let her arms hang limp against her sides. It wasn't her sudden appearance that startled me, though -

It was her face.

The face could've easily been Harlow's, just shrunken and younger. The complexion was the same, the skin color the same creamy tan. The hair was long, to the young girl's waist, and it was the same dark chestnut brown with soft waves that Lo had. Her lips were plush, a soft coral, the nose slightly rounded but long. And the eyes - they were Harlow's eyes. The glowing harlequin that only Lo could have, the sparkle and shine that only hers were able to omit. Those globes hidden behind the same thick lashes, innocently round and wholesome.

Finally, after she'd peered around, her eyes found mine, and she stared with sharp intensity at me. A look I never could have dreamed someone so young could produce, her gaze set me off balance. It intimidated me, sent great chills fast down my spine. She was unblinking, eyes fixated on my face.

She opened her mouth, very slowly, as if testing it. It seemed as though she hadn't used it in years.

She cleared her throat, very delicately, but there was a strange, deep rasp to it that I had never heard in Harlow's own soft tone.

"Harlow," she said, her voice ragged, unsure. She cleared it again. "Harlow. She lives here."

It was not a question, rather a statement. I frowned, trying to keep my heart in check.

"Who are you?" I asked, relieved at the stability in my voice. "Why are you here?"

She blinked for the first time, but did not avert her gaze. "Harlow. I need to talk to Harlow."

"Harlow isn't here," I replied. "Why do you need to talk to her?"

"Where is she?" the girl asked, face very suddenly looking horror-striken.

"She's on a trip," I replied. "South Carolina. She won't be home until tomorrow."

"I need her now!" the girl yelled, balling her hands into tight fists. "Please - I need to warn her - I need to speak to her - now!"

"I can't help you," I said, rather apologetically. "I can't call her, I'm ... I'm like you. I can't pick up a phone, not in the state I'm in."

"Then warn her," the girl said, taking a hesitant step towards me. "Warn her."

The step she took seemed to take a lot of energy out of her, her face paled remarkably quick. She shuddered slightly, took another step towards me, and whimpered in pain.

"Are you okay?" I asked, willing my feet unsuccessfully forward. "Are you hurt?"

"Please," she choked, her hands no longer balled into fists, but clutching desperately at her arms and face. "Not me. Harlow. Please, warn her - tell her that it's coming!"

"What's coming?" I asked, sincerely frightened.

She took another step, let out a loud squeal of pain. "It's coming. It's coming for her."

"Who is?" I asked desperately, finding that no matter how hard I willed my legs, they remained immobile. "Who's coming for her?"

"He is," she whispered, another step and another scream later. "Tell her he's coming. He's coming to take what's rightfully his. She made a pact - she owes him. He's coming, please, please, tell her! Please!"

She came running at me now, but with legitimate, uncontrollable horror I saw her begin to evaporate with every step. The first step, her forehead split into two. The second, scarlet blood began to pour from it's gash. The third, her skin began peeling, then shrivelling, then rotting, then falling to invisible pieces on the floor. By the sixth step, she was nothing but bones and shredded skin, screaming in agony -

and disappearing in a puff of smoke right before my eyes.

The apartment remained untouched. The natural light from the windows seeped through, covered every piece of furniture, every wall. There was no bright light and no darkness slithering under Harlow's bedroom door. The television returned to the Biography channel. Everything remained the same.

Except me -

I was positive, nearly one hundred percent positive, I'd never be able to move again.

How can a heart beat so violently, when it hasn't been able to beat in nearly 50 years?

(Harlow)

"Thank you for coming with me."

I smiled, rather half-heartedly, up at Ryan's face. He smiled back, much more sincere than mine had been, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"It's alright," he said simply. "I'm glad I could be here with you."

I give his side a light squeeze as we walked awkwardly down the pathway back towards the street. I didn't dare look behind me again - seeing it once had been enough.

I'd never tell him, both due to embarrassment and fear, but the house really hadn't changed that much. It had always been run down, shabby looking. The pool was always dirty and empty, filled with wildlife, mold and old rain. The grass was never trimmed, but it had never been that yellow. There were several windows newly broken, but there had already been three or four smashed when I'd lived there. The kitchen was easily dirtier than it'd been when we'd lived there, but it was still missing all the same kitchen cabinet doors.

It was home. Unfortunately.

Ryan and I came to the end of the walkway, moving quickly past the broken fence. I stopped, and turned to take one last look at my old home.

I sighed, taking in for what I hoped would be the last time the place where my life had truly begun to fall apart. There were no memories in this house I fondly remembered. But there were memories I knew I had to keep, regardless of whether or not I wanted to. I had to remember every bit. Every bad thing, every painful thing, every ugly thing. I had to take it all in. Dwell on it. Immerse myself in it. And let it go.

I would not forget. But I would move on.

I moved to begin the short walk back to the Main street, but realized a second or two later Ryan wasn't following. I turned back to see where he was, and saw him standing very still, gazing up at the old shell of the house.

"We can go, Babe," I said quietly. "It's alright."

"Who is that?" he said, voice choked and brow furrowed.

I frowned, followed his gaze back to the house. I didn't see anyone ...

"Who?" I asked, walking back the couple steps to his side.

"In the window," he whispered, pointing to the old living room bay window. "There. Don't you see?"

I looked at the window, frowning - but my confusion didn't last long. He was right - there was somebody in the window.

Barely visible over the top of the windowsill, a young girl was peering out on the street, staring directly at us. Her hair was dark, face lightly tanned. And even from this far back, I could make out the odd, green sparkle of her eyes. My heart stopped - I swear, it wasn't beating. I moved a step towards the gate, but found my legs unwilling to move through it. I was stuck in place, staring at the sharp, withered face in the window.

"Brody," I managed to choke out.

"Her," Ryan said behind me.

I turned to look at him, and saw his face paler than snow. His eyes were wide, unblinking, hand held tightly over his chest. He turned to me, wrestling his eyes off my dead sister in the window, and stared at me.

"I've seen her before," he whispered. "In my dreams. She's the one - she keeps coming to me, telling me to warn you."

"Brody does?" I asked. "You've seen - "

But before I could finish my sentence, an ear-piercing scream rang through the quiet street, and when I looked back -

Brody was gone.

Author's Note:

Hello all! I'VE ESCAPED, I managed to spend 7 days straight and without sleep working on University stuff, and I've managed to clear a day or two in my schedule for unhealthy amounts of alcohol, too many cookies AND an update! HURRAH!

I must make this quick, as I'm trying to fit the shattered bits of my social life back into this weekend, but I must thank all the lovely reviewers and the 12 (12! holy moly cow!) new members who've story alerted/favorited this little ol' ficcy of mine! You all seriously brigthen my day, everytime I open up my email and see a new review or a new story alert or anything, my face goes apeshit and so do my limbs (I flail, everywhere - one day I'll take a video of it).

I have no clue when the next update will come, but hopefully I'll be able to work on it soon! So much love to each and every person who reads this, you'll never ever know how much I appreciate it!

love, ellah!