Into the Deep
Introduction- That Gray Little Town
Chapter One- That Gray Little Town
There is something in the walls.
Scarlet lies half awake listening to them scatter against to interior with their long, thinned nails. Her chest raises and falls as she sighed out heavily. She previously had asked the supervisor about it, thinking at first that maybe her neighbors had a party-animal toddler who liked to scuff at the walls…
There was no residence in the room next to hers. Only a barren space filled with cobwebs and old dust covered boxes the previous owners had left to rot. So it was rats, it had to be. But like always the landlord fixed nothing. Just like a leak in Scarlet’s ceiling or the draft from her windows. Everything was wrong. Everything was broken.
While she sleeps she hears the howling of beast outside her windows, gnawing wildly to the bricked building, clawing at her deepest fears. Scarlet envisions them in her unconscious mind. Hungry for death and blood; their bodies are long and scalded, like humans that had been skinned and boiled.
She wakes, wet, drenched with sweat, gripping the sheets for support. She stands, and goes to check the locks on the door, and below the windows. She checks them once, twice, three times. Loads her gun, puts it under her pillow, and sits and waits for the morning to come. Just like the night before. Nothing ever changes.
**
Scarlet wakes at the kitchen table around 1:30p.m.
She’s late, but she doesn’t bother to hurry. She takes time in the shower, and even sat down to eat some Apple Jacks and wash a few dishes. The sticky tiled floor castes a slight reflection of the flickering light above her head. Scarlet looked up and grabbed a chair to stand on, raising herself up to come face to face with the light. Scarlet tapped to light bulb, it flickered, and then went completely black. Great.
Scarlet headed out shortly after breakfast. Her converse squeaked loudly over the poor quality flooring, she scuffed her shoes against them, purposely leaving black marks. The old women down the hall glared at Scarlet with irritation at her actions. “Isn’t that a little young and immature for your age?” She asked. Her watering can sat at her feet. “Aren’t you a little old to still be living? Go die, hag.”
**
Her short, bitten nails scratched against the subway seats. She shifts slightly, pulling her duffel bag closer as a man around his forties comes to take a seat next to her. He had short, curly black hair the curled slight right above his eyes. He was clean cut and dressed in a dress shirt and pants; he was wearing Italian imported shoes. There was a strange coloring under his hazel eyes.
Like the color of mucky stream waters. Like the sign of a lack of sleep. Scarlet could tell he was the type of person that probably grew up with a silver spoon shoved down his throat. And now worked every day of his life just so he can say he drives a Lexus…what a terrible way to live.
He eyes the bag suspiciously. “What c’ya got in there?” Scarlet glares and the man turns away.
Despite Scarlet’s hard demeanor, she was actually a very lonely girl. Her parents died when she can’t even remember, and she’s was pasted on from foster home to foster home ever since. It was a hard life, but she never complained, she never cried. Scarlet’s a cold shell, empty and broken. Sometimes, on the train, as she watched the landscapes pass her by, she wonders why she can’t remember. Anything. Anyone. Not her family, or where she was born, or the house you grew up in…She knew Scarlet was her name, because that’s what people called her. So it must be her name. As far as she knew anyway…
She could remember a time, when she couldn’t have been more than the age of ten. She remembers how her Jenny -her foster mom- and the agent would talk in the living room. Jenny would sent Scarlet to play outside, but she didn’t, of course. Why would she? What could possibly be so important that they couldn’t talk to her about?
She remember sitting on the other side of the wall, in the dinning room, listen to them, watching them…
“She tries to hard.” Scarlet remember Jenny saying.
“Well, maybe she’s just trying to be helpful.”
“Helpful is one thing, but Scarlet…she borderlines creepy. She’s always there. Offering to do dishes, or sweep the lawn, clean the floors, wash the walls, the list could go on and on. I just…I just don’t feel comfortable with her…” She could see her tap her fingers against the coffee table. It was a habit Jenny had had.
To this day, Scarlet can still take into account the pain she had felt as Jenny spoke those words to that woman. Se had given so much, tried so hard, and after all that, Jenny still wasn’t pleased.
Her small fingers dug into to flesh, leaving marks.
Four hours had passed since the foster agent had left, it was now 10:00p.m at night/ Jenny had made her way down to the basement to do laundry and noticed something from the corner of her eye. She jumped, but then quickly regained composer when realizing who it was.
“Oh, Scarlet, honey, you scared me! What are you doing up so late? I sent you to bed hours ago.”
…
“You’re getting rid of me.” It was more a statement than a question.
“Sweetie, what do you me-?”
“I heard you. Talking to that lady. You said I was creepy.” Jenny stood from her position. There was something so menacing about Scarlet’s expression. It was blank, completely blank, as if nothing but a doll…it ran chills up her spine.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry, but it’s just-”
“Not working out, right? After all that I’ve done. I was so good, so loyal! And you’re just going to throw me away…?”
“Scarlet-”
“You bitch!”
