It takes three Calming Draughts for Ariel to stop screaming.
When she finally does come — back — she's in the living room, settled on the couch with all of the lights on. The lights are so bright they're blinding her.
Someone's touching her face and calling her name, shushing her. They sound desperate, not at all like that insidious voice, crawling up her spine and into her brain. Almost like they're barely hanging on themselves, like they're starting to give up.
Her mouth tastes sour as she breathes out through it. Even if Ariel could see through her tears, her face is covered in snot and sweat. She can finally feel something start to press across her nerves, a soothing heaviness that starts to regulate her breathing, and Ariel stops hyperventilating long enough to look up into the face of her father.
He looks — helpless — more ghost than man. He's knelt over Ariel, who's pressed against the back of the couch, desperate to be as far away from her bloody bedroom as physically possible. Dad's hands frame her face, stroke her cheeks, swipe away the tears that are spilling over.
She sobs and buries her face in his shoulder — immediately regrets it. Every time she closes her eyes all she can see is that horrible face.
Dad pulls Ariel away — looks into her eyes, and she tries to drown her fear in them, but she can't, because they're a mirror, reflecting back at her.
"Are you with me?" he says this slowly, like he's talking to a frightened animal. "Are you with me?"
She gives a heavy nod. She feels — numb — weightless — like she's going to spin out of control any second.
Dad lets out a sigh. It trembles at the end — wavers. His hand threads through her hair, but his eyes are wild. Then he's whispering something quick and soft under his breath, like a lullaby, and his hand goes to her cheek, looking her over, moving back just slightly as the pulsing light of a Diagnostic falls over her. Ariel holds the spell in her hands as it drifts down like snow, relishing the little flecks of warmth digging into her fingers and palms.
"I'm okay," she manages to strangle out. "It didn't hurt me."
Her father's face spasms — nearly splits down the middle, and Ariel can see the worry in his eyes like it's a tangible thing she could reach out and touch, if she wanted. "What didn't hurt you?"
Ariel doesn't know how to begin to explain what's just happened. She can hardly find the right words to convey the depths of her terror, of how disturbed she is by what she's seen — what she's heard.
"My closet," Ariel manages to strangle out. "It's in my closet."
Dad's face twists into something that would've sent whatever that thing was running. "What is?"
She truly doesn't know how to answer him because what in the seven hells was that —
"A monster," Ariel settles on, because it feels right, that thing was monstrous. "There's a monster in my closet."
Something pulsing behind her father's black eyes finally edges fully into the light.
He immediately gets to his feet, his wand drawn. "You will stay here."
She immediately swipes for his arm — misses. "No! No, you can't! Please don't, Dad, please!"
Her father doesn't listen. He's already gone before she's done protesting, disappearing down the hallway like death on the warpath. Ariel can hear him slam open the bedroom door, can hear the wood cracking apart and she tries to scramble up after him, but the door shuts with a deafening bang.
The flat is silent. Ariel can't even hear the ocean — can't see it from the shuttered windows. The fridge in the kitchen makes a low hum, but the kitchen and living room are one open space, making it feel more — free — less claustrophobic, like Ariel had felt in the bedroom. The back hallway where their bedrooms are has always felt cramped, always felt too dark, too tight. Ariel stares into that darkness, now, waiting to see that insidious face peek back out, but there is nothing. Ariel can't even hear her father in the bedroom.
It's then that Ariel realizes the deafening silence is far worse than that insidious voice she'd heard. It's like the world itself has come to a standstill and the only thing that exists is Ariel — alone — alone with her thoughts and the knowledge that something very bad is happening. The waiting feels like an eternity, each heartbeat amplified in the silence.
Then there is a loud bang, a thunderous crash that shakes the whole flat. Ariel immediately gets up — only to find that she can't. Her heartbeat thumps to an entirely new rhythm of panic as she struggles to lift herself up, but she can't — why can't she get up —
"Dad?" she shouts. "DAD!"
