Soul’s Hollow.
( by : Tory tallbot's )
She cradled the razor in her palm as she contemplated her next move; through the bathroom walls, her parents harsh tones bellowed loudly into the somber evening. Her eyes shifted to her other hand, in which she clutched a bottle of sleeping pills. She thought, bitterly, maybe if I take them all at once, they’ll finally help me sleep.
Her legs shivered against the icy tiled floor; beside her sat a half full glass of water, should she deem the pills suitable for causing her death. A loud crashing noise assaulted her ears as her mother’s cry of agony punctured her heart.
How many times had she tried so feverently to pull her father off her mother, while he raged in one of his violent fits of fury?Too many to count, she thought, as she traced the faint bruises spotted on her pale arms.
Another shriek pierced the air, and Charlotte - furious and fearful - bolted out of the bathroom and into the downstairs living room where she found her father looming over her mom. Her mother sat in a crumpled heap, battered and bruised while Charlotte’s father continued to shout, angrily. Irate and consumed with madness, Charlotte leapt onto her father - fists and tears flying.
“Stop it! Leave her alone, you beast!”
“Charlotte, go to your room!” squealed her worn mother.
Swiftly and with great strength, Charlotte’s father snatched the young sixteen-year old girl by her long blonde hair and tossed her to the floor like a rag doll. Charlotte hit the hardwood floor with a thump as everything went black.
Dull sunlight streamed through half-shut blinds as Charlotte was gently shaken awake. Her mother’s face greeted her - freshly decorated with a black eye.
“Sweetie, you’ve got to get up for school.”
Her head stung badly, but she rose groggily from bed and left her mother in silence as she entered the bathroom. On the floor lay her failed suicide attempts - the bottle of sleeping pills, one sharp razor and a toppled over glass of water. Hesitantly, she cleaned up the mess as she thought about finishing the job.
An hour later, Charlotte’s mother dropped her off at Willow Creek High.
Cobwebs with giant plush spiders were set up on the welcome sign, as animated pumpkins grinned evilly back at her, all along the schoolyard. It was October and Halloween was steadily approaching. All the other students talked and giggled excitedly; Charlotte glanced around, looking for somewhere to hide until the bell for first period rang. She had no friends to search for or laugh with; she was a loner, secretive and quiet, and eagerly waiting for her high school career to end.
The bell finally chimed, and Charlotte hurried to English class; almost as soon as she had pushed through the large front doors, a small group of cackling girls circled her like sharks. They grinned wickedly as the leader swatted Charlotte’s English book to the ground.
“Oh, oops! You should really get that,” chirped the malicious red-head, as her vile cohorts giggled in unison.
“Geez, Charlotte, where’d you get those rags? The dumpster?”
“Oh, my god, and that hair, it’s so flat - would it kill you to use some hairspray or something?”
Quietly, Charlotte picked up her book and pushed her way through the monstrous clique; Angie, the red-headed leader and her three followers watched her leave, as their laughs echoed throughout the busy hall.
The school day went by quickly, and before she knew it, Charlotte was on her way home - not that she was in any particular hurry. Sometimes, she considered running away - escaping it all: her abuser at home and her abusers at school. However, the only thing that kept her returning home each evening after that final bell rang, was the very woman who had brought her into the world. Charlotte could never abandon her mother, especially with that disgusting excuse of a husband she had.
If only there was a place for her and her mother to run to; a beautifully perfect place where nothing of what they knew existed.
Her foot pressed down on something soft.
“EXCUSE ME!”
Surprised, Charlotte’s steps halted as she surveyed her surrounding area; the path she took back home was usually barren, and as usual, no one else was around.
Where had that voice come from, then?
“Ugh, get off of my tail, PLEASE!”
Charlotte promptly looked down at her feet to discover a small, slim black cat gazing up at her with enormous blue eyes. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he hissed into the startled girl’s face. Quickly, Charlotte raised her foot from off of the angry creature’s tail and observed as he scurried away into a cluster of bushes alongside her path.
