14 April 2012
Rebecca was a firm believer in all things mystical and enchanting, which could involve any creatures ranging from mermaids and imps, to Golems and Demons. If ever a person told her of a fantastical creature that was purely fiction, Rebecca would believe in it with such passion and would become so involved that the storyteller would wonder why they had brought the subject up. At the sweet age of six, many had found this trait of hers to be endearing, but when this obsession with the supernatural carried on well into her 20's, it became less endearing and more worrisome. It wasn't some passing interest, or some attempt to hold onto her childhood, like so many of her elders had insisted, it was merely a lasting curiosity. Rebecca and her collection of occult books, crystals, and charms became a widely known joke in the town of Hartford, and many people agreed that she was a little out of sorts when she spoke of her dreams and fantasies. Her family chose to ignore this slight defect in her, and decided to instead focus their attentions of other aspects of her life, such as her manners, dining etiquette, and other such unimportant things. Her mother, while having never supported her only daughter, did occasionally enquire of the state of things inside Rebecca's world, to which she would always reply: 'Very well, Mother'. Her father was even less interested, and chose to instead spend his time working on his son's football talents. This suited Rebecca just fine, as she had never been interested in him. The only person that had captured her attention past a story's end was her grandfather, Albert Lione, a wizened old man who she would have adored, if she was capable of human emotions like her peers like to remind her she couldn't. He had helped with with her search for new stories of stonehenge and fairies and faith healers. He would order books for her from across the world, and he would sit her on a small foot stool before him and read her stories of the north, poems of Asian monsters and reported sightings of Bigfoot. No-one would disturb them during their time together, and the same had come to pass when she was allowed into the hospital bedroom to say her final goodbyes to him. "When living in a small town of only a few hundred, it is hard to find variance", he had told Rebecca finally, who smiled sadly in return before sticking her nose back into some dusty old tome, he had asked he to read aloud. It had been written in some foreign language, and she had felt stupid for reading it aloud when she had no comprehension of the language, but he insisted that she read it with such beautiful diction that it didn't matter to him, all the while a mean, knowing smirk on his face that raised more questions in her mind.
He had been right, she would later discover. At first she had believed her grandfather to just be petty and wanted to get in one final gripe about the town and it's inhabitants, but it slowly dawned on her at the funeral that the woman all wore the same dress, all of the men wore the same pink carnation in their label, and each family had two children and one baby. Every person that she saw just seemed like a copy of the last person. She had on many occasions struck up some conversation or another with one person, only to mistake them for someone else. This happened so often that she had been considered for a psychiatric consult, but many of her relatives agreed that it would have been a waste of time and resources.
Rebecca had no friends, and certainly never asked for them. She was perfectly happy playing by herself, or sat in her room drawing. She had not once sought human companionship, apart from her grandfather, had never asked to hold her mother's hand, had never even entertained the idea of having sex, let alone a boyfriend. High school, while difficult for many girls in her year, had breezed by for Rebecca without a worry or a care. She avoided the students, and they most certainly avoided her. She had been, and still was some noticed with interest, a beautiful young girl, and once having entered high school, she was deemed as a catch, and many boys had tried to catch her eye, but she had never even noticed them or their efforts. Feeling shunned and angry, the boys began to boast of their conquests of her, and the girls, spurred on by these stories, began spreading rumours and called her foul names. For some children, this would have been the breaking point, but again, Rebecca would take it in her stride, smile, and return back to whatever new toy or story intrigued her at the time. All the people of Hartford conspired against her, speaking of her only under their breaths and forever looking over their shoulders, but like the very creatures Rebecca was so fascinated by, she often appeared out of nowhere, with a blank, curious look on her face that would remind a nearby observer of moments in their childhood when they were truly afraid. When questioned on this subject, she would tilt her head, her raven black hair sweeping itself over her shoulder, and would hide her secret with a dark smile. She was a mysterious girl, emphasised by her blood red lipstick, charcoal coloured eyes, and a long, slender, swan-like body. It seemed extraordinary to the people of Hartford that such a wonderful looking girl would be the strangest person amongst them.
All of this, Jonah Abbot decided, didn't seem to matter to him as he strode towards her with a slightly damp book in his hand, glistening from the sweat that ran down his wrist as he thought once more of her seductive smile and 'couldn't care less' attitude. He briefly thought of the way they had met, a chuckle coming to him as he played the most interesting day of his life in his head. He had been jogging down her street, earphones planted firmly in his ears, eyes rooted to the ground, as he waited for the rush of adrenaline to hit him, when a large, black Rottweiler had sprang at him from his right. Later on he would replay that moment in his head. He had been fairly certain that the dog had been on a chain, the other end wrapped around some oak tree, but in those fleeting moments, he had coiled up from instinct, his eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, when he fell to ground, instantly realising that the dog had not collided with him. He had opened his eyes, hands steadying him as he looked up into the stern face of Rebecca, who was scrutinising him as she stood over him. He could only gape at her, her black hair gathered on the top of her head beneath some cloth tied around her head, wearing trousers that finished halfway down her calves and a plaid shirt that she had gathered into two bunches and tied around her midriff. She looked as though someone had pulled her straight out of the 50's, Jonah had thought, as she stuck her hands on her hips. They stared at each other for a few moments, weighing each other in their minds, and though Jonah had no clue as to what she had been thinking about, he was smitten with her. She had helped him up, her expression softening, as he smiled wholeheartedly at her. He had thanked her, given her his name, and had run off like a shy young boy who had stolen a kiss. He had never questioned where the dog had gone, or where she had come from, but since that moment, he had always gone out of his way to help her, or to talk to her. She had never shown any slight interest in him, having treated him equally to everyone else in their town, which was the aloof nonchalance that she showed whenever someone came nearby, and he had always been the perfect gentleman to her, wishing her a good day, offering her assistance when she moved out of her parent's house, recommending some documentary on television that might interest her. All of this, and she had never battered an eyelid. Which was why Jonah was now going to try a different approach. He was going to offer her his book called 'Superstition of the West Indies', quite possibly stammer over his rehearsed speech, and ask her out on her date. It had seemed like a good idea when he was sitting alone in his flat, but now that he was close to her, and he could smell the rose water perfume she always wore, he felt sort of queazy and excited in a nervous way. He wasn't quite sure which he was more nervous about. His asking her, or her reply. He stepped closer to her, just enough to see every emotion displayed on her pretty face, but not enough to be noticed just yet. Or so he thought. "Jonah. You know I don't like it when you lurk near me." she reprimanded, her eyes immediately drawn to the boo in his hands. "Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -" "It's okay Jonah. No need to apologise. What have you got today?" She leaned forward, closing the book in her lap with her fingers still between the two halves to keep her page. Clearly, she didn't expect him to stick around for long. In some cases, she would have been right, as he'd suddenly remember some menial task that he had been asked to do and leave before he would notice how weird he really was. But not today. Today, he was going to do it. "It's 'Superstition of the West Indies', it arrived yesterday with some some other books I think you might like." he paused, considering his next words carefully. "They're not really the sort to carry around in public though." he added at he last moment, hoping to add some intrigue before he popped the question. It worked, to his amazement. She leaned in closer to him, practically touching shoulders, and her eyes burned with questions as she whispered so only he could hear, "What are they?" He chuckled, relieved that his question wasn't going to sound so forced. "would you like to come 'round and find out?" Her eyes fizzled out, and she was beginning to lose interest, and Jonah panicked, blurting out, "They're only some old manuscripts from my grandparents attic. It's to do with the lore and history of this place." She sat up straight, and stared at him. "Why would anyone want to r
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