She thinks of the floor shaking as her father's body hits the floor. That was when Mum had turned, knelt down and pressed her forehead to Ariel's — listen to me, darling, listen to me —
Her father doesn't answer now either. The awful silence is back. It's within the silence that some rational, logical part of her brain tells Ariel that he must've put a Sticking Charm on her wordlessly.
Ariel's panic doesn't register as logical thought. It overwhelms her, leaving no room for anything but dread.
Then, suddenly — a creak. The noise cuts through the silence like a knife through butter.
Her father comes back looking — different. He's sharper, more severe. His eyes are glittering with something unspoken, something dangerous.
He stops — looks at her. The light in his eyes flickers from a distance, like it's been buried at the bottom of a well.
"Did you —?" Ariel tries to ask, but the silence swallows her words.
She studies him, at his stiff posture, the barely hidden emotions flashing in his eyes. His shoulders are hunched, shadowed in the dim light from the wall sconce. A line of sweat has gathered on his brow, trickling down past his sharp cheekbones and staining his nightshirt. His fingers clench and unclench around his wand, knuckles white as bone against the dark wood.
"Hush," he says — commands. It really sounds like he's said "shut up."
Ariel shrinks back, the acrid taste of hurt welling up in her throat. He's never spoken to her like that before. Not even when she accidentally sent his favorite book of potions flying across the room because she was trying to do wandless magic. She can't ever think of time he's ever really been cross with her. The most he'd ever shown was mild annoyance, but he'd never shown any sort of contempt — not like this. Even if Mum and Dad had been fighting, he'd always been very careful to make sure Ariel never heard any of it.
Neither of them speak for a long moment. Ariel can feel her father's gaze burning into her, like he's trying to see through to the other side.
"There is nothing there." Dad says quietly, but his voice is somehow still so loud in the silence that follows.
She wants to start screaming. She feels it welling up in the back of her throat, that awful face all she can see —
"No," Ariel finds — it's all she can manage. "No."
"I took apart that blasted closet splinter by splinter," her father's voice is growing, a force that threatens to consume her. "There is not a shred of magic in it, not a trace of anything insidious or dark lurking within. No specter, no ghost, no —"
"I saw it, Dad!" Ariel cuts him off, her voice rising. "I saw it! I spoke to it!"
His face hardens, eyes now a deadly calm. He is silent for a moment that stretches, his gaze unwavering.
"You didn't even ask me what I saw," Ariel goes on, wiping furiously at her face. "You don't even know — how do you know it's not there when you don't know what it is?"
Her father takes a deep breath, his grip still tight around the wand. "Fine," he concedes, his voice like the creak of an old door. "Tell me what you saw."
Ariel hesitates, her mind scrambling to make sense of it all. "It was — I can't really describe — but it was trying—" she stutters, struggling to find the right words, something that'll make him see.
But then Ariel decides on something, and before she can realize it's the entirely wrong thing to say, it's too late.
"It was pretending to be Mum." Ariel says.
Ariel's heartbeat is her only companion in the silence. Her father's face drains of all color, his body swaying slightly as if buffeted by an invisible force. His grip on the wand slackens, and for a moment Ariel fears he might collapse.
And then the light inside his eyes goes out completely. His eyes are cold, dead stars.
"I knew I shouldn't have told you anything," Dad swells with anger. "I knew you weren't ready."
Ariel is — stricken. She feels like she's had a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. "Dad, I —"
"You had a goddamn nightmare." he snarls. "I knew you couldn't handle the truth, even a mite of it —"
He doesn't believe her. He doesn't believe her.
"That," Ariel strangles out. "Was not a nightmare."
"There is nothing in your closet, Ariel, not even a stray ball of lint."
"I know what I saw!" she shouts.
The lights in the house flicker, then, her magic pulsing around her fingers, her wrists, up her elbows and across her chest. Magic arcs from her fingertips, and the air shimmers with a raw energy that is palpable. The bookcases shake, windows rattle in their frames, and the coffee table starts to lift from the floor.