Did that cat just talk, she wondered perplexed; there was no one else around, after all.
Concerned that she may have hurt it, ( and that the animal had actually spoken)
Charlotte followed the black cat through the bushes and into the woods.
“Kitty, kitty. Come on out, I won’t hurt you.Again,” she swore, embarrassed.
After several minutes of searching, Charlotte convinced herself that the cat was fine, and that what she thought she heard, was most likely conjured by her stressed mind. She began making her way back to the road, when suddenly the ground beneath her feet vanished, as she tumbled downwards.
A kaleidoscope of colors began rapidly flashing and illuminated the vast hole Charlotte stumbled into; purple, green, red, blue, yellow, pink - then, after a sudden bright orange flare, darkness consumed her vision.
Charlotte’s eyes opened, and she immediately saw the moon, proud and prominent in a midnight blue sky speckled with golden stars. Thick fog enveloped her, as she rose steadily to gather her bearings.
Oh no, she thought worriedly, it’s night time...dad’s going to freak out on mom if I’m not home soon…
Taking a step forward, she yelped in surprise as she fell forward - she had walked into something chilled and hard, like stone. Turning to look behind her, she found a sizable headstone, and to Charlotte’s dismay, she realized that she had passed out in a cemetery.
But how? She should be right beside the road and - as far as she knew - there were no cemeteries nearby.
Frightened and perplexed, Charlotte began scurrying through the maze, hoping to find something familiar. It seemed like hours and hours - and she still found herself getting nowhere; she even took the time to memorize certain tombstones, and where they laid - and she always found herself right back at Ethan Jones’ monument.
Exasperated, Charlotte collapsed in a pile, with tears streaming down her pallid face; she leaned against Mr. Jones’s tombstone.
“Miss?”
A strange, deep voice floated towards her frigid ears; she frantically looked around for the speaker.
“Hello?? Hello??!” she called, panicked.
“Please don’t shout, you’ll disturb the rest of the sleeping spirits.”
Charlotte stopped, “...what? Please! I need help, I’m lost!”
Normally, Charlotte would never seek out a mysterious stranger, however fatigue and worry had overtaken common sense - she just wanted to get out of this graveyard.
“Please, calm down miss. I’m right beside you.”
Charlotte looked to her left and yelped - a man materialized out of thin air and appeared before her; his form was translucent. Shyly, the peculiar figure took his top hat off and clutched it in his hands.
“Hello. I do believe you’ve awakened me. For what reason, may I ask?”
Speechless, Charlotte’s mouth fell agape - when she finally found the ability to speak, her words came out jumbled,“W-why are you blue? And- and w-why can I see through you?! What are you?!”
The man looked down sheepishly, “Miss, you’re not from around here, are you?”
Charlotte closed her eyes, tightly,”This is not real. You are not real.”
She opened them to discover the man timidly fiddling with his hat.
Charlotte screamed and clambered to her feet clumsily; she bolted through the burial ground and far away from the ghostly figure.
She ran beneath a drooping willow, with scraggly branches - one of which plucked Charlotte by her bun. Shrieking in pain and terror, She tried to unhook the branch from her now matted hair, but the tree refused to release her.
After a few moments, it seemed to tire of her squealing and it dropped her roughly at the foot of its trunk.
Charlotte slowly sat up; her hair fell messily around her.
Except it wasn’t her hair.
The strands that fell to her shoulders were no longer blonde; they were as black as the darkest of inks. She unsteadily gripped a handful of the dark tresses and tugged on them, making sure it was in fact attached to her head.
Charlotte cried out into the stillness of the ominous night; her hair was now as black as the shadows she found herself lost in. Rising to her feet again, she began trekking through dozens of headstones and fidgety trees - some of which, she swore, tried to seize her up as the first one had done.
Eventually, and with great relief, Charlotte located the entrance to the deathly labyrinth. She sprinted through the rusted silvery gates and fell to her knees, nearly kissing the dying grass in happiness.
“Miss, may I ask who you are?”
