**WARNING! THE FOLLOWING IS AN EXCLUSIVE RELEASE RELATED TO MY FANFICTION, NO LOSER CHRONCLES. I ASK THAT YOU DO NOT STEAL NOR EDIT IT IN ANYWAY!
ALSO SPOILER ALERT!**
Hope you enjoy it!
This is all I have done so far. I figured I wouldn't leave out any details that might get your interest. It is lengthy but I'm sure alot of you are fast readers. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it and I'm so sorry for being so late on my fanfiction, college does that to you. Also, I added the image on the bottom to spice things up so hope you like it :)
"The wind wailed through the abandoned hollows. A figure dotted the open tree line as it moved swiftly under the brush. Its define shape morphed out with a long snout and a broad back of fur as it wisped with the wind. Its bright, piercing yellow eyes screamed its ferocity as it approached the wide expanse. It would stop to look about the open space that stood between it and the oppose hollow. A familiar form stood in the distance with her long brown hair blowing freely and a stoic look upon her face.
Their eyes would meet as if for the first time without a doubt on their minds. The woman stood there thinking how such a beautiful creature cared. She would remember such a majestic form of black fur and pure will-power—for its most obvious feature was the scar that crossed its left eye. It would stare her off for a brief few moments before making its move. The woman would fall to her knees as she rubbed her hands through its dark locks. The wolf itself didn’t seem to mind at all as it fell onto its belly and listened to the slight murmurs of the woman’s hum.
The song was a sweet lullaby it had heard before—Hey Jude was its name and only the two most important women in its life did it best. As it laid there—collected and calm—the mellow notes of her hums would seem to just fade away as its eyes drooped until sleep overcame. As the mirage dissolved into the distance, the sudden sights became obvious as the world morphed back into reality.
The hand of the dead man was relevant as the room was darkened by the sorrow surrounding them. I remember that brief moment where everything just seemed to change in an instant. News clippings told that of the stories I wished I could forget. They were scattered about among the books and crannies of the old house, talking about possible murder and tragic accidents. Those clippings were of my family—the ones that stood their ground for me, the ones that saved people like the superheroes they were and the ones— that no longer exist. Sure, you could call it my sob story or whatever but they all had a place beside me—and I miss them every single day.
The only thing left in my life was my beloved Dean, who himself had been suffering through the death of his own little snot nose brother we both have once hugged. As much heartache as he was given, his own battle was with his own strength as it faded away into the depths of time. My poor Dean was fighting off pneumonia along with the pain that singed his skin as the very word “fire” scared him. It happened a few months ago, Zan had cornered him while on a stroll down main. With a match in hand, he would proclaim to the world “The Winchesters have fallen!” after squaring off Dean to a challenge. And well—after that, I don’t really know what happened—all I knew was my husband was trapped somewhere under the building’s rubble.
As tragic as it sounds, I was grateful to hear the Coronel call out to me “We’ve found him!” It would be too much of a happy moment before I realized—he was a smoldering living mummy with bright streaks of black and red lined him like a candy cane. The four rescuers would work together to lift him up onto a stretcher and carried him off. After that, I never seemed to have left the hospital. I remember the painfully alone look he’d give me every day I came late to his side, the screaming pain and the heat. It was a long four weeks and two days.
Today, my love is at home, locked away in our bedroom. He has slowly shown some improvement throughout the rest of his survival. I’d check on him every few hours, watching the EKG for a moment before turning my attention to him. Majority of the time, he’d be taking a nap but this time was different. I would find myself meeting him in the middle as his dulled hazel iris stared straight.
“Something wrong, sweetie?” I’d reply silently.
Although Dean was the usual talker, you couldn’t really find him reaching out to you that way anymore. Doc says it’s the falling strength that hides his voice. He did seem exhausted quite unusually, especially for someone of his age and health. I could only think that this was his body’s way of alarm for what is to come. The very thought unnerved me for I didn’t need to lose the man I love as well. I’ve already lost two of my members, losing the final one that chose to step up to the plate when I myself was gone, wasn’t in my themes.
But you know—this is Nevada City—just about anything could happen—and it sadly did. On the third night of the third month, I held Dean’s hand for the last time. I was now—a widow.
It has been two months since Dean’s passing and no one seemed to be able to get over the fact. Everyone loved my team—we were seen as family in every eye in town. This is why I love it here—the winters are brutally cold but nothing a visit to the summer cabin can’t fix. I’ve been contemplating things recently—things I’m not even sure I want to do. For on top of my bills, Dean and I have two homes under our name. The main home is the one here in Nevada City that was built just in a matter of a few months while the other—which I’ve already mentioned—is our summer cabin in Utah.
Now that I’ve looked at our expenses over the years, I know that both places are worth quite a wad. But this house—it makes me rather uneasy. Dean himself had passed away in the very bed I still sleep! Some call me crazy for keeping it, knowing there was a possibility that his spirit still could be wandering. I didn’t want to believe—not this time and not ever. What is dead should stay dead, just like Dean use to say.
I am hopeful that my team has gone towards the light this time. From my experience of fighting the supernatural, I know that being a spirit isn’t the life for anyone. It is the lonely life. You only seek the one thing you want but that turns in some people, who find the luxury of hurting those around it. I’m sure they would have given a sign to me if any of this been true—but I do surely miss them enough. I have made my decision. Because of this, I feel it is time for me to move on—move onto the next house—just Big Mama, Sarah and I. It’ll be a new life for all three of us—time for us to forgive and forget.
There is one thing though, one thing that will never change. My wedding ring has always been close to me from the start of our lives together. Most haven’t ever seen it but its status still means the same. For many years, I have worn it around my neck, hiding the chain under my clothes. Today, I’ll let the world see it for the first time. Dean and I had promised each other that if one of us died, our rings would be put on the finger they belong.
The moment I slipped it back on, I suddenly felt relieved from the weight on my shoulders. It felt as if Dean had never left. Oh how I forgot how beautiful the ring was, how its diamonds sparkled in the sunlight and how enchanting it was. I was starting to disbelief why I never put it back on since our wedding day. When I went to see Dean—his body really—for the last time, I had put his ring on his dead finger. That was the most reassuring moment of all throughout these tough times. And it would hopefully get better down the road.
When I finally got the guts to put the house up for sale, I still couldn’t quite let go. It saddens me to see that ugly bright sign pushed into the front yard, inviting those interested to enter its walls. When people came to look at it, I’d winch at the sight of them but I also could see the full faith in their eyes that the place would be sold someday. We’ve had two couples; a family of four and a very sad duo of son and mother so far. The odd duo out seemed to be the most interested in the property which I questioned. If it was truly only the two of them, why buy such a massive house with five rooms? Suppose family was still an answer.
A few more would come in around a few months. Not many of them took the place as the duo did for their thoughts were scattered about. Either it was too big, too roomy or too fancy—nice thoughts on my house isn’t it? But I suppose these people have their motives to coincide with their decisions so I didn’t dare question any of them. When it came down to the deadline of the house being on the market, the winners were the duo who appreciated the house and all it had to offer. I’m just glad the two found the place as their home and I would wish them luck in the future.
