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dracimalfoy1988292 · 3 years

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(ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 12: ʙᴏʏ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍs)

"Holy hippogriff," Valentine groaned, clutching her head tightly with one hand and her stomach with the other. She struggled to sit up, midnight sky shining through the window, basking the blonde in rich moonlight, shadows casted along her face.

She carefully made her way to the bathroom, grimacing at her reflection. "Son of a snitch," she commented.3

Heavy bags had replaced the clear skin beneath her eyes, smeared lipstick stained her mouth, mascara clouded on her eyelids.

Working as hard as she could, Valentine scrubbed last nights makeup from her face, leaving her skin pink and shiny. Then she moved on to the birds nest she called her hair, blonde strands standing array and frizzy from how she had slept.

She decided on a quick shower, cleaning the extreme stench of mead from her skin, the orange shampoo exploding in flavors of tropical islands. When Valentine had finally succeeded in cleaning her body and combing her hair, rather than dressing in her robes, she put on a fresh T-shirt and shorts, still having three hours before classes, which she decided to use for reviewing notes.

She carefully tread back across the room before grabbing her papers from the bag and climbing soundlessly into her bed, pulling the yellow covers over her legs, which had erupted in goose bumps from the cold atmosphere. Valentine leant against her pillow, back of her head resting on the bed frame, nimble fingers sifting between multiple sheets of parchment as she searched for the correct one.

Valentine sunk lower into her covers and pulled the comforter over her head, setting her belonging on her chest.

"Lumos," she muttered under her breath, and as light stained the tip of her wand, she grabbed the notes with one hand and put her wand in her mouth with the other.

Valentine's honey-toasted eyes scanned the writing, drinking in new information.

History of Magic: Rome and Greece

Roman wizards and witches did not remain the heroes of Rome forever, however. By 451 B.C., magic was curtailed by Roman law. The Twelve Tables of the decemviri legibus scribundis forbid harmful incantations and the use of magic to move a neighbour's crops to one's own field.

The Romans were a little less lenient about magic than the ancient Greeks, however they were still a very deity-centred society, so most magic still passed unnoticed.

To the ancient Greeks, it was quite important that citizens honour the gods. If something abnormal or bad happened, it was usually blamed on the wrath of a certain deity, when, actually, it was a person of magical blood being less subtle than normal. Because most everything out of the ordinary was blamed on the gods, witches and wizards had an easier time blending in with the Muggle population in ancient Greece than they did in the European Middle Ages, when witch-hunts were quite popular.

Valentine rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn. Removing the covers from her head, she took notice of the sunrise peeking through the clouds, flooding in and soaking the environment with rays of warmth. Orange and pink light glowed brightly through the windows, making the familiar yellow dorm appear more golden like a pile of jewels.

Valentine shuffled upwards and sat up, glancing at the sleeping forms of her friends, Macey snoring lightly from her bed, causing Valentine to crack a grin.

Valentine turned to her right, checking the alarm clock to see she still had an hour and a half before classes. Knowing breakfast would begin in fifteen minutes, she decided to go ahead and get out of bed, dressing in her everyday robes and shoes, though she wore an extra layer to protect her from the bitter winter weather.

With breakfast starting soon, Valentine opted to leave the dorm, muttering a soft 'hello' to Frank Longbottom as she passed him on the common room couch.2

When she finally entered the Great Hall, two hands clamped on her shoulders and pulled her to the side, just outside the doors.

"Who is- oh. It's you," Valentine muttered, averting eye contact with Celia.

"Valentine, I wanted to...." the girl paused and Valentine turned to look at her, seeing Celia's dark hair pinned back into a long braid, her green eyes bright and cheeks hollow in the morning light. She had on a guilty expression, though her eyes bounced back and forth, scared someone would come across the Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

"Well?" Valentine inquired impatiently, foot tapping against the corridor stone floor, her eyes hard.

"I wanted to apologize."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to, Celia. It's Macey," Valentine corrected, and Celia nodded.

"I know, and I plan on doing so. I just wanted to explain myself to you, Valentine. You must understand that my parents are pureblood and extremely prejudiced against muggleborn witches. If they were to learn I associated myself with someone like you, it could be dangerous for the both of us. I really do like you and Macey, and I enjoyed our time together, but it would be best if we went back to never talking."

Valentine nodded thoughtfully. She would never want to be responsible for Celia to be punished or banished from her family.

