Young Writers Society

EDIT

Chapter Six

I started noticing a pattern. Every time some one said my name, there would be a random breeze. My father started to notice the draft too, but I didn’t tell him that I thought it was connected to me. I tried to talk to Bailey about it, but he continued to say that he was behind everything ‘supernatural’ in the house.

At dinner one night, I offered up the idea for a witch doctor. I heard about them, they get rid of the evil spirits in your house. Later my father dismissed the idea and he said it was wrong to encourage such things in front of Bailey.

I’ve been having a hard time sleeping the past few weeks. It was probably because I have gotten to know Damien and started to crush on him. I’ve been trying to get away from Cassandra’s little crew because Peter’s was so much more interesting. We would walk to our classroom together after homeroom everyday and we would talk about bands and our favorite movies.

The downside is the more I got to know Peter, the less I knew about Damien. We only had chaperoned conversations with either Jessica or Heather. They always looked bored with our conversations that were mostly about school. Heather and Jessica were sent by Cassandra to make sure Damien was being a good boy.

It was Saturday night. I stayed up just looking at the thin fabric that I put on my bed for the canopy. It was a different shade of purple then my quilt was, but still dark enough to tick my father off. He never really liked the whole ‘punk’ phase. My father and brother went to bed hours ago and yet I still heard the murmur of a male voice from downstairs. I got up to investigate, in hopes to get rid of the insomnia.

As I went down the stairs, the voice got louder, but I still couldn’t make out the source. It didn’t sound like the TV or coming from either bedroom. I went down to the first floor. The locked door was open a crack letting a line of light pass through. A dancing light twirled on the floor. My heart sank. Why would anyone be up this late, or in this room?

I pushed the sliding door to the left and stopped breathing. The fireplace was lit as were several candles among the room. Like the rest of the house, the room was full of antique couches and tables, but this room had a grand piano at the far end of the room.

There, standing where I have seen him stand several times before, was the boy with tousled brown hair. He was looking into the fire, staring into it as if it hurt him some how.

You’d think that this would be bad, having someone in my house. I shouldn’t be weirded out because this is just a dream. There was no way this is even possible because that would mean I’m like psychic or something for seeing him in my dreams, right?

He didn’t notice as I walked into the room and sat on the familiar red couch. A cloud of dust appeared around me as it did with him in my dream and I coughed then laughed. When he didn’t turn to me, I did a more deliberate cough. He hung his head and sighed.

It hit me then, before in my dreams I could only see him, I couldn’t interact with him or touch him. I sighed then.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked in a metallic voice. I jumped when he spoke.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.” I said, tripping over my own words.

He didn’t answer. Could he be talking to himself? He turned to the couch opposite me and sat down. He didn’t look at me but put his face in his hands.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He looked up at me then. Like before, he was glad to see me and his eyes pierced right through me. “You can really see me?” he asked.

My head tilted to the side. “Are you serious?” I asked.

He didn’t reply, but waited patiently for me to answer him, “Obviously I can see you. I don’t think I would be talking to you if I couldn’t.”

He nodded, “That’s true.” He stood up and started pacing. “Curious,” escaped his lips then he looked back at me. “Maybe be cause you look so much like her.”

My heart sank. “I’ve seen you before,” I almost whispered. He stopped walking and his eyes tightened. I was surprised at how comfortable I was with him. “Upstairs in the spare bedroom is a picture of you next to the bed. Why would I dream about this,” I gestured to the room around us. “Why would I dream about you before I even knew what you looked like? Maybe I really am psychic. ”

He chuckled. “I have a theory about that.” He got excited and sat back across from me then frowned. “You think you’re dreaming.” It wasn’t a question, but an assumption.

“Well, that’s the only rational explanation, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, “That brings us back to my theory.” He stood, grabbed a picture frame off the mantle, put it in front of me on the coffee table, then sat down.

I picked up the frame that looked like it was made of gold. The girl in the picture was very young but the picture itself had to be fifty years old. She had long dark hair down to her waist, and she was smiling but it didn’t really touch her eyes that were a pale blue or green. She had a round, almost heart shaped, face. “This looks like…” I couldn’t continue what I was going to say. The resemblance was unbelievable.

“She looks like you.” He mused, “That is Susan when she was your age.”

I looked up at him, “Our age.”

He frowned, “That judgment is completely up to you.”

“Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He looked away from me, to the floor, the walls, everywhere but my eyes. “I guess the best way to explain it is to tell you the whole story.” He paused, “But first I should apologize for earlier. My name is Jasper.”

What an odd name. “Hello, Jasper.” I said with a sheepish smile.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Genevieve.” He smiled and I was glad he played along. “About fifty three years ago, your Great Aunt Sue met me.” He looked at me and waited for something to change in my expression.

“Fifty three?” I asked.

He nodded, “Yes. She and I went to school together. She just moved here from New York when we were seventeen. Back when the town was a lot more alive then what I have heard it is today. She and her sister, Isabella, lived here with their mother. Sue had a boyfriend when I finally got the courage to ask her on a date. It broke my heart.”

“That’s so sad.” I said just remembering all of the text messages from Cameron that I received all week and deleted.

“Oh, I was devastated, but I ended up walking her home that day. We became the best of friends. We spent every day together. ” He picked up the frame and looked at it. I suddenly felt self conscious because I look just like her, but he didn’t look at me like that.

“She was unlike any other girl I’ve ever seen, met, read about, or seen on TV. Her boyfriend didn’t like me at all. He absolutely loathed me. He would actually follow us home just waiting for me to make a move on her so could kill me, or attempt to anyway. But I never did. She said that we were friends and I respected that.”

Jasper opened his mouth but quickly shut it. “Go on.” I pushed, truly intrigued.

“No, you need to go back to bed now.” I set my jaw, “Now’s not the best time to be stubborn. Your father will be down here soon.” I heard shuffling upstairs.

“When will I see you again?” I asked. I sounded a little more desperate then I wanted to.

“In your dreams.” He winked.

I smiled and left the room but quickly ran back in. He hadn’t moved from the couch. “Can I go in the library tomorrow?” I asked. He was about to object but I put my hand up, “I won’t hurt anything. Trust me.” I said sincerely.

He smiled. “It’s all yours. Oh, tell Bailey ‘he’ says thanks.”

“For what?”

In a movement to fast for my eyes to follow, Jasper disappeared, the fire and all the candles went out and the room was dark. “Jasper?” I called.

Next to me, I felt a cold breeze. “Shh.” He whispered into my ear. Then the doors closed and I was looking at the wooden door.

Behind me, someone came trudging down the stairs. “You’re up kind of early,” my father said, walking down the hall.

“You know how I like my sun rises.” I said sarcastically.

”Humph.” My father said as he went into the kitchen scratching his head.

It was then I noticed how tired I really was. I ran up to my room and flopped on my bed. I whispered his name once before falling into a deep sleep. And for once in about a month, I didn’t dream of anything.