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


I hop back on my bed and, before I can reach for my laptop, something suddenly flies in through my window. I turn to look when I hear the thud of the mysterious object landing on my rug. As I turn to catch a glimpse of the odd little thing, I observe a rock-like object featuring thick, black smoke with red in between before it vanishes into a dark, smoky mist. Though I only saw it for a split-second, it remains seared into memory. The reports from those paranormal websites dominate my mind. Each and every supposed witness presented the same description, a warning of imminent death.

My stomach then drops and my heart freezes; how did it find me? I blink back tears of frustration and fear. I never imagined this would come back to haunt me. I have nothing to do what my father did in those days! Why would this evil entity target me? I didn't deserve this.


I silently curse my dead father. I refuse to deal with his mistakes. What good is a father when he dies, and passes his world (paranormal, at that) of trouble and mistakes onto his daughter? Don’t get me wrong, I love my father. But it was incredibly difficult to love a man who insisted on opening the door of the other side, causing trouble with things you can’t even see but can only sense their presence always there, for every moment of your life. . . the threat of that very presence was enough for my mother to take me away from him.


When my mom took me and moved to a remote house by West Grand Lake in Maine, my dad took a turn for the worst. He immersed himself in the paranormal world, digging deeper and deeper. He wanted to prove there are such things as hauntings and demons; anything that roams the other side is what he wanted to bring to the attention of the world, to know they do exist. Before he died, he tried to update me of his ‘progress’. I would always look through the mail for his letters and read as much as possible before my mom would take away the letter, saying, “You don’t need to know what he’s doing, you’re father needs help. And he won’t talk to either of us until he realizes it.” I threw a tantrum every time she ripped the only contact I had with my dad out of my reach. But even in my adolescence, I knew she looked upon the letter too, maybe even hoping he changed and will welcome us home with open arms. Thinking back to the hopes of reuniting with Dad, struck a chord and another tear runs down my cheek.


My legs weaken under my sorrow and I fall back lightly onto my bed. I begin sifting through the years of thoughts and wonder. I try to figure out what this exactly meant and I drift back to those websites about the paranormal. Shaking my head fiercely, I try to grasp that this isn’t possible. I should forget this happened, I shouldn't overreact, I could very well be dreaming or hallucinating…

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

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

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

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


I nod quickly; I don’t want to spill my guts when I don’t even know what I feel like, yet. I already knew Tristan had no chance of redeeming himself; he has put me and my aching heart through enough pain for one relationship. Though my friends, well they still had a chance. The rumors I've heard second-hand should be laid to rest before I share with my only parent. I make a mental note of confronting them later in the week, because in this moment in time I have more important things to worry about. . .


She pats my thigh, snapping me back to the present, showing her understanding. Not wanting her to worry, I mask my true emotions with a fake grin. Her returning gracious smile warms my heart from the frigid chill Tristan had placed on it. Soon she wanders to the doorway of my room, only turning briefly to say, “Dinner will be waiting on the table soon,”


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


I sigh deeply, losing the facade I put on for her. I wonder why I couldn't bring myself to tell her the crazy rumors going around or even about how much I miss Dad. Perhaps because I feel as if I need to figure it out myself, and be the independent daughter she raised me to be. But, of course, it couldn't hurt to talk to her about it either. She only wants to help, but I grew distant when she ordered real distance between my father and me. One of the worst mistakes she made in her life, in my opinion. Leaving my insane father was harsh and undeserving; we should have been at his side guiding him to sanity. A thought of resentment creeps into my emotions, but I willfully ignore it. She's the only family I have left; it would be a mistake to push her away too far.



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