Charlotte rose her newly dyed mop up and found the same haunting figure by Mr. Jones’s tombstone.
“What are you?! Why do you keep following me?!”
The limpid man smoothed his mustache - which curled upwards at each end - and gazed at Charlotte, thoughtfully.
“Perhaps I could help you - you did say you needed help. I do know my way around these parts, quite well. You awakened me, did you not?”
Charlotte was baffled; what was he yammering about? She needed to go home; she needed to get out of these spooky woods and away from this strange man.
Perhaps she needed to wake up.
“If what is happening, is as I imagine, then you must not be from around here. Tell me, dear. Where are you from? Let us begin there, shall we?”
The mustachioed male smiled kindly, hoping to ease Charlotte’s nerves.
It didn’t work.
Scrambling back to her feet, Charlotte bolted away from the man once more; she ran as fast as her legs could take her, panting and screaming up a small hill, and down a glumly lit path towards a town - orange lights flecked the shadowy village, giving it an unfavorable demeanor.
Voices - more like whispers - followed her as she made her way towards the center, and beneath a colossal lamppost. She clung to the structure as though its faint light was her only lifesource, as the whispers intensified. They became deafening, and it began to seem as though the voices were developing in her very own mind.
The light above her went out.
The surrounding lights diminished as well, as Charlotte found herself drowning in utter darkness. The voices cackled and giggled.
Then, silence.
Charlotte screamed.
The lights all flashed back on, dozens more than when she first arrived, and the town square became bathed in an orange tinge, as they revealed where the whispers and voices emanated from.
Those faces - things - would forever be imprinted within Charlotte’s already scarred mind.
The first one that stuck out to her ( due to her childhood phobia of clowns) was a tall, and lanky jester. He rode back and forth on a black unicycle, only feet from her as he grinned devilishly - sensing her fear. His scarlet hair came into two points at the sides of his slender face. His legs were abnormally long - as were his arms. His flesh was the color of snow, except for the lower part of his face.
Though he grinned, the skin around his mouth was missing, leaving his jaw bloody and the silvery parts around his neck stained with the crimson liquid. He flailed his lengthy arms around dramatically as he cycled before her; casually, he raised his hand to honk his plush red nose, but instead yanked it off - and revealed a sizeable hole in it’s place.
Horrified, Charlotte continued surveying her morbid audience; skeletal creatures fell from the roofs of the surrounding houses - hanging from numerous nooses, with their bones rattling.
Half rotted men and women - their flesh peeling away and their bones broken and bloody - marched slowly around her, circling her.
Howls and hisses were heard hollering around the chaotic circus, yet no animals were presently visible. Bats and crows began soaring past her, some of which pecked and plucked at her face and hair.
Ghouls began to emerge from thin air - they floated in their blue hues, just as the ghost that Charlotte first met had; some wore old-fashioned dresses and retro attire, others appeared more modern. Each of them, however, gazed directly at Charlotte.
She could stand it no more. She clenched her eyes shut and attempted to stifle the immortal commotion.
Wake up, Charlotte, she demanded in her head, wake up.
This is all just a bad dream, a nightmare. It’ll all go away, if you just. Wake. Up.
The jawing ceased.
Charlotte’s eyes flew open.
All of the strange creatures burst into mocking laughter; they halted once more as a voice broke through the crowd.
“Stop it this instance!”
Startled, the crowd glanced around and hushed their jeering; Charlotte clung to the lamppost tighter, as a familiar voice called out.
“She’s clearly quite scared. Now that is enough, so return to your homes and graves. Go on, you heathens!”
Everyone turned to face Charlotte’s savior; the same ghost she had met earlier, glided through the dysfunctional group.
The clown sneered, “Hey, Jones, it’s not everyday a human comes around these parts! Let us have our fun, eh?”
The ghost - or Jones, as the clown called him - glowered at the hideous monster,
“You had your fun, see? She’s as pale as me! She’s been quite frightened, haven’t you, miss?”
Jones turned to Charlotte, and stared at her expectantly.