"And Macey? She's a pureblood, surely you could at the very least be friends with her? She's taken a liking to you, I suppose it can get a tad boring just the two of us."

"For Macey it's... it's different. I wouldn't expect you to understand, but while she's pureblood, she's not of the sacred twenty-eight. And either way, you're both Hufflepuff. I'm a Slytherin. But maybe we could plan to hang out in the bathrooms? Or the deep corner of the library in the evening?" Celia proposed hopefully, biting her bottom lip,1

"That's quite selfish of you, Celia. I understand you need to maintain a reputation for your Slytherin buddies, but just because I'm a Hufflepuff doesn't make me any less of a person you are. If you want to be friends, you cannot hide like you're ashamed of our friendship. If you ever come to your senses and decide to grow up, perhaps then we can be friends. Until then, good day," Valentine rushed out, and the hope of Celia's face washed right off.

Valentine managed a small smile at the girl before she proceeded into the dining area, deciding she'd sit with Lily, being that mostly everyone else was asleep.

"Good Morning, Lily. Is it alright if I sit here?" Valentine asked as she approached the red head, gesturing to the seat across from her.

"Morning, and yes, please," Lily responded cheerily, looking up from her plate of fruits and toast.

Valentine slipped into the bench, grabbing a plate of her own as she ignored the dirty looks she received from others for sitting at a table that wasn't her house.

"Say, Lily, I've been meaning to ask you something," Valentine started as she piled a Belgium waffle and orange slices onto her plate. Then she began to top the crispy waffle with maple syrup, the thick substance glistening as it evaded the pockets on the breakfast bread.

"Yes?" Lily asked, intrigued as she leaned forward expectantly.

"Well, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, and if you don't feel like answering that's really okay, I was just wondering how long you've had a crush on Remus."

At my words Lily completely froze, her mouth open and fork halfway to her mouth. Her emerald eyes widened, and her cheeks immediately flooded with a pink blush the color of strawberry candy.2

"I-what? No-I really," Lily stumbled frantically over her words, having been caught red handed. Her face was impossibly bright, nearly the color of her hair, and her eyes moved anywhere besides Valentine's.

"Lily, it's alright. I won't tell anyone... if they haven't realized it yet."

Lily pursed her lips and took a long sip of Pumpkin Juice, attempting to ease her jumbled nerves.

"Is it that obvious?" Lily spoke quietly, scared someone would hear and reveal her secret.

"No, I'm just really intuitive! But if you don't want anyone to know, maybe don't stare at him so long. Or jump at any chance to be with him. Or-,"

"Merlin's beard, it really is that obvious!" Lily called out in distress, burying her face in her hands as Valentine tried to contain a smile at her cute behavior.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed of, Lily. Remus is a great guy, and he's not hard on the eyes, either," Valentine giggled, and Lily finally showed her face again, this time a small grin in her lips.1

"Besides, I think he totally fancies you too," Valentine reassured her, taking a generous bite of her waffle, the golden delight dissolving in her tongue in a flurry of maple and butter.

"Really? What-why would you think that?" Lily stuttered.

"He gets just as flustered around you as you do him. And it's adorable, really, because when he looks away you look at him, and when you look away he looks at you. Imagine how cute your babies would be, too!" Valentine gushed, and Lily looked down in response.2

"But I don't think anything will ever happen," the red head sighed.

"And why do you say that? Because his best mates in love with you?"

"Exactly! While I have a strong disliking for that arrogant toerag, I would hate to break his heart by dating one of his best friends. James can be awfully mean sometimes, but he isn't all that bad," Lily exclaimed.

"Lily, I know you don't see James romantically, and I know you don't want to hurt him, but holding back on someone you really like is only going to hurt you, and that's not worth it. If James truly loves you, he'd want you to be happy, even if it wasn't with him. But if you're going to make a move, at least let James know."1

"So poetic, Valentine," Lily chuckled. "But thanks. Really. In fact, no one knows about my feelings for Remus, but it was really kind of you to offer your advice."

"You don't have to thank me, Lily. This is what friends are for," Valentine brushed her off.

"Well, thanks anyways. Now I'm intetested, is there anyone you have your eyes on, Val?" Lily asked while she raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, no! Course I think there are some real attractive guys around, but I've barely had any interaction with them."