Dad lurches forward, his eyes wide and fearful for the first time.
"Stop," he rasps out — panic floods his face, but the light is still gone. "Stop — the trace —"
"It was in there, pretending to be her!"
"Be still," Dad hisses. "And listen. You had a nightmare — night terror — you can call it what you like, but you are safe. I swear it. There is nothing in your blasted closet!"
Ariel tries to settle — pulls everything back in, and it hurts a little bit, but her father is close enough again that Ariel can grab at his sleeves and make him stay, make him listen, because something is wrong —
"It — it knows things," Ariel says. "It said that you have secrets — that you've done things. It thinks you've done something."
Her father's face goes pale again, and he looks away from her, his hands jerking out of her grip. "That's enough," he says, but his voice wavers. "You know nothing — that is enough."
"I don't," Ariel tries desperately. "But that thing does!"
Her words hang in the air, heavy and true. The images — that face — flicker unbidden through her mind, conjuring a chill that has nothing to do with the creeping winter outside their windows. She's not sure how she's supposed to ever sleep again, after this.
Her father scrubs a hand down his face, looking strained and weary. Beneath the stark light, his age lines are drawn deeper as though etched by a sculptor. He runs his hand through his hair, dark eyes flickering back towards Ariel.
A sigh, both of relief and defeat, escapes him as Dad leans heavily on the coffee table, settling down at the very edge so that his knees knock against Ariel's.
"Here is what is going to happen," he says in a very, very dangerous voice. "We are going to close that blasted door — we are going to seal it. Then, you are going to go back to bed. You are going to close your eyes and count the sheep or whisper a prayer or whatever it is that fills your head with sweetness and light, and tomorrow, we will forget about this."
Ariel stares at him. "You really don't believe me."
"For fuck's sake." Dad snarls. Mum had a swear jar for him. It was a galleon for every swear, two for every f-word he said in front of Ariel. Before Halloween, they'd had nearly sixty saved up.
"I'm not going back in there." she whispers. "You can't make me."
"It's past midnight. I'll give you Dreamless Sleep."
"No — no way." she shakes her head wildly. "No."
"This is not a suggestion." Dad says flatly.
Ariel glares wildly at him. She shifts — tries to see if the Sticking Charm is still there. It's not. If he tries to make her go back in there, she'll run — she's small, but she's quick, and the front door is just to her left, just past her father. Or maybe she could lock herself into the study — but she's got no magic —
Like Dad has read her mind, he sighs — stands. "Sleep here, then. I will leave the lights on."
"Stay," Ariel pleads, then commands: "Stay."
She's not sleeping. She's keeping watch — and she's watching Dad, too. That thing didn't just disappear — Ariel knows it — but she wonders, a new kind of fear twisting her stomach in knots, how her father didn't find it. Where had it gone? Had it jumped out her window? No — it'd been locked, and if it's broken through, her father would definitely have noticed.
She's not just going to let her father waltz back down that hallway, though. Even if Dad doesn't believe her, even if he didn't find anything himself, it's not safe.
Ariel curls her knees up to her chin and lowers her head to them. She says none of this — she says nothing.
Dad glowers at her. The anger has started to dissipate, and now he just looks uncertain — but that cold, frigid thing in his eyes still threatens to swallow Ariel whole. His hand stretches towards her — then he recoils quickly. Ariel tries to ignore the way her chest clenches at this.
He lowers himself into the armchair across from her, dims the lights just a bit. Ariel jumps at the shadows that stretch out before her, but there's nothing in them, this time.
The hallway stretches into endless darkness. Her bedroom door is still open.
Ariel's watch begins.
Ariel doesn't sleep. No one is surprised by this.
She leaves the ancient telly in the corner all night and waits until dawn, until her eyes are burning from the strain. Nothing happens again, but when she finally tears her eyes from the hallway, she swears she can hear something skittering on the ceiling — or maybe it's the roof — but it fades away and a light rain picks up instead.
