Nothing Special

Chapter One

I slid down the wood frame with salty tears streaming my face. No, no it couldn’t be. I had to find him. He would tell me what was wrong with me. I saw things that shouldn’t be seen by such a child.

The eyes. His eyes. Pure white and cruel. Who was it? Why were they after me? I sobbed into my skirt crumpled on the floor. I had to find him. He would know what to do with me.

My parents thought me mad, and I possibly was. My lungs hurt and the ghost remained in my thoughts. I had to find him. He would save my sanity, the sanity that had to be returned to me.

The cruel and twisted grin, and his echoing steps coming toward me, a bloody knife and hands. Reaching for me and a laugh that shook my limbs with cold air. His transparent skin, he was dressed finely, yet, he was gory and cruel.
His laughter filled the hall behind the door. He was coming back, he was coming back! I crawled for the bed and hid with the dust bunnies. Don’t find me, I prayed. Don’t find me. My quiet sobs shook me and I lay as flat as I could, so as not to fill the frame with shudders.

He walked through the closed-door and laughed. “Here little Lacy. Here sweets.” He laughed.

He knew my name. I didn’t know his. He was coming for me. Where were my parents? I knew they had to be back from their party. They had to save me.

This man would go away if they came for me. Where were they?!

He seemed to glow in the dim moonlight that escaped through the drapes and I just wanted him to fade away. He had to, I was mad. I was mad. He wasn’t there, and yet, I was terrified of my imagination.

My sobs increased and I hoped that he would just leave. Just leave me alone. Go away! Go away!

He stepped towards the bed and I forgot to breath. Go away. Just go away. He stepped closer the knife glinting red in the faint light. He came closer, almost to the bed.

His laughter shook the floor, or maybe that was me and my sobs. His feet were right in front of my face. He was an inch off the ground but, he was there. He was coming for me. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. I cried to myself. He couldn’t find me. He couldn’t.

His hand, drenched in red, reached for the bottom of the frame. No! I cried out silently. The bed was ripped upward and I bolted for the exit. I grabbed the doorknob and rattled it. No… no, the door was locked. I turned to face him.

He reached out and grabbed me by the neck. “YOU.” His gruff voice echoed softly. “You are the reason why.” He stated. I struggled to breath.

His white eyes glowed and he pulled me up and hit me against the wall. I gasped and let out a strangled cry. My small hands grasped at his large hand.

I could see the floor through his thick arm. I whimpered.

“You will pay for what your mother has done to me…” He laughed and let me fall. I crashed into a glass table and screamed. The shards of glass flew everywhere, and his laugh, his laugh was everywhere. It echoed as he faded. I struggled to stand.

His laughed echoed as I limped to the door. What did I do? Who was he? What had my mother done?

The door eased open and I crawled out of the room. I collapsed in the hall, the glass in my back stung and so did my tears. What had I done?

Everything started to become fuzzy. I heard a terrified scream and everything shook. Darkness filled my sight. I lost all feeling that I had left, and sobbed as my mothers’ gentle hand touched my forehead.

She spoke, not that I understood what she was saying, her cool vocals filling my unease. I heard her say, “He’s come back.”

My mind made the connection instantly. Though my fogged mind was slowing I knew who “he” was. I knew what I had done, I had been born.
I could hear murmuring in the distance in my slowly turning mind. I figured it was my parents and the doctor. I hoped my pain would be gone when I awoke. I didn’t feel anything at the moment, but who knew what I would feel when my eyes opened.

The ghost lingered in my dreams. His words repeated over and over again. He would be back, he would find me where ever I went. I could feel it. I knew that I was in danger. Or completely insane.

“You have to help…” Mothers voice.

“Yes, there has to be something you can…” Fathers voice, hard yet, comforting.

“I can’t… I would if I could but…” That isn’t the doctor.

“Please you’re the only one with experience with this…” Mother’s melodic chime voice, she’s crying.

“I… I can’t…. there isn’t…” He can’t be who I think it is. Or is it?

I listened harder. I was fading between conscious and unconscious awareness.

“Who can help her… if you can’t then…” Father was shouting. I could see his reddened face and his angry fists to his sides.

“You don’t understand.” I had tuned in just in time. I could feel the pain, not all of it though, I could just feel it creeping into me slowly.

“Mr. Carpetine, who else in Vermont could help us? You are the only one! Please,” Mother was begging him. Wait, Carpetine? “Don’t you have a daughter? We have to help her. Help us get rid of our ghost! Please! You’ve done it before!” My mother was sobbing.

Carpetine, I knew who it was! Horace Carpetine! He was the ghost photographer! He was who I was looking for! He had to help me!