"And what about that Ravenclaw lad you spoke about during our Hogsmeade trip? What was his name? Brett?" Lily insisted, making it obvious as she turned her head to peer at the Ravenclaw table.

"Well don't make it so obvious, Lily!" Valentine hissed, and the said girl spun back around quickly. "Besides, we've only ever spoken once."

"But do you fancy him?"1

"Blimey, we've only spoken one time!" Valentine repeated. "Sure, he's attractive, but-,"

"Well that's all that matters, then. He's fit, your fit, go snog!" Lily announced proudly.10

"Galloping gargoyles! Lily, if it were that simple you and Remus would've shagged ages ago!"

Lily gasped in outrage, lunging across the table and clamping a firm hand against Valentine's lips, preventing the girl from saying anything else.

"Whmpf? I onwy staid he twoof," Valentine struggled, her words incoherently escaping her lips, until she finally gave up. Lily, although watching closely, slowly removed her palm from the Hufflepuff's mouth.

And the two reviewed any boyfriend candidates for Valentine the rest of breakfast, laughing all the while.

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[HR] The Laughing Man

Part 1

“Tell me about the hallucinations?”

Dr Krishna surveyed me from over the top of his golden-framed spectacles. His mouth was curled in a barely concealed smirk and, as he awaited my response, he placed the tips of his fingers together to rest them against his lips. On his left side a nurse from the ward sat with pen poised over note paper, her usually kind eyes considered me with a very serious expression. I found it difficult to look at either of them for any length of time. Instead, my eyes roamed over the off-white walls where someone had scribbled nonsensical ramblings in green crayon. I could hear the faint, distant sounds of someone loudly protesting the withholding of their medication and, across the room, I caught a glimpse of a blank, staring face watching our proceedings through a tiny square window on the door.

I couldn’t believe I was back.

Dr Krishna cleared his throat, gently but persistently. I sighed and forced myself to focus on his smirking face. I hadn’t slept right for weeks and I could feel the brewing of a stormy headache on the far horizon of my brain, stoking my irritability. The interview room had no source of ventilation and, as a consequence, an uncomfortable, claustrophobic heat had begun to encroach on our personal space. I hated that damn room.

“What happened on the first night?” Dr Krishna prompted, apparently fed up with waiting for me to pull myself together.

I took a deep breath, considered how much I should say. In the end, I told them everything.

It had all happened within a single week. I spent the entire night following my exploration of Hingler’s Way tossing and turning in bed, simultaneously yearning for sleep to come while dreading what horrors I would see when it did. Even in just the darkness of the room I could see the terrible, bloody face of a chained girl gaping back at me. Finally, I gave into my body's persistent protests and decided to get up for a while and use the bathroom. Maybe even sneak downstairs and watch some TV to try and distract myself. I stepped out of my room and crossed the dark hall quickly, pushing through the bathroom door and hitting the light. I was, momentarily, blinded by the sudden explosion of white against the darkness and, when I managed to blink my way past it I saw him.

He was perched on the sink, unfeasibly tall and thin and sneering at me with a wide-eyed grin that could have been misconstrued as pure joy at my arrival. He had a long, yellowy face and a spindly moustache framing dry, cracked lips and he wore a dark red suit and top hat. I knew he couldn’t be real but, somehow I couldn’t convince myself of what I already knew. I had frozen, my limbs rendered useless as my insides squirmed, erratically.

“It’s not real,” I whispered to myself.

“Hoho!” the hallucination laughed.

I thought my heart would explode. They had never spoken to me before.

“Hohoho!” he chuckled with pure, unbridled glee, slipping off the edge of the sink and baring over me. I hastened to leave, stumbling back into the hall, I told myself that I just needed to get away from it and I could calm myself down. Then he lunged after me. He was chasing me, laughing his horrible laugh as he did. I totally lost my mind in that moment and began to tear across the hall, whimpering as I did. I slammed my palm against every light switch I encountered as I hurtled downstairs. When I chanced a glance behind me I expected my pursuer to have vanished but there he still was. Running, no, scuttling along behind me, laughing a hearty chorus of anticipation as his long, sickening legs jerked and jumped across the floor.

“Hohoho!” he sang as I watched him begin to descend the stairs. He paused for a moment at the very top step and swayed on the spot, still smiling like a maniac. Then he began to violently vibrate his way down each step, his whole body twitching and jerking like a tortured spider.

“HOHOHOHOHOHO!”