Then Ariel sleeps until the afternoon, if it can even be called that.
Her dreams are vivid and relentless. Bright, green light and flashes from below where she stands. Ariel's back in her old bedroom, only this time she's alone when the body hits the floor and the footsteps approach from the stairs. She frantically looks around for a hiding place when she surges for the closet, only to see a hand curling around the door —
A summer storm is really and truly brewing when Ariel peels herself from the couch, the telly low in her ears. At some point, Dad must've brought her pillow and blankets in, because she's cocooned herself in a ball — a nest, even. Ariel wonders if she's doomed to never get a good night's sleep again, after this.
Her father has been banging around the kitchen the whole time. He's been up since dawn, doing Merlin knows what, but when Ariel finally drags herself over, Dad is bent over the counter, staring out the window at the churning waves.
The gate at the back of the house, slightly ajar, rattles gently in the wind. Dad's broad shoulders are as still as stone, his normally smooth hair is a matted mess — its grease seems to gleam in the morning light. He's yet to look at Ariel, yet to say anything.
Ariel shifts her weight between her feet uncomfortably. She wants to lean into his side and wrap her arms around him, wants to say she's sorry — for what, she can't really figure out — for worrying him, maybe, but there's another bigger, another festering part of Ariel that wants to start screaming and never stop.
She decides on a middle ground. Ariel takes a hesitant step towards Dad and glances at the stovetop. "Tea?"
The word is magic — Dad thaws. He moves slowly, mechanically, until he's facing her fully, arms tight across his chest. He looks horrid, his face gaunt, but then again, Ariel probably looks ten times worse.
He sighs.
"Sit," he orders, his voice rough — worn. "You look like death warmed over."
Ariel does so, too exhausted to argue. Dad grabs the kettle and puts the water on. She watches, squirming uncomfortably in her seat, until he walks to her side and lifts his hand to her forehead again — he's checking for another fever.
"I'm not sick," Ariel scowls.
"That's what you said last time."
"I feel fine."
Dad tilts her head up to look at her. "You are most certainly not fine."
No, she's not, but she can't say that — not now. Ariel's eyes glaze over, not really seeing the stern gaze of her father but staring past him at the chipped and stained wallpaper. Her silence seems to hurt him more than any words she could have said, because his hand lingers on her cheek a moment longer before falling back to his side.
The kettle begins to whistle and Ariel watches as Dad pours boiling water into two mugs. He sets them down on the table and sits across from her.
They stare at each other.
Ariel wraps her own fingers around her mug, feeling the warmth seep into her skin. It's comforting and familiar, a tiny tether anchoring her to reality as her pulse quickens. Ariel watches as the steam rolls off the tea, clouding around Dad's face as he studies her.
She studies him back. Beneath the thick layer of all-consuming fear over that thing in her closet, there's another level, one that boils and burns below, wanting out. It wants to ask more questions, because that thing had known stuff about what had happened — whatever things Dad doesn't want to tell Ariel, doesn't want to remember, and Ariel knows — she knows it was to do with You-Know-Who and what happened on Halloween — maybe even the Prophecy — that thing had mentioned it all like it should've been obvious. When Ariel tears herself apart from the fear, for the few, brief seconds she can manage, she is furious that she doesn't know more. She doesn't know if it's — if it's lying or not.
Dad sets the mug down. His nails scrape against the ceramic in a calculating rhythm. Ariel blows on her tea and tries to steady her breathing. Why is it so hard to talk to him, all of a sudden? It had always been so easy — he'd drop everything to listen to her, before Mum had died. Now, it feels like talking to her is part of a prison sentence, or something. There's such heaviness in his voice, in his face, in the way he carries himself. It's like there's anchors trying to drag him through the floorboards.
"While you were asleep, I went through your room in its entirety." Dad finally says slowly, leaning forward a bit. "I'm telling you this, because I want you to understand that you are safe. There is nothing in the walls or the floor or in your sodding closet."
