Never Alone Version Two

I'm writing Never Alone, my first completed Movella, again as I want to make it even better. I might even send it to a publisher. Here goes...

After a young thrillseeker gets bored in the summer holidays, she comes up with a fun-sounding, if strictly illegal, boredom-buster. Break into, and take photos of, some celebrities homes. Will Smiths' place= Too easy. Casa de Jennifer Aniston= She could do it blindfolded. However, a dare from her best friend leaves her getting caught by the owner of Mansion Number 3. If that wasn't scary enough, the owner died when she was 12.

Now, 15-year-old Diana has a huge secret to hide, and an even bigger one to uncover. Both could leave her the same way as her ghostly companion.


19. Something Doesn't Feel Right

The early dawn breaks, shining greyish light into my tiny room. I'm very shattered, and the dead weight on my gut is very heavy. I tilt my head up a bit, so my chin's touching my chest, and I saw what was the dead weight. TG had fallen asleep whilst kneeling on the floor, and his head was resting on my stomach. It's quite sweet, as he looks really peaceful. Judging by how my fingers were completely dead, he'd clutched my hand as I slept. Maybe he was just tired last night, which explained how he looked different.

I prop myself up onto my elbows, so I won't disturb him. If any of my campers were to see this, it would be very hard to explain. After all, name a legitimate reason why he'd be sleeping on me. He moved a bit in his sleep, probably dreaming, as he slipped off me and off the edge of my bed.

I jump up, catching him in both arms, so he won't hit the ground. He's surprisingly light, like he's lost a lot of weight, and I can pick him up too easily. Gently, I hold him up, then lay him on my bed. If he wakes up and sees I'm gone, then he knows where to go. Until then, he can stay here as long as he likes.


The bus ride from Topanga State Park to Malibu was a long one, but eventually, I step off and onto the familiar streets of my hometown. I suppose I look a touch weird in my camp councillor uniform, but so what? I quite like it, as it reminds me of what I'm doing for the kids.

I still remember the route, having ran it in reverse when I first broke in, and got scared out. I retrace it now, following the elegantly paved sidewalk, until I'm at the familiar back wall. It's a lot shorter than it was before, but it's probably because I'm taller. It's still got the familiar feeling to it, as I check nobody's looking before climbing over the wall.

The grass is even longer now, as it comes up to the bottom of my ribs. Clearly the place is still abandoned, but that's even better. I trek through the long grass, noticing the beautiful surroundings. A few wildflowers have sprung up, mainly poppies, some black tulips, and a smattering of baby's breath. It makes the place seem homely.

I reach the familiar pool, still filled with algae and mozzie larvae, and the french doors. They're cracked open a bit, with fresh layers of dust on the glass panes. I can understand how dusty they've got, as the last time I came here was about...I dunno, 6 years ago? I was 15 then, and I'm 21 now, so that's about right.

I lodge my fingers into the gap, pulling the door open with a creak. It must have been raining a lot, and the hinge had gotten rusty. I get it open wide enough to get through, then enter the kitchen, and back in time to when I was 15, hyped up by ghost stories (which I didn't believe at the time) and completely ignorant to what would happen to me. I could even feel my camera in my hand and my hair gently tickling my shoulders. Both of them were my imagination though, as my camera no longer worked (ghostly presences taking the energy out of it, and he still hasn't paid for a new one) and I'd finally persuaded my Mom to let me cut my hair short, after nearly 17 years of protests and several shouting matches.

The kitchen was still the same, except a few more layers of dust. My old footprints were buried under the dust, but you could still tell someone had been there. I left a new set in the dust, as I went into the hallway.

There was no difference at all, except for a bit of blast debris coming from the wrecked dining room, and the deflated "ghost" prank he tried. The black bedsheet used as a cloak, and the Hallowe'en skull mask, was still there at the bottom of the stairs. It gave me an idea for a terrific joke, as payback for all the ones he played on me. Gathering up the bedsheet and mask, I headed upstairs, all set to put it in motion.

