Maleficent

Flora’s whispers vibrated through the empty house, echoing into every corner as loudly as all the others. The voice instantly set me on edge the moment I’d stepped through the doors, and I glared at Flora’s chicken of a boyfriend who insisted on staying behind in case she came scurrying out the front door before I found her.

It was difficult to pinpoint the missing girl’s exact location. Her footprints hadn’t stained the dusty floor like mine, which only unsettled me even more. Shuffling through the house alone, my skin prickled at the sounds of the house’s moans, and at the creaking and scratching within the walls as if there were something inside of them trying to get out.

As softly as I possibly could, I padded from room to room, scanning the darkness for Flora’s head of blonde. I hadn’t intended on ever coming back to the abandoned house with shingled windows. I hadn’t really even given it another thought, and even after Flora had told me of the secret in the attic, I’d forcefully brushed it off. It had nothing to do with me, and I wanted nothing to do with the house.

I winced as the stairs creaked beneath my steps even though there shouldn’t be anything to be afraid of. Adjusting the weight on my foot, I climbed the stairs slowly, hearing the scratching in the walls more clearly the higher I got. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my leg muscles hurt from clenching and unclenching them after every creak of a step.

I knew where Flora was now, and my feet immediately stepped forward to the door at the end of the hall. The scratching grew louder, grinding into my head like nails on a chalkboard but I didn’t hesitate.

Pressed up against a wall, Flora scraped at the light pink paint with a pocket knife I knew was Fletcher’s. The scratching timed perfectly with her strokes, mixing with the toneless whispering, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Flora?” I called out tentatively, but the girl didn’t stop.

Taking a step into the room, I suddenly realised exactly what had occupied Flora for the past few days. An energy was thick in the air, sizzling with an electric buzz but I barely paid any notice as I scanned the walls in confusion.

I could see where Flora had started. The engravings in the wall were so meticulous, precisely written row after row along the entire wall. It surprised me just how neat the engravings were, flowing in a beautiful perfect cursive.

“Flora, what is this?” I asked.

My eyes grazed over the first few words of Flora’s strange writing, recognising the familiar collection of words with some of the most famous stories in the world. Once upon a time. Scanning the first few lines, I almost groaned, realising that the story she had been etching into the walls was none other than Sleepy Beauty.

“Seriously, Flo?” I grumbled. “This is why no one has seen you for days? Is this some sort of joke? Because you do realise that Maleficent isn’t actually my real name, right?”

Clasping a hand on the girl’s shoulder, I forced her to spin around, immediately letting go when I got a look at her face. She was pale, and much thinner than when she had left my house. Strung around her face, her hair looked wiry and unkempt, but it was her eyes that had me reeling back.

Seemingly shining an intense white, her bright blue eyes were nowhere to be seen. As if they’d just rolled into the back of her head, I stared at Flora, her sockets inhabited with blank white eyeballs. Her mouth still mumbled an almost incoherent whisper.

“She pricked her finger. She pricked her finger on the needle. The needle of a spinning wheel… And died.”