The Girl That Was Obsessed With Murder

by James Larpson

  What had all of this stuff been doing here? He thought about it for a moment, but nothing clicked. He knew what he was about to say was crazy, and he didn’t expect a reply, but he still said it.

  “Meredith?”

  He let out a relieving breath, knowing she wouldn’t just pop up and ask Charlie what was wrong. That would be impossible. The minute the word left his tongue; he did think he heard something, though. It was the same, faint chanting he heard at the door. It was only a smudge louder this time, but after about fifteen seconds, the word me could be heard. Charlie still figured a television was left on, but he couldn’t fully convince himself of the idea. Things weren’t making sense. He stood up, noticing a corner attachment to a hallway Kate and he hadn’t seen while being with Meredith.

  Lit only by a tiny, white candle, he decided to walk further, hoping there was just a TV on and he could turn it off before leaving. Something about the place made him more fascinated than before, and he couldn’t get himself to leave. He had to figure out what was going on. He figured that was how Kate must have always felt—she always had to figure things out completely. On a small dresser halfway through the hallway stood several pictures colored in markers. The first that captured his attention was of a young girl, maybe eight years of age, in front of what looked like a couple of blinding lights. He tilted the picture at an angle and looked once more, the lights now looking more like the headlights of a car, but he couldn’t fully tell.

  The paper underneath showed a car—he realized the lights were headlights for sure—smashed into a tree. He almost didn’t notice it, but near the tree was another young girl lying on her back, in the middle of the road. There was red crayon smeared on her. Something made him drop the paper. The same chanting picked up again, and he definitely heard me. He held his breath and closed his eyes, focusing on the noise, which lasted longer than usual. Save me? Charlie asked himself. It sure sounded like that. He heard the beginning once more, which was easy to realize the noise started with an S. The chanting began to sound desperate, like someone in need, but stopped. The candle in the hallway went dark, and the only light he could hope for was now the occasional lightning that sprung itself through the windows.

  “Is anybody here?”

  He couldn’t believe he was still here, but he felt forced to stay. His feet physically would not move towards the door, but they had to.

  “This is crazy,” he said, leaving the pictures behind and using his strength to move towards the front door.

  Once he reached the kitchen, the shatter sound of something heavy being dropped permeated through the walls. He had to turn back. The hallway seemed shorter as he moved his legs faster through it, and turned right. In his vision was a large, dark, brown desk. He took a step forward, noticing the pictures spilled over the desk. Some were he, and he could tell one was of Clare. One hung over the desk, almost falling into the trash bin next to it. They were burnt enough to make him struggle, but he could almost make out Vivian in one of the pictures in the trash. He dug through more, seeing one of Mr. Jones, as well as a picture of Michelle leaving Vivian’s house out the back door. What alarmed Charlie more were the two pictures that sat next to the trash that were not as burnt through all the way, but just in the corners. They were of Kate and Clare. They showed Clare walking to Victor’s house alone, while the other was of Kate talking with Jason outside. As he attempted touching those, his fingers tingled and the sensation of fifty small needles being jammed in his hand forced him to drop them.

  “What is all of this,” he whispered to himself.

  The light Charlie stood in front of turned on and off by itself several times while he looked at the pictures, so he became somewhat accustomed to it. He took a look once more at Vivian and Mr. Jones’ pictures, while behind him, only visible as the lamp flickered on, stood Sophie, staring at Charlie with red eyes. Her black dress absorbed much of the low-powered lamp, making her hardly visible. She was quiet; Charlie hadn’t noticed her. By the time the light flickered off again, she was gone. Charlie couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t alone. The sound of light footsteps flickered in Charlie’s head, and he took his eyes off of the pictures. He wished there was more light, but wasn’t going to attempt fixing the lamp. There was something eerie about it. The footsteps became louder, but maybe just in his head. He, one step at a time, made his way closer to the hallway he had come from. Sweat dripped from his forehead to his eyebrow. He hadn’t realized how much hotter the house felt. As thunder roared outside, Meredith ran from the corner and charged at Charlie. In her hand was a knife, and her stomach was covered in blood, still dripping off of her body.

  Charlie screamed louder than ever, and closed his eyes so tight it hurt. The footsteps disappeared, and opened one eye. Meredith was gone, but a sharp pain that started from Charlie’s throat made its way to his foot. He looked down, blood dripping from his toe.

  “She made me do it. She made me do it all!” he heard from behind him, in a chanting, high-pitched voice.

  Finally, he saw the girl who he recognized as Mary staring at him, wearing the same white dress as she always did. She repeated the phrase, her face looking desperate. She pointed across the room, fear evident in her light blue eyes. He turned around, a girl identical to Mary with piercing red eyes looking at him. Her veins began to show, and her skin wrinkled. Her neck began to darken, and soon matched the color of her dress. He looked behind him—the girl in white was gone. Something about the girl in black was captivating. As he studied her, something looked strikingly familiar. Her bone structure, her mouth, even her hands—they all looked just like...Meredith.

  “I told you to stay away from your family. Especially her,” Sophie said.