The day the house keys were being handed over to their new owners, my realtor had invited me along to help them get prepared. When they arrived, they seemed caught off guard of see me in person there. They knew who I was—I could see it in their eyes. The boy was defiantly an admirer as he’d smile wide towards me.
“Mrs. Hancock, I would like you to meet the former owner of the house, Katie—“The realtor was cut off by her excitement.
“It is Ms and yes I know who she is. It is a pleasure to meet you, Katie. My son and I have heard much of you and your little team.” We shook hands.
“Always glad to meet a fan.” I replied.
The realtor bumped in with paper shuffling. He’d clear his throat and gestured us to sit. “Shall we go through the papers now?” The three of us gave one last glance at each other as I offered seats.
With the four of us around the table, we begun to go through everything they needed to know. I had added in a few adjustments just to be safe, like mentioning the old tunnels under the house that led around the cemetery and the old Rockwell church yard. They were stunned to find out such a thing was under the property but I reassured them it was safe. The realtor even helped by saying the town use to bustle with miners alike so having tunnels was common. Among other things, the twosome seemed please to have our help as the final signature was penned and printed.
That was it. I now had to go clear out the house for its new owners. Happily, former neighbor Samson, Matt and the Coronel were all there to assist us in packing up. The furniture went first, followed by the boxes and finally the TVs would go in the backseat of the SUV. We couldn’t load up the Impala for it didn’t have much room, a few boxes in the back but that was about it. Plus, we didn’t want anything important being left in her; it was going to be a long cargo ship ride for the old gal.
This was it—the final moment of seeing our house as it was for years. I remember standing at the end of the stairs, feeling my heart sink deeper and deeper. Everything happened here—every moment of our lives—it would start here in the morning with us around the table for breakfast, then we’d go our separate ways for the rest of the day but somehow—we’d always managed to make it back again. Half of me wished I could stay but the rest—the rest was history. There was nothing left for me here and I knew it. I was nearly halfway out the door when I stopped, looking back at it all.
With a last effort to fight my tears, I left the memories there. Once the door was shut behind me, my world shattered into millions of pieces.
Victoria and Rudy Hancock were pretty much settled into the house a few weeks later. They’d pounder around just like the locals on a busy business day. Rudy usually was in his room, playing with his toys and devices while Victoria gardened in the backyard. Life was starting to be great for the two— a new house with plenty of space for guests and visitors, a pool for those hot summer days and a big yard for her green thumb. It was a quiet day with the sunshine peeking through the clouds, just like Victoria had imagined and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
With her shovel in hand, Victoria would spend a few hours a day pulling out roots and weeds. She was amazed how well the yard was maintained. The petunias and tulips had started to bulge from their slumber and she only could imagine the view once they bloom their beauty. She would examine the dirt through her gloved fingers, finding it rather rich. Maybe I’ll get some roses, she thought. She returned to her cleaning after a slug of refreshing water.
While mom was digging around in the yard, Rudy was preoccupied by his favorite Transformer. In today’s adventure, his robot friend was trapped in the time of the dinosaurs as Tyrannosaurs chased him around the era.
“You’re not getting away this time, Jetlag.”
“That is where you’re wrong. Take that, lizard!” He’d imitate the sound of guns as Jetlag swooped in for the kill.
His toys bashed each other, creating an echoed clank sound through the hall. It lasted for a few minutes before Tyrannosaurs was defeated and his raptor minion ran the other way. Rudy would suddenly stop his ruckus, tuning in for a moment on the hallway. He thought he heard someone shuffling around the hall as if pacing back and forth. At first, it was very subtle but enough to catch your ear. Little Rudy wasn’t sure what to think at the time besides his mother had came down the hall and entered her room. He simply would rub it off and return to Jetlag’s victory over the king Rex.
After his robot’s triumph speech to the plant eaters, Jetlag returned back to his own time with relief. He was about to get into a well-deserved oil bath when bang! Rudy jumped out of his skin, nearly dropping Jetlag in the process. He hesitated before rising to his feet. Walking towards the hallway, Rudy held Jetlag tight as the doorway grew. Without hesitation, Rudy glanced down the hall quickly just to find nothing.
He stood there confused toward what he’s been hearing. Was it a coincidence? Or was he just hearing things? Rudy at this point on wasn’t sure what to think or even say. All he knew is the house sure had weird sounds.
It had been a two weeks now for us in our new home in Japan. The place had been in the family for years, Grams parents had raised her in it just to raise Yessie and me in it. It was a rather small traditional style Japanese home with the shutter doors and hardwood floors. There was a carport on the left side that would belong to the Impala until she was street legal. The people had no problem with American cars, there are a few scattered about among some. But a classic muscle like the Impala was going to be a rare sight to behold.
The glory of the old girl was on her way as we speak. Now she really has been everywhere—for a cargo ship is carrying the famous vehicle in from New York. She cost me a very pretty penny however to even get secured and sent here. But it was for a good cause and I’m sure Dean would of preferred she was around me twenty-four seven then never. She would arrive a few days later, a bit dirty but still in one piece. Her majesty rode in on a car hauler, hiding under a tarp to protect her from the elements. I would tip the driver before he drove away with a blank slate as the three of us unveiled the black beauty.
A lot of heads turned as she made her debut into the foreign world. I was expecting some type of riot but not much happened besides a spark of interest. A few of our neighbors actually came over to admire her; many took a like to her contour as the hips were wide. I really didn’t mind the people taking an interest, I know Dean would have had a coronary to just the fact she was being touched. But the Japanese knew better to not dare such actions upon a new vehicle. They were more afraid to know where she’s been than what.
A few of them would come up to us and ask a few questions. Amazingly, they knew English quite profoundly; it was a relief that they knew such. A one-way conversation wasn’t a thing I looked forward to. It wasn’t long until we were the talk of the neighborhood, becoming known as the Americans from down the street. This was the first time in awhile it felt like I belonged to society. I just only hoped it wouldn’t change in the long run.
Rudy had gone to bed early that night, for tomorrow, was his first day at the new school. After reading The Red Lodge Horse to her son, Victoria closed the book quietly and gave him a kiss on the forehead. She smiled towards her sleepy son before slipping into the hallway as quiet as a mouse. With a sigh of relief, she began on her way to the master bedroom a few doors down. There wasn’t much in the room yet for it seemed like a waste of space that contained only a bed and a television. Victoria had stopped to look around, finding she didn’t like where the lamp was placed. She would move it more towards the corner next to a very small bookshelf containing mystery novels.
Stepping back, she found that it was the spot—close to the books but not too far from the bed. After making a few adjustments to the space, she prepared for her shower. She began to strip her clothes off one by one as they started their own pile on the floor. Victoria stepped into the shower, turning the knob to hot and closed the curtain behind her. The warmth of the heat lightened her mood as the hardship of moving just seemed to melt off.
She would grab her shampoo from the cove and massaged it into her long black hair. She was unaware of her surroundings, acting like nothing else mattered besides the wondrous feelings washing over her. Her routine continued on as it slowly came evident that something—or someone was watching. Suddenly, Victoria felt her skin start to crawl. It was a very uneasy sensation like eyes watching from afar. She would quickly turn off the shower and stood there for a few seconds, listening. There was no absolute sound.