Ariel doesn't answer immediately. She sips her tea instead, letting the warmth wash over her tongue and down her throat. It's bitter — Dad always forgets sugar — but it does little to dispel the chill seeping into her bones.
"I know what I saw," Ariel says quietly.
Dad looks like he wants to rip his hair out. He inhales — exhales — three times, and Ariel can feel the tension rolling off him in thick waves.
"I am not denying that you saw something." he grinds out. "It's whether that something was real that I am not convinced."
Ariel doesn't know what to say — how to make him believe. So she says:
"It thinks you owe something — to You-Know-Who."
He looks like she's struck him, the firm, immovable mask cracking on impact. Even something in his eyes seems to shatter, the fallout inevitable.
It comes in the form of him getting up. He slams the mug down, scrapes the chair with so much force it nearly tips back, and stalks back to the counter. His shoulders hike up to his ears, his arms spreading across the faded and stained countertops. His fingers curl into them, scraping against the butcher block and Ariel feels — wrong. It doesn't feel right to have brought it up, but that thing had wielded it like a sword, swinging it around Ariel's head, just enough to make her worry but not enough to cause any actual harm.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Ariel says quietly.
A moment passes without words. The whistle of a distant boat horn echoes through the kitchen, carries through the silence and makes it seem even more elongated. She knows what she heard — what she saw in her room — what had come for her there. It was not a figment of her imagination. It's as real as her father's disbelief and the pain etched deep into his face.
"Dad," she starts after a moment, her voice catching in her throat. She clears it and tries again, "Dad, it wasn't just a dream."
His back is still turned to her but she can see him stiffen further at her words. She bites down on her lower lip until she can taste metal under her tongue.
"It's using her face," Ariel whispers. "It's —"
That's enough to snap Dad out of it. He whirls around, and the rage in his eyes strikes Ariel like a whip. He's always been a towering figure, but right now, she feels smaller than she ever has under his gaze.
"Enough."
The slam of his fist against the countertop punctuates this, the sudden movement causing Ariel to flinch back in her chair. A knick-knack, a tiny porcelain angelfish, falls over from the impact and shatters on the floor. Dad doesn't even seem to notice.
His face is bone-white and his mouth is set in a harsh line. His eyes, though — they're different now — pained and scared and furious all at once. It's a look Ariel has never seen before.
"You don't know anything about it." his voice comes out as a low growl, like an animal backed into a corner. "You saw nothing because there was nothing to see. And if you think for a moment —"
He stops himself abruptly, his chest heaving as if he had been running.
Ariel watches him, her heart beating painfully against her rib cage. She feels cold all over, as if a frigid wind somehow found its way into her heart.
"It's just a nightmare." Dad says finally after a long silence. It sounds more like he's trying to convince himself rather than her. "A nightmare."
Then he does something strange — he starts cooking.
He storms over to the fridge, pulls it open so hard that a magnet falls off the door and clatters to the floor. He doesn't pick it up. Instead, he yanks out a carton of eggs and sets them onto the counter with a deliberate, jarring thud. The smell of frying butter starts to fill the kitchen as Dad cranks the stove up high and slams a pan onto it.
Ariel watches as her father moves around the kitchen with fury in every step. Each movement is sharper, louder, more like a shout than anything else. She finds herself instinctively pulling away from him, her chair scraping back across the tile, but equally dumbfounded.
What is happening, Ariel thinks to herself, what is HAPPENING —
The end product is scrambled eggs cooked to an ugly brown and toast so burned it might crumble to dust under her touch. It looks like something out of an apocalyptic cookbook, barely recognizable as food.
"Eat," Dad says finally, holding the plate towards her like an offering or perhaps, a commandment.
She shakes her head — stuffs her hands into her pockets to hide how badly they're trembling. "No. Why don't you want to —"
"We're not discussing it anymore," Dad says coldly. "Eat."