  The way she talked sounded like Meredith, too.

  “What do you mean, you told me?” he asked.

  Before she answered, she disappeared into the darkness as the lamp flickered off on command. Next to the trash bin was another picture, one Charlie hadn’t seen. It was of Meredith in a black background, just staring. Her eyes were red. He bent down, touching it. There was a shadow next to him, and he dared to look up. Meredith stood over him—holding a red bouncy ball—making him fall back and hit his hand against the desk.

  “Meredith? Please don't...I thought you died.”

  He looked into her eyes, which somehow looked bluer now...just like Mary’s.

  “Charlie, I’ve been dead.”

  He looked at the pictures near the trashcan and on the desk again. The sweat on his hands ran onto the carpet below him.

  “Did you kill all of these people?”

  He looked down and wiped his sweaty hands against his shirt, then looked back up. Meredith was no longer there.

  “Please, Meredith!”

  Someone behind him answered.

  “She made me do it! She controlled me, Charlie!”

  It was Mary, crying out again in desperation and fear. Charlie’s head spun, and he couldn’t make sense of this no matter how he thought of it. He waited for her to d again, but she stayed.

  “Who? Who made you?”

  “Save me, please!” she said.

  “Who made you do all of this?”

  She pointed at her heart and breathed heavier.

  “She did—Sop...”

  Before she could finish, she collapsed, her light body making a loud noise as it hit the ground.

  Charlie’s body went cold and his spine tingled at the screeching, chilling, and raw hitch-pitched scream that followed. He covered his ears, and attempted to escape. He ran towards the hallway, when something grabbed his leg. His toe still throbbed and bled, and his body fell onto a black rug that felt like it swallowed him up. It was probably since his head was spinning, but he could have sworn there was a face on the rug, staring at him. His grip on the rug tightened, and he tried to pull up his heavy, exhausted body. But in a blink the carpet snapped and, as if under someone’s control, was thrown and pulled, thrusting him backward.

  “Wha
t...why are you doing all of this?” he said, his voice tightening.

  “Because he killed me,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Your dad.”

  The girl disappeared, but he could still hear her. He could even feel her breath, which was hot and stuck to him.

  “What? That’s impossible—my dad died!”

  The girl in white appeared. She was in tears.

  “After he killed me! Charlie, she did it on purpose, she didn’t save me from that car! She took control of me; I didn’t want to do any of it. It’s her fault—she wanted revenge!”

  “Revenge? My dad is dead! Why kill everyone else?”

  The room went quiet, and Charlie's words pounded in his head. Was everything over? He thought so, until Mary talked once more, sounding out of breath.

  “You were different, Charlie. You read my note, and understood it. You’re stronger than her.”

  “Than who?”

  “Her, Charlie. Sophie! She can’t get to you! You’re stronger than me. That’s why I warned you about Kate—she’s her target. Sophie killed my mother, Charlie! She would have killed my brother if he wasn’t in jail or running away so much.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me all of this?”

  “I couldn’t...”

  “Why not?”

  She looked at her stomach, and shut her eyes.

  “She’s everywhere.”

  “What are talking about—”?

  “—I tried. At the party, when you were going to the bathroom.”

  Charlie played that night in his head. He remembered going to the bathroom, seeing Meredith near the door, knowing somehow he was going to enter. What had she said to him? With all that had happened, his memory pretty much exploded. Was it about doing something often at night? No, evening. He knew the first word started with an S, but he couldn’t understand how that was Mary telling him about Sophie. He mentally told himself to wait, noticing her name started with an S also. In evening, he told himself, thinking harder. He remembered there was something about going to the bathroom mentioned...peeing. Before he mapped out the scene more, he thought about the first letters of those words...S, P, and E—all letters in Sophie’s name. He didn’t have time to think more, but had the realization that Mary told him that night Sophie was there, controlling her.

  “No! Please, no,” she said.

  Charlie didn’t understand. Just then the lamp flickered faster than ever. A strange sound came from the bulb, and the light made his eyes spin. The bulb exploded, sending him into total darkness. Mary was silent. He felt something push him to the hard ground. All he heard was wind rocking from outside the taped windows, the plastic cover moving like a ghost. Lightning illuminated the room, allowing enough light for Charlie to watch, in horror, of Sophie’s face inches from his. The image of her red, evil eyes burned deep into his mind. Once the room darkened, her face was gone. When he turned his head, there was a dark figure standing at the end of the hallway, still as a statue. He started with his knees, and dug them into the deep, black rug. He used the dresser near him to help him stand, still staring at the dark figure. An icy chill ran up his spine as he heard Sophie’s voice.

  “Come on, Charlie. Forget her, and let’s stop fighting. Join me,” she said.

  Her screechy words sounded tempting, even though he didn’t want them to. What did she want him to join her in?

  “You can’t handle all of this alone. Let me help you,” she said.

  He noticed Sophie’s hand reach out, but she stayed at the end of the hallway.

  “Leave me alone,” Charlie demanded.

  “You won’t have to worry about anything—not Clare, Kate, or remembering all the horrible things you did.”