My parents found me the next morning, sat rigidly at the kitchen table. I couldn’t tell them what happened because I knew they’d take me back to the hospital for sure and I couldn’t face that, not when things had been going so well. So I told them I had been sick all night and couldn’t sleep. My face must have looked as wretched as I felt because they suggested I stay home from school that day, which I eagerly agreed to.

It wasn’t over though.

The thin man had stopped chasing me after I escaped to the kitchen but, even at that, I spent most of the night hyperventilating at the table while his face appeared around the doorway at regular intervals, grinning but no longer laughing. That wasn’t the last I saw of him either. Over the next few days I kept up the illusion of sickness so that my parents would keep my home while I wandered, nervously from room to room, tailing my mom in her movements as she went about her daily chores. Every now and then he’d appear from around corners and I’d have to hold back the helpless crying that would lurk at the back of my throat, burning the roof of my mouth and threatening to burst forth.

It wasn’t until I started hearing the voices again that I realised I had to get away. School seemed unbearable in my current state of anxiety but any kind of distraction was preferable to the hell I was currently trying to evade at home.

I returned to school that following week a complete mess. The bags under my eyes were nothing compared to the darkness in my face as I glared at every student I crossed, just daring them to make some kind of mocking comment. I did my best to avoid my friends usual break spots, knowing that Lou would be with them. Thankfully we only shared a few classes together so I had until Geography, fifth period, to work out what I was going to say to her. I managed to avoid conversation with Emma in History by turning up just after the bell and rushing out right after the class. As expected, I couldn’t avoid them forever and it was during lunch break that Caleb found me hiding at the bike racks.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, concerned, as he sat next to me on the fence. “I tried to text you all week. You haven’t been answering.”

“Broke my phone,” I lied. I had buried it at the bottom of my sock drawer, switched off.

“You ok? Been having...some...turns?”

I scowled at him.

“No, dammit. Not everything in my life is about me being mental, ok?”.

Caleb withdrew and I felt a pang of hatred towards myself. I could be a real bitch sometimes.

“Sorry,” I muttered as a voice in my head hissed at me, telling me that this is why no one likes me. “I’ve just been feeling like crap all week. Haven’t slept much.”

“It’s ok,” Caleb assured, giving me a little, one armed hug. My stomach did a back flip as he did and I was so, pathetically, grateful for the affection I almost grabbed onto him. I had always had a bit of a soft spot for Caleb, a schoolgirl crush. I knew my feelings didn’t mean much beyond him being one of the only guys to give me any kind of attention at all but his allure was enough to convince me to join the others for lunch. I walked alongside him, across the grounds, preparing myself for when I would have to face Lou, at last.

I tried as hard as I could to focus on the sound of Caleb’s voice as we went, but it was so difficult over the maniacal laughter I could hear coming from all around us. My palms began to sweat and my heart beat, angrily, against my chest as if protesting against my dishonesty. I thought I was going to breakdown there and then, I really did. Caleb even stopped me and held onto my arms, staring into my face he seemed to be asking if I was really ok, but it was like listening to someone speak underwater. I was on the very brink of telling him then. Of telling him everything.

There was an explosion of sudden sound and I jumped feeling like a hook had wrapped around my hips and jerked me back to reality. I saw the shock in Caleb’s face and knew the sound wasn’t one that only I could hear. I spun round to see Lou’s dad bring his patrol car to a sudden halt in the car park just across the grounds. He blared his horn once again and I realised he was waving at me, trying to get my attention. My stomach sank. Lou had told him. I was sure of it.

“What’s going on?” Caleb asked, confused.

I didn’t know how to answer and I could only stand where I was as Lou’s dad climbed free of the vehicle and began to march across the grass towards us, ignoring the sniggering and muttering of the other kids that had gathered to watch. I thought there was nothing else that could possibly go wrong that day until I saw my mom running along behind him, hurrying to catch up. I hadn’t noticed her own car parked just a few spaces down from his.

“Something’s happened,” Caleb murmured, ominously.

“Where is she?” Lou’s dad barked at me from still a few feet away. His face was red and his eyes bulged, madly. “You best tell me now, missy, or it’ll be worse for the both of you!”

“Leave her, Eddie!” my mom, finally, caught up and I could see that she, too, looked distressed. She jogged around Lou’s dad as he glared at me with a seething expression.

“Honey,” my mom said, calmly, reaching out at me. “Have you heard anything from Lou today?”