He sets the plate down a bit too forcefully. Ariel doesn't even look at it. She's — she's —
"I'm not hungry." Ariel says blandly. She gets up from the chair. "I'm going down to the water."
Dad doesn't say anything, doesn't even glance her way again. It's like Ariel isn't even there.
She finds herself wishing she wasn't.
Ariel spends the next three days on the couch. She doesn't enter her bedroom once during that time, doesn't even glance in its general direction.
Dad doesn't stay with her after the first night. He goes back to his own room, but he lingers later and later every night in his study. He's been holed up in there since the initial incident, doing Merlin knows what. Ariel doesn't ask — can't find herself to try — and so she resigns herself to watching and waiting for that thing to come back and get her.
But it doesn't.
The flat is as it always has been. Granted, it's old — not like their home in Godric's Hollow, but it's rickety and full of holes and cobwebs, the floor dusty and stained in spots, but it's light during the day, gold like honey in the sunlight. The nights are warm and quiet, the only sounds being the distant noise of the waves and the occasional rasp of a turning page from Dad's study. The flat begins to feel safe again — it feels normal.
It's the only thing that does.
Even with the sunlight that dances through the musty windows, Ariel can't stand to be inside longer than she needs to. She goes down to the water every day and trails the shoreline and starts to memorize the little things about it. She finds herself wishing she'd done it more, because the past gets harder and harder to remember these days.
Ariel feels herself washing away with the waves, back to a year ago, back to when everything had been normal — even her closet. She tries desperately to remember something — anything — about their situation and how it had ended up with a madman breaking into their home and murdering Mum — because of a Prophecy.
(Because of her)
When Ariel tries to go over that night, Ariel finds holes in her memory, finds it fragmented and distorted, but even with those gaps, the screams — her mother's, her own — echo in her head. There are moments when she's so lost in thought that the gulls' cries sound too much like those distant echoes and she freezes in her spot, her breath coming out in ragged gasps.
She can remember the pleading — both from Dad and then Mum — to her. You-Know-Who cracking through the door and more pleading — please not Ariel please I'll do anything —
Dad pretends to not notice that things aren't — good. Or perhaps he truly doesn't. He hasn't been himself these days, either. When he does emerge to join her for meals, his face is as pale as the ceramic dishes Ariel's asked to clean up. His eyes no longer shine with their old intensity — they're dull and listless, like a ship adrift at sea. Every morning, breakfast is ready by the time Ariel gets up, although it tastes nothing like what it used to. There's always more than enough for both of them — as if to make up for everything else that's lacking — but she never sees Dad eat.
And then one day, that thing comes back — but not in the way Ariel expected.
It starts with the waves lapping at Ariel's ankles. She's so lost in the rhythm of her skipping stones, the old lullaby of the sea, that she barely notices the small increase in pressure against her legs. The sea is insistent — she feels it pull at her jeans, seep into her canvas shoes, soak up into her socks.
"Alright, alright," Ariel mutters to the sea. "I'm going."
The tide is coming in — which means dinner. It'll be dark soon, and Dad doesn't let her wander around after dark without him.
Before she leaves, Ariel turns back to take a last look at the water. The sun is setting now, dyeing the sky all shades of pink and orange and red — it paints the water in its reflection. She looks back at the flat to find that she's not alone — or rather — her existence is finally being remembered again.
Dad's watching from the kitchen. Normally when Ariel catches him, he looks away and pretends like he doesn't notice, but today, he holds her gaze. Ariel takes a step forward, still knee-deep in the brine that is beginning to churn with an evening energy, the water's surface transforming into a thousand shifting mirrors of the glorious sunset.
Ask him why he keeps you locked away in this house —
I know the agony that claws at his soul —
— he let her die —
A terrible, gnawing thought has taken root inside her — it's a small one, but it whispers like the thing in the closet did. It's eating her up from the inside, lapping at her conscience like the waves at her ankles.
What if it was right?
What if Dad was hiding something awful?
