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Journal of Secrets: Chapter 2. Wanted to post second chapter |
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Chapter 2.
Seeing you for the First time 1849
Nobody.
No one could understand her, especially not her parents, or older siblings. She was most definitely unique and darker than most people alive today. Although she was only fifteen, she possessed a brain that took place in the average twenty-one year old in college. Meagan was in the ninth grade, so of course she would be praised for her hard work and commitment. But did anyone really understand her?
She sighed, and walked down from Horror Hill, smelling the musky scent of something that’s been here for a long time. But everything had been there for so long. Even her journal that she had gotten when she was only ten was thriving on Horror Hill’s surviving method: homicides. So why was the scent so strong today? Usually replaced with the smells of a growing rose vine, Charlie’s Oak Tree, and the smell of fresh scent, was replaced with the musky scent. Meagan shivered. She knew what it was. But why would that surprise her? Perhaps she was scared because she was just sitting on that hill a few minutes ago and was rushing down the hill, and now she suddenly smelt the smell of a rotting carcass. Nice.
She ran the remainder of the hill down, and headed for the first house she could find.
She took a black, run-down cottage, and knocked impatiently against the rotting wood, waiting for anyone to answer. Meagan took a deep breath when she heard someone walk down the stairs slowly and painfully. Meagan cringed. Elderly. Ugh.
The door opened with a slight creek, and then a old lady peered from the crack, her eyes brightening with fright. No words were necessary. She already knew what happened. She let Meagan in, and quietly and crossed to the telephone in the corner.
“Have a seat dear,” she gestured to the smoky couch in the corner, and I obeyed.
“Hello,” her voice was cracking, and Meagan had a hard time following her words as she spoke to 911 as her voice kept drifting a tone up and then drifting below to inaudible
.”Yes, there has been another murder on High Top. No, I don’t know who the victim,” she nodded. “No, I wasn’t up there. No, but a young lady was and she just came to my house to tell me. Yes, she’s sitting in my living room… Of course. Hold please.” The lady looked over to me, as I stared wide eyed across the table and stared at the moon through her window. Beautiful, perpetual darkness… Meagan sat up, walking to the phone, her moves graceful and young as she leaned against the wall like she had had this conversation billions of times in one week… Which, in fact, she did. This would be the two hundred and tenth murders. She tightened her lips into a tight line, and answered the cop’s questions…again.
“Hello. My name is Meagan Anne Singer. Yes, you have talked to me many times,” Meagan slouched, and fingered with her hair as the old lady went to work in the kitchen for coffee, she assumed. “Same reason why I was there last time,” Meagan answered the cop’s question, staring out into space, counting every day she had been there when another murder had taken place… Over 210 murders then. Wow.
“I go up there for alone time, sir. You wouldn’t believe how incompetent my family is.”
“But I don’t think that’s very safe, ma’am. You could be convicted of the murders.”
Meagan snickered. “They have no proof that I killed the imperfect humans. That I was willing enough to do it for the fame. Sir that is just plain ridiculous. Think things through before you say something.” Meagan answered dully, breathing in a quick breath when she saw the old lady peak through the kitchen/living room doors to ask if she wanted coffee.
Meagan smiled politely and nodded. “High Top Hill. Jeeze. Same place as last week.” And then she hung up, joining the nice old lady. She needed a new name.
Wrinkles covered her entire body, but she was skinny, her once soft blue eyes had hardened over the times.
“My name is Meagan Anne Singer, daughter of Joseph and Karen Singer. Sister of Matthew and Linda Singer,” Meagan introduced herself.
The aged lady smiled. “My name is Amelia Benjamin. I knew your father. Great man, he is.”
She nodded, although Meagan didn’t believe that crap.
“You don’t believe me.” It was a statement, not a question. Meagan decided to fess up.
“Nope,” she said dully, as she watched Amelia look down into her cup of coffee that Meagan hadn’t noticed.