Tongue-tied, she nodded uncontrollably; Jones turned back towards the audience, “See?”
The ghouls and zombies nodded, and dispersed from the congregation; the rattling bones that hung from the surrounding buildings were dragged back up into the shadows; the bats and crows chirped and twittered as they promptly flew back towards the graveyard. All that remained was the scowling clown, his features more distorted and grotesque than ever, as he scowled at Jones and Charlotte from on top of his unicycle.
Jones shot daggers at the clown, “Gutbody, quit your leering. It only adds to your...unsightly countenance. “
“Perfect,” Gutbody the Clown snarled in reply.
Jones looked down at the pale and terrified Charlotte, “Why don’t you come with me miss? I have a nice little place that’s away from the commotion. We can wait for the Head of the Hollow there.”
Dizzy and eager to evade any more thrills, she readily followed Jones towards a cozy little home, not to far from the town square. She made sure to focus solely on her kind ghostly companion, so as to avoid viewing any more unpleasantries.
They entered Jones’s house and he urged her to make herself comfortable; he smiled warmly at her - as warmly as a deadman could - and sat across from her.
“You must be wondering what a spirit like me needs furniture for. I, myself, enjoy the feeling of...mortality, if you will.”
Charlotte stared at the being; somewhere deep inside, she suddenly found the words to speak, “W-what...is this place? Who a-are you?”
Jones smiled, with a melancholy twitch, “Well, miss. It’s a long story. But I will do my best to shorten it for you. You have landed in Soul’s Hollow - a world separate from your own, but not so separate that we are uninformed of its traditions. As a matter of fact, we serve to maintain one of your most beloved holidays - Halloween.”
Charlotte envisioned each of the abominations she had seen, thus far; it all made sense - the gory clown, the rotting zombies and powder blue ghouls - the bats and crows and the cemetery.
She raised her eyes to meet his once chocolate brown ones, “Who are you?”
Jones tugged at his mustache, “I am Ethan Jones. But you may call me, Ethan, if you wish. I was awakened by your cries for help upon my grave.”
Charlotte fiddled with her hands, embarrassed, “Oh, I’m so sorry...I didn’t mean to bother you...I just was so scared and - I’m still so scared and confused...I just really want to go home. My mother’s probably worried out of her mind.”
Mr. Jones nodded, “Of course you are. This is a frightening town. Why, it’s dedicated to scaring your kind. Only on Halloween, though. Tell me, miss, what’s your name?”
“Ch-charlotte,” she stammered.
“Ah, Charlotte, very nice to meet you, my dear. The Head of the Hollow, whom I have called to meet with you, will surely assist you with your plans on getting home. He’s a charming fellow, I’m sure you’ll like him.”
Charlotte looked away; she didn’t like anything about this - would these things harm her? She twitched resentfully, probably not any worse than her own father.
Knocking startled Charlotte, as Mr. Jones floated to answer the door; he welcomed the visitor, and stepped aside to let the person - or creature - in.
Much to Charlotte’s relief, the Head of the Hollow appeared very human; in fact, he was quite dashing - his flaxen hair was neatly slicked back and his fair skin resembled that of the finest China doll. However, as Charlotte looked closer, she began to notice more alarming characteristics; his eyes were the color of freshly bled blood, and they dilated upon seeing her. His smile, though brilliant, revealed fangs in place of his canines; they were as sharp as the knives and razors she had nearly used on numerous occasions.
He stretched his long arm to shake her hand; Charlotte glanced at Mr. Jones - who nodded - and cautiously shook the peculiar man’s hand. His grip was firm and tough; his gaze penetrated hers, and she quietly looked down.
“Hello, Charlotte. I’m Thorne, or the Head, around these parts. My friend here told me you needed some help getting home. Is that so?”
Thorne beamed down at the terrified girl;what was he, she wondered.
“Charlotte,” spoke Mr. Jones, “the Head has spoken to you...please tell him what you need.”
Charlotte stared at Jones as he nervously fumbled with his hat; he was almost as nervous as her.
