Shutter
[[ 1. Drops ]]
CHLOE’S POV
The subtle etching sound, which danced across beneath the curtained bedroom window, was enough to send my back straight; sitting up like a bolt with perfect darkness as a cold, fever stricken sweat washed over my face and exposed chest. It was if my heart had decided to try and escape up through my throat the first chance it could get. Nights lately hadn’t been at all easy on me; the disappearance of my sister Quinn a few months back was still raw, still fresh and to put it eloquently, had uprooted my sanity. My family life, or what little left I had to grasp onto was slipping far from reach just like sand running through a child’s fingers at the beach.
“After the first 48 hours; it is safe to just assume the worst.”
One particular detectives words seemed to play on repeat in my mind like a broken record. As hard as it was to try and not hold my breath, I knew deep down that I wanted nothing more than to find Quinn - safe and sound; without a bruise or scratch or taint across her pretty, self-loving skin. Along with work, study commitments, attempting to keep any sort of social life, the occasional yet more so rare romantic spark still being lit and my families own, personal drama; it was safe to assume that I felt as if my life was trying to drown me. As if trying to keep my head above water when the tide was only shallow was a real burden not only on myself; yet on everyone else around me.
Swallowing what little saliva I had caught up at the back of my throat, I clutched furiously at my chest, hoping that a simple scratch or even graze of fingertips would stop my heart from racing and that perhaps, if everything for once just went my way, my body would just shut down entirely, causing me clarity and giving me a chance for a single, full nights sleep.
The fluorescent numbers of the alarm radio sitting up by my side on a small, antique wooden bedside table teased me with the timing of 3.12am and harshly, with closed fists, I rubbed at my eyes with sore palms, yawning as gently as I could not to wake up the monster that lived inside my head. Tossing and turning for what felt like hours to try and get comfortable but was closer to only 6 minutes, I rolled onto my right side – my free arm draping around my sleeping boyfriend before I proceeded to nuzzle gently into the crook of his neck; enveloping myself in the sweet scent of Burberry cologne he’d worn this morning; trying again, to shut my eyes and fall asleep.
A half smile crept across my lips as a mumble from my boyfriend indicated that he’d felt my presence. I pulled the covers that we swum under a little higher than I’d usually have them when trying to sleep; half covering my face with soft, white cotton as I yawned heavily; forcing myself into rhythmic style breathing and the endless option of counting sheep. A solid triple knock from the front door causing me to shoot back up again and sit in the upright position I’d forced upon myself before.
“Harry; wake up!”
There was no response from him other than murmurs into the pillow he’d crashed into last night and a slight movement of body to readjust his comfort zone. As the knocking continued – increasingly louder and louder – I wondered how on earth he hadn’t heard it. How on earth he wasn’t having the same reaction I was.
“Harold, wake up!”, I hissed as best I could, trying not to scream but at the same time be loud enough that the sleeping boy would wake from his slumber. A gentle shake, turning mildly violent as time passed; it took what felt like forever to have him roll over onto his back and open up those too exposed, tired ash green eyes that looked as if they could have enjoyed a few more hours sleep.
“Mhmmm, what’s up?”, he yawned, scratching at his chest almost as I had earlier my own. Not bothering to cover his mouth, another yawn chased his words; escaping from his thin pink lips and he stretched a little, taking up more space on the bed as his hands fell to the covers at waist. The smallest of smirks crossed his face that I could barely outline in the dark and his hand, as if second nature found mine – our fingers intertwining as he become comfortable.
“There’s someone at the front door”, I explained in a cowardly whisper, hands to my lips, our fingers I hid behind. Snuffling in closer to him, egging him to get up by pushing and tugging slightly at his sides, I watched Harry shut his eyes and shake his head as I heard the knocking sound again – those deep, wood powered, knuckle hits eating away at my sanity as Harry, as off with the fairies as he could be – not seeming to flinch whatsoever.
“Get up and go check the door”, I half barked with a grumble, again; I kept my voice down so that no one apart from the two of us could hear me although for this, there wasn’t at all any reason.
“Chloe, no… you’re just having a bad dream baby girl. Wait until the morning, I promise, it’ll be gone by then.”
“But what if it isn’t Harry?”, I complained.
“Let’s just hope so”, he reasoned, voice thick, rich and deep. Like velvet, soothing my ears.
“Haz, pleasssee?”
As if not wanting to argue with me and knowing already that he’d lost the battle; Harry set me up for a silent victory, peeling the covers off himself and throwing his feet across off the edge of the bed, kicking up an old shirt from the floor he’d occasionally pull on if going to bed and slid into it without hassle, pushing himself up onto his feet beside the bed. A yawn with arms stretched up above his head and his abs on show tainted by the glow of the alarm clock, I watched as he rubbed his eyes, red, raw and pale in the most childlike of manners before without another word, setting for the front door.
