the water tower is a common hang out spot for those in bellworth crossing who are looking for silence and a cool breeze. kai morrow is no exception to this, finding himself there on the evening of april 19th, sometime after sunset. the weight of teddy’s death has put everyone on edge, taking him along with it. he finds himself in the company of none other than victor jackson, who had spotted kai earlier in the evening, and his knee-jerk belief was that his friend was skipping town, and that he needed to intervene. after realizing that isn't in the cards, the two sit on the edge of the water tower, feet dangling and arms resting on the rusted-over railing. time passes with easy conversation, ebbing and flowing from surface level topics to something far more vulnerable, carried by the understanding of two people who have been through far too much together.
despite its serenity, the water tower offers a front-row look at a more sinister view: the security gate at fort hemlock, the one that sticks out like a sore thumb among the trees and discreet fence. it’s difficult not to stare at it, as if watching down a desolate street in anticipation of a collision with a car; you may not see anything, but the possibility remains. as the evening carries on, the only noise around them is the conversation shared by kai and victor, and the sound of a few nearby owls. the security gate remains silent, a barely noticeable buzz coming from its bright overhead light.
somewhere around two in the morning, a loud screeching sound pierces through the trees. a car–one far too polished and expensive to be at fort hemlock–rips down the gravel drive of the base, only coming to an abrupt halt mere inches from the security gate that stands between it and the freedom it seeks. it’s a strange sight to begin with: the stark contrast of a cherry red 1987 porsche 959 against the green and brown hues of fort hemlock. the car looks like it's been plucked off a movie screen and dropped into the damp, overgrown grass against its will. a luxury supercar is an odd addition to the small ohio town, but seeing it behind the fence of the base in the middle of the night creates a sense of dread within the car’s unseen audience: kai and victor suddenly become aware of the fact that they are about to witness something they aren't supposed to see, that their quiet evening to decompress has been interrupted in a way they didn’t expect.
this person isn’t arriving at fort hemlock, they’re fleeing.
the car idles at the gate, security personnel (who not so subtly keep a hand on the gun at their hip) walk up the driver's side window moments after its arrival. while it’s not clear what is being said, it doesn’t take a genius to decipher that they’re going back and forth. anyone within a mile radius can feel the tension radiating off them, the weight of something that isn’t fully known, but still feared. a handful of minutes go by before the engine is cut, with the security guard stepping back and the driver emerging from the car in a huff.
the oppressive floodlight above the gate reveals none other than mayor donovan.
earl donovan has never liked fort hemlock.
as a teen, he had nightmares about the base—its concrete walls, the rumors and stories spread around town only sending his imagination into hyperdrive. that (paired with a genuine fear over the red scare) made the new, looming presence at the south end of bellworth crossing even more frightening. it dulled as time went on, though the fear never quite left him. each earthquake and power outage reminded him of the boogeyman living in his backyard, reminded him to always look over his shoulder when he was alone.
regardless, he was a simple man.
the donovan family was widely regarded for their wealth and status, and earl fit into that role with a studied ease, growing into a man who took more pride in his appearance and reputation than he’d openly admit. he always arrived in a three piece suit and expensive loafers, wanting to turn the heads of those he passed. he wanted the notoriety, would do anything to maintain his power and status as a donovan, but most of all, he wanted money.
the fears he once held for fort hemlock faded over time, even more so when he was elected mayor. each meeting with government officials and every large check they brought with them made it easier for earl to put aside any negative feelings he had about the base. he was happy to accept their bribe, to show that he could be bought for the right price. under the guise that he would only be using the money for the betterment of bellworth crossing, of course. as long as the check cleared, he was happy to push any and every plan to keep eyes off the base, and on to his latest endeavor (while skimming a bit off the top for himself, of course). it didn’t matter if it was by renaming the park, or the grandiose mall built a couple of years ago; if there was something new and shiny to be had, earl donovan would be the first to create a blueprint for it.
this is how he landed in his current situation, the consequence of building trust with people who had far more to lose than a silly, small town election. he stalks down the halls of fort hemlock—a first in his tenure as mayor—shoulder to shoulder with multiple scientists and government officials, all moving with sharp precision as he fights to keep up. with each step, his discomfort grows, not understanding why this meeting couldn’t be at his office. up until this point, that’s always been where they met, gathered around his desk with redacted files and photos to have coded conversations about ‘the future’ and ‘their relationship’.
