My vision was blurred by tears as I ran past dark twisted trees down the dreary gray street. I panted for breath, never once looking back at Melantha’s house, imploring to no one in particular, for Melantha not follow me. I let out a cry, the rhythm of my feet hitting the ground slowed. I stopped running and stumbled forward down the road, tears yet again running down my cheeks.
My face burned with physical exertion, frustration, and anguish. I stumbled towards the sidewalk, and fell to the ground, emitting shrieks and sobs. Tears cooled the hotness of my reddened cheeks. I hugged my knees, quivering with emotion. Happy Clown jumped nimbly from my shoulder to the sidewalk, crayon in hand, and franticly started writing.
hOw CoMe ThE mAgIc WaNd DiD’nT eFfEcT u? He scribbled in big letters.
“I don’t know.” I answered, the harshness all too apparent in my voice.
NO 1 eLsE HaZ eVeR survived An AtTaCk LiKe ThAt!! MeLaNtHa’Z aTtAcKeD, aNd KiLlEd MaNy, YeT u’R nOt EvEn HuRt!! He continued writing.
“I DON’T CARE! I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!!” I screamed, jumping to my feet.
I was hysterical, overcome with emotion, and incapable of coherent thinking. Impulsively, I started punching the trunk of a near by tree with my small fists. Harder, and harder I punched, until my knuckles bled, and bits of dark bark started peeling off the leafless, gnarled, tree. I shrieked with rage, my heart racked with pain. Angry tears poured down my face. I let out one last cry, and dropped to my hands and knees.
“Pleas… Pleas… I want to go home…” I managed, weakly leaning against the tree.
I tried to calm myself. I gasped for air, and finally managed to stabilize my breathing. Sobbing, I covered my face, with my bleeding hands. Happy Clown approached me softly. He looked up at me, a sweet, concerned look on his cute little face.
fAy, U’r BlEeDiNg! He wrote quickly on the sidewalk.
“Yeah, I know… I doesn’t hurt that bad.” I lied, in actually it stung quite badly.
y R u CrYiNg? Happy Clown wrote, and looked up at me.
“Because I want to go home.” I whimpered.
tHe MaYoR wIlL tAkE u HoMe. Happy Clown wrote.
I sighed. “That’s right… But why did Melantha take me here in the first place?” I sniffled.
bEcAuSe ShE’z LoNeLy. Happy Clown printed.
“Can’t she find some other dead little girl to play with?” I asked, cynically.
nO. eVeRyBoDy HaTeS hEr. Happy Clown scribbled.
At this, I laughed in a fairly rude manner.
iT’z NoT fUnNy. Happy Clown assumed a serious expression.
“I suppose not, but still, the way you phrased it was funny.” I explained.
tHaT’z Y sHe PuLlEd U oUt Of ThE mIrRoR, sHe WaNtEd U 2 B hEr FrIeNd, AnD sTaY wItH hEr 4eVeR. Happy Clown wrote.
“How come she’s so horrible to everyone?” I asked Happy Clown.
WhEn MeLaNtHa 1sT KAmE hEeR, sHe StArTeD aTtAcKiNg HeR bRoThEr DoNoVaN wItH hEr MaGiK wAnD. tHe OtHeRz TrIeD 2 pRoTeKt HiM, sO sHe StArTeD aTtAcKiNg ThEm 2. ShE kEpT aTtAcKiNg DoNoVaN, sO dOnOvAn AnD tHe OtHeRz KePt FiGhTiNg HeR. mOsT oF tHe TiMe ThEy AlL sTaY aWaY fRoM eAcH oThEr, BuT sOmE tImE’z MeLaNtHa WeRkZ hErSeLf InTo A rAgE, aNd GoEz OfF 2 aTtAcK tHeM aLl. Happy Clown wrote, very slowly and carefully.
“Who are the “others”?” I asked.
tHe OtHeR dEd ChIlDrEn HeEr, InClUdInG tHe MaYoR. Happy Clown explained.
“You mean there’s no adults here at all?” I asked.
Happy Clown shook his head.
“Is this like… children’s hell?” I raised an eyebrow.
Happy Clown shook his head.
“What is this place then?” I asked.
Happy Clown shrugged his shoulders.
“How come Melantha hates Donovan? He’s her brother.” I asked.
hE’Z aLso ThE rEaSoN y ShE’z DeD. Happy Clown wrote.
“He killed her?” I cried.
ThAtZ wHaT mElAnThA sAiD. Happy Clown explained.
“God… they’re both SICK!” I cried.
“How come the other dead children want to help Donovan, if he’s a murderer?” I asked.
BeCaUsE fRoM wHaT eYe KaN c He’Z rEaLlY nIcE 2 tHeM, aNd MeLaNtHa IzEnT… oR mAbEy ThEy DoN’t KnOw… Happy Clown wrote.
At this point he had used up a fair amount of the sidewalk, and was making quite a mess with the crayon.