“Now, now Jones. No need to rush the girl. I’m sure she’s had quite the scare. I’d be speechless too, if I were in her position.” Thorne smiled once more at Charlotte.
Swallowing hard, she piped up, “I don’t know how I got here...Mr. Thorne. I woke up in the cemetery and entered your town and all those - those things surrounded me. I just want to go home, I mean no trouble, I swear.”
Thorne laughed, his fangs gleaming, “Of course, you mean no trouble, honey. You couldn’t cause trouble here even if your little beating heart desired. We’re the trouble-makers, after all.”
His words sent chills down her spine; how confidently he spoke about the capabilities of his misfits.
Mr. Jones interjected once he saw Charlotte’s worried gape, “Sir, is there any way you can help poor Charlotte return to her world; she doesn’t belong here, you can send her back, correct?”
Thorne thought for a moment, placing his large hand beneath his chiseled jaw, “Well, I do believe I know a few kind ladies that just may help us. But it might cost you something, Charlotte. Are you prepared to pay a price in order to return to your mortality?”
A price? She had no money - was money even necessary in this place?
“I don’t have anything...what will I need to pay?”
“Oh, that depends on what they ask. It probably won’t be much.”
Charlotte pondered the idea and then quietly nodded.
Thorne clasped his hands together and flashed her a toothy grin, “Perfect. Mr. Jones, I shall relieve you of your duties. I will escort Charlotte personally.”
Mr. Jones’s mouth fell open slightly, as though he were about to protest, but he quickly shut it.
“Alrighty, then. Charlotte. Make yourself comfortable here, and I will escort you in the morning to our lovely friends of the Hollow Coven. Jones, do you mind if our little lady rests here for the remainder of the evening?”
Mr. Jones shook his head with a small smile, “Not at all, sir.”
“Good. See you dark and early, Charlotte.”
In the blink of an eye, Thorne disappeared, as the front door shut soundly behind him.
Charlotte’s mouth fell open in shock, “What was he?”
Jones plopped back down in his seat, “The Head is a very powerful, and very old vampire. He is to us, what your president is to your country.”
“Vampire?!”
Jones nodded, “Yes. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, every being who resides in Soul’s Hollow, is not of your kind, dear Charlotte. Nothing here is human, and as such, nothing here is safe for you.”
Sadly, Charlotte shrugged, “Nothing is safe anywhere, for anyone. I’m not any more safe at home than I am here...”
Mr. Jones cocked his head, wonderingly, “Whatever do you mean, my dear girl?”
“My world is just as scary as yours, Mr. Jones. Maybe even scarier. To be honest, I don’t know why I want to go back…”
Her mother’s battered face flickered in her mind; she was the only reason for Charlotte to go back home - who knows what torture her mother was undergoing this very moment. At least here, as freakish as this place was, Charlotte was not being beaten, bullied, nor was she being forced to watch the only person she loved be senselessly thrashed each and every wretched night.
“There are ghosts in your eyes, Charlotte. Is there something you’d like to discuss? I’ve experienced my fair share in both lives I’ve lived.”
Charlotte shook her head, solemnly, “No, Mr. Jones. I’d just like to go to sleep, now.”
With that, Mr. Jones ushered Charlotte to his spare bedroom in the back of the house. He provided her with extra blankets and pillows, and promptly left her to get acquainted with the small room and its king-size bed.
The room contained an antique closet and yellowed photographs that hung on the dusty striped walls. Across from her bed sat a wooden dresser, with a large mirror. She inspected her reflection; she hadn’t seen herself in what seemed like years.
Her once blonde hair fell in black waves, her emerald eyes - that once glistened like the freshest blades of spring grass - were now as black as the night sky above Mr Jones’s home.
She looked like a completely different person; she touched her face, tracing the tear stains upon her fair cheeks. Perhaps she could be someone else, she thought.
Perhaps, Charlotte was dead.
Suddenly, her face contorted and her black eyes disappeared completely; blood spurted from the orifices where they once rested - it drenched the mirror and Charlotte’s reflection. Then, as though her blood consisted of acid, Charlotte’s flesh began melting off, until nothing remained in the reflection at all.