Scarlet’s fist coiled into a fist as it made connection with Jenny’s face. It made her drop, surprisingly. She could feel it. Her fist against skin, against blood. It felt exhilarating, if only for a minuet. She can remember how she had this sudden bolt of strength, how Jenny’s face collided with the basement sink over forty times, how Jenny went limp after such a beating, how she was pronounced dead in the hospital the day after. And how she was never caught; how she still hates herself for it…
**
Scarlet had just finished off her recent hunt that night. Her hands were coated in dried blood and dirt from a nearby forest. Scarlet stunk. Of sweat, blood, and forest. She bent down to meet the river’s water to rinse her hands before proceeding back into town. It stung against bare skin. Like ice, maybe, she didn’t know. There was an ominous feeling around her. Something beyond just a dark, thick forest she was abound in. But something along, or maybe even, the source of evil. Something that made the animals go instinctively silent. A presence that made her shudder in her skin. Demons maybe…
Scarlet stood, pulling a bottle of holy water from her duffel. There was a shuffle in the bushes, as if someone had pasted through. She turned quickly, but there was nothing.
And as abrupt as the feeling came, it was gone. Like a flash…
**
Sometimes, late at night, Scarlet would sit awake at her kitchen table, listen to the rats move within her walls, the sirens outside her apartment. Her eyes would gaze off at the yellow walls across from her in a daze. She’d look around the kitchen, look around the living room, look back on her life, frown, and realize, how alone she really was.
**
Scarlet woke at her kitchen table once again.
There was a distant tap that echoed through her mind. Her brown eyes burned from the sudden light the streamed through her open eyes. Scarlet blinked, suddenly realizing that the tapping was really knocking. She stood, making her way to the door. The banging became heavy, she could tell whoever it was, was becoming irritated .
“Shut the hell up! I’m coming!”
I knocking stopped, as did she at the door. Scarlet made sure that the salt line at the door was still in tacked, and the “Key of Solomon” was hidden underneath the welcome mate.
She swung open the door and froze. There stood two men, one obviously older than the other. They crossed over the salt line, even though she didn’t invite them in.
“Welcome,” She greeted sarcastically. They ignored her.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell your doing here, or do I have to kick your asses to get you to tell me?”
The older one smiled. “I like this one!”
“I said-!”
“I-I’m sorry about by brother. He can be a dick sometimes, we shouldn’t have walked in like that…I-I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean.”
“Wait, Winchester? As in the dumb fucks who let the devil’s gates open? Good job on that one.”
“Look lady-!” Sam cut Dean off.
“Are you Scarlet Williams?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What if I am?”
“We’ve been looking for you.”
There is something in the walls.
Scarlet lies half awake listening to them scatter against to interior with their long, thinned nails. Her chest raises and falls as she sighed out heavily. She previously had asked the supervisor about it, thinking at first that maybe her neighbors had a party-animal toddler who liked to scuff at the walls…
There was no residence in the room next to hers. Only a barren space filled with cobwebs and old dust covered boxes the previous owners had left to rot. So it was rats, it had to be. But like always the landlord fixed nothing. Just like a leak in Scarlet’s ceiling or the draft from her windows. Everything was wrong. Everything was broken.
While she sleeps she hears the howling of beast outside her windows, gnawing wildly to the bricked building, clawing at her deepest fears. Scarlet envisions them in her unconscious mind. Hungry for death and blood; their bodies are long and scalded, like humans that had been skinned and boiled.
She wakes, wet, drenched with sweat, gripping the sheets for support. She stands, and goes to check the locks on the door, and below the windows. She checks them once, twice, three times. Loads her gun, puts it under her pillow, and sits and waits for the morning to come. Just like the night before. Nothing ever changes.
**
Scarlet wakes at the kitchen table around 1:30p.m.
She’s late, but she doesn’t bother to hurry. She takes time in the shower, and even sat down to eat some Apple Jacks and wash a few dishes. The sticky tiled floor castes a slight reflection of the flickering light above her head. Scarlet looked up and grabbed a chair to stand on, raising herself up to come face to face with the light. Scarlet tapped to light bulb, it flickered, and then went completely black. Great.
Scarlet headed out shortly after breakfast. Her converse squeaked loudly over the poor quality flooring, she scuffed her shoes against them, purposely leaving black marks. The old women down the hall glared at Scarlet with irritation at her actions. “Isn’t that a little young and immature for your age?” She asked. Her watering can sat at her feet. “Aren’t you a little old to still be living? Go die, hag.”
**
Her short, bitten nails scratched against the subway seats. She shifts slightly, pulling her duffel bag closer as a man around his forties comes to take a seat next to her. He had short, curly black hair the curled slight right above his eyes. He was clean cut and dressed in a dress shirt and pants; he was wearing Italian imported shoes. There was a strange coloring under his hazel eyes.
Like the color of mucky stream waters. Like the sign of a lack of sleep. Scarlet could tell he was the type of person that probably grew up with a silver spoon shoved down his throat. And now worked every day of his life just so he can say he drives a Lexus…what a terrible way to live.