“Hmm, I’ll say. How come he killed her?” I asked.
EyE tHiNk He DiD iT bEcAuSe ShE wUz VeRy VeRy MeEn. He scribbled.
“So how do we get to the Mayor?” I asked.
Happy Clown shrugged yet again.
“You don’t know!!??” I cried.
Happy Clown shrugged anxiously.
“So NOW what am I going to do!?” I felt like crying again.
eYe DoN’t KnOw. EyE’m SoRrY fAy. PlEaZ dOn’T cRy. Happy Clown scribbled, looking up at me sympathetically.
“It’s not your fault, you’ve never been out of that room before.” I rubbed my eyes.
I hugged him close, and he hugged me back with his arms around my neck, and a small smile on his lips. Happy Clown looked up.
“What is it Happy Clown?” I asked.
He hoped off of me, and quickly wrote on the pavement. EyE hEeR sUmThInG.
I listened closely. In the distance I could hear the sounds of a group of people. The voices sounded childlike. I stood up strait, and listened alertly. I wasn’t sure of what was going to happen to me next. The voices got louder, and louder, closer, and closer, angrier, and angrier. I finally began to see a crowd of 15 or so children, varying in ages, clamber up the road. In their hands they carried sticks, baseball bats, slingshots, rocks, anything the could possibly use as a weapon. It looked as if they had few resources. Happy Clown looked up at me anxiously.
It’Z dOnOvAn!! He wrote.
“…Well… maybe he knows how to get to the Mayor.” I bit my lower lip. The crowd didn’t seem particularly welcoming.
I didn’t have an idea as of how to approach them, so I just assumed an expression of calm, stood in the middle of the street and started walking towards them. Happy Clown hid behind one of the gnareld trees, looking fearfully at the oncoming children. The children kept approaching. My nerves screamed with anxiety, but I kept the same calm face. Finally, in the middle of the road, we met.
A tall dark-haired boy seemed to be the leader of the procession. In his hand he held a long, wooden, old-fashioned looking base ball bat. His skin was pale and milky. His hair was thick, and ebony black, falling just above his ears. His eyes were hard, and cold, like light blue ice. His face was stern, serious, and slightly thin, with a grim expression. He wore tall combat boots, just below his knees, the legs of his black pants tucked into them. He wore a long leather coat, that reached a little above his knees. He approached me, and looked down on me coldly. He looked about 5′ 10″… I’m only 5′ tall…
“Who are you?” He asked coldly.
“I’m Fay. Who are you?” I asked, my voice soft, but calm.
“She’s new.” I heard one boy whisper to another.
“Donovan.” He said sternly.
“Do you know wear I can find the Mayor?” I asked, my intimidation beginning to show.
“We heard screaming from that big black house over there, do you know what happened?” He asked sternly.
“…That was me.” I quivered, timidly.
“Have you been crying?” His tone softened ever so slightly.
“Y-yes.” I answered, beginning to lose my forced calm.
“Were you attacked? Tell me!” I felt his cold, strong hand grip my shoulder.
“That… That little girl, Melantha tried to, but it didn’t work.” I explained.
“P-pleas, Pleas help me, I need to go back. She… she brought me here… I don’t know how, but she brought me here, through a mirror!” I stammered, speaking quickly.
“And then she started freaking out and throwing things, and she locked me in her room” Tears started welling up in my eyes again, as I continued to talk faster, and faster.
“Her toys started moving, and they helped me out her window, and she tried to attack me, but it didn’t work, so I ran, and I ran, and the clown told me I had to find the Mayor–” I stammered, tears running down my face.
I knew I was babbling. I knew I sounded crazy. I knew I was crying, but I couldn’t stop myself from doing any of these things. He laid one of his cold hands on my cheek sympathetically.
“Shhh, shhh, you escaped she can’t hurt you any more, shhh.” He rubbed my cheek.
“No! You don’t understand! I have to go back home!” I sobbed.
“Pleas… pleaaaas.” I sobbed, overcome.
“You can’t go back home now, this is the Realm of Dead Children…” A little boy said innocently, and sadly.
“No, you don’t understand, I’m not dead, I came here through a mirror.” I stammered.
Donovan ran his fingers over my cheek. He frowned.
“Why is your face so warm?” He asked.
He laid two fingers against my neck. He felt the rhythm of my blood pumping through my veins underneath my skin.
“Oh… Oh… y-you’ve a pulse!” He stammered, pulling his hand away, in surprise.
“A pulse?” A young girl’s eyes widened.
The word was whispered among the children, they stared at me in awe. Almost instantly I was surrounded by them. They were grabbing at my wrists, to see if they could feel my heart beating, they were touching my skin, and my cloths, to see if they could feel my warmth. They swarmed around me fascinated. I gently tried to push them off. They took no notice of it. My overwhelming emotions increased. I fell forward into somebody’s arms, and blacked out…