tonight, dr. stoker, the woman in charge of this unknown operation, insisted on earl seeing for himself what it is that they’ve been working on all these years. she’d given him a vague message about the importance of his understanding, and that this was better grasped in person. her high level clearance (and the unnerving way she carries herself) leaves little room for pushback, so he begrudgingly showed up and endured the extensive security measures that got him to this moment.
they step into an industrial sized elevator, one that takes them several floors below ground. with each passing level, the familiar childhood fears of the base begin to creep in, wrapping their arms tightly around him. on the surface, fort hemlock had always been a typical military base: nothing he hadn’t seen before, or that truly felt out of the ordinary. sure, it had a reputation, but most of the fear surrounding it seemed to be manmade, coming from campfire tales and teenagers gossiping. however, earl knows something far more sinister is going on behind the scenes, that they are hiding something in plain sight. the problem is that he has always been unsure what that something actually is. he’s been given bread crumbs over the years, bits and pieces of information that don’t truly create a full picture but give him enough of an understanding that he can play along. clearly, whatever they are doing is big enough to spin a story about murder and mad science, and earl caught on early that the story being peddled is just that: a story. he may not be privy to all of the details, but something far worse had happened at fort hemlock that night. something that involved a handful of then-teens, and not just the four written about in the news, but the ones that government officials continue to press him and the police department to surveil.
by the time they reach their intended destination, dr. stoker’s voice is muffled under the sound of his ears ringing. earl has no idea what was waiting on the other side of those elevator doors, but knows nothing good could come out of it. it’s as if the air had shifted, grown thicker; they’re heading under water, and he’s slowly losing oxygen.
what he is met with is unexpected, to put it simply. part of him expected to walk into something straight out of a horror movie, and instead he’s guided down the hall and greeted by a shiny… wall? dr. stoker is clearly entertained by his mixture of fear and curiosity, offering answers to questions he isn’t brave enough to ask.
we call it the shimmer.
she speaks proudly, definitively, continuing as his eyes remain on it. she explains the history to him, referencing the file he had been given (heavily redacted, of course). dr. stoker recounts a time before she’d joined the team, when the construction of the base turned up a far more interesting topic of study. she recounts the earthquake that left the town with a power outage for weeks (something he remembers far too well, having been in high school when it happened), and how it hadn’t been a strange natural disaster, but done by the shimmer opening its door to them. it all sounds like something out of a science fiction movie, leaving him half expecting jeff goldblum to walk out and talk about how life finds a way. as dr. stoker continues, some unseen force all but physically pulls him in, his eyes never leaving the mixture of blue, pink, and purple staring back at him. according to the doctor, he is looking at a portal, but it feels more like a living thing, one that is watching and studying them in the same way they are watching and studying it.
it will be opening soon. five words pull him out of the trance, keep his hand from reaching out to the odd portal etched into the rocky wall. open? the explanation that follows leaves more than a few gaps, as dr. stoker clearly chooses her words carefully, knowing just how much to tell him and how much to keep close to the vest. it’s then that she details the pattern to him: that every twenty years the shimmer opens for a few short weeks; that they’re preparing for it to open this summer, that a team is training for when the time comes. the thought creates knots in his stomach, fearful of what could be lingering on the other side. dr. stoker alludes to the ‘world beyond them’, not explicitly saying the words but leaving him to infer the obvious: there are creatures living on the other side of the shimmer, in a world they’re still fighting to understand.
brows furrow as dr. stoker insists on the importance of his ‘role’, that it’s imperative that he continues to keep up the charade, as it will be more difficult to keep the public occupied as they get closer to the shimmer’s opening.
she doesn’t elaborate. he’s too afraid to ask.
instead, his attention remains on the shimmer: the steady pulse of it, as if it has its own heartbeat. the colors blend together, shining enough to make him feel the need to squint slightly. despite the bright colors and unassuming look to it, it creates an entirely new and overwhelming fear within him, one that he fears could swallow him whole if he watches the shimmer for too long. everyone in this town has every right to fear fort hemlock, as far as he’s concerned.
a beat passes before he speaks up again, interrupting her vague explanation with what feels like an obvious question. did this thing have something to do with that bellworth girl’s death? dr. stoker hesitates for a moment too long, almost surprised by him bringing up the topic, before giving him an uncomfortably rehearsed smile as she denies any kind of involvement. with the slight shift in her demeanor, he feels inclined to believe her. he knows teddy’s death wasn’t some kind of animal attack, but it’s even more unsettling to know it didn’t have to do with fort hemlock.