I could hear and make out each footstep as they happened; one after another traveling down the stairs, across the tiles in the kitchen and onto the floorboards in the hall, which creaked on the way to the living room, the room that housed the front door. Which with a demure turn of a key and twist of a lock, opened out into the dark, great unknown. My breathing hitched and counting backwards from 10, it wasn’t long before Harry had made it back; holding something in-between his fingers, not talking. He was never really one for words or early rises.
“What you got?”, I asked softly, hands out to take what he was holding out to me before he climbed back into bed.
“You owe me”, he cursed heavily beneath his breath.
“I don’t owe you anything.”
Reaching over to turn on my bedside lamp and blinking to adjust my eyes to the new light, which had forced, I traced my fingertips carefully over the pictures torn edges that Harry had just delivered. The picture - which seemed to be of two young girls, torn from something larger had been ruined by bleeding ink that I’m assuming had being washed away by endless rain we’d had earlier in the evening.
Thunder tore through the night sky outside; only adding to the sinking suspicious feeling at the pit of my stomach that someone or something was watching me. The soft sounds of pitter patter against the tin roof above my head created a haunted echo symphony which would have fit in amongst a Tim Burton movie soundtrack, and dropping the photo scrap under the lamp, hoping it would dry by morning for a better look, I felt a tug at my wrist and a groan of despair informing me that Harry had had enough of my antics and just wanted to continue with his sleep.
His eyes scrunched tightly as if not wanting the light to disturb them, he rolled from his half fetal position to face me.
“It’s almost 3.30 babe…”
“Okay Haz, just a second.”
Turning off the lamp and wriggling down beneath the covers from where I’d earlier woken I felt a soft, sloppy wet trail of kisses hunt up my neck, across my jaw and the trail turning cold just before I could get in the mood for any romantic sentiment. Inhaling deeply and rolling my head to one side on the pillow so that we were facing one another, I sighed and apologized for my behavior.
“I’m sorry for over thinking and worrying babe.”
“It’s alright beautiful, go to sleep.”
“Harry, I swear though; I heard something.”
“Clo, it’s all in your head.”
Perhaps he was right; perhaps it was all in my head. Turning back so that my neck was straight, back flat against the bed and sides pinned down by my boyfriend who was determined to have me stop squirming so that we could both get some shut eye, I took a final look at the ceiling in the darkness and closed my eyes feeling a splash of something cold, dripping onto my face.
Right eye peaked open just enough to look up…
.. it wasn’t long before the screaming started.
The subtle etching sound, which danced across beneath the curtained bedroom window, was enough to send my back straight; sitting up like a bolt with perfect darkness as a cold, fever stricken sweat washed over my face and exposed chest. It was if my heart had decided to try and escape up through my throat the first chance it could get. Nights lately hadn’t been at all easy on me; the disappearance of my sister Quinn a few months back was still raw, still fresh and to put it eloquently, had uprooted my sanity. My family life, or what little left I had to grasp onto was slipping far from reach just like sand running through a child’s fingers at the beach.
“After the first 48 hours; it is safe to just assume the worst.”
One particular detectives words seemed to play on repeat in my mind like a broken record. As hard as it was to try and not hold my breath, I knew deep down that I wanted nothing more than to find Quinn - safe and sound; without a bruise or scratch or taint across her pretty, self-loving skin. Along with work, study commitments, attempting to keep any sort of social life, the occasional yet more so rare romantic spark still being lit and my families own, personal drama; it was safe to assume that I felt as if my life was trying to drown me. As if trying to keep my head above water when the tide was only shallow was a real burden not only on myself; yet on everyone else around me.
Swallowing what little saliva I had caught up at the back of my throat, I clutched furiously at my chest, hoping that a simple scratch or even graze of fingertips would stop my heart from racing and that perhaps, if everything for once just went my way, my body would just shut down entirely, causing me clarity and giving me a chance for a single, full nights sleep.
The fluorescent numbers of the alarm radio sitting up by my side on a small, antique wooden bedside table teased me with the timing of 3.12am and harshly, with closed fists, I rubbed at my eyes with sore palms, yawning as gently as I could not to wake up the monster that lived inside my head. Tossing and turning for what felt like hours to try and get comfortable but was closer to only 6 minutes, I rolled onto my right side – my free arm draping around my sleeping boyfriend before I proceeded to nuzzle gently into the crook of his neck; enveloping myself in the sweet scent of Burberry cologne he’d worn this morning; trying again, to shut my eyes and fall asleep.
A half smile crept across my lips as a mumble from my boyfriend indicated that he’d felt my presence. I pulled the covers that we swum under a little higher than I’d usually have them when trying to sleep; half covering my face with soft, white cotton as I yawned heavily; forcing myself into rhythmic style breathing and the endless option of counting sheep. A solid triple knock from the front door causing me to shoot back up again and sit in the upright position I’d forced upon myself before.
“Harry; wake up!”
There was no response from him other than murmurs into the pillow he’d crashed into last night and a slight movement of body to readjust his comfort zone. As the knocking continued – increasingly louder and louder – I wondered how on earth he hadn’t heard it. How on earth he wasn’t having the same reaction I was.