Disturbed, Charlotte took her small fists and bashed in the mirror, ignoring the sensation of immense pain as glass shredded her hands open. The door to her left burst open as Mr. Jones came barreling in - alerted by her screams of terror.
“Charlotte! Please! Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!”
He flew in front of the mirror, hoping that his visage would halt Charlotte’s erratic behavior. She continued thrashing the haunted accessory, as her punches soaredthrough Jones’s ghostly exterior.
“CHARLOTTE!”
The tone of his voice broke through her distress, finally. The pain set in, as she raised her bloodied hands to her face.
“T-the mirror...i-it…”
“Charlotte, let’s go get you cleaned up. You’ve made quite the mess, my dear.”
In a daze, Charlotte followed Jones out of the room and into his bathroom, where he instructed her step-by-step on how to clean and wrap up her wounds.
He then tucked her in - or observed as she tucked herself in - and waited until she fell asleep. Jones then returned to his own room; throughout the night, Charlotte could hear whispers within the chamber - many times, they woke her from her slumber. She heard howls in the distance, and at one point, she would even swear that she saw a girl around her age, looming over her as she slept.
She assured herself, upon quickly shutting her eyes, that it was only a dream. Then again,anything in this town was possible.
The morning came swiftly, and Charlotte was awakened by Jones’s soothing voice. However, morning did not look like morning. It was still dark, outside - perhaps, slightly lighter than when she had fallen asleep.
Mr. Jones told her to bathe and change in the clothes he set out for her in the bathroom. She did so, and entered the living room to discover both Jones and Thorne.
“Hellooo, Charlotte! Good night to you. How did you sleep?”
She glanced at her hands - now wrapped in gauze - and gave him a small smile.
“Fine, I guess.”
Thorne looked at her wounded limbs, noting the scars up her arms.
“What happened? Good gracious, Jones. I leave her with you for one night and she’s mangled.”
Charlotte spoke up, “It was my fault. I got scared…”
Jones took his hat off, and clutched it close to his stomach, “Poor Charlotte needs to return home soon, sir. The Hollow is not for her.”
Thorne nodded and outstretched his palm to Charlotte, “Alrighty then. Charlotte, hold tight to my hand. We’re off to meet with Vivianne and the rest of her coven.”
Before Charlotte grasped his hand, she turned to face Jones.
“Thank you, Mr. Jones, for your hospitality. No man has ever shown me such kindness.”
She curtsied, sensing that the old-fashioned man found that sort of act appropriate, and then took Thorne’s palm.
The next moments winked by in milliseconds - all Charlotte could perceive were blurry faces and images; the world went by faster than she had ever witnessed before.
She imagined it must be like being a cheetah, or even a jet, or a bullet.
Rapidly, the pair arrived before a large mansion - its brick walls were colored the darkest of purples. A large door came into view as Charlotte regained her focus.
Thorne chuckled, “I probably should’ve warned you about the ride.”
Charlotte’s face slipped and she glared at the handsome vampire - momentarily forgetting just what he was. He beamed at her.
“Well, well, well. It’s not everyday I get such a look from a human. Come now, let’s get that help of yours”
He lead Charlotte through the large front doors and into the foyer; lavish purple furnishings decorated the hall. Thorne turned to knock on a door on his left.
“Vivianne, love. I’ve arrived with the girl. I hope you’re ready for us.”
The door slowly creaked open, revealing nothing but darkness.
Thorne turned to Charlotte, “They’re reeeeady.”
He entered and Charlotte reluctantly followed; the stairs lead them down into a cavern like area - as though the lower half of the mansion had been built underground.
Lanterns ignited with every few steps they took, illuminating the passage a bit more.
Eventually, Thorne and Charlotte appeared before a wooden door; without knocking, the vampire pushed it open to reveal a woman, surrounded by ten or so others. Charlotte stuck close behind Thorne, nearly tripping him up as he walked forward.