He eyes the bag suspiciously. “What c’ya got in there?” Scarlet glares and the man turns away.
Despite Scarlet’s hard demeanor, she was actually a very lonely girl. Her parents died when she can’t even remember, and she’s was pasted on from foster home to foster home ever since. It was a hard life, but she never complained, she never cried. Scarlet’s a cold shell, empty and broken. Sometimes, on the train, as she watched the landscapes pass her by, she wonders why she can’t remember. Anything. Anyone. Not her family, or where she was born, or the house you grew up in…She knew Scarlet was her name, because that’s what people called her. So it must be her name. As far as she knew anyway…
She could remember a time, when she couldn’t have been more than the age of ten. She remembers how her Jenny -her foster mom- and the agent would talk in the living room. Jenny would sent Scarlet to play outside, but she didn’t, of course. Why would she? What could possibly be so important that they couldn’t talk to her about?
She remember sitting on the other side of the wall, in the dinning room, listen to them, watching them…
“She tries to hard.” Scarlet remember Jenny saying.
“Well, maybe she’s just trying to be helpful.”
“Helpful is one thing, but Scarlet…she borderlines creepy. She’s always there. Offering to do dishes, or sweep the lawn, clean the floors, wash the walls, the list could go on and on. I just…I just don’t feel comfortable with her…” She could see her tap her fingers against the coffee table. It was a habit Jenny had had.
To this day, Scarlet can still take into account the pain she had felt as Jenny spoke those words to that woman. Se had given so much, tried so hard, and after all that, Jenny still wasn’t pleased.
Her small fingers dug into to flesh, leaving marks.
Four hours had passed since the foster agent had left, it was now 10:00p.m at night/ Jenny had made her way down to the basement to do laundry and noticed something from the corner of her eye. She jumped, but then quickly regained composer when realizing who it was.
“Oh, Scarlet, honey, you scared me! What are you doing up so late? I sent you to bed hours ago.”
…
“You’re getting rid of me.” It was more a statement than a question.
“Sweetie, what do you me-?”
“I heard you. Talking to that lady. You said I was creepy.” Jenny stood from her position. There was something so menacing about Scarlet’s expression. It was blank, completely blank, as if nothing but a doll…it ran chills up her spine.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry, but it’s just-”
“Not working out, right? After all that I’ve done. I was so good, so loyal! And you’re just going to throw me away…?”
“Scarlet-”
“You bitch!”
Scarlet’s fist coiled into a fist as it made connection with Jenny’s face. It made her drop, surprisingly. She could feel it. Her fist against skin, against blood. It felt exhilarating, if only for a minuet. She can remember how she had this sudden bolt of strength, how Jenny’s face collided with the basement sink over forty times, how Jenny went limp after such a beating, how she was pronounced dead in the hospital the day after. And how she was never caught; how she still hates herself for it…
**
Scarlet had just finished off her recent hunt that night. Her hands were coated in dried blood and dirt from a nearby forest. Scarlet stunk. Of sweat, blood, and forest. She bent down to meet the river’s water to rinse her hands before proceeding back into town. It stung against bare skin. Like ice, maybe, she didn’t know. There was an ominous feeling around her. Something beyond just a dark, thick forest she was abound in. But something along, or maybe even, the source of evil. Something that made the animals go instinctively silent. A presence that made her shudder in her skin. Demons maybe…
Scarlet stood, pulling a bottle of holy water from her duffel. There was a shuffle in the bushes, as if someone had pasted through. She turned quickly, but there was nothing.
And as abrupt as the feeling came, it was gone. Like a flash…
**
Sometimes, late at night, Scarlet would sit awake at her kitchen table, listen to the rats move within her walls, the sirens outside her apartment. Her eyes would gaze off at the yellow walls across from her in a daze. She’d look around the kitchen, look around the living room, look back on her life, frown, and realize, how alone she really was.
**
Scarlet woke at her kitchen table once again.
There was a distant tap that echoed through her mind. Her brown eyes burned from the sudden light the streamed through her open eyes. Scarlet blinked, suddenly realizing that the tapping was really knocking. She stood, making her way to the door. The banging became heavy, she could tell whoever it was, was becoming irritated .
“Shut the hell up! I’m coming!”
I knocking stopped, as did she at the door. Scarlet made sure that the salt line at the door was still in tacked, and the “Key of Solomon” was hidden underneath the welcome mate.
She swung open the door and froze. There stood two men, one obviously older than the other. They crossed over the salt line, even though she didn’t invite them in.
“Welcome,” She greeted sarcastically. They ignored her.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell your doing here, or do I have to kick your asses to get you to tell me?”
The older one smiled. “I like this one!”
“I said-!”
“I-I’m sorry about by brother. He can be a dick sometimes, we shouldn’t have walked in like that…I-I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean.”
“Wait, Winchester? As in the dumb fucks who let the devil’s gates open? Good job on that one.”
“Look lady-!” Sam cut Dean off.
“Are you Scarlet Williams?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What if I am?”
“We’ve been looking for you.”