The lady shivered, and Meagan watched at her, not comprehending. Then she realized. Was she cold?
“Miss, are you cold?” Meagan asked her incredulously.
She shivered again, but no response. Meagan stood up, and walked over to her. “Amelia, answer me!” Meagan shouted. She never did have much patience with the elderly.
“I am not going to sit here and wait for your reply. If you do not reply, I will leave at once,” Meagan said, stern as if she was talking to a young boy who had just stolen a cookie before dinner.
Still, Amelia didn’t respond, but she did stop shivering and stared straight ahead, as if no one was with her. This got to Meagan pretty quickly. “Goodbye, Ms. Benjamin. Thank you for your hospitality,” Meagan said through her teeth, and stalked out of the kitchen and into the living room to try to leave.
“Wait! Meagan, I am so sorry,” the lady was trying to catch up with her, but her legs were too slow and weak.
“No, Ms. Benjamin. I should go home,” Meagan sighed, and clutched the handle of the door.
“No, you mustn’t leave. What if the killer is out there?” She asked her eyes bright with fright.
“Then I’ll welcome the darkness.” Meagan simply replied.
“Miss-” she started, but Meagan cut her off with a wave of her hand.
“I do not care, Ms. Benjamin!” Meagan whirled on her. “Why weren’t you responding to me?!” Meagan looked around the room, her eyes frantic, tears clouding her vision. She cursed under breath, she was trying not to cry.
“I am so sorry,” the lady finally made it towards Meagan, her eyes colored with fear.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I…I was thinking...”
“Thinking about what?” Meagan spat.
“About-“
“I don’t care what you were thinking! I want to know why you decided to give me a heart attack!”
“Sit, this is important.” Her voice overpowered Meagan, and Meagan trembled, her mind blanking for a second.
“I thought you were dying, just then,” Meagan whispered.
“Quiet the contrary. I was living. And I’ll be living for some odd years until I finally decide to die.”
Meagan looked at her incredulously, then she burst out laughing. “You cannot decide your death. You cannot decide how many years you live. You cannot outlive God’s decisions! You will die when God wants you too, Amelia. Unless you’re talking about eternal damnation, that is.” Meagan stopped, and looked at her the tears dissolving in her eyes.
“Again, quiet the contrary.”
“Contrary? What? God’s decision? Eternal damnation?” Meagan asked her.
She gestured to the couch, the old brown one that Meagan had just been sitting on, and then sat on it, with a puff of anger.
“Explain, old lady,” Meagan said looking away, at the clock in the corner as it rang for 12 midnight. She sighed and began listening to the lady’s babbling.
“Eternal damnation isn’t quiet the word for it, but it can be. I guess you could say I am damned, and that is why I will not allow myself to die to live in Hell’s pits.” She waited for Meagan’s reply, but she seemed too bored to care.
She continued. “There’s a trait in this family, one that will keep my body living longer than it’s destined time, that I possess. I am over two hundred years old.” This caught Meagan’s attention.
“Excuse me?” Meagan said, trying to hold back the laughter. “When were you born, lady?”
“Please call me Amelia Singer, granddaughter.”
“Again, excuse me?”
Amelia ignored her. “I was born December 14th, 1637 on a gloomy night on a gloomy family home. To the first Singer family ever.”
“We aren’t the first?”
“You, aren’t, no. I am. Professor James Benjamin married me, and therefore I lost my name. and no one has ever lived with this type of trait. Benji died some 100 years ago.”
Meagan again looked bored. “I do not believe that, old lady.”
The lady stood up. “Someone in your family will possess it when I die. If someone else gets this trait because you will not accept it, it could end up in the wrong hands.”
Meagan looked at her for the first time all night.
“I do not want it, Amelia.” And then she stalked out of the house and into the cold night of October.
 Deceased Poet · Wed Sep 24, 2008 @ 12:53am · 1 Comments |
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