The Trapped Soul

Adolescent psychics are very rare in The Glades, Tennessee…especially deep in the woods. Freya Lyric Bleu is one of those rare gems – she just doesn’t know it, yet. Freya is a seven year old girl, who has hardly any family or friends; just her father, Sargent Armin Bleu, to help guide her in the right direction. Sargent Bleu was a veteran in the war for ten years, and came home just a half year before Freya was born. Freya is home schooled by Sargent Bleu. She is taught her reading, writing, math, history, and science, but those are just minor subjects to this child. The main subject her father teaches her: survival.

One night after a long day of hard work, little Freya rests her head on her pillow, closes her eyes, and drifts to sleep…but she’s soon awoken by the sound of a window opening. She’s startled when she finds that it wasn’t her father who opened her window, but a little boy around her age. He and Freya soon become close...the thing is, she's the only one that can see him.

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4. New Friend

Shock coursed throughout my every fiber as the boy stood there, staring at me with those eager blue eyes, framed with long, thick black lashes. My lips were agape and my grip on the baseball bat was certainly not firm, beings I was practically shaking.

Now, if this was a regular human being, I would have thrown him right back out of the window.

But he was not. He was extremely pale – so pale, it’d be very unhealthy for a living, breathing person. He seemed to…to flash, almost (but it happened so quickly and so scarce that I wasn’t even sure if it had actually happened or if I had blinked). Even though I was holding the bat in a threatening manner, he continued to smile, like it didn’t even faze him. Anyone in their right mind would have been at least a little concerned! Even I would have been! But no, he just stood there. Stood, and stared. He didn’t budge, not one muscle pulsed. It was like he was a beaming marble statue, minus the hair and clothes.

Speaking of his clothes…when was the last time the poor boy got a change in wardrobe? Did he get hand-me-downs from his great grandfather? He was dressed as if he were a peasant boy from the 1930’s! For pities sake, where are his parents?

So, no. He wasn’t a regular human being, but I’m certain he’s a human…I mean…he must be! …Right?

“I-I’m sorry, but…e-excuse me?” I stuttered, eyes widening a little more. I couldn’t wrap my head around understanding that I was stood in my room talking to a boy my age.

The vein on my poor father’s forehead that always stood out when he was angry would have burst if he’d known, I can guarantee it.

“Come play with me.” He repeated, this time in more of a demand than a question. I gulped.

“What…who are you?” I questioned breathlessly, slowly lowering my wooden weapon and taking a small, hesitant step towards him. His smile grew steadily.

“I’m Anthony. Anthony Harold Newman. What’s your name?” he informed, then proceeded to ask me about my own identity. Anthony Harold Newman? His name sounded as old as his clothes.

My head cocked delicately to my left side as I inched forward slowly, my boots making minor squeaking noises.

“Oh, well I’m Freya. Freya Lyric Bleu. How old are you, Anthony?” I told, and then threw another question at him. I carefully sat down Indian style on the cool wooden floor once I was a foot away from him, and he followed my lead. It seemed as if out of nowhere, he had a slightly dirty baseball in his hand. He rolled it towards me gently while he began talking.

“I’m ten.” The words came from his lips in an answer. He almost seemed hesitant when he told me that, but I brushed it off, rolling the ball back towards him. “How old are you?”

We continued talking and rolling the ball for hours. We questioned each other back and forth continuously for a while, and we never got bored. I didn’t really have any friends, so this was nice for me…even though he literally broke into my room and demanded I play with him…it was still kind of fun to be speaking to someone close to my age.

And you know what didn’t happen, not once the whole time we were talking?

The shutters on my window didn’t collide in an annoying banging noise. Not one single, solitary time. It was completely silent, minus our hushed conversations and the crickets singing. Maybe the magical powers knew that I’d found a friend and was too busy to be interrupted.

I was grateful for that, and I’d have to remember to somehow give my thanks to the force, later.

Before we knew it, it was midnight. The clock struck twelve and the old clock chimed with its music. Anthony looked up at it and smiled. I glanced over at it and also cracked a grin.

“It was here when my father and I moved in.” I noted, nodding my head. Anthony’s gaze flickered back to mine in a frenzied hurry, which kind of surprised me.

“Father? You mean you’re not alone?” he gasped quietly. My eyebrows furrowed at his question.

“Of course not…? I’m confused…?” I replied slowly, really and truly beyond confused, honestly. Why would it be such a shocker that I wasn’t alone?

“What year were you born, Freya?” it seemed to me he was changing the subject. My lower lip jutted out a bit as I answered; disappointed he hadn’t ceased my confusion with an explanation.

“Two-thousand six.” My voice piped as my eyes wandered over to my calendar, which read October 19, 2013 in fancy blue writing. His gaze followed mine, and I could have sworn he got a bit paler. My confusion rose to another level. What was the matter with him? “Anthony? Is there something wrong?”

“N…no, nothing.” He murmured, looking back at me and smiling again…but it seemed a bit less genuine. Nonetheless, I smiled back. “I should actually be going…besides…I’m sure you’ll need some sleep.” He noted politely. I nodded in agreement as he rose to his feet, extending his arm to give me a hand up. I took his and he took mine, pulling me so that was now at his height, maybe a tad bit shorter. I handed him back his ball and he thanked me.

“Will I see you again, Anthony?” I wondered aloud hopefully. I felt as though I had made a friend…I didn’t want to lose him. Anthony was really quite the sweet, classy boy.

“If you want to see me again.” He answered. Bother of our lips held a smile, and I told him I’d adore that. So, he said he’d be back…and I told him that I’d look forward to it.

I watched curiously as Anthony took both of his hands on the sill of my open window and then lifted himself up and threw his legs outside, now resting his rear on the bottom of the frame. He slid out of the window, and out of view, and I heard a few leafs crackling beneath him.

I took it upon myself to dart over and make sure he got out okay, but when I looked around from the window, he was nowhere in sight.

Well, then.

I closed the window, ridding the coolness from coming inside my room anymore, and strode over to my bed. I breathed out one long yawn while I stripped of my attire and changed into pajamas. I guess I’ll just “stakeout” some other night.

But hey…at least I made a new friend. 

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