Victoria at first thought it was Rudy looking for her, but something just didn’t seem right. Shaking, she grabbed the edge of the curtain and slow slid it across. To her surprise, there was no one; just her alone. She would cautiously step out of the shower and take a peek around the corner. She met the sight of her bed and TV stand in a quiet room. She was relieved to find it was just her imagination as she returned back to the bathroom for a towel.
With the towel, she began to dry herself off while humming a happy tune. But once she turned to the steamed mirror, her eyes widened. There on the mirror were the fingered words: Get Out. Victoria was startled by the sight, realizing now, it wasn’t her imagination. Someone was in her bathroom. And they left a wet note behind.
This can’t be happening, she thought. All she wanted was to enjoy the home, not fear it. But if someone was breaking in, it may not be a safe place for her or Rudy. Thoughts were trailing her around when she went to bed that night. There was no other place for the two to go and Victoria knew it. It was going to be a very long night.
It was 2:54 in the morning when Rudy sudden awoke. He sat up in his bed and rubbed his slumber away. He glanced over at the side table, meeting the gaze of his plastic friend who kept the midnight watch. After a yawn, Rudy decided a glass of water sounded good. He’d jump off his bed and open the door. He was greeted by a dark hallway; you could hear his mother breathing subtlety as he quietly tiptoed past.
The stairs would creak and wail under his weight as he slide his way down. Upon entering the dining room, you’d find a rather strange fountain with the sound of its waters twinkling. Rudy turned the corner where the kitchen was located and headed right for the cabinets. Their glasses were kept next to the stove where short Rudy would be able to reach them. He grabbed one from the front and bopped over to the sink on the opposing side. Turning the tap on, he ran the cold water until it became just right, planting the glass underneath. After turning the water off, he’d stop for a moment to take a sip.
It was a great feeling as it went down the throat, relieving any dehydration. He would go over to the window for minute to check things out as he watched the pool’s water imitate the moon. It was a mystifying sight; despite it would soon disappear over the mountain tops miles away and bring the sun. He would glance over at the clock before realizing what time it was—3:02 it read. Oh no, he’d say to himself as he took his glass and headed towards the stairwell. But only one step up, something suddenly changed.
He’d look across the banister, acting as if something had followed him up. But as far as Rudy was concerned, there was nothing that could of. He would stare behind him intensely. He stood there for quite some time—listening to anything and everything—hoping he wasn’t going crazy. He would rub it off as hearing things but just as he was beginning to climb again, he heard something. It was a very faint sound like a murmur of some kind as if someone was having a conversation.
Rudy was a skeptic when it came to strange noises but recently, they seem to have been increasing. It was a shuffling through the hallway, then the banging on the wall and now—a very peculiar speech. What was going on? All that was on Rudy’s mind but he wasn’t ready to solve this mystery—not quite yet. Not only was he experiencing strange things though as his mother just experienced something too. And things were just about to get worst down the road.
The sound of my cell ringing would wake me from a deep slumber late one night. I rolled over annoyed to retrieve it from my side table. With a yawn, I reluctantly answered it:
He—hello?
Katie? It’s me—Coronel.
Well—hi Coronel. I don’t understand why you decided to call me at freakn’ 2 am.
Sorry, Kate. It’s just—we have a situation here.
What kind of situation are we talking about?
I can’t tell you much really but, it looks to me like someone ransacked your museum in the middle of the night.
What?! Why—how—
I’d love to tell you the answer but I can’t.
Well could you at least tell me if Annabelle is still there?
Oh yes, she’s still here but whoever did this was obviously looking for her advice. Her case is completely destroyed and this is the exact reason why I called ya—demon doll I know so—mind coming back and taking her?
Coronel, you do realize I am 5,000 miles away from the US. I won’t be there until 3 days from now.
I know but—you have got to get here then. I will pay for your flight and everything as long as you come—no matter what.
Fine. But what will you do with her until I get there?
I suppose I will bring her home with me but if my son starts talking to her—she’s out.
Ok, I’ll set up my flight in the morning. Oh and Coronel—don’t let her out of your sight or anywhere near anyone else.
Got it. Will see ya soon.
We hung up after that. I could hear the crack in his voice as he spoke—he was spooked by her but really, who wouldn’t be. Annabelle was known as a literal devil doll—supposedly possessed by a demonic girl who tried to kill a person. Leaving notes behind was one of her most favorite things to do beside go creeping on people by appearing elsewhere later. But the dark look upon her face was always the one thing that people hated the most. Not only was it beat up and rubbed off, her eyes were realistic and movable.
You’re probably wondering how I know all this—it is simply the fact I’ve actually held her and seen what she can do. When we were called by a terrified bunch of friends up in Michigan somewhere that I recalled had “odd occurrences” within their apartment. When we arrived, the matters just seemed to escalade as things begun to be thrown and strange notes found. After a few days, we’d recognize the happenings revolving around the doll. But once she was found out, Dean awoke the next morning to find his face scratched brutally. After that, the doll has remained with us—just waiting for its chance to be heard again.
Obviously, the soul possessing the doll can be a threat but she original was not. If she truly has turned to the devil, then as all demons, she was normally good. I had kept her tucked away for a long time and it wasn’t until the manor became a museum, I’d let Annabelle observe the public. For at least two years now, she has been locked behind glass etched with devil’s traps but not so far from everyone else. She seems to however found a friend in Sarah when she first came into our lives. Sarah always told me that Annabelle would have complete conversations with her and it ended up helping us out. She had revealed more to Sarah then anyone and decided to play nice because of her.
But despite what she has done, she still seems to try to communicate with me as well. I’ve seen her offer notes to me like they were going out of style, written in a playful fashion with her favorite crayon color—red. You may think it is funny for us to offer a possible evil entity crayons but really, what harm could it do? When she was out of her home sweet home, we would offer her a red crayon—hoping she would talk to us somehow. We’d leave her for hours at a time actually, just sitting on her favorite place on the window still. When we returned, a piece of paper would be found with a child’s handwriting scribbled on it.
Most notes were subtle, being only two words or maybe even one. I remember a HELP THEM, GO AWAY and her most favorite—FIND ME? Although disturbing in some ways, her little messages seem to mean something in the long run. A long time ago, we had done a case that involved a Wiccan who had turned to dark alchemy. When she disappeared off our maps, we had managed to track down her best friend who claimed she had become the devil. We would ask Crowley if he knew anything but he wasn’t of very much use.
That evening, we had returned to our summer home in Utah—which was our closest rest stop at the time—for the Wiccan had ventured off to Idaho somewhere. We had Annabelle in the house for a few days while her box was being built. I remember laying there on my bed, trying to figure out our next plan of action. Annabelle had been placed on a lower shelf in the closet where she seemed quite comfortable and could see just about everything. When the doll wanted to tell you something, the first thing she’d do was stare at you—not like a death stare though—but a blank one. After meeting her gaze, you’d walk up to her and there in her hand was one of her notorious notes.
It would read: SHE’S NEAR. At first, you’d think it as a threat of some kind as she was plotting her revenge. But in reality, it was just little old Annabelle up to her tricks. Although she never really trusted me or any of the others, she still seemed to oddly want to help. Maybe there was some good in this suppose devil doll. It ends up our little plastic friend was right.