it’s then that she chooses to remind him of the importance of the continued surveillance of ‘the others’, and that she will not tolerate any interruption to the research her team has spent decades on. earl nods, swallowing the lump forming in his throat, unable to come up with something charming or clever to say. the tension lays thick, everything going unsaid between them lingering in each shared silence. you have no other choice.
failure to comply will result in him being the next body found.
earl tries to ignore the tightness in his chest, the fear that he may be in over his head.
they continue their ‘tour’ after the words hang in the air long enough to create the proper threat, moving them deeper into the base. dr. stoker doesn’t speak as they move, but the security with them seems to take a step closer, like they’re anticipating his panic. he doesn’t retain anything else dr. stoker says, her words jumbling together as she walks through a lab. large jars of ‘specimens’ line shelves, scientists silently working on various projects despite the late hour. he notes the way they pause as he walks by, as if caught doing something they aren’t supposed to. it grows more and more difficult to breathe as he and dr. stoker circle back to the elevator, feeling the lingering gaze of everyone in the room. the doctor continues to mention ‘vital research’ and ‘the importance of mutual understanding’ as they walk, while earl nods along like he understands what she means.
dr. stoker stops short of the elevator, letting him walk on to it alone. she gives him a warm smile, telling him that she is looking forward to working more directly with him. the idea has his chest tightening, silently praying to god that he’ll never have to step foot in this place again. her parting words are what finally have his facade cracking, eyes going wide and blood running cold.
don’t forget, mayor donovan. we will be watching.
once the mayor’s porsche is kicking up dirt behind it (tires briefly losing traction over how fast he accelerates), kai and victor snap back into reality. the latter begins to move immediately, first instinct being to try and go after the mayor and demand answers. victor is only stopped by kai’s hand curling around his elbow to keep him from descending the rickety ladder. an argument follows, motivated by their own fear and confusion; one wanting to act and the other wanting to think, both struggling to make sense of what they just saw. eventually they are able to agree on one thing: they need to gather everyone together, and make a plan. they’ve just gotten their first opportunity to get answers, certain that fort hemlock and the mayor must have played some kind of role in teddy’s death.
managing to gather everyone who had been involved with the incident, they all end up at kai’s home the following evening. it’s difficult to make any sense of what’s going on, voices overlapping and interrupting one another with different questions and concerns. it parallels them a decade prior, trying to take on the world and make sense of the unexplainable. eventually, they manage to come up with the next step: four groups, four roles, one goal. one group will break into the mayor’s office, one will break into the mayor’s home, one will keep a look out on fort hemlock, and one will somehow distract the mayor during all of this. ^
they all agree that they need to act fast. it’s settled that the next evening they’ll get to the bottom of things, not wanting to wait any longer than they need to. as the evening dawns, the sun begins to set and each group gets into place, before finding themselves abruptly interrupted.
it begins with a subtle shake, feeling as though they’re on a rollercoaster headed upwards, before it grows more powerful, setting off car alarms and sending things flying off shelves. appliances start to shake so hard they move, concrete foundations threatening to crack. earthquakes aren’t a typical thing in the mid-west, but in bellworth crossing, they’re commonplace. the quake doesn’t last long, though most would say it felt like an eternity based on the magnitude. once the earth settles and the dust begins to clear, street lamps and porch lights start to flicker, buzzing for a moment before the power throughout town is cut, plunging bellworth crossing into darkness.
the unexpected ‘natural disaster’ throws a wrench in the plan, forcing the group to postpone despite protests and counter-arguements. what isn’t strange is the power outage itself, but the notable military personnel driving through the streets of town the next morning, lingering at the mayor’s office and of course, fort hemlock. in the midst of this, mayor donovan (who seems to be lacking his usual bravado, trading it for an uncharacteristic display of exhaustion) makes an announcement: even once the power returns, bellworth crossing will have a strict 10 pm curfew until further notice.
^ this will be further explained in a group task, that will be posted on sunday!
BREAKING: LOCAL WOMAN KILLED IN ANIMAL ATTACK.
the bellworth dispatch, april 2nd, 1988.
