The Girl in the Rayne

They say a house doesn’t make a home. Whoever said that was a genius.

Behind the tan front door with two windows that seemed like evil eyes was an unforeseen world. Instead of baby or marriage pictures, maps were hung to the wall by pointy push pins like a Christmas decoration. Wikipedia searches for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder were thrown messily amongst the old wooden floors that had seen better days.

The first room was the average looking kitchen with average appliances and cheesy pictures of a fat chef that hung to the wallpaper. LED lights hung above the island, making me go blind almost nightly. Two chairs and only two chairs were at either end of the table. It seemed pointless to have two seats that only one person would always sit in.

Jenna was always busy up stairs crying her eyes out over my father, which had become a common thing in this house. I was never in her room and she was never snooping in mine under a mental contract. Honestly, I didn’t want to know what went on behind her door. Ever since the scent of burning plantation and the sounds of her smacking the walls with her fists began, I had little interest in seeing what she had become over the years.

A plate full of frozen Hot Pockets were clustered together in a mini mountain of sweetness. I put them into the microwave and sat up on the countertop while I waited.

“Why’d Tooth call me crazy?” I asked myself.

It didn’t seem that strange to me that I had just the tiniest bit of an infatuation with the woman who saved me from death just years ago. Why the hell hadn’t I seen her since then? Was it only during near death experiences, or was it due to the fact that she was basically begun and ended her life there?

In my mental schedule I penciled in to head to Angry River tomorrow after school if Tooth was still going to be a complete dick about my crush on her. If he was back to being normal we’d probably hit up another tour and hope for the best.

At the ding I removed the steaming goodies and raced up to my room as quickly as humanly possible. Shutting the plain door behind me, I headed straight to my bed and took in the landscape I called mine.

A book shelf stuffed to the brim with legends was close the ceiling and surrounding the perimeter of my room. Pale blue paint had been stained with years of overuse and the smoke that often filled the house. Across from my bed was a simple laptop on top of my dresser that was opened, showing the ugly past I tried so hard to conceal.

I had printed pictures of Rayne, both fake and actual sightings, newspaper clippings, and even a videotape of an old portion of a news show that resurrected the legend in the first place.

The first bite of the Hot Pockets melted in my mouth with such goodness that I moaned in delight at the sound of my calming stomach. I easily chomped them down within ten minutes.

Tossing the empty plate aside, I turned on the television and flipped to the evening news. My fingers and toes crossed at the hopes of hearing about a possible sighting. The small town of Hazleton had little to offer, and this was probably the only thing that we were known for.

A short, blonde woman was basically yelling at the camera about a murder suspect who she obviously thought was guilty. The balding man beside her was putting on the worst smile, underneath it I could tell that he wanted to kill her for her stupidity of voicing her own opinion.

“Thanks for that Sharon. Now, onto our top story-“ I sat up straight, just about breaking my fingers out of anticipation. “-The local ghost legend, Rayne, was spotted just last night.”

His voice was drowned out by a recording from Sharon, who sounded painfully disinterested in ghost stories. It seemed like women were less likely to believe the story because it would take men’s attention away from them.

A single photograph shined through my average sized television. There she was, as amazing as ever.

Dark brown wisps of hair curled into tight knots at the horror or being preserved for all to see. Even darker eyes were wide with surprise; blackish eyebrows were knitted together in one, sharp line. Her mouth was opened wide like a lion trying to roar mightily. Black cracks huddled at her neck and jaw line.

Her fingers were bent to an unnatural angle that seemed impossible for a living person. The dress seemed far more tattered and bloodied than what I had remembered in the river. Her feet were stained with wet mud, like she had just gone for a jog and had forgotten to wear shoes.

“This picture was captured by Jonathan Guilds of West Hazleton last night while on a Finding Rayne tour. He claims to have shot this picture as a test run to get some good shots for the website. That same evening Guilds choked to death. Was Rayne responsible for the murder? We won’t know until the autopsy. Back to you Herald.”

“Stay with us to get a weather report that’s sure to disappoint you flip flop lovers out there…”

As the news music blasted through my simple stereo the picture remained. My mouth hung wide open as I examined the evidence more closely. Rayne was transparent, even through her own flesh.

Just behind her was a smiling Tooth and a less than interested me.

“She was there the whole time…” I couldn’t believe it.

Also, I could’ve sworn Tooth told me that the ginger had survived. Perhaps that was just another lie he had told me this evening-

A single, dark brown strand of hair was caught in the power button of the television. I cocked my head to the side and began to venture to the edge of my bed to get a closer look.

The hair looked as if it were being tossed in some tornado that was only happening in that one spot. My nose burned with the same smell of decay that I had encountered earlier that night. It shuddered as I began to rise from the bed.

I sneezed from the terrible scent and coughed to get it out of my lungs.

When I came back to the TV, the picture of Rayne remained without the help of any music. My TV had never frozen before. What the hell was going on?

Another strand had appeared, dancing and twirling around the other like lost lovers. As I watched them, more and more hair appeared, snaking through the buttons and the minute cracks of the screen.

Soon, the entire thing was stuffed to the brim with hair until I thought it might-

The TV exploded in an array of firework-like sparks that sizzled away onto my clothes that lay on the floor. A tiny flame sputtered to live and grew with each second. The smell of smoke filled my nostrils, the smoke alarm quickly followed.

As I whipped my head around to the sound of moving debris I saw her before me with her head down low, her focus on the flaming floor.

“Is that you, Rayne?” I called, hoping with all my heart that it really was her and not some prank.

A wall of fire attacked my bookshelf and all I had ever kept of her. As I jumped to save what I could I found it impossible to keep my eyes off of her. I stuffed a dozen newspaper clippings into my shirt and huddled on my bed, not knowing what else to do.

The fire alarm was now high pitched and whining like it was scared as well. Rayne took a single step towards me and slowly, ever so slowly lifted her head and made eye contact with me. Before I could choke out another word, she launched forward in the most banshee-like scream I had ever heard.

All went black.