Even though I have a secret fear of dolls, I still seem to end up with one somewhere on the journey. First, it was the mad ventriloquist woman who was obsessed by her puppets, calling them her children. Then there was Harris, a hunter who was cursed by a witch and transformed into a puppet himself. And finally there she was—Annabelle as the doll with dark thoughts. I hate dolls—I really do.
In the morning, I went straight for the computer. There was a flight heading to the capital of my former state for that evening. While I was deciding, Sarah was on my case the whole time, begging me if she could come too. At first, I thought it wasn’t such a good idea but after thinking about Annabelle—I knew she’d be more behaved if I brought her companion with. I turned to Sarah and told her she could come as long as she promised to keep an eye on Annabelle. She nodded eagerly saying “Yes, yes I will.” I would add a +1 to my bill after that—Nevada City, here we come.
There was a storm brewing over Nevada City’s hills. The gloom made it a rather boring day with not much to do except wait out the rainstorm. The locals were rather miffed by its sudden approach as they took cover inside their homes, cozening up to the fireplace or with a good book. Coronel was watching the clouds wearily, hoping to god it wouldn’t create another flood like the last. His son, Jethro was busy working on his history project about Nevada City’s mining years. He was creating a collage with all sorts of pictures.
It included groups of gruff-looking miners who seemed displeased with their job. As well as some history on the tunnels themselves, one of which was the old Rockwell church. Not much was known about the church beside it being underground and a place to hide. Some miners’ still alive claim there was a society that used it—most called it a cult. In my years of being a hunter though, a satanic ritual wasn’t as strange as it sounded. There were a lot of people in our side of the spectrum that would turn to the devil—it would become a craze to all witches and no-good-doers.
People were careless back then and didn’t think much about it. As for the church, that is the only theories anyone has heard about it—anyways it being very strange and absolute. When I told Victoria about it being in the tunnels under the property, she started become paranoid of even going in the basement. Most of the time, the door was locked tight and neither of them ever went down. While we went down all the time, no matter if it was for a can of peas or a place to go in a dangerous situation—the basement was a close friend.
Anyways, when Coronel brought Annabelle home for the first night, he was a bit on edge. He knew what she was capable of and he wasn’t prepared to see it in action. He would keep her in the linen closet where she was closed behind doors and couldn’t necessarily see. He and Jethro would be in the living room, just to listen to eerie scratching coming from upstairs. One thing you should not do with Annabelle is locking her somewhere.
“Dad,” Jethro turned towards his father. “I don’t think Annabelle likes being locked in the closet.”
The Coronel looked over at him from his newspaper, thinking maybe he had a point. But he still had doubts. “You really think that? For pete sake, she’s a doll—she don’t care where you put her I’m sure.”
Jethro shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t think so. I think she likes to see everyone and what they’re doin’.”
The scratching continued. Coronel couldn’t believe this—doesn’t she ever get tired? He was obviously getting annoyed to the breaking point. Clenching his teeth, he threw down his paper and headed upstairs. He’d make his way to the linen closet, grabbing the knob with sweaty hands, he opened it.
Annabelle was still where she was before, on the third shelf with that half-whit smile of hers. Her stare was cold; it chilled you to the bone as it created a rather eerie appearance. Her braids ran down her long, white gown in mattes of frayed strains. The Coronel met her eye-to-eye; it felt as if he was staring into someone’s soul as he’d turn away spooked. He would notice four very distinct scratches indented into the wooden door. He made comparisons with her hand instantly, realizing her four-fingered hands were a match. She had been scratching alright and unbelievably as if stressed.
He’d turn back to meet her dead stare. “You really don’t like closets.” He said to her, hoping she wouldn’t answer back.
Very slowly, he’d reach out to her until he felt the dress fabric. Another thing to consider was she could move, and has full freedom to choose who handles her. Surprisingly, she seemed content in leaving the closet and didn’t care who took her out of it. He would take her for a ride for a minute before placing her on a hutch downstairs. Jethro watched eerily as the doll resurfaced. He had heard stories but never thought it’d be in the house with him.
He would ignore her at first, just continuing his project. It was quiet for the rest of the night. Jethro was nearly complete around eight o’clock when he went to reach for his red colored pencil but found it missing in action. He’d find himself searching for it effortlessly under the coffee table and around the couch—but nothing. He was a bit frustrated after awhile, realizing it may be gone for good. What he didn’t know was the culprit being in front of him the whole time and had a very fondness towards the color red.
After searching the kitchen as well, he would return to the living room. He thought long and hard about where it could possibly be, rechecking under the couch as a second attempt. But he still came up empty handed. With a sigh, he plopped right back down on the floor and stared at his art. Suddenly, a drop was heard and out came rolling the red colored pencil. It’d stop as his feet where he’d pick it up and smile. He returned back to work after that, hoping he could get it to work.
Dear old Annabelle had tired her best to get his attention but apparently—it didn’t work on Jethro. She still watched him intensely and waited until he was ready to leave. Jethro was proud of his work—it may be his best in years actually—and he couldn’t wait to show it off. But as he was about to head up stairs, there was an odd girl’s voice calling out at him. He’d turned around quickly and listened hard as it told him to come closer.
He was rather confused, for the only girl in the family was his mother and she had gone to bed an hour ago. He thought he was hearing things but, still listened to the strange voice. As he turned the corner, he recognized Annabelle sitting on the hutch. He approached her cautiously as he continued to tune in. He suddenly came to a halt, about midway to her when the surroundings changed. It had gotten rather cold and unusually shallow as Annabelle’s eyes moved to stop on Jethro.
Jethro was surly startled as he froze in place. Oh my god, Annabelle is alive! He thought instantly. At this point, he wasn’t sure whether to run or stay but she obviously had something to share. Her deep spheres were dead on, digging deep into his very soul as he quaked.
“P—please Annabelle—I don’t want any trouble.” He’d say to her in a shaky voice.
Annabelle kept to herself however—her devious smirk dark in the shadows. Jethro wasn’t sure what to do at that point as the two stared towards one another. It took a moment for the Sheriff’s son to notice her fingers were redder than usual. Upon closer examination, he noticed a crumbled piece of paper wedged in her left hand.
“Was this what you want from me?” He’d say to her, pointing towards her paper ball. There was no direct answer to his question as she continued to sit there. The doll really didn’t have much to say, but staring into her eyes made you certain. Without hesitation, Jethro carefully reached out towards her, unsure of how she’d react once his fingers tapped the paper. Please don’t grab me—please don’t grab me, He thought as the paper met his tips.
Quickly, he pulled his hand away with the ball in hand. He was surprised to find she remained as he looked back. With a sigh of relief, he began to unwind the ball. It revealed a crude writing that was scribble and difficult to read. Jethro couldn’t believe it at first, thinking some kid broke in and just planted in her hand. But Annabelle is known for such shenanigans—Jethro may have not known it.
He’d walk away towards the kitchen and turned the light on it. It was definite scribbles, in red colored pencil even. That is when he realized where his pencil had gone earlier—Annabelle had stolen it. He was a bit stumped why she’d do such a thing, making that her “note” made absolutely no sense. But he was confident in finding anything in it—even if it took all night. But it wouldn’t take that long for he’d figure it out after staring at it for a minute or so—it was a box with letters in it and when he put it up to the light, it became clear."