  “Shut up.”

  Charlie heard Sophie breathing harder, becoming angrier. The second of silence was broken as Sophie charged from the end of the hall towards him at full speed, letting out an ear-shattering scream. She tightened a grip on his short neck.

  “You killed my father!’

  Charlie felt a vein in his throat pop. Unbearable pressure built up in his head, and he kicked his feet.

  “I’m sorry,” he tried to breath out.

  “You can either accept me, and everything will be over, or be tortured for the rest of your unimportant life. You’re nothing without me,” she said, spitting on him.

  Her words sounded so harsh and...evil. Something about her made him think—for a mere second—she was right. He needed to join Sophie and let go of all the crazy murder theories. It didn’t matter what happened to Mary, who had desperately wanted freedom from Sophie’s control. All of that swarmed his mind in a mere second, but he tried helplessly to resist those thoughts. With his hands and all energy, he grabbed her remaining hand and dug the sharp nails into her skin, making her growl and scream. However, her grip loosened for enough time to reach for the trash bin near Charlie, under the brown desk covered in pictures. His hands brushed the side of it, and Sophie’s grip tightened more than before. His heels dug into the floor as he tried to boost himself one more inch, in order to get a good grip on the bin. Charlie felt numb, but refused to die or give into Sophie—which was probably worse. He never encountered true evil—he didn’t even realize it existed—until now. Using his pinky, he gripped the top of the trashcan and hoped for the best. Every muscle in his body contracted more than ever, and he thrusted the metal bin at Sophie, hitting her jaw. Her grip loosened and she fell on her side for three seconds. As Charlie forced himself to stand up, his eyes went to a picture taped to the bottom of the trashcan. It looked like a child colored it, just like those from the dresser. He recognized the figure as his father. The man sat in a ditch with red crayon smeared over his arms, where something that looked like a cut, or broken, bottle of some kind stuck out. In the left corner of the picture was a car with blinding headlights that matched the others. He regretted taking those seconds to look at the picture, and knew he had to turn away and run. Even though he heard Sophie slither towards him, he finally felt the doorknob at the front door. Thank God. His fingers turned the knob, but it didn’t open. It made a strange noise and refused to budge. There had to be another way out. He didn’t have time to worry about how much his throat hurt or what else popped in him, but his eyes stayed on the Bible resting on the kitchen counter that he had seen when he visited Meredith—uh, Mary. Another lamp flickered on and off, and his eyes burned when he saw Sophie coming towards him closer and closer every time the light turned back on. There was nothing else to do. He was going to die. Nothing could save him at this point; he really thought differently before. He must have been wrong. Those thoughts poured into his mind, and he didn’t fight them any longer.

  The lamp flickered once more, Sophie visible and crawling closer to him. She was now feet away. Finally something inside of Charlie sparked.

  “Just leave me—and Mary—alone! We don’t need you! Go away,” he said before running again, even though he knew it was helpless.

  Every light on the house turned on in unison, and flickered together.

  “Charlie, I need to tell you something,” Kate said at home as she walked into his room.

  She needed to tell him about her plan to call the police, and run her script by him.

  “Charlie?”

  The room was empty. Lights shone through his window, but quickly turned off. She took steps closer and opened the curtains fully. What was Charlie doing at Meredith’s house this late? What could he possibly be doing—she was dead! Something was wrong. She looked closer, seeing Charlie run through the house, looking back ten times as if there was a ghost behind him. Of course, she knew ghosts weren’t real, but that’s what it was like. Nevertheless, she had to do something. Without putting her shoes on, she slammed the door loud enough, Clare probably heard from across the house.

  The lights cut off, and Charlie heard mumbling and whispering. It was Sophie, but he couldn’t understand any of it. He covered his ears and looked for...something to help
him. The voices followed behind.

  “Just let me show you what I can do for you,” he heard in part of the whispering. He hit a dead in the house, then ran for the kitchen once more. The floor had trails of blood from Charlie, but he didn’t notice. His eyes fixed on the Bible once more, and he felt something pulling him closer to It. His pulse slowed when he put his hands on the pages, and he let out a huge breath. The voices halted.

  “Help me,” he whispered.

  Charlie took the Bible and ran. Maybe the door would somehow work now. The lamp turned back on and he saw a shadow on the wall. It was tall and had claw-like hands.

  “Charlie!” Kate yelled as she approached the house, although unaware of anything besides some weird flickering lights inside. She was just feet away from the front steps.

  The only sound Charlie heard was Sophie’s scream once more. He reached for the door handle, but noticed the shadow coming closer to him at full speed. Too scared, he got into the position of a ball and held the Bible tighter than he kept his eyes shut. He hoped and waited for something good to happen. He didn’t feel anything, and opened his eyes.

  Kate stepped up the third step. She heard some kind of awful scream, but it couldn’t have been Charlie. It was too high-pitched. The next second, something hit her, and she flew back off the stairs. Her back smashed into the concrete. Her bones felt broken. There hadn’t been anything there but wind—how could that have knocked her off her feet? Kate felt her eyes shut.