I stared, blankly at her, unsure of what was going on. Lou was, most likely, sitting at lunch with Jason right now. I was spared the need of having to explain this by Lou’s dad, who appeared at my mom’s side.

“Spill it, missy!” he snapped. “She was out with you last night. Where did she go after that?”

I shook my head, dumbly. My mom frowned.

“Eddie, I already told you!” she sighed, exasperated. “Lou wasn’t at our home last night and my daughter was not out. She’s been sick all week for God’s sake.”

Lou’s dad didn’t seem to know what to do with that. He glanced back and forth between the two of us, fighting some unseen battle.

“She said she would be out with you,” he finally managed, pointing a pudgy, red finger at my face. “She said you two were going to the movies and she’d be home at 10:00. You must know something!”.

Desperation had taken over anger and I, suddenly, saw that this display of rage was not his usual show of power. He was worried. Sickly worried.

“I haven’t spoken to Lou all week,” I, finally, managed to croak. “What’s happened?”

“Oh honey,” my mom soothed, pulling me towards her in a hug as Lou’s dad shook his head, hopelessly, and ran his hands through his hair. “Lou didn’t come home last night and her parents are a little worried. They thought she was with you but I already explained...”

“I don’t understand,” I gushed, pushing myself free from my mom’s embrace.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious!” Lou’s father snarled. “She’s vanished! Lou’s missing!”.

The rest was a blur but I put the pieces together later when I spoke with Caleb, Jason and Emma again. Jason hadn’t met Lou that morning like he usually did because he was running late and he had no way of telling her because they thought it was too risky for him to text in case her dad ever looked through her phone. When Lou hadn’t appeared in her Physics class with Jason and Caleb, they assumed she was home sick, like I had been. Meanwhile, it seemed Lou’s father had sat up all night waiting for her return only to call my mum when she didn’t. After being told Lou had not been to my house he drove around the town looking for her, finally choosing to storm over to my street to confront my parents in person. After my mom explained that I hadn’t been out of the house for a week, Lou’s father had insisted he would be asking me about that and jumped in his car before my mom could stop him. I explained all of this to Dr Krishna in a flat, monotone voice.

“So, you were dealing with a large amount of stress at this time?” Dr Krishna asked while the nurse scribbled, furtively, across the note paper.

I nodded, staring, lifelessly, at his red leather shoes.

“But you still didn’t tell anyone that the hallucinations were back?”

A shake of the head this time, purposefully from left to right.

“Why?”

I almost laughed. It was a question I asked myself over and over. I tortured myself with it, berated myself through long, sleepless nights.

“Because I’m an idiot,” I admitted, quietly. “Because I thought if I just ignored it...I was still taking my meds. I thought if I could just distract myself they would go away again.”

“But your medication had been significantly reduced because you had been doing so well,” Dr Krishna argued, gently.

“I’m not saying it makes sense,” I sighed. “I was being a selfish idiot. I had panicked and I was digging myself into a giant hole.”

Dr Krishna nodded, pleased with my reasoning. I had to refrain from rolling my eyes with great difficulty.

“So,” he said, stroking at the black bristles on his chin. “The hallucinations were back, almost worse than before, and you were attempting to cope with them on your own. So, what led to you coming back to us in the end?”

This time I did laugh; it was a humourless snort of derision.

“It was all about Lou,” I explained in a wavering voice. “I was sick to death with worry about her. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Then I started to get the letters.”

It was like it had all just happened yesterday. The events following Lou’s disappearance were so clear in my mind, so fresh and aching like a wound that refuses to heal, like a scab that got picked away with each mention of her name. That first day back at school was my last for a while. My parents were worried about the effect of Lou’s disappearance on my mental health (boy, if only they knew) and they were keen to reduce as much stress for me as they could, considering the circumstances. While they took turns taking time off work and helping Lou’s parents and the authorities in searching for her around the town, I retreated to my bedroom where I would curl up under the blankets and weep. It was pathetic. Looking back on it I can’t believe how much of a pitiful mess I was. I knew I ought to tell someone about what happened in Hinger's Way and each time I worked myself up to the task, all it would take was the soft sound of squeaky shoes on the hall floor, the scratching of many feet scrabbling along the wood and the faint ring of mocking laughter to dissuade me from going any further. The laughing man was never too far away. I had never experienced such a persistent hallucination before; they usually varied in some form or another. Often, as one of my parents gently pushed through my door to ask how I was doing, I would see his joyous face leering over their heads, the smile becoming more and more deranged each time with soft slivers of drool trickling from between yellow, pointed teeth.