ALSO SPOILER ALERT!**
Hope you enjoy it!
This is all I have done so far. I figured I wouldn't leave out any details that might get your interest. It is lengthy but I'm sure alot of you are fast readers. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it and I'm so sorry for being so late on my fanfiction, college does that to you. Also, I added the image on the bottom to spice things up so hope you like it :)
"The wind wailed through the abandoned hollows. A figure dotted the open tree line as it moved swiftly under the brush. Its define shape morphed out with a long snout and a broad back of fur as it wisped with the wind. Its bright, piercing yellow eyes screamed its ferocity as it approached the wide expanse. It would stop to look about the open space that stood between it and the oppose hollow. A familiar form stood in the distance with her long brown hair blowing freely and a stoic look upon her face.
Their eyes would meet as if for the first time without a doubt on their minds. The woman stood there thinking how such a beautiful creature cared. She would remember such a majestic form of black fur and pure will-power—for its most obvious feature was the scar that crossed its left eye. It would stare her off for a brief few moments before making its move. The woman would fall to her knees as she rubbed her hands through its dark locks. The wolf itself didn’t seem to mind at all as it fell onto its belly and listened to the slight murmurs of the woman’s hum.
The song was a sweet lullaby it had heard before—Hey Jude was its name and only the two most important women in its life did it best. As it laid there—collected and calm—the mellow notes of her hums would seem to just fade away as its eyes drooped until sleep overcame. As the mirage dissolved into the distance, the sudden sights became obvious as the world morphed back into reality.
The hand of the dead man was relevant as the room was darkened by the sorrow surrounding them. I remember that brief moment where everything just seemed to change in an instant. News clippings told that of the stories I wished I could forget. They were scattered about among the books and crannies of the old house, talking about possible murder and tragic accidents. Those clippings were of my family—the ones that stood their ground for me, the ones that saved people like the superheroes they were and the ones— that no longer exist. Sure, you could call it my sob story or whatever but they all had a place beside me—and I miss them every single day.
The only thing left in my life was my beloved Dean, who himself had been suffering through the death of his own little snot nose brother we both have once hugged. As much heartache as he was given, his own battle was with his own strength as it faded away into the depths of time. My poor Dean was fighting off pneumonia along with the pain that singed his skin as the very word “fire” scared him. It happened a few months ago, Zan had cornered him while on a stroll down main. With a match in hand, he would proclaim to the world “The Winchesters have fallen!” after squaring off Dean to a challenge. And well—after that, I don’t really know what happened—all I knew was my husband was trapped somewhere under the building’s rubble.
As tragic as it sounds, I was grateful to hear the Coronel call out to me “We’ve found him!” It would be too much of a happy moment before I realized—he was a smoldering living mummy with bright streaks of black and red lined him like a candy cane. The four rescuers would work together to lift him up onto a stretcher and carried him off. After that, I never seemed to have left the hospital. I remember the painfully alone look he’d give me every day I came late to his side, the screaming pain and the heat. It was a long four weeks and two days.
Today, my love is at home, locked away in our bedroom. He has slowly shown some improvement throughout the rest of his survival. I’d check on him every few hours, watching the EKG for a moment before turning my attention to him. Majority of the time, he’d be taking a nap but this time was different. I would find myself meeting him in the middle as his dulled hazel iris stared straight.
“Something wrong, sweetie?” I’d reply silently.
Although Dean was the usual talker, you couldn’t really find him reaching out to you that way anymore. Doc says it’s the falling strength that hides his voice. He did seem exhausted quite unusually, especially for someone of his age and health. I could only think that this was his body’s way of alarm for what is to come. The very thought unnerved me for I didn’t need to lose the man I love as well. I’ve already lost two of my members, losing the final one that chose to step up to the plate when I myself was gone, wasn’t in my themes.
But you know—this is Nevada City—just about anything could happen—and it sadly did. On the third night of the third month, I held Dean’s hand for the last time. I was now—a widow.
It has been two months since Dean’s passing and no one seemed to be able to get over the fact. Everyone loved my team—we were seen as family in every eye in town. This is why I love it here—the winters are brutally cold but nothing a visit to the summer cabin can’t fix. I’ve been contemplating things recently—things I’m not even sure I want to do. For on top of my bills, Dean and I have two homes under our name. The main home is the one here in Nevada City that was built just in a matter of a few months while the other—which I’ve already mentioned—is our summer cabin in Utah.
Now that I’ve looked at our expenses over the years, I know that both places are worth quite a wad. But this house—it makes me rather uneasy. Dean himself had passed away in the very bed I still sleep! Some call me crazy for keeping it, knowing there was a possibility that his spirit still could be wandering. I didn’t want to believe—not this time and not ever. What is dead should stay dead, just like Dean use to say.
I am hopeful that my team has gone towards the light this time. From my experience of fighting the supernatural, I know that being a spirit isn’t the life for anyone. It is the lonely life. You only seek the one thing you want but that turns in some people, who find the luxury of hurting those around it. I’m sure they would have given a sign to me if any of this been true—but I do surely miss them enough. I have made my decision. Because of this, I feel it is time for me to move on—move onto the next house—just Big Mama, Sarah and I. It’ll be a new life for all three of us—time for us to forgive and forget.
There is one thing though, one thing that will never change. My wedding ring has always been close to me from the start of our lives together. Most haven’t ever seen it but its status still means the same. For many years, I have worn it around my neck, hiding the chain under my clothes. Today, I’ll let the world see it for the first time. Dean and I had promised each other that if one of us died, our rings would be put on the finger they belong.
The moment I slipped it back on, I suddenly felt relieved from the weight on my shoulders. It felt as if Dean had never left. Oh how I forgot how beautiful the ring was, how its diamonds sparkled in the sunlight and how enchanting it was. I was starting to disbelief why I never put it back on since our wedding day. When I went to see Dean—his body really—for the last time, I had put his ring on his dead finger. That was the most reassuring moment of all throughout these tough times. And it would hopefully get better down the road.
When I finally got the guts to put the house up for sale, I still couldn’t quite let go. It saddens me to see that ugly bright sign pushed into the front yard, inviting those interested to enter its walls. When people came to look at it, I’d winch at the sight of them but I also could see the full faith in their eyes that the place would be sold someday. We’ve had two couples; a family of four and a very sad duo of son and mother so far. The odd duo out seemed to be the most interested in the property which I questioned. If it was truly only the two of them, why buy such a massive house with five rooms? Suppose family was still an answer.
A few more would come in around a few months. Not many of them took the place as the duo did for their thoughts were scattered about. Either it was too big, too roomy or too fancy—nice thoughts on my house isn’t it? But I suppose these people have their motives to coincide with their decisions so I didn’t dare question any of them. When it came down to the deadline of the house being on the market, the winners were the duo who appreciated the house and all it had to offer. I’m just glad the two found the place as their home and I would wish them luck in the future.
The day the house keys were being handed over to their new owners, my realtor had invited me along to help them get prepared. When they arrived, they seemed caught off guard of see me in person there. They knew who I was—I could see it in their eyes. The boy was defiantly an admirer as he’d smile wide towards me.
