alicia (spinnets) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-01-08 13:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | alicia spinnet |
WHO: Alicia Spinnet with mentions of others
WHAT: Sweet dreams are made of this
WHEN: The last couple weeks
WHERE: Various
WARNINGS: Nightmare fuel
Alicia woke up on Christmas morning with the smell of bacon creeping into her room. Through a gap in her blinds, she could see snow on the ground outside. A sliver of sunlight spilled through, filling the room with the dim warmth of gray light. Digging herself deeper beneath her blanket, she was content to lie there until properly ready to face the day. She gave in to the heaviness of her eyelids and let out a deep sigh. Sleep had just begun to settle over her when the sound of voices from the kitchen sliced through her lingering drowsiness. She sat up straight in her bed and listened. Her heart hammered in her chest. “She likes her eggs scrambled, Alan.” “I know how my own daughter likes her eggs.” Alicia’s chest felt tight. She couldn’t catch her breath. “Shh, you’ll wake her.” “We should wake her. It’s ten to nine already.” Finally, Alicia regained enough control of herself to throw back her blankets and stumble out of bed. She emerged breathless from her room, staring at the two familiar shapes in her kitchen. “Mum? Dad?” she gasped. Her mother spun around, and her face split into a wide grin. “Merry Christmas, petal.” Her father beamed at her from beside her mother. “Come sit. Eat!” She felt her mother’s arms around her, guiding her to a seat at the table. She tried to speak, to ask one of the million questions she had — What were they doing there? Where had they been? Why had they left? Were they safe? — but she couldn’t form the words. “You’re going to love this,” her father said, sliding a plate in front of her. But when Alicia looked down at her breakfast, she found herself overcome by the urge to vomit. The eggs were an unappetizing grey color and the smell of sulfur hit her in a wave. When she picked her gaze up to look at her parents again, the light in the room seemed duller. Their skin was ashen. There were no eyes where their eyes should have been. Her mother’s mouth was covered in blood. Her father’s face had turned green. “Mum?” Her breaths were coming in gasps now. “Dad?” Neither of them answered and she braced herself as her father reached for her. His hand was cold when he rested it on hers. “They’re going to love you,” Alicia insisted, squeezing Eddie’s hand in her own. “They already know I do.” She watched him tilt his head to get a better look at the building — her childhood home, awash in the lamplight from the street. She knew he’d find it ominous, but to her, it was warm and inviting. She could see the fireplace through the window with candles flickering above it on the mantel. “It’s just dinner,” she said, turning to face him and taking his other hand in hers. “I promise it’ll be fine.” But looking into his face, she could see his lingering hesitation. “Trust me,” she said and shifted in closer, pressing her lips to his. But when she did, Eddie seemed to melt away in a swirl of black smoke. The front door swung open as the lips against hers turned cold. With a sweep of a black cape, the dementor rose, looming above her and sucking her soul from her body. They’re next, Alicia. Her parents, standing in the doorway, looking on with smiles on their faces. Frost clung to the grass beneath her feet, leaving footprints through the graveyard as Alicia and her siblings wove their way through the tombstones to find the ones with her grandparents’ names on them. They carried armfuls of flowers that wouldn’t last in the brisk January air, but it wasn’t about the flowers. “I miss them,” Alicia mumbled, glancing at her brother. “I know,” he said softly. “Me too.” Her sister hung her head. “We’re almost there.” Usually her parents were there with them. Overhead, magpies sang between the trees and Alicia pulled her coat tighter around herself. As they passed by a row of graves, Alicia glanced at the names on them. When she saw Angelina Johnson, 1997-2018, she drew in a sharp gasp. The stones beside it belonged to Fred and George. As she walked down the line, she saw they were all her friends. Every one of them. And finally, her parents. But her brother and sister kept walking until they reached the stone at the end. “This place must be cursed,” her sister said. “Yeah,” Alicia agreed, her throat closing in on the word. “It’s not the place,” her brother replied, shaking his head. He dropped the flowers in his arms and pointed to the stone. “It’s you, Alicia.” And there it was — her name engraved in the granite. The dirt beneath her feet shifted, growing softer. She began to sink into it. “You’re the curse,” she heard them say as the ground swallowed her whole. Alicia gasped herself awake, kicking instinctively at the blankets tangled around her legs. The sun was bright and she wondered how many mornings she’d have to spend willing the sight of her parents’ sunken faces out of her mind. They were always dead in her dreams now. Everyone was always dead. As her initial panic subsided, she pressed her face into her pillow to quiet a sob. Beside her, the turtle and the bunny looked on in silence. |