There was no doubt that Dad was hiding something, still. He'd admitted as much when he'd told Ariel about the Prophecy and You-Know-Who. Dad has always been twitchy about the War, but something had shifted — around July, just before her birthday. Mum and Dad had been more on edge, and there had been less visits from Remus and James and Professor Dumbledore. They'd been part of something — the Order, that's what Mum had called it. Dad didn't like to talk about the War, but Mum had fed Ariel little crumbs, stroked her hair and told her that there were people who wanted the world to change in a terrible way, people doing terrible things and that they were part of the fight against them.
"That's why we have to be careful, Ariel," Mum had whispered, her eyes sad but fierce. "Daddy and I, we're fighting so you don't have to."
But Dad was still fighting — and he was doing it alone, now.
Ariel suddenly feels very small, standing there with the sea tugging at her feet and the waves echoing her father's distant grief. She thinks again of the thing in the closet, its whispers that carried weight she didn't understand. Maybe it was best that she didn't.
She holds Dad's gaze like it's something precious now, and gives him a small wave.
And he waves back. It's a mechanical gesture, unaccompanied by emotion, but it's a start. Ariel finds herself smiling — really smiling — for the first time in days. Maybe everything can go back to how it was before. Maybe the thing in her closet can be forgotten. It hasn't been back since — maybe Dad scared it away.
She begins to march back, the damp sand squelching under her shoes, the sizzling twilight reflecting off the sea and onto her water-speckled face. The salt-laden air fills her lungs as she breathes in deeply — savors it —
It's then that Ariel notices something emerging from behind Dad.
It slithers out from the shadows with a nauseating grace, like a cottonmouth emerging from a snake's jaw. The thing spirals upwards, hunched and amorphous. Its white eyes somehow glitter, like fluorescent light bulbs, catching the last dregs of the sun and reflecting them back in a sickly yellow-green hue. It leers at Ariel, revealing a gaping mouth lined with what could only be described as teeth – if teeth were jagged and irregularly shaped, sharp as rusted razors. The bone-white face, the mangled, auburn hair —
Dad is still standing there, looking at Ariel, seemingly oblivious. He glances down to turn on the sink — Ariel can see it from here — and that thing is following behind him, like it's about to —
"DAD!" Ariel screams, but her voice is swallowed by the wind and the lapping sea.
The thing lifts its arm and extends it towards her father. The end of it shimmers slightly, morphing into something almost human — almost like her —
She stumbles over the uneven sand, desperation fueling her limbs, but she's too far away — too far to warn him. It moves with a malignancy that makes Ariel's skin crawl, and she wants to burst out of her body and fly through the window, scared out of her mind —
That's when it turns to look in her direction — smiles right at Ariel. It's the smile she's been waiting for. This is where her heart might've given out, but it can't, because she can't.
Ariel takes off.
She kicks up sand as she bolts, launching herself forward, willing herself to be closer than she already is — and it seems to work.
Ariel throws herself through the front door, sending it slamming against the wall. Her chest heaves as she searches wildly, finding her father standing in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, and a slippery shadow disappearing down the hall.
Dad looks amused, almost — maybe he thought she was running to meet him — but all traces of it leave when he catches the look on her face — hears the door ricochet off the wall —
"What the hell are you doing?" Dad snarls.
Ariel's eyes are wild, heart pounding in her chest so fiercely it threatens to burst.
"I saw —" she gasps, but the words refuse to come, trapped in her throat like stubborn marbles.
He doesn't seem to understand. Of course he doesn't. Dad's eyes are wide — suspicious — his posture stiffening as Ariel falls silent. But she has no time for this — the house is too big, there are too many places it could hide. Maybe it's already gone. Maybe she hasn't lost the opportunity to save him. Ariel wants to turn around and see if it's behind her — that thing with its sickly, distorted grin — but she can't bring herself to do it.