“Mrs. Hancock, I would like you to meet the former owner of the house, Katie—“The realtor was cut off by her excitement.
“It is Ms and yes I know who she is. It is a pleasure to meet you, Katie. My son and I have heard much of you and your little team.” We shook hands.
“Always glad to meet a fan.” I replied.
The realtor bumped in with paper shuffling. He’d clear his throat and gestured us to sit. “Shall we go through the papers now?” The three of us gave one last glance at each other as I offered seats.
With the four of us around the table, we begun to go through everything they needed to know. I had added in a few adjustments just to be safe, like mentioning the old tunnels under the house that led around the cemetery and the old Rockwell church yard. They were stunned to find out such a thing was under the property but I reassured them it was safe. The realtor even helped by saying the town use to bustle with miners alike so having tunnels was common. Among other things, the twosome seemed please to have our help as the final signature was penned and printed.
That was it. I now had to go clear out the house for its new owners. Happily, former neighbor Samson, Matt and the Coronel were all there to assist us in packing up. The furniture went first, followed by the boxes and finally the TVs would go in the backseat of the SUV. We couldn’t load up the Impala for it didn’t have much room, a few boxes in the back but that was about it. Plus, we didn’t want anything important being left in her; it was going to be a long cargo ship ride for the old gal.
This was it—the final moment of seeing our house as it was for years. I remember standing at the end of the stairs, feeling my heart sink deeper and deeper. Everything happened here—every moment of our lives—it would start here in the morning with us around the table for breakfast, then we’d go our separate ways for the rest of the day but somehow—we’d always managed to make it back again. Half of me wished I could stay but the rest—the rest was history. There was nothing left for me here and I knew it. I was nearly halfway out the door when I stopped, looking back at it all.
With a last effort to fight my tears, I left the memories there. Once the door was shut behind me, my world shattered into millions of pieces.
Victoria and Rudy Hancock were pretty much settled into the house a few weeks later. They’d pounder around just like the locals on a busy business day. Rudy usually was in his room, playing with his toys and devices while Victoria gardened in the backyard. Life was starting to be great for the two— a new house with plenty of space for guests and visitors, a pool for those hot summer days and a big yard for her green thumb. It was a quiet day with the sunshine peeking through the clouds, just like Victoria had imagined and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
With her shovel in hand, Victoria would spend a few hours a day pulling out roots and weeds. She was amazed how well the yard was maintained. The petunias and tulips had started to bulge from their slumber and she only could imagine the view once they bloom their beauty. She would examine the dirt through her gloved fingers, finding it rather rich. Maybe I’ll get some roses, she thought. She returned to her cleaning after a slug of refreshing water.
While mom was digging around in the yard, Rudy was preoccupied by his favorite Transformer. In today’s adventure, his robot friend was trapped in the time of the dinosaurs as Tyrannosaurs chased him around the era.
“You’re not getting away this time, Jetlag.”
“That is where you’re wrong. Take that, lizard!” He’d imitate the sound of guns as Jetlag swooped in for the kill.
His toys bashed each other, creating an echoed clank sound through the hall. It lasted for a few minutes before Tyrannosaurs was defeated and his raptor minion ran the other way. Rudy would suddenly stop his ruckus, tuning in for a moment on the hallway. He thought he heard someone shuffling around the hall as if pacing back and forth. At first, it was very subtle but enough to catch your ear. Little Rudy wasn’t sure what to think at the time besides his mother had came down the hall and entered her room. He simply would rub it off and return to Jetlag’s victory over the king Rex.
After his robot’s triumph speech to the plant eaters, Jetlag returned back to his own time with relief. He was about to get into a well-deserved oil bath when bang! Rudy jumped out of his skin, nearly dropping Jetlag in the process. He hesitated before rising to his feet. Walking towards the hallway, Rudy held Jetlag tight as the doorway grew. Without hesitation, Rudy glanced down the hall quickly just to find nothing.
He stood there confused toward what he’s been hearing. Was it a coincidence? Or was he just hearing things? Rudy at this point on wasn’t sure what to think or even say. All he knew is the house sure had weird sounds.
It had been a two weeks now for us in our new home in Japan. The place had been in the family for years, Grams parents had raised her in it just to raise Yessie and me in it. It was a rather small traditional style Japanese home with the shutter doors and hardwood floors. There was a carport on the left side that would belong to the Impala until she was street legal. The people had no problem with American cars, there are a few scattered about among some. But a classic muscle like the Impala was going to be a rare sight to behold.
The glory of the old girl was on her way as we speak. Now she really has been everywhere—for a cargo ship is carrying the famous vehicle in from New York. She cost me a very pretty penny however to even get secured and sent here. But it was for a good cause and I’m sure Dean would of preferred she was around me twenty-four seven then never. She would arrive a few days later, a bit dirty but still in one piece. Her majesty rode in on a car hauler, hiding under a tarp to protect her from the elements. I would tip the driver before he drove away with a blank slate as the three of us unveiled the black beauty.
A lot of heads turned as she made her debut into the foreign world. I was expecting some type of riot but not much happened besides a spark of interest. A few of our neighbors actually came over to admire her; many took a like to her contour as the hips were wide. I really didn’t mind the people taking an interest, I know Dean would have had a coronary to just the fact she was being touched. But the Japanese knew better to not dare such actions upon a new vehicle. They were more afraid to know where she’s been than what.
A few of them would come up to us and ask a few questions. Amazingly, they knew English quite profoundly; it was a relief that they knew such. A one-way conversation wasn’t a thing I looked forward to. It wasn’t long until we were the talk of the neighborhood, becoming known as the Americans from down the street. This was the first time in awhile it felt like I belonged to society. I just only hoped it wouldn’t change in the long run.
Rudy had gone to bed early that night, for tomorrow, was his first day at the new school. After reading The Red Lodge Horse to her son, Victoria closed the book quietly and gave him a kiss on the forehead. She smiled towards her sleepy son before slipping into the hallway as quiet as a mouse. With a sigh of relief, she began on her way to the master bedroom a few doors down. There wasn’t much in the room yet for it seemed like a waste of space that contained only a bed and a television. Victoria had stopped to look around, finding she didn’t like where the lamp was placed. She would move it more towards the corner next to a very small bookshelf containing mystery novels.
Stepping back, she found that it was the spot—close to the books but not too far from the bed. After making a few adjustments to the space, she prepared for her shower. She began to strip her clothes off one by one as they started their own pile on the floor. Victoria stepped into the shower, turning the knob to hot and closed the curtain behind her. The warmth of the heat lightened her mood as the hardship of moving just seemed to melt off.
She would grab her shampoo from the cove and massaged it into her long black hair. She was unaware of her surroundings, acting like nothing else mattered besides the wondrous feelings washing over her. Her routine continued on as it slowly came evident that something—or someone was watching. Suddenly, Victoria felt her skin start to crawl. It was a very uneasy sensation like eyes watching from afar. She would quickly turn off the shower and stood there for a few seconds, listening. There was no absolute sound.
