The Tale of Constance Hasting

I’m staring out the small kitchen window, my breakfast sitting in front of me. My mother and father are both trying to get me to speak. Last night’s events play through my mind; keeping me from speaking. It was just a dream. I mentally tell myself but I know it wasn’t and I know that they were coming for me.

“She’s such a freak.”

my brother grumbles from my left, I turn and stare at him with a dull expression. My brother and I have never gotten along; he was out-going and had many friends. I was nothing more than a burden to him, a dark secret he wanted to keep hidden from the world.

“She’s just different is all, I’m sure she is just tired. You know she has nightmares.” My mother spoke. That was always the excuse. I’m different, I have nightmares, I’m sick. Maybe I am different and I do have nightmares but that does not make me sick.

“I’m fine.”

I stand and walk away after speaking. I walk to the living room and sit down on the couch. I don’t bother with turning on the TV. I’ve never liked it much. From inside the kitchen I can hear them talking about me. My brother shouts that I should have never been born. My parents do not shout back at him.

I hear the back door slam close and know he has left for school. I feel a single tear fall from my eye and roll down my cheek. I use to cry more whenever he would say those things; now I’m used to it. I wipe the tear away and chew on my lower lip. My parents are whispering, I do not know what they are saying, most days I don’t.

I stare at the blank flat inch screen; I can see my reflection and the reflection of the objects behind and around me. But something catches my eye. A tall dark figure is standing in the hallway leading to the kitchen. It is the same thing from last night. This time I scream loudly and fall from the couch in panic. My parents come running, my father ran right through the monster causing it to vanish. I don’t register that my parents are staring at me.

“The man. The man is back.”

**********

“I’m not going.”
“Darling, it will do you some good to get away. You love the forest.”
“Dad, I’ve not loved the forest since I was six years old and a demon tried to steal my soul”
“Sweetie.” A sigh. “That never happened, you was just running a high fever that day.”
“I never get sick. I’m not sick.”
“We know you’re not sick, but your father and I, well we just.”

My parents stare at each other, trying to find the right way to tell me they don’t want me because I’m crazy. I stand and look at them.

“Convincing you two is like convincing a brick wall to speak. I’ll go, but not because you want me, but because I don’t want to be anywhere near you.” I turn and walk away, my heart breaking.

I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go the very place where I almost died. But there was no way I could make them see I was telling the truth. I knew by me saying it would make them less guilty. I was being sent to the woods to live with my mother’s brother whom I’ve never met. I entered my room and lay on the bed, softly crying.