The Awakening

On an average Tuesday night, my homework is off to the side waiting to be finished. My blasting headphones attempt to keep my mind allusive, at least blocking it from my failed relationship. Though it lingers in my head, I try to limit the stinging pain of betrayal. As my playlist ends, I hear clanking on my bay window. I roll my eyes and go back to the status updates scrolling across my laptop. The noise becomes more direct, louder and more intense. I start to get off my bed, hoping with every fiber in my body that it isn’t my ex-boyfriend, wanting me back or even halfheartedly apologizing in his possibly drunken state. I open one side of the window, looking down on the sprawling lawn of green just before the moonlit lake. The security flood lights snap on, sensing the window opening. I see nothing. I back away from the window, deciding to keep it open, deciding I like the light breeze to flow through my room.


I hop back on my bed and, before I can reach for my laptop, something suddenly flies in through my window. I turn to look when I hear the thud of the mysterious object landing on my rug. As I turn to catch a glimpse of the odd little thing, I can only see thick, black smoke with red in between before it vanishes into a dark, smoky mist. My stomach drops and my heart freezes; how did it find me? I blink back tears of frustration and fear. I never would think this would come back to haunt me. I didn’t deserve this. I silently curse my dead father. I refuse to deal with his mistakes. What good is a father when he dies, and passes his world (supernatural, at that) of trouble and mistakes onto his daughter? Don’t get me wrong, I love my father. But it was incredibly difficult to love a man who insisted on opening the door of the other side, causing trouble with things you can’t even see but can only sense their presence always there, for every moment of your life. . . the threat of that very presence was enough for my mother to take me away from him.


When my mom took me and moved to a remote house by West Grand Lake in Maine, my dad took a turn for the worst. He immersed himself in the paranormal world, digging deeper and deeper. He wanted to prove there are such things as hauntings and demons; anything that roams the other side is what he wanted to bring to the attention of the world, to know they do exist. He would try to update me of his ‘progress’. I always tried to read as much as possible before my mom would take away the letter, saying, “You don’t need to know what he’s doing, you’re father needs help. And he won’t talk to either of us until he realizes it.” I threw a tantrum every time she ripped the only contact I had with my dad out of my reach.


As I sit back down on my bed, sifting through the years of thoughts and wonder, trying to figure out what this exactly meant, drifting back to those websites about the paranormal. Shaking my head fiercely, I try to grasp that this isn’t possible. I should forget this happened, I shouldn’t freak out, I could be very well hallucinating…

“Kellan, have you finished your homework yet?” My mom yells up the stairwell.

“Yeah, why?” I ask, curious as to why she is asking, she never asks.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out to eat tonight.” I could hear her footsteps climb the stairs.

“I don't know, I’m not really hungry, mom” She opens the door to my room, smiling warmly. My mom’s green eyes sparkle and her curly brown hair bounces lightly as she strides towards my bed. I often receive compliments of how we look so much alike, though I have always thought I had my daddy’s smile and hair color, but I never try to correct them. “Hey Kell, you okay? You’ve been upstairs since you got home.”


I nod quickly, I don’t want to spill my guts when I don’t even know what I feel like, yet. Between all the drama with Tristan and the problems with friends, I couldn’t separate the feelings, completely, quite so soon.


She pats my thigh, showing her understanding. I attempt to smile, not wanting her to worry. Her gracious smile warms my heart. Soon she wanders to the doorway of my room, only turning briefly to say, “Dinner will be waiting on the table soon,”


I nod again, with what feels like a forced smile. I lose my appetite when I’m upset and, boy, I am upset. I plug myself back into my laptop with little hopes that it can actually let me relax. The sound of the door shutting echoes throughout my large room.


I sigh deeply and wish I could tell her my crazy day. But I feel as if I need to figure it out myself, to take care of my own problems. But, of course, it couldn’t hurt to talk to her about it. She only wants to help, but I grew distant when she ordered real distance between my father and me. I resent her for taking me away, I still sort of do, but I try to ignore it for the most part. She's the only family I have left, it would be a mistake to push her away too far.


My thought process leads me toward missing my dad again. A tear escapes down my cheek and I quickly wipe it from existence along with lingering thoughts of my dad and the events of the past hour. I cannot let it get to me because I am stronger than that. The years of living with my mom have taught me that.


I swiftly close my laptop before grabbing a remote on my bedside table. I press a button on it, dimming the lights, before placing it back on the nightstand. I plug my headphones into my music player. My eyes drift shut, and the thoughts of the supernatural spring to life again. The warnings my dad gave in his final days haunted me once again. His cries and pleas, awakening deep in my buried memories. I hoped the worst was over, but soon I would know, it was only the beginning.