Victoria at first thought it was Rudy looking for her, but something just didn’t seem right. Shaking, she grabbed the edge of the curtain and slow slid it across. To her surprise, there was no one; just her alone. She would cautiously step out of the shower and take a peek around the corner. She met the sight of her bed and TV stand in a quiet room. She was relieved to find it was just her imagination as she returned back to the bathroom for a towel.
With the towel, she began to dry herself off while humming a happy tune. But once she turned to the steamed mirror, her eyes widened. There on the mirror were the fingered words: Get Out. Victoria was startled by the sight, realizing now, it wasn’t her imagination. Someone was in her bathroom. And they left a wet note behind.
This can’t be happening, she thought. All she wanted was to enjoy the home, not fear it. But if someone was breaking in, it may not be a safe place for her or Rudy. Thoughts were trailing her around when she went to bed that night. There was no other place for the two to go and Victoria knew it. It was going to be a very long night.
It was 2:54 in the morning when Rudy sudden awoke. He sat up in his bed and rubbed his slumber away. He glanced over at the side table, meeting the gaze of his plastic friend who kept the midnight watch. After a yawn, Rudy decided a glass of water sounded good. He’d jump off his bed and open the door. He was greeted by a dark hallway; you could hear his mother breathing subtlety as he quietly tiptoed past.
The stairs would creak and wail under his weight as he slide his way down. Upon entering the dining room, you’d find a rather strange fountain with the sound of its waters twinkling. Rudy turned the corner where the kitchen was located and headed right for the cabinets. Their glasses were kept next to the stove where short Rudy would be able to reach them. He grabbed one from the front and bopped over to the sink on the opposing side. Turning the tap on, he ran the cold water until it became just right, planting the glass underneath. After turning the water off, he’d stop for a moment to take a sip.
It was a great feeling as it went down the throat, relieving any dehydration. He would go over to the window for minute to check things out as he watched the pool’s water imitate the moon. It was a mystifying sight; despite it would soon disappear over the mountain tops miles away and bring the sun. He would glance over at the clock before realizing what time it was—3:02 it read. Oh no, he’d say to himself as he took his glass and headed towards the stairwell. But only one step up, something suddenly changed.
He’d look across the banister, acting as if something had followed him up. But as far as Rudy was concerned, there was nothing that could of. He would stare behind him intensely. He stood there for quite some time—listening to anything and everything—hoping he wasn’t going crazy. He would rub it off as hearing things but just as he was beginning to climb again, he heard something. It was a very faint sound like a murmur of some kind as if someone was having a conversation.
Rudy was a skeptic when it came to strange noises but recently, they seem to have been increasing. It was a shuffling through the hallway, then the banging on the wall and now—a very peculiar speech. What was going on? All that was on Rudy’s mind but he wasn’t ready to solve this mystery—not quite yet. Not only was he experiencing strange things though as his mother just experienced something too. And things were just about to get worst down the road.
The sound of my cell ringing would wake me from a deep slumber late one night. I rolled over annoyed to retrieve it from my side table. With a yawn, I reluctantly answered it:
He—hello?
Katie? It’s me—Coronel.
Well—hi Coronel. I don’t understand why you decided to call me at freakn’ 2 am.
Sorry, Kate. It’s just—we have a situation here.
What kind of situation are we talking about?
I can’t tell you much really but, it looks to me like someone ransacked your museum in the middle of the night.
What?! Why—how—
I’d love to tell you the answer but I can’t.
Well could you at least tell me if Annabelle is still there?
Oh yes, she’s still here but whoever did this was obviously looking for her advice. Her case is completely destroyed and this is the exact reason why I called ya—demon doll I know so—mind coming back and taking her?
Coronel, you do realize I am 5,000 miles away from the US. I won’t be there until 3 days from now.
I know but—you have got to get here then. I will pay for your flight and everything as long as you come—no matter what.
Fine. But what will you do with her until I get there?
I suppose I will bring her home with me but if my son starts talking to her—she’s out.
Ok, I’ll set up my flight in the morning. Oh and Coronel—don’t let her out of your sight or anywhere near anyone else.
Got it. Will see ya soon.
We hung up after that. I could hear the crack in his voice as he spoke—he was spooked by her but really, who wouldn’t be. Annabelle was known as a literal devil doll—supposedly possessed by a demonic girl who tried to kill a person. Leaving notes behind was one of her most favorite things to do beside go creeping on people by appearing elsewhere later. But the dark look upon her face was always the one thing that people hated the most. Not only was it beat up and rubbed off, her eyes were realistic and movable.
You’re probably wondering how I know all this—it is simply the fact I’ve actually held her and seen what she can do. When we were called by a terrified bunch of friends up in Michigan somewhere that I recalled had “odd occurrences” within their apartment. When we arrived, the matters just seemed to escalade as things begun to be thrown and strange notes found. After a few days, we’d recognize the happenings revolving around the doll. But once she was found out, Dean awoke the next morning to find his face scratched brutally. After that, the doll has remained with us—just waiting for its chance to be heard again.
Obviously, the soul possessing the doll can be a threat but she original was not. If she truly has turned to the devil, then as all demons, she was normally good. I had kept her tucked away for a long time and it wasn’t until the manor became a museum, I’d let Annabelle observe the public. For at least two years now, she has been locked behind glass etched with devil’s traps but not so far from everyone else. She seems to however found a friend in Sarah when she first came into our lives. Sarah always told me that Annabelle would have complete conversations with her and it ended up helping us out. She had revealed more to Sarah then anyone and decided to play nice because of her.
But despite what she has done, she still seems to try to communicate with me as well. I’ve seen her offer notes to me like they were going out of style, written in a playful fashion with her favorite crayon color—red. You may think it is funny for us to offer a possible evil entity crayons but really, what harm could it do? When she was out of her home sweet home, we would offer her a red crayon—hoping she would talk to us somehow. We’d leave her for hours at a time actually, just sitting on her favorite place on the window still. When we returned, a piece of paper would be found with a child’s handwriting scribbled on it.
Most notes were subtle, being only two words or maybe even one. I remember a HELP THEM, GO AWAY and her most favorite—FIND ME? Although disturbing in some ways, her little messages seem to mean something in the long run. A long time ago, we had done a case that involved a Wiccan who had turned to dark alchemy. When she disappeared off our maps, we had managed to track down her best friend who claimed she had become the devil. We would ask Crowley if he knew anything but he wasn’t of very much use.
That evening, we had returned to our summer home in Utah—which was our closest rest stop at the time—for the Wiccan had ventured off to Idaho somewhere. We had Annabelle in the house for a few days while her box was being built. I remember laying there on my bed, trying to figure out our next plan of action. Annabelle had been placed on a lower shelf in the closet where she seemed quite comfortable and could see just about everything. When the doll wanted to tell you something, the first thing she’d do was stare at you—not like a death stare though—but a blank one. After meeting her gaze, you’d walk up to her and there in her hand was one of her notorious notes.
It would read: SHE’S NEAR. At first, you’d think it as a threat of some kind as she was plotting her revenge. But in reality, it was just little old Annabelle up to her tricks. Although she never really trusted me or any of the others, she still seemed to oddly want to help. Maybe there was some good in this suppose devil doll. It ends up our little plastic friend was right.
