- Fri Dec 23, 2016 3:20 pm
Evie liked sleeping, because when you were asleep everything was normal and perfect and nothing could hurt you in your own little dream world. It was a place where a person could retreat from the hardships of every day life and just enjoy something so off the wall as a lake of pumpkin juice or gum drop trees or some nonsense like that.
Swirling fog shrouded the view, making it impossible to see but a handful of yards before her. She squinted attempting to see through it. Where was she? None of it was familiar. Dead trees seemed scattered throughout, still as the night that masked them. A figure was in the distance, his head lowered as though in prayer. The woman stepped forward blindly, crying out as she stumbled over something hard. The pain seemed to shoot from her bare toe, clear to her hands as they braced her, and she pushed herself to her knees, seeing what she’d tripped over before her. She pulled down her filthy white tattered dress (Why was it so soiled?) and brushed her wild, raven hair behind her ears so she could peer at the stone before her as she rested her hands on her knees. She gasped at what she saw, glancing over to the figure several yards away. The stranger hadn’t even moved an inch. "Evelyn and Thomas Price: beloved mother and father."
She blinked as she stared at the foreign gravestone, reaching out a callused fingertip to trace over the engraved letters that had once been prominent against the stone surface, which was now weathered with moss filling every crack and crevice. The moist material gave easily beneath the weight of her fingertip. She thought she remembered them. It was hazy, but it was clearer than the rest. Always gone, always leaving her alone with a nanny and someone else, but whom? The people had been kind, but they had betrayed her in the end. Their faces came with Casey’s. Tears came to her mind as she grasped the material of her thin dress. Her parents hadn’t even seen it coming.
After a handful of minutes, she had composed herself, and she pushed herself up, yelping as a crow swooped low before her, landing on a higher gravestone. The black bird peered menacingly down at her, its head hunched as its wings were held high yet close to its body as though it was crouched, ready to spring from its tentative perch and to her face at any moment. "Ca-caw!" it called, its beady eyes trained on her, unfazed by her own return glance. Gradually lowering her hand from her racing heart, Evie looked away, peering at the ground as she found her way to the main path so she wouldn’t fall again. The old cemetery might have been beautiful at one time, but now, in the midst of the dreary fog, it seemed something to be feared. The foreboding aura was enough to make the woman feel tense as she cautiously crept through it, her hands clenching in fists unbeknownst to her.
It took what felt like forever until she reached the row where the mysterious stranger loomed, and she paused, feeling for any sign of her wand, but she could find none. It was nowhere on her person, and she began to panic. However, despite her urgings against it, her feet carried her with a mind of their own towards the man, towards the graves. She tried to slow her step, peering at the gravestones as she passed them, but no matter what she tried, she was still moving towards the figure. However, she forced her face to remain blank despite the racing heart she was certain the man could hear now. She shivered as she looked at him, rubbing her arms as she hugged them to her body; the air seemed somehow colder here in her spot before the obscure stranger. She looked away, trying to ignore how eerie his lack of movement was. It was almost inhuman, the rigidity of his body, not even rocking as most people’s would with prolonged attempts at remaining still.
What was he looking at? What was he mourning? Was he but a memory, a ghost of things long past? Her eyes grew transfixed as she looked first at the stone the man stood before. "Casey Winslow: beloved husband and father" was carved on the simple stone. She looked up at the man in confusion as though he would have the answers, but though her lips formed the question, no sound escaped. Her eyes moved to the one farthest from her on the other side of Casey’s. "Julian Winslow: hope there is." And then her eyes moved to the one to the right of Casey's grave. "Lydia Winslow: beloved daughter, a life lost too soon." Who were these two? Children? A brother and sister of his?
Her hazel eyes glanced upward again, looking at the figure. "Who?"
The man made no motion and gave no sign of who it was that he was. Had she not asked the right question? Perhaps he didn’t know. But why was he here, then? Why did he stand here at Casey’s grave so faithfully? It was then that her eyes made it to his right hand from which hung a chef’s knife. Blood stained it, she noted as the moonlight seemed to break through the thinning fog. Her brows furrowed, noticing the freshly dug dirt before the graves. Her eyes flashed upward at the figure, and her heart started racing once again. "Who…who are you?" she queried in a hesitant voice that even she could barely hear. "Who are you?" she repeated louder than before when she received no response, and for a second, as the man glanced up, she thought she recognized him, the blue eyes that met her own, but just as quickly, his face was obscured by darkness as the moon once again hid behind a cloud.
"Death"—her one reply.
This was not one of those times. Evie's dreams have been very vivid ever since Trevor had taken her back and she didn't understand why but she didn't care to. All she wanted was for them to stop. She shifted in her sleep and clutched at her pillow before it was too much and she sat up and looked around the unfamilar bed room, trying to remember where she was. When it registered she looked at the figure next to her, hoping that he was still asleep.