That thing who has the nerve to pretend to be her mum —
Ariel doesn't wait for Dad to respond before turning on her heel and racing down the hall, ignoring Dad's shout behind her. She throws herself down the hallway and into her bedroom for the first time in days, violently shoving the door open. The creek of the hinges followed by the slam against the wall echoes through the hollow halls. Her breath hitches at the sight before her. Everything is exactly as she left it — eerily familiar — unnervingly familiar.
She glances at the closet — its wooden door invitingly ajar — as if beckoning her to look inside. She moves slowly toward it, heart thudding like a war drum in her chest. She half expects to see that thing hiding in between her clothes, watching through ghoulish eyes.
But there's nothing. Just row upon row of jumpers and faded Muggle jeans hanging limply on metal hangers. A wave of relief washes over Ariel, but it's short-lived — her inexplicable dread swiftly returns.
And then it's replaced with fear as her father's hand gnarls itself around her shoulder and whirls her around to face him, teeth bared and eyes wild.
Ariel wheezes and throws herself around him.
"It was following you," she pulls at his sleeves, straining to make sure there's nothing behind him. "It was right behind you, I saw her."
"What in Merlin's name has gotten into you?" Dad demands. "Goddammit, Ariel —"
"Nothing! You won't listen to me!" Ariel's words are punctuated by the snap of fabric as she clutches at his shirt. "It was here — I saw it through the window following you around!"
His gaze is steel, disbelieving, the lines of his face hardened into the stern mask he wears when he thinks she's spinning tales. It's frustrating and terrifying all at once because this isn't some made-up ghost story or a prank gone wrong — this is real.
"We have been over this," Dad says in a low, dangerous voice, his fingers flexing around her arms as she pulls at him. "There is nothing here, Ariel. How many times do I have to tell you before this gets through your thick skull?"
The words sting like a whip against Ariel's skin. The undercurrent of frustration, the simmering anger in his voice — it all echoes in the hollow pit of her stomach. His eyes glare at her like a stranger would.
"You think I'm mental, don't you?" Ariel asks, her grip slackening. "You think I'm making all of this up."
"I don't know what to think anymore." Dad bites out, but something akin to guilt edges in, clouding his anger-fringed gaze. "You've never acted like this before. I'm waiting for the moment where you finally come to your senses, but you keep insisting on this — I don't even know what to call it."
Tears prick at the corners of Ariel's eyes, but she holds them back fiercely. She doesn't want to give him another reason to believe she's losing it.
And then she does just that, because something catches her eye.
Ariel can see the silhouette figure there at the end of the hall, back in view, faceless and formless yet eerily familiar. Its shadow cuts a chilling form against the pale wallpaper. It starts forward jerkily, like it's about to charge —
She shrieks.
That's the last straw, for Dad. He picks her up and sets her on the bed. Puts his face directly in front of Ariel's.
"I want you to listen to me," his hand wraps around her jaw — squeezes — keeping her head locked in place. "And I want you to listen well. This is the final time I will say this, and you will not like what happens if I am forced to speak of this again. Do you understand what you're doing?" Dad's voice trembles with a strange mix of rage and pain as he spits out his words. His hand catches her chin, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "Do you realize how monstrous you sound?"
The room goes very still, the only sound being their harsh breathing echoing around them and the distant ticking of the hallway clock. He releases her then, standing over her like a tower that's lost its strength.
Ariel feels like all her insides have been scooped out. And in that very moment, Ariel sees him — really sees him — and the sight scares her more than the shadow at the end of the hall. Her gaze drops to her father's large, calloused hands — hands that once held her when she was scared of imaginary monsters under the bed.
But now Ariel knows that monsters aren't just in her dreams — they're everywhere.
And they're not imaginary — and they're not going to dishonor the memory of her mum.
"I'm not lying," her voice is barely a whisper but holds an undeterred resolve. "I don't care if you believe me or not. I'll prove it."
Ariel decides right then and there. From that point onward, a quiet resolution settles in her heart.
Dad can't see whatever that thing is — but she can. And she's not going to waste time figuring out what it is — no.
Ariel is going to kill it.