Ghost Island

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** For the Island picture prompt due end of July *** *** *** *** *** *** ****

A girl, robbed of her identity, is abandoned on an Island of which she has no clue. Without any hint of how she got there, she finds out she needs to survive a trauma she doesn't remember, and escape the storm-keeper who wants to use her for his own sinister, but heartbreaking deeds. How will the girl resist travelling down the rocky road to madness, and save not only her friends from the clutches of death, but herself?
P.S. this is a first draft so it might be kinda... weird :P (and yes, I do know that I spelt 'mermaids' wrong. It is intentional)


4. Chapter Four: The Capture


With a sharp intake of breath, the girl awakens. Staring at the crumbling, rotten ceiling above her, she seems confused. When she fell accidentally asleep in her closed off cave, there wasn’t a ceiling, just the harsh rock surface, hiding insects of sorts, and wasps nests that always seemed alive. Despite the girls confusion on many matters, she is certain that she is no longer in her burrow of safety, but in a small, claustrophobic room, with various instruments strewn across the floor. She props herself up with her scabbed elbows and inspects her surroundings in a whirl of disorientation.   

The room in which she inhabits is rotten with age, and on the brink of collapsing. The girl can’t help wondering how the old alcove is still standing, with the slabs of wood keeping it up half-eaten away by insects. The floor is dirty with years of use, and black stains of mildew are slowly creeping up the dark, mahogany wood. Little light fills the room, the only light source, being the small window, barred up in the topmost corner of the enclosed area.   

A small slate of glass that reflects the surroundings around the girl, sits propped up against a faded cream wall, where the paint is rapidly chipping away. The room smells of tension and fear, radiating from the four girls curled up together near a glowing-aquamarine pool set in the splintery wood floor.   

The girls are staring at the small being who’s recently awoken, putting her uncomfortably in the spotlight. The girl who is again, to her utter humiliation, at loss with her environment, stares uncomfortably back at them, shifting her awkward position to a more comfortable one. The gaggle of girls shift closer to the slightly more baffled young woman, and seem to be speaking. The girl doesn’t understand what they’re talking about, as her ears seem to have blocked up. She hears the faint murmur of their muttering, but fails to extinguish any understandable words. She shrinks into the wall, wishing that she could blend through it, and become one of the moving shadows in the room. One member of the group taps her on the head, causing slow, steady beats which seem to be magnified, to echo through her confused state.   

Finally, as if the world has gone into focus, her hearing starts to become less strained, and, if she concentrates mightily, she can extinguish one word from the next.       

‘What’s your name?’ One of them asks the girl for the second time that week. The girl shakes her head furiously, cupping her hands to her aching head. 

‘Hello?’ One of them asks, peering down to look closer into those unnaturally green eyes. ‘I don’t think she can hear us.’

‘WHAT. IS. YOUR. NAME.’ Another girl asks, talking slowly, and slightly louder, as if the girl would finally understand in a more patronising tone. 

‘Oh, quit it, Bell. It’s obvious she’s mad.’ 

‘Or maybe she can’t hear us.’

‘Nah. She’s just gone cuckoo.’ 

‘Pff, always the one to make immediate generalisations about everybody, Sammy.’ 

‘You guys are doin’ my ‘ead in.’ Another girl chips in, chewing on a dirty and sodden strand of straw. ‘Just give ‘er some space, yeah?’  

‘It’s not OUR fault that the loony out there dragged her in here!’ Yet another says.

‘Did I ever say it was, block’ead?’ 

‘Well you implied it!’ She retorts, her chest puffing up like an angry swan. The girl with the straw in her mouth walks testily towards the other, fists clenched in repressed anger. 

‘Jes’ shut up will ya?’ 

‘When you stop making preposterous propositions!’  The other is just about to make a rude gesture towards her rival, when the girl emits a small cry, and crawls, wincing as she does so, to the other side of the room, and cowers in the corner, silently sobbing. 

‘Oh look wha’ ya did now!’

