Better Left Unknown
Vancouver Island is harbouring a pair of dangerous criminals, but each horrid crime is disguised as an accident. Disguised so well that no one suspects a thing. The sadistic pair must be stopped. In a small town on the outskirts a curious girl and her best friend become just a little bit too involved in a game of spying. A new family moves into town and Callie Hennesy is determined to find out just what the elusive family is hiding. But some things… some things are Better Left Unknown. Post-Breaking Dawn, from Callie's and Bella's POV.
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I laughed. I swayed to one side as the old car rounded a corner at an accelerated speed. We were packed in like sardines. We probably smelled like them too. Six teens in somebody’s old beat-up Ford. I was too giddy to even remember whose.
Someone in the backseat started to tell a joke. I pulled my eyes from the thick darkness outside of our little sphere of happiness. I tried to concentrate and make out what he was saying, but his voice was as slurred as my thoughts.
Abruptly our driver barked out some intangible syllable. Probably a swear word. I flipped around to face forward again, somehow hitting my head on the roof in the process. A small gasp was all that escaped my mouth before I heard the earsplitting crash.
I didn’t feel any pain.
But I couldn’t think past what I’d seen on the road. What was it again? I couldn’t remember, even my memory was dark and blurred. I’d seen purple. A purple dress. A purple party dress. A girl. Standing still.
I couldn’t see anything anymore. The world was black—every light had been extinguished.
Suddenly everything came back in a rush. All of my thoughts cleared. It was as though my adrenaline had been slowed by the alcohol in my blood, but was now finally being released.
I remembered clearly what I had seen on the road in that flashing second; there had been a girl standing on the road. Wearing a purple cocktail dress. One with a low neckline. And nothing on her bare arms. The headlights hadn’t illuminated her face, but her arms and neck had, in the dim light, glowed a freakish colour. It had been almost green. It had looked like the grave.
As frightening as the sight had been the next instant was so many times worse. We hit her. Our intoxicated driver hadn’t had time to stomp on the brakes.
I didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. If we hit a girl why was the car crumpled around me? Why could I hear her screaming? Was it her screaming? No. It was more than one voice. It was my friends. The people I’d been driving with.
Then I heard a new sound. It was the sound of metal crunching and ripping. Impossible. What was happening?
I tried to look at the backseat. I couldn’t turn around. When my blurred eyes cleared a little I saw with horror that the entire hood of the already dilapidated car was on my lap.
There was blood. Lots of it.
I heard a terrible roaring noise. Was I making that noise? Was I dying? I sounded like an animal, like a lion or a bear.
The roaring continued, then stopped dead. It wasn’t me after all.
Abruptly there was no sound at all.
Then a soft sigh.
Then more metal was being torn apart.
This time I could see. I saw two pale hands grip the car to my left, on the driver’s side, and heave. They bent the metal backwards and then proceeded to rip pieces off as though it were a common occurrence. Suddenly the hands gripped the driver and his was lifted slightly out of his seat. Someone’s head came down to meet his neck.
Then, once again, the world was devoid of any noise. His body slumped back down, motionless. The metal was then bent back to exactly where it had been before the pale hands had bent it.
Maybe I was hallucinating a little,I told myself. Maybe it was the firemen, pulling everyone to safety. The thought comforted me. Maybe we didn’t hit the girl, maybe the driver swerved and we hit a telephone pole.
A telephone pole? Ironic. How many cars had hit poles in the last few months? It was Vancouver’s curse. It seemed like every week somebody died on this same road—somebody hit a pole.
I heard a small growl beside me. It was a low, throaty sound. I turned my head.
I don’t know what I expected to see. I hoped to see a fireman or a paramedic. But never did I think it would be the girl. Her hands, deathly white, were bending the car.
I saw her face for the first time. She was beautiful. So beautiful it was incomprehensible, but then I saw her sneer of hatred. Her blood-red eyes. She grimaced. Terrifying. Otherworldly.
As she cleared my legs I screamed, I cried, I begged. I was afraid of her. Of what she’d do. Her expression did not change.
She lifted me harshly. And only then—I felt pain. Real pain.
Her hair brushed my face. I’d never felt pain before in my life.
My legs ached subtly—but it was nothing compared to the fire in my neck. I couldn’t even scream it burned so hot. And persisted.
Even when I felt my body slump down into my seat again the pain, the burn, the agony, persisted.
More sounds came from behind me as she continued to desecrate the car. I could barely hear it over the pounding roar in my own ears. It seemed to last forever.
Then the only sound outside of my body was an exulted laugh. It sounded light and airy, innocent even. But I knew better.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I wanted to screech in agony.
I groaned. It was the only sound I still had the power to make. Somehow—she heard.
Footsteps approached me. Then I heard a high, almost soft voice sing into my ear, “Are you still alive? Ah… yes… you are. I shall have to fix that, won’t I?”
Yes! I wanted to scream. Kill me! I cannot stand another second of this agony! All I managed was another muted groan.
Then my last sound cut off with a slow gurgle.
The creature licked her lips. And smiled.