Even though I have a secret fear of dolls, I still seem to end up with one somewhere on the journey. First, it was the mad ventriloquist woman who was obsessed by her puppets, calling them her children. Then there was Harris, a hunter who was cursed by a witch and transformed into a puppet himself. And finally there she was—Annabelle as the doll with dark thoughts. I hate dolls—I really do.
In the morning, I went straight for the computer. There was a flight heading to the capital of my former state for that evening. While I was deciding, Sarah was on my case the whole time, begging me if she could come too. At first, I thought it wasn’t such a good idea but after thinking about Annabelle—I knew she’d be more behaved if I brought her companion with. I turned to Sarah and told her she could come as long as she promised to keep an eye on Annabelle. She nodded eagerly saying “Yes, yes I will.” I would add a +1 to my bill after that—Nevada City, here we come.
There was a storm brewing over Nevada City’s hills. The gloom made it a rather boring day with not much to do except wait out the rainstorm. The locals were rather miffed by its sudden approach as they took cover inside their homes, cozening up to the fireplace or with a good book. Coronel was watching the clouds wearily, hoping to god it wouldn’t create another flood like the last. His son, Jethro was busy working on his history project about Nevada City’s mining years. He was creating a collage with all sorts of pictures.
It included groups of gruff-looking miners who seemed displeased with their job. As well as some history on the tunnels themselves, one of which was the old Rockwell church. Not much was known about the church beside it being underground and a place to hide. Some miners’ still alive claim there was a society that used it—most called it a cult. In my years of being a hunter though, a satanic ritual wasn’t as strange as it sounded. There were a lot of people in our side of the spectrum that would turn to the devil—it would become a craze to all witches and no-good-doers.
People were careless back then and didn’t think much about it. As for the church, that is the only theories anyone has heard about it—anyways it being very strange and absolute. When I told Victoria about it being in the tunnels under the property, she started become paranoid of even going in the basement. Most of the time, the door was locked tight and neither of them ever went down. While we went down all the time, no matter if it was for a can of peas or a place to go in a dangerous situation—the basement was a close friend.
Anyways, when Coronel brought Annabelle home for the first night, he was a bit on edge. He knew what she was capable of and he wasn’t prepared to see it in action. He would keep her in the linen closet where she was closed behind doors and couldn’t necessarily see. He and Jethro would be in the living room, just to listen to eerie scratching coming from upstairs. One thing you should not do with Annabelle is locking her somewhere.
“Dad,” Jethro turned towards his father. “I don’t think Annabelle likes being locked in the closet.”
The Coronel looked over at him from his newspaper, thinking maybe he had a point. But he still had doubts. “You really think that? For pete sake, she’s a doll—she don’t care where you put her I’m sure.”
Jethro shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t think so. I think she likes to see everyone and what they’re doin’.”
The scratching continued. Coronel couldn’t believe this—doesn’t she ever get tired? He was obviously getting annoyed to the breaking point. Clenching his teeth, he threw down his paper and headed upstairs. He’d make his way to the linen closet, grabbing the knob with sweaty hands, he opened it.
Annabelle was still where she was before, on the third shelf with that half-whit smile of hers. Her stare was cold; it chilled you to the bone as it created a rather eerie appearance. Her braids ran down her long, white gown in mattes of frayed strains. The Coronel met her eye-to-eye; it felt as if he was staring into someone’s soul as he’d turn away spooked. He would notice four very distinct scratches indented into the wooden door. He made comparisons with her hand instantly, realizing her four-fingered hands were a match. She had been scratching alright and unbelievably as if stressed.
He’d turn back to meet her dead stare. “You really don’t like closets.” He said to her, hoping she wouldn’t answer back.
Very slowly, he’d reach out to her until he felt the dress fabric. Another thing to consider was she could move, and has full freedom to choose who handles her. Surprisingly, she seemed content in leaving the closet and didn’t care who took her out of it. He would take her for a ride for a minute before placing her on a hutch downstairs. Jethro watched eerily as the doll resurfaced. He had heard stories but never thought it’d be in the house with him.
He would ignore her at first, just continuing his project. It was quiet for the rest of the night. Jethro was nearly complete around eight o’clock when he went to reach for his red colored pencil but found it missing in action. He’d find himself searching for it effortlessly under the coffee table and around the couch—but nothing. He was a bit frustrated after awhile, realizing it may be gone for good. What he didn’t know was the culprit being in front of him the whole time and had a very fondness towards the color red.
After searching the kitchen as well, he would return to the living room. He thought long and hard about where it could possibly be, rechecking under the couch as a second attempt. But he still came up empty handed. With a sigh, he plopped right back down on the floor and stared at his art. Suddenly, a drop was heard and out came rolling the red colored pencil. It’d stop as his feet where he’d pick it up and smile. He returned back to work after that, hoping he could get it to work.
Dear old Annabelle had tired her best to get his attention but apparently—it didn’t work on Jethro. She still watched him intensely and waited until he was ready to leave. Jethro was proud of his work—it may be his best in years actually—and he couldn’t wait to show it off. But as he was about to head up stairs, there was an odd girl’s voice calling out at him. He’d turned around quickly and listened hard as it told him to come closer.
He was rather confused, for the only girl in the family was his mother and she had gone to bed an hour ago. He thought he was hearing things but, still listened to the strange voice. As he turned the corner, he recognized Annabelle sitting on the hutch. He approached her cautiously as he continued to tune in. He suddenly came to a halt, about midway to her when the surroundings changed. It had gotten rather cold and unusually shallow as Annabelle’s eyes moved to stop on Jethro.
Jethro was surly startled as he froze in place. Oh my god, Annabelle is alive! He thought instantly. At this point, he wasn’t sure whether to run or stay but she obviously had something to share. Her deep spheres were dead on, digging deep into his very soul as he quaked.
“P—please Annabelle—I don’t want any trouble.” He’d say to her in a shaky voice.
Annabelle kept to herself however—her devious smirk dark in the shadows. Jethro wasn’t sure what to do at that point as the two stared towards one another. It took a moment for the Sheriff’s son to notice her fingers were redder than usual. Upon closer examination, he noticed a crumbled piece of paper wedged in her left hand.
“Was this what you want from me?” He’d say to her, pointing towards her paper ball. There was no direct answer to his question as she continued to sit there. The doll really didn’t have much to say, but staring into her eyes made you certain. Without hesitation, Jethro carefully reached out towards her, unsure of how she’d react once his fingers tapped the paper. Please don’t grab me—please don’t grab me, He thought as the paper met his tips.
Quickly, he pulled his hand away with the ball in hand. He was surprised to find she remained as he looked back. With a sigh of relief, he began to unwind the ball. It revealed a crude writing that was scribble and difficult to read. Jethro couldn’t believe it at first, thinking some kid broke in and just planted in her hand. But Annabelle is known for such shenanigans—Jethro may have not known it.
He’d walk away towards the kitchen and turned the light on it. It was definite scribbles, in red colored pencil even. That is when he realized where his pencil had gone earlier—Annabelle had stolen it. He was a bit stumped why she’d do such a thing, making that her “note” made absolutely no sense. But he was confident in finding anything in it—even if it took all night. But it wouldn’t take that long for he’d figure it out after staring at it for a minute or so—it was a box with letters in it and when he put it up to the light, it became clear."