The worst days were when both of my parents were out of the house. I could hear the laughing man moving around from room to room, gently knocking on walls and whispering through them. It was one Saturday evening, while my parents were helping in sticking up posters around neighbouring towns, that I heard the unmistakable sound of the post box opening and closing. I glanced up from where I usually buried my face in my knees and strained to listen for anything else. There was the gate swinging close, the heralding creak of the rusted hinges as the wood slowly flew back and hit against the latch with a “clunk”. I glanced at the clock positioned above my door and saw that it was almost 8pm. Hurriedly, I jumped up from my bed and raced across to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was responsible for leaving our gate unlatched but the street was silent and still as always, the only sound to permeate the sleepy hollow was the repeating creak of hinges as the gate swung, peacefully, in the passing wind.

Someone looking for my parents, maybe? Or perhaps a leafleteer just doing a final round before heading home. No, it was a Saturday night, unlikely that anyone would be going door-to-door leafleting at this time. But then who could it be? Why would they rush off so quickly? Where they trying to avoid being seen? Maybe it was a potential robber scoping the place out before he planned his hit. The paranoia crept over me so stealthily I could barely feel its pincer-like grip begin to grab a tight hold of my reasoning. I was suddenly very nervous that my parents would return soon and find the gate swinging open and wonder who had been round and maybe they’d find whatever was slid through our post box? Maybe they’d get worried and call the police and maybe the police would figure something wasn’t right. Maybe they’d start to wonder why this anxious couple’s only daughter had shut herself away from the world. Maybe they’d have questions to ask. Questions that might lead to concerns about the girl's cognitive abilities.

I know, I know. It makes no sense, whatsoever but while I was pacing the small patch of floor available in my room it made all the sense in the world. I suddenly felt like I was seeing things clearly for once. That everything had just fell into place and the only way to avoid this horrible turn of events that was surely about to unfold would be to run downstairs and retrieve whatever propaganda that had just been delivered. I hadn’t realised how much I had been sweating until I turned to face the door and saw the thin streak of light that usually shone beneath it blocked by a dark shadow. The laughing man was on the other side, I just knew it. He had been waiting for his moment and now it had come. There was no other way, though. As I, slowly, approached the door I felt reminiscent of my ascent into Hingler’s Way. The rapid heartbeat, the sickly stomach, the yearning to turn and run somewhere far away from this impending horror. I turned the handle as slowly and carefully as I dared and as the mechanism slid back as far as it could go, I took a deep, painful breath and threw the door open.

The dark hallway took me by surprise. I thought the light had been on just a short while ago.

“You’re losing it,” a wavering voice told me. “You really are on the path to crazy town.”

I shook my head, gently, as if to dislodge whatever disembodied source was whispering in my mind. I turned and glanced left and right down the hall. Nothing. The house was resting, sleepily. I swallowed, hard, attempting to salve the aching dryness in my throat with saliva. Wherever the laughing man was he was never far away. I just wanted to get downstairs and back again as quickly as I could. I allowed myself one more safety check to the left and right before bolting along the hall and flying down the stairs. I could see the mystery mail laying on the soft welcome mat my grandma had made us. I felt a rush of delight at my success as I took it up in my hands and then turned to run back.

The laughing man was standing at the top of the stairs.

I felt an unpleasant tingling in my fingertips as I stared at him. The sudden, sharp jolt of fright that had wracked my body lasted only a second before the familiar weight of dread submerged it. He could sense my dilemma; I was sure of it. While he continued to sport the same humourless smile there was something new to it. A kind of desperate hunger that shone in his wide, pulsating eyes. He was breathing heavy; I could see the exaggerated rise and fall of his shoulders as he sucked in each breath between the gaps in his grin and the flare of his nostrils as he let it back out again.

“Hoho?” he made it sound like a question.

“Don’t,” was all I could say in return.