“Soooo…” groaned the central figure, “This is the wench yond seeks mine help”
“English, please, Vivianne,” complained Thorne, irritatedly.
“This is English, knave.”
The snarly woman was ghastly, to say the least. Her skin was the color of dying grass, and her nose was as large and as pointed as a crow’s beak. Her silvered hair fell messily around her broad shoulders; and, though she was homely, she stood with a powerful aura - one that Charlotte knew not to mess with.
“Charlotte needs to return to the human world. I know with your magical witchy juju - it’ll be no problem for you.”
Vivianne looked around at her fellow witches and then back at Thorne, “Thee knoweth I cannot turneth down thy ‘rd’r.”
Thorne nodded agreeably, “So you can transport her back?”
“Aye.”
Thorne gently pushed Charlotte out in front of the old woman, “Okay, my dear Charlotte. Do as the hag says and you’ll be home in no time.”
Charlotte stared at Vivianne demurely, unsure of what to say to the formidable woman. “Ma’am...I-I really would appreciate it if you could help me return back home to Virginia. I- I don’t belong here.”
Vivianne smiled, her crooked, yellow teeth glowing in the faint glow of her dungeon, “Isn’t yond gross in sense?”
“Vivianne, no one understands you. Just do your job,” uttered Thorne from behind Charlotte.
The witch rolled her milky white eyes - no pupils, or irises floated within them.
“Bid me about thy life,” ordered Vivianne.
Charlotte tilted her head, prompting Thorne to translate, “Tell her about your life.”
Charlotte nodded and closed her eyes, “I’m an only child. I live with my mother and alcoholic father - who abuses both of us every day. I go to high-school where I have no friends and get bullied each day. I’m just a regular girl, I guess.”
The witch stared oddly at Charlotte, “Wherefore doth thee wisheth to returneth to such a life?”
Charlotte shrugged, sorrowfully, “Because I love my mother. And sometimes I can persuade my father to beat me instead of her.”
Vivianne nodded and glanced at her comrades, “Art thee did prepare to payeth a fee?”
Charlotte nodded, “Yes. Anything. What is it?”
“Thee shall findeth out aft’r the job is done.”
Then, in unison, like a well versed choir - the coven began chanting unintelligible words, a spell in another language unknown to Charlotte. The young girl turned to look at the vampire leader one final time - he smiled and waved her away as a bright light consumed her vision.
Charlotte woke up in the woods where she had fallen down the hole that had begun her wicked visit to Soul’s Hollow. Slowly, she rose to her feet and surveyed the area around her; it was nighttime and the moon shone brightly on a black cat observing her from beside a large willow tree, in the distance.
The cat meowed and scurried away upon catching her gaze; Charlotte burst through the woods and down the main path that lead to her home.
She bolted through the front door, expecting her father’s usual beat down; instead, no one was there; she called out for her mother - no answer.
She climbed up the stairs and silently peered into their bedroom - no mother, no father. She found it odd, for this late - everyone should be home; her dad never took her mom out, and he definitely never allowed her to leave the house by herself.
She heard the shower turn on.
She walked into their bedroom and in front of their bathroom door; Charlotte knocked softly, calling for either her mother or father. Still no reply.
Risking an extra beating, Charlotte opened the door to look inside - the curtain was haphazardly pulled out to conceal the bathtub. Slowly, sensing something very wrong about the entire situation, Charlotte pushed the curtain aside.
She gasped in horror.
Lying in the tub, most likely nude, lay her father; his skin was shredded and his hands appeared to be chopped off - blood oozed and mixed with the shower water. His eyes were gouged out, leaving bloody holes as replacement. His mouth was stitched up tightly, and Charlotte realized she would never again hear him yell.
A scream rang out behind her as her mother grabbed up Charlotte, in an attempt to hide her away from what she already saw. She could hear her mother’s heart rapidly beating deep behind her bruised chest. Her mother clutched her tightly and continued to scream in horror, as Charlotte smiled into the cloth of her mother’s shirt.