I willed myself to awaken. I had to speak to him, he was my only chance. The one chance I had of sanity.

“You have to help her! We’ll give you money! We don’t have much but we’ll do anything! Just help our Lacy!” Father had reverted to begging as well.

“I don’t want your money…” Horace replied quietly.

“What do you want? We’ll give you anything!” Father replied.

My struggled to awaken had finally given way. I opened my eyes and turned to see him, Horace Carpetine.

“Daddy?” I asked quietly. I lay in my bed, my eyes slowly fluttering open.

“It’s okay honey, we’re going to find someone to help you.” Father knelt next to my bed, he ran his fingers through my sweaty, chocolate locks. “It’s okay.” He planted a kiss on my forehead.

I turned my attention to Mr. Carpetine. “I-is that…?” He was tall, with brown hair and had a very clean shave. His hazel eyes gazed into mine, I could see a gloomy feeling across his face. It was foggy and I couldn’t really tell what he was sad about.

“Yes Lacy, this is Horace Carpetine. Say hello.” She squeezed my hand with her gentle hand.

“Hello.” I smiled weakly. “Mr. Carpetine, I love the photos you’ve taken. I see them in my friends’ houses and in the shop too. I wish I could take photos like you.” I took a shaky breath.

“Thank you Lacy. I’m glad you feel that way.” He smiled back. How naive I was. I wanted to know everything he knew about this other realm. This other world where spirits resided.

“She has a camera of her own. It took most of our money to get her one. She used her own money for half of the sum.” Father explained. Turned to my closet. “She set up a little studio in there.”

I tried to sit up. “Would you like to see my photos Mr. Carpetine?” I set my feet on the floor. Mothers features twisted into a frown.

“No! Lacy!” Her voice rang out like bells. “You mustn’t-”

“Let her show Mr. Carpetine her work. This is important to her.” Father interrupted. Mother sighed and left the room with Father.

I wrapped my small hands around Mr. Carpetine’s blackened figures. “May I show you?” I asked.

He smiled. “Show me the way Miss Lacy.” I must have seemed like a foolish child. My photography was probably not all as good as his, but who knew what he would see in my potential?

I opened the closet door, and switched on the light. I had painted the lantern’s shade red. This way the photos wouldn’t be damaged.

“Very impressive.” He smiled. I gave him a shy smile in return.

I picked up the first photo I had taken of my parents. There behind my Mother, was his angry face. Just a shadow in the background.

I handed the black and white print to him. “Do you see him?” I asked in a small voice. I pointed to his white eyes. Mr.Carpetine shuttered.

“I do. When did you notice he was there?” He asked. I wondered if I was like him. A ghost photographer.

I quickly took out the most recent photo of Mother. He was standing in the background, a gray figure, a bloody knife and hands.

“When I saw the turn out of this one, I looked back at all the other photos I had taken.” I explained softly. “I thought I was seeing things, but he was in every single photo I had taken of my mother.” A few tears escaped my eyes. “I didn’t know I would let him out.” I whispered hoarsely.

I began to cry, my face in my bandaged hands. As I leaned forward, I could feel a tare in my back. I shot back into a straight position immediately.

“Come here Lacy, you need to lay down again.” Mr. Carpetine cradled me in his arms, and switched out the light as he left my studio. He placed me in my bed and tucked me in.

“Mr. Carpetine?” I whispered almost inaudibly.

“Yes Miss Lacy?” He replied looking down at me.

“You’ll make him go away, won’t you?” I asked. His eyes clouded over. This might be a hard decision for him. It was scary messing around with ghosts.

“Yes. We’ll figure it out. I promise.” He patted my head and left the room. The door closed and I slept a shallow and troubled sleep.

Chapter Two

I walked down the stairs, tiptoeing, hoping that if I were quiet, he wouldn’t find me. He liked to torment me when I left my room in the early mornings.

I knew I shouldn’t be out of bed when my parents were asleep because they couldn’t ward off the ghostly images. I also knew that if I woke my father before breakfast he would have my head.

I just needed to find another book on photography. Just a book from the study. That’s all I wanted, that could be justified couldn’t it?

I peered down both ways of the hallway. I couldn’t see a soul. (Thank goodness that was literal.) I reached out for the shiny brass door knob.

A cold hand brushed my neck and I jumped three feet into the air. A yelp gasped from my mouth and I turned, afraid of what I would find.

“How do you do little lady?” The servant boy, George asked bowing slightly.

“You’re truly horrible.” I placed my hands on my hips and glared.