He didn’t listen. As his skeletal frame came flying towards me, seeming to glide over each step, he rallied his approach with a deafening, “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I screamed and ran to my previous haven in the kitchen, my hands fumbling, clumsily, as I pulled myself around the kitchen table. I didn’t wait to see if he followed but kept running straight through the door and into the downstairs hall where I fell against each side of the lining walls, slamming my shoulder, hard in my retreat. I tumbled through the next door and back into the living room. As I vaulted the sofa and almost collapsed on my landing I wondered, furiously, why I hadn’t turned on any lights. When I reached the stairs, I began to climb them like a frantic puppy, using my hands to pull myself up and over each step.

“HO-HO-HO-HO-HO-HO!” the laughing man bellowed from just behind each time my hands landed on a step.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” I screeched as I, finally, reached the upstairs hall and scrambled to get back on my feet. I reached out for my bedroom door and fell over the threshold, catching my toe on the metal lining at the end of the carpet. I didn’t have any time to inspect it as I spun, madly, arms flailing, and threw myself against my door, crying in relief as the bolt slid into the latch with a secure “thunk”.

“Hohohoooo,” came a whisper from the other side but it didn’t matter now.

I moved, shakily, back to my bed where my legs crumbled as the adrenaline left them. My clothes were soaked with sweat, my head throbbing with stress but I had made it and just in time. As I worked to control my breathing, I heard the gate creak open once more, this time barely audible above the sad words my parents exchanged as they walked up the path. I hurried to hide back under the blankets as I heard the front door open and close, the soft “click” of lights being turned on and the muted sounds of conversation.

With my back to the door, I retrieved the crumpled piece of paper, now limp in places where my sweaty palms had tainted it. I unfolded it with great difficulty; my fingers were still useless from the previous excitement. As I heard one of my parents climb the stairs just on the other side of the wall, I scanned the hastily scribbled letter with mounting confusion and panic. It was written in black ink, all capitals in a shaky scrawl:

“SHE WON’T COME BACK. YOUR TURN NEXT. DON’T TALK AND I MIGHT FORGET.”

What would you have done? Probably gone to your parents or even straight to the police. Undoubtedly, that would be the most sensible thing to do and, after many days and nights of sitting, motionless, studying the walls with a vacant stare and breathing, noisily through my nose while my brain made up for my lack of physical movement with ceaseless mental aerobics, I come to the conclusion that it’s certainly what I should have done, but I didn’t.

Instead, I lay awake all night, only half-aware of the sounds of my parents going to bed, I held the paper inches from my face, under the blankets, my faltering eyes fixated on the words “YOUR TURN NEXT”.

For the next few weeks after Lou's disappearance, I kept a low profile. The days passed at an interminable speed, the hours dragging on past regular constructs by the purveying sleepless nights. There were no leads on Lou’s location. I waited, with baited breath, as they conducted a search of the dog park and then beyond. I don’t know much of Hingler’s Way they covered, or even that Lou could be found there but the search came back with no results all the same. I started to venture out of the house more, to escape the claustrophobia that was beginning to develop in whatever small corner of my mind that wasn’t already plagued with fault. Since the letter had come, I had started to feel my home was no longer safe. That there was more to fear there than the visions of horror that crawled out of head. The weekend after I received the letter, I took it around the back of Morton’s Bakery and burned it with my dad’s lighter until the paper blackened and curled. I crushed the fragile crisps into dust and tossed them amongst the discarded boxes from the surrounding businesses. As easy as it was to dispose of the letter, the chronic anxiety remained. Someone knew. Someone, somehow, knew about Lou and I, about our journey beyond the dog park and what we found living amongst the trees. That had to be it. What other incriminating subject did I need to be warned away from talking of?

I returned to school the week after with that very thought haunting my mind. I had been paranoid at home and wary around the town but in school the structure of each day helped a little in getting me through it all. I think being around Caleb, Emma and Jason more regularly was a big factor in that. It, also, helped that the other students no longer felt it necessary to remind me of my craziness. They actually seemed to feel sorry for me, knowing that I had been close to Lou. The teachers were much more forthcoming, too. I was never called on in class to answer a question, never rushed to complete a piece of work. It was difficult to enjoy my newfound acceptance, though. It just wasn’t right with Lou not here. I was still hearing voices, too and still catching glimpses of the laughing man creeping around the corners of my house but everything seemed to be muted slightly since I burned that letter. I guess it was because I had something more major to consider now. Something bad had obviously happened to Lou and now, when there was nothing else to occupy it, my brain wandered back to the clearing in the trees where it now saw Lou, bleeding and silently screaming as she tried to escape some unseen terror, her ankle secured with a thick, iron chain.