“ – in the early morning hours of april 2nd, a body was found in the foothills of the donovan park and preserve by a passerby on a hike. .. authorities have confirmed that the body found is that of teddy bellworth, from the family that gave bellworth crossing its name. based upon the condition in which the body was found, it is believed that ms. bellworth wandered off of a hiking trail and was attack by an animal. .. sources close to the victim confirm that she had made a last minute choice to appear at the memorial carnival on march 31st, but never showed. .. chief coleman has confirmed that an investigation has been launched, and currently does not believe there is a correlation between the carnival and ms. bellworth’s untimely death. the chief did not confirm if the evidence shows that this was an isolated incident. ”
teddy bellworth is no stranger to nightmares. the effect of them has dulled through the years, leaving her numb each time she wakes from one—rather than leaving her shaking, fearful of every shadow in her room. they still follow closely each time she lays in her bed, always lingering outside of her peripheral. remaining a looming presence, never drifting far, always ready to remind her of the past she can’t quite piece together. in the last week, they grew worse— different, vivid in a way that wakes her with a gasp. something is wrong. what begins with familiarity—dreams of that night at fort hemlock, the fragmented pieces of encountering that thing and glimpses at the strange, shining wall—quickly turns into something new. something darker. something wrong.
she’s in a new place, drenched in a haze she can’t see through, like fog that won’t break. it pulls a fear out of her that is both foreign and familiar in the same breath. every morning she wakes with the same tense feeling in her chest, unable to catch her breath as she tries to remind herself that she’s awake now. the feeling fades when she’s awake, feeling distant, if not leaving her completely. details blur once more, but they leave her body tense, anticipating something horrible about to follow. it lingers throughout the day—the ache in her chest, the thump of a headache, the shake of her hands—creating a new wave of paranoia, one she hasn’t felt in years. something is wrong.
the nightmares grow more and more vivid, more creative, reminding her of a fucked up version of the wizard of oz, when dorthy’s life changes from black and white to technicolor as she arrives in oz. teddy wishes it was as simple as that; that she could walk through a door and have the clarity of something staring her in the face, a full spectrum of color waiting for her on the other side of a door. that she could somehow make the journey to a beautiful world, and not the dreary black and white one she’s been living in. but no, it’s as if real life and her nightmares were beginning to blend together, black and white mixing with color into something new and just as horrifying. something is wrong. every time she tries to write it down in the morning, or recall her dreams once the sun has risen, they turn into a foreign language, distorting again, only now it’s becoming more difficult to suss out what is real and what is a new fear her subconscious has conjured up. something is wrong. it reminds her of when she first returned home; of the time she spent in the hospital, of the doctors and police questioning her over and over again. answers are on the tip of her tongue, but they seem to die there. blank gaps still wedge themselves between each fleeting memory, each small piece she remembers becoming more fragmented the longer she tries to decipher it.
something tells her it has to do with the anniversary coming up, that something is wrong. there’s no real evidence for this, nor can she find the strength to voice any of it to the people around her. each time she tries, it’s like the words aren’t only caught in her throat, but like a hand is reaching up and pulling them back, keeping her from putting these puzzle pieces together. it coats her in a blanket of dread, paired with the unsettling knowledge that something is wrong. as preparation for the ‘memorial carnival’ begins, teddy begins her own: newspapers cover her windows, a new deadbolt is installed, anything to make it feel like she has a barricade between her and what’s to come. what she is bracing for, she’s not sure, but she knows it’s coming. it’s one of the few things she can say with complete and utter certainty. something is wrong, she can feel it. no carnival or memorial can cover up what’s rotting in bellworth crossing, what’s rotting inside of her.
unsurprisingly, they had tried to rope her into it. ten years is an easy mark for the time that has passed. enough to make dr. thornton into a ghost story, and her into a cautionary tale; enough to soften the blow, pretending to care is easier when the wound has scarred over. at least, it has for everyone else. teddy is no stranger to people knocking on her door, asking her for answers she can’t give or for the chance to sensationalize the trauma she’s experienced. newscasters and reporters used to sit on the sidewalk across from her home for hours, praying to get a shot of her or her parents leaving. as the years pass, they dwindled away, only a few brave enough to stand on the front porch of crazy teddy bellworth’s home and try to take more from her.