He smirked. “What are you doing out this early in the morning? Aren’t you afraid of that ghastly man coming to get you?” He teased.

I stretched out my arms and pulled up my sleeves revealing all the bandages that covered the gaping holes in my skin.

The blood that had bled through had turned a brown and I winced at the movement that it took to pull the sleeved up farther.

“These, are what I got from running from that ghastly man.” I whispered coolly. “Be glad you haven’t met him.”

George looked at me stunned. I turned on my heel, letting the long sleeves slip back to my wrists. I opened the door to the study and tiptoed onto the softly carpeted floor.

I looked to the giant shelf, housing the most perfect looking books I had ever seen. Red, blue, and green spines encased in golden bands stared down at me.

It was pure bliss looking at them. I looked for the correct title. Where was my book?

I tapped my finger along the spines reading the contents of each. Soon my black book came into sight and I snatched it from it’s perch. I smelled the pages as I flipped to the next page of me bookmark. What was this chapter about?

I looked down at my book as I walked through the study door and closed it silently behind me. My reserved footsteps traced the carpet as I continued down the hall.

George was no where to be seen.

Good riddens. I thought to myself as I sat down in the parlor to read.

I was used to the silence that filled the house in the morning. Though it was still unsettling. It was almost as if I was alone. I knew I wasn’t, but that fact didn’t keep me safe.

A prick of a thousand needles filled my left arm and I dropped my book to the floor. Shock waves of pain hit me every so often because of my new injuries. I breathed hard and suck in the pain.

I clutched my arm and curled into myself. The pain would be gone in an hour, I could sit it out for now.

My breathing became shallow. It was hard to keep the foggy edge out of my mind. The line between complete consciousness and falling into the dark waters of sleep. I wanted to stay dry and alert. I wouldn’t take the medication.

I hated it. I hated the feeling of it slithering sown my throat, I hated the dark impression it left on my dreams. The pain I felt now was a small price to pay for what I knew was coming.

He had been coming more frequently. There was something I had to do.

I muffled a scream into a pillow and bit my lip. I couldn’t think through the pain. I had to surface the boiling pot of metal that was devouring me.

The needles became newly made swords, fresh from the fire.

A reasonable voice in the back of my head reminded me that the pain would cease after only a few minutes of the swords. I could take it for a few minutes longer. Just a few measly minutes.

The burning pang began to smooth out. Slowly, it became needles, a strange prickling sensation and then nothing. I breathed hard just laying where I was for a few minutes.

I lived through it like I had before. I didn’t need the nasty purple liquid. I would be fine. Perfectly fine.

I sat up and picked up the book and rereading a few things before moving on. Breakfast would start soon and I wanted to finish the chapter before I was called to the dinning room.

Chapter Three

Mother looked at me sternly as I sat down for lunch.

“Yes?” I asked wondering what she was angry about.

“Did you take your medication this morning when you woke up?”

Oh, so that was it. “I don’t need it.” I replied simply.

Stupid pain killers.

“Yes you do!” Her voice went up a pitch as she continued to speak to me.

I blinked and tried to pull a poker face so that I wouldn’t smile as Mother yelled at me. She was angry with me and I couldn’t imagine why. The pain was manageable. It’s not like I screamed into the night because of the pain, there was another reason.

I had nightmares. Not only did he haunt me in my waking hours but in my sleeping one as well.

I had two choices: wait for the actual ghostly man to come to get me, or dream of his return and what he could possibly do to torture me further. I chose the nightmares. In a way, I was safer in the fake pain and tears than the actual threat.

The pain killers only made the dreams worse. The more I took the more gruesome the nightmare. The less I felt while awake, the more I felt as he killed me over and over again in my dreams.

I’d rather see my death a million times over than watch him glide through the door of my bedroom, come to hurt me again . . .

“Do I make myself clear young lady?” Mother’s musical voice echoed in my ears.

“Yes Ma’am.” I was used to blocking out her anger. She never meant what she said, she was always sorry for yelling at me. I just decided not to listen anymore.

Mother was flustered, like an angry bird who had just told off a squirrel because it had gotten to close to her nest. It was hard not to laugh when she puffed out her rosy cheeks in anger. I would have to laugh later.

Yet again I tried to compose my face so that she wouldn’t have anymore reasons to be upset. I didn’t need her yelling anymore than the pain killers.

Mother settled a bit and looked to her food. She continued to eat and I sighed. I guess she was done talking to me for now. I could understand that. She was angry and needed to cool off. A trait I knew I had inherited from her.

I had also inherited her green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. It wasn’t hard to identify us as related. Though some thought my mother to be my older sister. It was always funny to be asked such a question.