Dark Black

A man approached me on the night of my 16th birthday. Nothing has ever been the same. I almost lost my humanity, my meaning, my purpose, my very existence.


4. Mine

I woke up hot and sweaty, but still feeling cold as goosebumps appeared on my skin as a gentle breeze came through. This was the first night I had slept in awhile. I sat in the van awkward and oddly parked on the side of the road. The darkness loomed over the night, at 2am. It was just a dream? Jeffery? Danny? The Kelly's? I should have known it was too good to be true. I looked over to the woman who took her time to take care of me. Her head leant back, not facing me. My eyes dropped to her neck, blood dripped from a slit in her throat. The casual thud in my chest was pounding as a dark low familiar chuckle came from behind. 

"That wasn't very nice of you to runaway like that Nel Nel." His low voice spoke. "I suspect that you haven't told anyone yet..." I refused to look at him, though I know if I did he'd be smirking. "I thank you for that." I swallowed the lump in my throat before screaming at the top of my lungs, letting people know I'm here and I need help. "I love your song Nel Nel. I dare say it gave me goosebumps. But I'd prefer a more real scream, one with lust and sheer torture." I screamed again pleading for help. "No one can hear your song Nel Nel. We're more than 500 miles from occupied car or home, you sing for me." He jumped out of the van, opened the drivers door, and flung out Faye. Along with my heart. That's it. 

"Where are you taking me" I eventually said. Breaking the silence, holding back the tears that wanted to overcome my face.

"Soon Nel Nel, soon" he whispered. A sharp pointy syringe stabbed my arm. Before I could do anything, I felt woozy and my head fell to the side, sleeping uncomfortably. 


"Nel Nel" a quiet voice said, lightly shaking. "You can wake up now. We're here" my eyes lazily opened. My eyes stared at the sign we slowly passed 'Welcome to Albany'. He was taking me to my foster parents? We headed down a couple of streets before making a turn on a dirt road that was labelled 'Smith St'. We drove up the dirt track before making a stop. My focus was on the mailbox at '28'. It stood in front of an old shabby shed, dozens of deserted cars surrounded it. "We're home" The man chuckled, "This is where we live". The term 'we' gave me shudders down my spine. The man opened the van door and held a firm grip on my wrist, I wouldn't dare try to run away as he held a knife in the other hand. 

He lead me in the house, the shed was only a mask of the outside. Inside, there were normal plastered walls with flowered wallpaper. The house felt welcoming, like there once was a happy family living here. I walked through into the dining room, I wasn't surprised by what I found though it startled me. A family of three, mother father and son sat at a table, dead. The fathers head lay on the table in a pool of blood. The mother and son had multiple bullet wounds on their back. Their heads had fallen back on to the chair blankly looking up. My eyes shot up to the man fierce with anger "Not what you were expecting? Well according to this will, you'd be mine if anything were to happen to them" the man smiled handing the papers over to me. I snatched them and tore them to shreds. "Ah-uh I still have plenty more copies where that came from". A long silence filled the room before he spoke, "Wait until you see your room". 

He gripped my arm pacing down the hallway and to a room, he pushed me inside locking the door. "I'll be in soon" He chuckled. The room had no windows, just cement walls. A candle lit the room, leaving a dim light. It was bare, with only a queen size mattress, tattered and torn left on the cement ground. This is far from what I thought this would turn out like. I tried calming myself, I lay on the bed, closed my eyes and breathed slowly and deeply. I opened my eyes. I screamed, the ceiling had photos of me, a timeline of photos, from when I was 12. The timeline followed the sequence of my everyday life back home. This isn't what I screamed at. Right in the middle, hung a collage of my parents and brother, dead. Showing how immensely terrified they all were, their facial expressions told the story. 

A shuffle of feet were lurking by the door, it crashed open revealing not one, but two men that stood by the door. 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...