“Harold, wake up!”, I hissed as best I could, trying not to scream but at the same time be loud enough that the sleeping boy would wake from his slumber. A gentle shake, turning mildly violent as time passed; it took what felt like forever to have him roll over onto his back and open up those too exposed, tired ash green eyes that looked as if they could have enjoyed a few more hours sleep.
“Mhmmm, what’s up?”, he yawned, scratching at his chest almost as I had earlier my own. Not bothering to cover his mouth, another yawn chased his words; escaping from his thin pink lips and he stretched a little, taking up more space on the bed as his hands fell to the covers at waist. The smallest of smirks crossed his face that I could barely outline in the dark and his hand, as if second nature found mine – our fingers intertwining as he become comfortable.
“There’s someone at the front door”, I explained in a cowardly whisper, hands to my lips, our fingers I hid behind. Snuffling in closer to him, egging him to get up by pushing and tugging slightly at his sides, I watched Harry shut his eyes and shake his head as I heard the knocking sound again – those deep, wood powered, knuckle hits eating away at my sanity as Harry, as off with the fairies as he could be – not seeming to flinch whatsoever.
“Get up and go check the door”, I half barked with a grumble, again; I kept my voice down so that no one apart from the two of us could hear me although for this, there wasn’t at all any reason.
“Chloe, no… you’re just having a bad dream baby girl. Wait until the morning, I promise, it’ll be gone by then.”
“But what if it isn’t Harry?”, I complained.
“Let’s just hope so”, he reasoned, voice thick, rich and deep. Like velvet, soothing my ears.
“Haz, pleasssee?”
As if not wanting to argue with me and knowing already that he’d lost the battle; Harry set me up for a silent victory, peeling the covers off himself and throwing his feet across off the edge of the bed, kicking up an old shirt from the floor he’d occasionally pull on if going to bed and slid into it without hassle, pushing himself up onto his feet beside the bed. A yawn with arms stretched up above his head and his abs on show tainted by the glow of the alarm clock, I watched as he rubbed his eyes, red, raw and pale in the most childlike of manners before without another word, setting for the front door.
I could hear and make out each footstep as they happened; one after another traveling down the stairs, across the tiles in the kitchen and onto the floorboards in the hall, which creaked on the way to the living room, the room that housed the front door. Which with a demure turn of a key and twist of a lock, opened out into the dark, great unknown. My breathing hitched and counting backwards from 10, it wasn’t long before Harry had made it back; holding something in-between his fingers, not talking. He was never really one for words or early rises.
“What you got?”, I asked softly, hands out to take what he was holding out to me before he climbed back into bed.
“You owe me”, he cursed heavily beneath his breath.
“I don’t owe you anything.”
Reaching over to turn on my bedside lamp and blinking to adjust my eyes to the new light, which had forced, I traced my fingertips carefully over the pictures torn edges that Harry had just delivered. The picture - which seemed to be of two young girls, torn from something larger had been ruined by bleeding ink that I’m assuming had being washed away by endless rain we’d had earlier in the evening.
Thunder tore through the night sky outside; only adding to the sinking suspicious feeling at the pit of my stomach that someone or something was watching me. The soft sounds of pitter patter against the tin roof above my head created a haunted echo symphony which would have fit in amongst a Tim Burton movie soundtrack, and dropping the photo scrap under the lamp, hoping it would dry by morning for a better look, I felt a tug at my wrist and a groan of despair informing me that Harry had had enough of my antics and just wanted to continue with his sleep.
His eyes scrunched tightly as if not wanting the light to disturb them, he rolled from his half fetal position to face me.
“It’s almost 3.30 babe…”
“Okay Haz, just a second.”
Turning off the lamp and wriggling down beneath the covers from where I’d earlier woken I felt a soft, sloppy wet trail of kisses hunt up my neck, across my jaw and the trail turning cold just before I could get in the mood for any romantic sentiment. Inhaling deeply and rolling my head to one side on the pillow so that we were facing one another, I sighed and apologized for my behavior.
“I’m sorry for over thinking and worrying babe.”
“It’s alright beautiful, go to sleep.”
“Harry, I swear though; I heard something.”
“Clo, it’s all in your head.”
Perhaps he was right; perhaps it was all in my head. Turning back so that my neck was straight, back flat against the bed and sides pinned down by my boyfriend who was determined to have me stop squirming so that we could both get some shut eye, I took a final look at the ceiling in the darkness and closed my eyes feeling a splash of something cold, dripping onto my face.
Right eye peaked open just enough to look up…
.. it wasn’t long before the screaming started.
Notes
hello darlings! i'm kicking this story off again with a slight change in characters and a new, horror based plot. i do hope you enjoy, let me know what you think.
rates, subscribes and comments would be lovely but just feedback in general will do xx
@diamonds!
You're welcome!
6/13/15