Delilah Cale :: D2 :: fin

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[/size]“Little girl, little girl, come out come out wherever you are?” Every night it is the same voice. The same taunting voice that slices through my mind, that slices through my thoughts. It pulls me out of my dreams and into the presence of the waking world. The moon had barely climbed higher than the tops of the trees and I suck in a deep breath, hugging my blankets tighter around my thin body. “Sweetie, come out, come out and play with me… come on now- I don’t want to play alone.” Its sing song voice slithers through the air like a snake, attacking me where it hurts the most. I take a peak over my woollen blankets and the figure of a women slides across the room of my floor- slowly, is movements slow and deliberate. The fear that surged within me was familiar- but that didn’t comfort me- it scared me more.

For years now this woman has come onto my room at night. For years now she has swooped in and around my body, cawing and squawking like a mad crow. And for years I have cowered in fear as she danced madly around me, singing about death- about how she was going to tear my flesh straight from the bone and listen to my screams. She taunted me about how she was going to burn my parents alive and make me listen to their dying screams. But years have been and I am still alive- my parents were still alive. We were safe. But she continued to come.


Tonight my eyes watch her translucent body as she moves towards me her eyes- or pits rather- staring straight into me, her twisted mouth curved in a wild smile. A silent scream pressed against my lips and I pulled my covers over my head. My whole body shook like leaves in a winter storm. My breathes came out shaky and shivers of fear ran through my body. “Please, please leave me alone! What do you want? Please… please…” I choke as tears begin to splatter down my cheeks. “I- please.” I say finally the tears that streaked my face were like a salty scar.

“Now be fair- I haven’t even started yet…” Her cruel voice slips over my body and I tense waiting for her searing words to slash verbal wounds through my body once again.

* * *

Ever since the ghost that appears every night I have become a very paranoid person- especially during the night. If I am out late, I become skittish. My friends worry for me, they constantly ask if I am okay, concern obvious on their faces, but I brush away their concerns. I hated looking weak, looking vulnerable. I was a career, I was supposed to be strong, to be fearless and brave- and I was, during the daylight hours…. But as soon as the sun dips behind the horizon and the dark mysterious night comes out to play, I hide, hide in the protective shell of my body. I never used to be like this… I never used to be this weak girl…. It wasn’t my fault, but the ghosts fault. It petrified me, made my skin crawl. It filled my mind with horrible images of my family, of my family my friends and myself… Images that were hard o forget, that filled my sleep- that filled my dreams with frightful nightmares. The day was my friend, the day was the time I got to be myself, where I got to be the person I have always dreamed of being- the nights are my enemy, the nights are where my day seems worthless and so far far away.


But many sleepless nights have leaded me to gain a sharp tongue. I have become a snappy and emotional person, someone that I don’t even recognise… I hate it, I hate being that person in the group who unconsciously needs the support- who needs help, actual help. I was seeing things after all, seeing things that were effecting me in a way that was not healthy. Sometimes I wander; I wander if I am crazy. I wander if this ghost I was seeing was all just a part of my creative imagination… after all no one else saw her, none of my other family member heard be taunts heard her screeches- it was just me, and me alone. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but maybe I was, maybe I was becoming a crazy child who saw things, who saw and heard things that weren’t really there. I knew my parents were worried, worried that I was getting sick… But I tried to hide it as best as I could from them… I didn’t want them to worry, I didn’t want to disappoint them by telling them that their only daughter was going insane.

I want to overcome this ‘sickness’, I want to become the person I was a few years ago- and that meant getting help. Even though it broke my pride to get help, I had to, I had to if I wanted to become sane again. Secretly I had begun to visit this psychologist, this guy who found my condition fascinated. He talked to me for hours, once a week. He asked me about my life, he asked about my family, about me… and I told him everything I could remember. He never laughed or snorted or smirked at my insanity, he cared, he would watch me carefully as I spoke, he would watch me so intently that I began to believe that he cared about me, that he cared and listened to every word that feel from my lips… and slowly, slowly I began to fall for him. But I didn’t begin to fall for him cause he was the one that understood, it was because he was the one that helped, he was the one that actually had affected me, slowly I became more sane, the woman coming less frequently… But she still came, she still came and haunted me… but slowly I began to fight her and slowly I was on my way to recovery.

* * *

Dark brown hair surrounds the soft features of my face. In the sunlight, gold’s and lighter browns weave in and out of the darker strands. My hair is shiny and healthy and I usually where it down with a braid pulling back my fringe and a ribbon biding the end of the braided, preventing stay hairs to run away. It falls halfway down my back, like a curtain, thick and lushes. Running my fingers through the tangled stands I look into the mirror that stand beside my bed as the sun begins to hike up into the sky. The sun was my saviour, the sun was the only thing that was keeping my sane- as well as my lovely psychologist. Both the sun and my psychologist are the people who hold the dearest parts places in my heart, they are the reason why I am still pushing on today.


A small smile of relief forms on my round face. As I stare into my reflection. The first time I looked into the mirror my face had been pale and distraught, but now as the morning wears on a pinkish tint begins to form in my cheeks. I look alive once again. My blue eyes slide down my body, my thin lean athletic body. I had been training to be a career most my life, and you could tell by looking at the muscles that run up my legs, the hugged my arms and toned my torso. Many times I have been told that I had a petite body, that I was small and agile- just like my mothers. My smile grows larger as I think about my mother… but it also amplifies the dark moons that make home under my eyes. Turning away from the mirror I rub the shadows under my eyes, wondering just how obvious they were to the rest of my family.



Template credits to Zoe <3
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