originally, she had said no. some city council member had arrived at her doorstep uninvited, with a store bought pie and a long speech on how teddy’s participation in the memorial was paramount. the woman could barely get the speech out without stuttering, tensing any time teddy made eye contact with her. something is wrong. what followed had been silence and a door slamming in the woman’s face, making teddy’s answer clear: a loud, resounding no. it was a choice she found easy to remain steadfast in; saying no to ‘appearances’ was nothing new to her. crowds, questions, and bright lights were never her forte even before fort hemlock destroyed her life, leaving only jagged pieces behind. the idea of having to speak in front of the town as a whole made her stomach churn, especially when she pictured mayor donovan and his unnerving smile. she felt justified in denying them a show. they didn’t deserve it, not after the hell she and her friends had been put through, not after they manufactured a story and shoved it down everyone’s throats. there was no pretending that something wasn’t wrong.
in the days that followed, her nightmares worsened and her paranoia quickly took the reigns. sleep deprivation was nothing new, but it was never kind when it settled in. somewhere along the way, roughly around her third day without sleep, anger arrived. an unexpected, loud thing that had her throwing dishes in frustration, smashing them against the warped wooden floors of her kitchen. something is wrong. an inability to concentrate and the slamming of her heart against her rib cage sent her into a spiral—two things that hadn’t been out of the ordinary for her over the years, but at that moment, they prompted the pendulum to swing from fatigue to irritation. this isn’t fair. something is wrong, something is inching its way to them, to her. something she can’t name, something that keeps slipping through her fingers like sand. it’s what moves through the doorway just out of the corner of her eye, the shadow she keeps seeing floating across her front porch in the middle of the night, disappearing right when her eyes adjust; dark and familiar, biding its time.
and everyone in this god forsaken town is deciding on what carnival prizes they want to win, and if the ferris wheel will be up to par this year.
the night before the carnival, she reaches an odd breaking point. distinguishing reality from nightmare has become next to impossible, and she can no longer decipher what is just a shadow and what is something lurking in the darkness. but teddy makes a decision in the middle of her undoing, finding herself with a strange, sharp clarity about one thing. something is wrong, and she can fix it. she has to.
she barely remembers the phone call, unclear about whether or not she made much sense talking to the woman on the other line. when the city councilwoman arrived at her door, she left behind a business card, playing off her obvious fear with an attempt to keep the metaphorical door from slamming in her face too. call me if you change your mind. teddy has no idea what motivates her sudden, definitive change of heart, other than the white hot rage threatening to boil over. it has her deciding that she cannot suffer like this anymore. no, the people of bellworth crossing will be forced to answer for what they’ve done, no matter the story the government concocted or the fact that she can’t provide any details or answers. something is wrong, and they will answer for it one way or another.
she’s determined, pacing through her mess of a home as she mutters to herself what to say: they’re lying to you. something is wrong. dr. thornton isn’t a murderer. something is wrong. he didn’t kidnap me. something is wrong. she pushes away the broken remnants of a ceramic mug with her foot, barely noticing the sting of a shard stabbing her. all she can focus on is what she’s going to say—not the way her home has fallen into further disarray, or that she hasn’t showered in a week. no, there is important work for her to do, the rest can wait.
there’s bits and pieces of that night in ‘78 that she can think back to—the fear and adrenaline in her, the desire to reach for alice’s hand, holding her breath as she crossed the threshold and into the base, her gaze constantly drifting to her cousin as she wonders what he thinks of all of this. there’s a sharp cut off somewhere along the way, between the sight of a creature that looked like it stepped out of a horror movie and the soldiers storming in; then there is darkness, so much darkness, before reaching the cool night air in the preserve, leaves crunching under her feet as her arms wrap around herself in the hopes of holding her body heat in.
no, teddy can’t provide the information she yearns so desperately for, but she can do something, anything. she can scream from the rooftops about what she does know, blow the lid off of a cover story ten years in the making. these people don’t deserve to keep profiting from bellworth crossing not knowing the truth, they don’t deserve to be able to hide behind a well curated story when she and so many others suffer from actually went on that night. as she paces through her living room, one that has become nearly unrecognizable with its messiness, teddy decides this is what will fix her, what will make up for everything. something is wrong. it will be what unravels the knot in her gut, what stops the shadows in the darkest corner of her home from whispering to her, what keeps the man on the news from trying to send her coded messages, telling her something is wrong, what will leave her feeling whole and safe and alive again.
so in a short, and rather manic conversation—one where she slurs her words more than she’d care to admit, despite being fully sober, her focus wandering half way through each sentence—she tells the woman who arrived at her door that she’s changed her mind. she’d love— no, she’d be honored—to speak at the memorial, help assist the town in healing and give the past a proper burial. teddy doesn’t bother waiting for a response before she slams the phone down on the receiver, returning to her frantic pacing and muttering.