‘What?! That was you! Not me!’  

Another girl pushes angrily past the two bickering ladies, and makes her way cautiously, as a man would do to a wild lion, and places her hand on her shaking shoulder. 

‘Hey, hey... if you just told us who you were, then maybe we would be able to have a proper conversation.’ she says kindly. An ounce of pity in her voice.  It takes a while for the girl to show her blotchy face to the group, and when she does, she stands up, but shrinks into the corner some more.

‘Jes’ leave her, Bell. She’s traumatised, the poor thing.’ 

‘I know...but I want to- I want to help her...’ 

‘For godsake! Just leave her. She’s deranged.’ Another says. 

‘Shut it Olivia - I mean, why would we take your advice? You almost got chucked into that blinking, glowing, sodding pool right there!’

‘WILL YOU STOP ARGUING?’ Another girl shouts, her chest heaving up and down. ‘Why don’t we just introduce ourselves properly?’ Her nose turns up, ‘She probably thinks we’re a load of idiots, acting like this.’ Yet another groans.

‘We’ve done this stupid thing loadsa times...’ 

Ignoring the comment, one of them orders the others to get into line.

‘If you can hear us... then we’re going to tell you our names.’ The girl now hidden in the shadows nods, meekly.

‘I’m Bell Whiteley.’ A pretty young woman, with light freckles dusted across her nose steps forward, cropped brown hair bouncing while she does so. Stepping back, she smiles politely at the girl. Yet another of the group steps forward, tripping slightly.

‘I’m Sammy... and, ur, I’m sure you’re not mad... but, you know... some come in here a bit weird in the’ Awkwardly, she steps back, her feet kicking some loose dust set in the ground. The procedure carries on.

‘I’m Olivia Newton, also known as the great, great granddaughter of the person who invented Pedigree Dog Food. I used to live in a big mansion near the sea, and my mother won the lottery so she was a truly fantastical millionaire, I’m sure you’ve heard of Martha Newto-ow!’ she says, as she receives a not-so-discreet kick from Sammy. Scowling darkly at Sammy, Olivia rubs her ankle.

The last girl steps forward.

‘I ain’t gotta clue in hell wha my name is.’ She says, taking the girl by surprise. ‘Not a hint ‘bout my darn identity. Jes’ washed up on that beach over there, next thing I know, been caught by that messed up stormkeeper. Get shoved in this stinkin’ cell, and I ain’t even been awake for ten minutes.’  

There’s an awkward silence in the room.

‘Darn It. Everythin’ goes quiet when I do that.’ She says, her eyes portraying a spark of embarrassment. The girl looks away, a hot flush creeping up her neck and cheeks. She looks up as Olivia clucks her mouth impatiently.  

‘You’re going to tell us your name, aren’t you?’ 

The girl clicks her jaw shut with an angry snap and shakes her head vigorously, deciding that she definitely doesn’t like Olivia. Olivia turns around to face the group, her eyes playing on the girls hot face, a sly grin tinting her chapped lips.

‘I think she’s from a mad-house. Where the lunatics go.’

‘That doesn’t explain why she got here, loser.’ Sammy says.

‘An’ she can hear you too. She can’t speak, but she can hear us damn well. She’s not stupid.’

‘You can hardly speak either, Olivia,’ Bell says, her lip curling disdainfully, ‘First time you came, you were shivering in the corner not speaking to anybody.’ 

Olivia stamps her foot on the groaning wood, an indication that she’s about to explode.


It occurs to the girl that no-one really likes Olivia. But suddenly, she has a bright idea. Rushing towards the small, barred up gap in the wall, she peers outside, her entire body weight on her toes. With as much strength as she can gather, she reaches her arm through the rusted bars and grabs a fallen piece of chalk that had fallen from the cliffs.   

Satisfied, the girl retracts her arm and lands on the balls of her feet again, aware that the groups eyes are burning into the back of her head. Slowly, she turns, and walks towards the far wall.

She starts writing. 

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