By Jessica-Ken:
“A nice way to treat your fan, huh?”
“You’re no fan—” she pulled the bu–her’s knife out as she said.
“I was a fan,”
She smirked. “Well, what happened now?”
My mind went back to when I was nine:
“Daddy, can you buy me another series of the slayer queen?”
“Jacob, you know your dad can’t buy you that…”
“But why?”
“That book’s not for you to read. I wonder why you keep reading it and getting yourself so engrossed!”
“But mum…”
“Jacob, your mom’s right. You should be reading healthy things and not stories to get your imaginations all tied—”
Mom and dad had stopped me halfway. I was one who loved scary tales—reading the slayer queen then was a good way to show my friends that I was ready for anything.
Hazel Dardar was top notch. Everyone in 8th grade, who was a fan of horror, knew her for what she was.
Then I was in 4th grade, but had already gotten intrigued by horror stories and looked forward to writing one myself.
Maybe it was my obsession that got me into this. Maybe—just maybe.
“So why did you stop being a fan?”
I groaned at the stinging pain brought about by the butcher’s knife. “Hm?”
“You made use of past tense, meaning you’re not a fan again,”
I said, “Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
She licked her lips on hearing me. “Ah, so that’s how you wanna play?”
“Answer my question,” I coughed, looking down at my chest. I could see the blood perfectly; didn’t need a seer telling me that I was going to die if the wound was left open for long. “Hazel, you have to treat me.”
“Treat you?”
“I’ll bleed to death if this wound’s left untreated.” I coughed again, letting blood trickle out from the side of my mouth.
Groaning again, I tried to wiggle free; a sharp pain cutting across my chest as I cursed under my breath.
“Huhahaha!”
I couldn’t understand any of this.
Was Hazel real?
Was she unreal?
I needed someone to clear my mind.
“That’s right, baby. This is exactly what I want you to think.” Hazel’s voice came invading my thoughts, as I wished to awaken from this horrible dream.
********
The clock was slowly ticking. With the blood dripping from the place where the knife had settled, I could tell there wasn’t much time left. “Hazel…”
“Still here,”
“Hazel, please let me go,” I was too weak, though I managed to make out words.
The ticking sound of the clock coupled with Hazel’s noisy shoes made me not want to be there.
Sweating profusely and shivering at the same time, I got my eyes closed, already weary, praying my soul would be accepted.
“Jake. Jake! Jake, open your eyes—”
My eyelids slid open halfway, making me aware of my dead girlfriend.
“Jacob,”
“Miranda—”
“Jacob, you need to stay awake. You need to stay awake or else you’d die for real.”
“B-but I’m already dead…”
“No, you’re not, Jacob. You can beat her. There is a way.”
“A way?”
“Yes. A way—”
I was wide awake again.
Feeling the sharp pain cut across again, I groaned slightly, biting my bottom lip, as I looked up at Hazel and asked for water to be brought.
“Huh? Water?”
“Water.” I muttered weakly, groaning really hard.
“You’re not finding a way to escape, are you?”
I scoffed at her dumb question. “How can I possibly escape when I’m tied and held a prisoner?”
She scoffed right back and made to grant my request.
Seeing her out of view, I hurried and struggled to get myself freed.
Not being able to, I sighed, relaxing again, seeing her come.
“Here,” she offered like a saint. “Drink slowly.” she brought the cup closer to my mouth as I looked at her, then made to drink.
Slam—the glass cup came on my face. “You didn’t think I’d be nice, did you?”
I groaned, unable to feel the side of my face the glass had smashed into bits.
The stinging pain was much more worse. Worse than the pain my chest emitted.
Not knowing what else to do; whether to sigh or cry, I asked if I could go pee, as Hazel replied with a smirk.
“You know, you’re really one smart man,”
“Hazel, why won’t you just kill me?” I asked, not being able to hold it anymore.
Being in Hazel’s den was like stepping on hundreds of hot coals. The cleaver which she had used on me was glistening with blood. Making towards me again, with it lifted half up, she chuckled maniacally, licking her lips as she drew nearer. “You really want to know why I haven’t killed you yet?”
“Enough!” I yelled, clenching my fists in fury. “Why don’t you cut the act and tell me what you really want with me?”
Her eyes went to the bloody edge of the butcher knife, then it lingered on me. “I’d like to tell you a story,”
“I do not want to hear…”
“Really?”
I gave no response but kept mute.
Seeing I hadn’t given an answer, she walked back to where she had come from and flicked her fingers in the air as a majestic chair appeared.
“Great. More tricks.”
“Thought you were weak from the injury caused?”
I mumbled a reply and looked away.
“Good.” she had heard me loud and clear.
Saying I was still inflicted, I thought she was going to respond but instead got just that.
“Ready for my story?” she got herself relaxed on the chair. Giving me no chance to reply, she began—
“Long ago,”
I interrupted with a groan.
“Can you please be quiet?” she arched her brows and made to continue.
Hearing the buzzing sound of a bee—bees—I looked around to see hundreds of bees forming a large circle atop me; an image like that of a screen coming into view.
“Mama. Papa…”
“Do not touch me, you cursed child! I will not let you infect me!”
“But mama…”
“My own parents abandoned me—” she heaved a sigh as she narrated. “I thought they were going to come back…”
I made to say—”…you’re just a character—” but kept shut. Gulping, almost getting the lump in my throat fully down, I listened as she told her story, which I’m sure she knew I already knew.
“Well, I’m sorry,” my lips managed to move. Not knowing what else to say, I looked down at my chest again, feeling slightly irritated by the sight of my blood. Looking back at Hazel again, I found out she had been staring at me, with her lips moving, though not giving any word.
I was lost. For a moment, I couldn’t understand what was going on, plus my head was spinning—or was it everywhere?
Seeing the whole place spin and get my eyes all turned, I was back on the sofa; free and uninjured, with Miranda by my side.
“You’re a good man, Jacob,” a voice got me looking backwards. “You deserve another chance.”
A bright light blinded me as I had a hard time seeing our visitor well.
The living room was quiet again. With things all set and back to the way they used to be, I couldn’t help but my smile, turning to my girlfriend.
“Jake, what happened?”
It was something hard to explain—all I could say was; “We had a horrible nightmare, that’s what.” I wished she’d believe and not go questioning, cause even I found it hard to tell.
****
The next day was a Saturday. Miranda and I had chocolate pudding for dessert. While we were at it, a knock came on the door and guess who came inside?
“Hazel?”
“Merry Christmas, Jacob.” She walked inside, not causing any trouble.
“Hazel, how are you here?”
“I can come and go at my freewill,” she giggled and flashed Miranda a smile. “You’re sure looking dashing!”
I looked at her from head to toe. “I thought you weren’t coming back?”
Miranda broke in. “I’m sorry, do I know her?”
It seemed Miranda had lost a memory of her.
“You can’t remember?”
“Oh, let’s not walk down memory lane,” Hazel shook her head as she signaled to me to drop the remainder. Acting like one’s who’s never been at the mansion, she asked nicely, for a glass of water.
“I’m sure liking this Hazel,” I didn’t know when I said out loud.
Hazel had gotten herself comfortable on one of the sofas; Miranda making to sit.
Seeing the two chatter like nothing had happened, I couldn’t help but smile, feeling pleased all that had gone on was nothing but a forgotten dream.
It was December 25th after all. A twisted December in all Decembers.
Oh, how I’d tell my story one day though I’d never get the people to understand 😪.
~MY CHRISEVE VISITOR