agreeing to appear at the carnival is a choice she feels vindicated in, until sunset darkens the slivers of light that break through the hastily taped up newspaper covering her windows. something sinister begins to settle into teddy’s bones, abruptly bringing her back down like a weight strapped to her ankles. something is wrong. it doesn’t matter what plan she makes, if she shows up to the carnival tomorrow or not—something is still taking shape, waiting for her. the shadows dancing along her walls taunt her, just as they have done every evening for the last week, distorted by newspaper and peeling wallpaper. something is wrong. as the sun sets, she loses all bravado, convinced every creak and whistle of wind is something more. something wrong, something reaching in closer to—
maybe it’s the anniversary, or maybe it’s the days without sleep; either way, as the darkness of night replaces the brightness of daytime, the certainty she once felt falls apart. something is wrong. as the clock crawls closer to midnight, what she’s been bracing for closes in like a predator reaching its prey. something is wrong. teddy’s heart slams against her chest as she continues to move around her home absentmindedly, biting her nails raw and muttering to herself every single memory she can place. something is wrong. this goes on for hours, devolving quickly—her train of thought continues to derail, repetition turning into gibberish, words sounding foreign to her, stumbling and stuttering in a way she’s never encountered before. something is wrong. the only thing that pulls her from the vicious cycle is a rancid smell reaching her nostrils, followed by the sound of someone—some thing—knocking on her window.
then from the door.
from the other room.
from within the wall.
something is wrong.
the sound stops her dead in her tracks, hands shaking as wide eyes refuse to leave the front door. something is out there, waiting for her to answer its call. bleary eyes blink rapidly, wrong, squeezing shut as teddy tries to tell herself that she’s just hallucinating, this is no different than any of the other things she has imagined over the years, over the last few days. something is wrong. her eyes open to see the dark outline of something through the window of her front door: wrong, jagged, humanoid. in that moment, she doesn’t remark how strange that is, that the darkness and newspaper covering the glass should make it impossible to see through. something is wrong. her blood runs cold, a fear she hasn’t felt since that night at fort hemlock takes hold of her, drowning her in something that feels familiar and distorted all at once. something is very, very wrong.
the door knob shakes.
her body moves faster than her mind ever could, choosing flight rather than fight. teddy doesn’t stick around to find out what is at her front door taunting her. instead, shards of broken ceramic crunch under the weight of her feet as she pushes through the kitchen and out of the back door. something is wrong. her feet bleed, the backdoor falling shut with a loud thud behind her as she crosses through overgrown grass and narrowly misses tripping over a tree branch protruding from the ground. something is wrong. she doesn’t stop to look back, doesn’t pause to see what’s wrong—the loud creak of her back door being thrown open behind her is a tell-tale sign that whatever was *waiting* for her is now *hunting* her. something is wrong.
she runs and runs and runs as far as her feet will take her, propelled forward by the fear of something catching up to her. something is wrong. the darkness covering her hometown doesn’t deter her—there’s no specific destination in mind, purely moving on instinct, knowing something is wrong. it’s not until she finally stops, lungs screaming and chest heaving, that teddy finally realizes where she’s ended up: the preserve. something is wrong. the same place she found herself wandering nine years ago: dazed, confused, naked, terrified. something is wrong. if she hadn’t been so scared, it would be laughable to her. in some fucked up twist of fate, she’s wrong—now lost in the preserve in the middle of the night, barefoot and terror-stricken once more. something is wrong.
the sound of a loud growl drowns out her thoughts, pulling her from her own fears and back into the moment. something is wrong. what approaches is wrong, something she couldn’t name but something is wrong; all snarling teeth and wrong, wrong, wrong, wasting no time as it—something is wrong. blood blinds her vision, looking up at something wrong. the night sky doesn’t care that she’s trying to scream. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong. something is wrong.
Raven had screamed the moment she woke up, terrified out of her mind. She had been in hysterics for a total of five minuets before something snapped in her. To anyone who didn’t know her that well, Raven would have looked normal, not looking at anyone, keeping a straight face while looking like she hated the world at the same time. But there was fear in her eyes, terror. She felt like at any moment she would either burst into tears, throw up or faint or all three at once. After being told they couldn’t leave, which wasn’t much of an issue to Raven, she didn’t really have a home to go back to, she found herself leaning against a wall, trying to breath normally again and not cry, throw up or faint.