Strangely enough, the one person I felt comfortable enough to confide in was Jason. Since Lou’s disappearance we had become closer than we had ever managed to before. We had both been so close to her in different ways and we were probably the two people who knew her best. Jason was the first to approach me on my return to school, worriedly asking how I was and what I had been doing the last couple of weeks. Since then, we usually met first thing in the morning and talked about things while waiting for the others to arrive. I hadn’t told him about the letter but I had considered it. I was worried about what I might be dragging him into if I did and what it might do to him to learn of evidence that pointed to Lou’s disappearance being sinister. Still, the subject was always on the edge of my lips each time we were alone together and as time was passing, I was feeling more disinhibited and less in control of my actions.

“Can you keep a secret,” I heard myself ask in a casual voice as we sat on the hard benches outside the lunchroom.

Jason gave me a guarded look in response.

“Maybe,” he teased. “Will I like it?”

“No,” I stated, bluntly with an apologetic smile.

Jason’s expression darkened and he turned away to stare across the grounds.

“This is something to do with Lou?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes.”

He sighed, a deep, heavy breath.

“Tell me you don’t know something?” he begged, his voice deep with repressed emotion. “Tell me you don’t know where she is?”

“I don’t,” I assured, gently. “I wish I did.”

Jason’s eyes came back to mine and he searched my face, carefully probing my expression,

“Ok,” he said, at last. “Tell me.”

I told him about the letter, I even told him about the hallucination, although I omitted most of the finer details on that. It felt good to get it all out and when I was finished, I felt as if each word I spoke had carried a little bit of that painful weight I had been carrying around in my stomach. Jason looked as if he had swallowed each one.

“You...you can’t be serious?” he said, in a strained voice. “It’s a hoax. It has to be a hoax, right?”

I shrugged. I still couldn’t come to tell him about Hingler’s Way and I had no way of explaining why I was so sure it was real without doing that.

“It might be, it might not be,” I reasoned. “It’s got me really freaked out though. I feel so...lost in all of this. What should I do? What if it is real and I tell someone and this...person or whatever comes after me? What if I disappear too?”

I could feel how awkward I was in what I was saying, how pathetic it sounded but Jason’s expression told me he didn’t think so. He seemed to be thinking, hard and I guessed he was still trying to process what I was saying. His face had gone deathly pale and even his lips seemed to be drained of colour. I waited, patiently, for him to get his thoughts together.

“Have you told anyone about this?” he asked, at last.

“No, I haven’t,” I admitted. “You’re the only one.”

“Ok.” He took another few minutes of silent thinking before turning to face me again. “I need you to be totally honest with me,” he said, seriously. “Do you know something about Lou? Is there anything you can think of, anywhere she might be now?”

I couldn’t look him in the eye as I shook my head. I should have known he would have suspected something but I wasn’t really doing well with my logical thinking of late.

“You’re sure?” Jason pressed, his voice sounding louder, more urgent. “There isn’t anything at all?”

“No,” I breathed. “Nothing.”

I was surprised when I felt Jason put his arms around me and pull me into a tight hug. I couldn’t have objected even if I wanted to; his arms were strong and solid and I could feel my chest tightening as my lungs fought for the sudden restricted source of air.

“It has to be a hoax, then, doesn’t it?” he said, soothingly in my ear. “Just some sick weirdo trying to scare you. I wouldn’t be surprised if we all get one of those letters at some point.”

He released his hug and gave me a teary smile.

“I’m glad you told me about it,” he assured. “I know how much this kind of stress can mess you up...I mean, well, you know. The “little turns” and everything?”

I nodded with an appreciative smile.

“You’re probably right,” I agreed. “Just a hoax.”

“Hohoho,” the voice chuckled inside my head.

When I got home there was another letter. This one was in a white envelope that my dad had found tucked between the slates of our garden fence. It was waiting for me on my pillow when I walked into my room. My name was printed on the front in small, precise writing. Shakily, I peeled the flap open and retrieved the single sheet inside. The writing was smaller than before but no less horrifying:

“KILL YOURSELF JUST LIKE YOU KILLED LOU.”

I dropped to the floor, crumpling the paper in my fists as tears began to pool in the corner of my eyes.

“It has to be a hoax,” I heard Jason’s voice assure. “Doesn’t it?”

“Hohoho,” I whispered as the tears cascaded down my cheeks.

Things only got worse.

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