First I wrapped the sheet around me, like a cloak, with my face visible. Only problem was, it wouldn't stay put. No matter how much I pulled, it wouldn't close properly around my body. In desperation, I took off my belt, then wrapped it around my waist on top of the sheet. It was the same colour, so that wasn't an issue. Next, I slipped the mask over my face, so I looked like the Grim Reaper. This was it. This was payback for all the pranks. Standing behind the open door, I waited and listened, as I heard the regular tapping of footsteps downstairs.

Judging by where they were coming from, he was in the kitchen. Probably noticing the fresh footprints in the dust, and working out that I beat him here. This was gonna be so sweet when it went through. I kept listening, as I didn't want to wreck it.

"Come on, Diana, where are you? It's not like you for you to hide. Where in this godforsaken place are you?"

I'm up here, preparing to get you back for all the times you scared me. Come on up, and you'll see for yourself.

He carried on walking around downstairs, still searching for me, and talking to himself as he looked through each of the downstairs rooms. I think he was in the living room, judging by the footsteps, somewhere near the piano.

"Mustn't be here yet, and they're old footprints. Doesn't seem like it, but it's possible." It sounded like he sighed, or breathed out deeply. I'd never heard him sound like this before. His voice was choked, almost like he was, or had been, crying. This wasn't right; nobody was emotionally tougher than him. Something really bad must be going on.

"I'm really gonna miss her, that brave, if slightly reckless kid. Even if she isn't a kid anymore. Hard to believe she's 21 now, and with a job. I suppose, if I had more time with her, I could have done more. Like...I dunno what. Fact is though, time's up. It's too late for me to show her anything, or teach her anything, or be there for her. If she's listening, I want her to know I'm sorry I couldn't do more for her."

Sorry? What's he got to be sorry for? He's the greatest friend I've ever had. And what does he mean it's too late to show me anything or teach me anything? I'm a relatively quick learner, so I could pick something up after a short while.

"Diana, if you can hear me, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you enough. I'm sorry that I made you fear for your life, and I'm sorry for what I made you do." He was actually crying now, and I could hear it from upstairs. Maybe trying to scare him was a bad idea. Taking off the bedsheet cloak and the skull mask, I came out from behind the door and slowly went downstairs.

Going into the living room, I saw him sat on one of the sofa's, crying quietly. Something had to definitely be wrong. Crossing the polished floor, I sat down beside him, and gently offered my shoulder to cry on.

"You don't need to be sorry for anything at all; if it weren't for you, someone else might have gotten killed. I risked my life, to save countless others. Me getting hurt, was nothing to do with you at all. It was all my doing, not yours. You never hurt me one bit." I softly said, as he held on to me. He was one of the greatest people (well, not exactly, but you know what I mean by people in this sense) I've ever known. I'd willingly risk my life, to save his afterlife.

"What about...the scar on your ring finger? That was because of me." He wept, leaning into me. I twisted my waist a bit, so he could properly hold on to me and let his emotions out. It was a touch uncomfortable, but he was way more important than a slight pain in my hip.

"It doesn't hurt, so I don't see a problem with it. I kinda like it actually."

"But...I failed you. I promised I'd be there for you, and I can't be anymore."

"You never promised me anything of the sort. You said you'd be there for me, but never promised it. Now, I heard everything you said, so don't try and hide it from me. I'm giving you a bit of time from my life, so you can do something with me."

As I said it, I felt something shift in the air. My chest started aching a bit, but I thought nothing of it. People get minor chest pains all the time. I slowly rocked my ghostly friend, as he straightened up. His usually silver eyes, were now lined with dark grey, from the tear stains. I had no idea that ghosts could cry.

"You didn't just do what I thought you did, right?" He asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

"I honestly have no clue what I did. I don't matter right now, but you do. You said it was too late to show me or teach me anything. Not anymore its not, but it will be if you don't quit worrying about me. You've got time to do something with me, so do it."

I was a little worried now, but I didn't care. He meant the world to me.

"If you're sure, then I can't stop you. I'll show you somewhere that you'll like."

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