by Kristina ~
Plagued by a reoccurring dream, Jolene discovers her mysterious past
|The Willow Creek Incident|
The young girl woke from a deep sleep. Not knowing why, she slowly opened her eyes only to find herself alone in a dark room lit only by the moonlight. She arose and went to her bedroom door and gently turned the knob to open it. Suddenly the house was filled with light as though the late afternoon sun was beginning to descend for the day and a thick heavy mist filled the hallway. Filled with mystification, she began to venture in the direction of the living room. Walking slowly, her short-sleeved long nightgown flowed back and forth against her slender body as her long blond hair gently whisked about her face. Upon reaching the fireplace which separated the living room from the dining room, the mist had dissipated. The quiet night was broken by a noise. She began hear the faint sound of a woman sobbing. She slowly turned around to face the direction of the sound; it was coming from the misty hallway. Cautiously she started back into the mist. Approaching her bedroom door she noticed that the door was shut and the sobbing had grown louder and more intense. Quietly she opened the door and peeked inside. Her room was no longer her room.
Where her bed once stood was an old fashion desk. The attached writing table of the desk had been let down where a large trash can with a lid had been placed. Penetrating the trash can were several large knives. The floor was saturated with blood which flowed from the can. An old woman sat in the corner by the window across the room from the desk. Her grayish white hair was pulled tightly back from her face into a small bun. She was dressed in a long sleeve white blouse with a high collar, a floor length black skirt and a white apron. More large knives filled her lap. A man of her age if not older stood behind her. The look on his face was one of hatred and rage. He had a head of long white hair with a large bald area on top and dressed entirely in black. He would point toward the can and scream at her to throw a knife. Frantically sobbing she would reluctantly obey. In-between the sobs the young girl heard her gasp, but, he’s our son!
Terrified and trembling from what she saw and heard, the young girl ran to the room of her parents. Like her room, there was no fog or heavy mist present. She quickly ran over to where her father was sleeping and shook him.
“Daddy! Daddy! Wake up daddy!” she screamed, her voice trembling. He raised his head and looked at her and without emotion said. “I’m not your daddy; I’m not your daddy”!
She looked into his eyes, they were different. They were dark and hollow not the warm brown eyes she once knew. Horrified she began to back away. She turned and started running toward the front door to escape. Just before she could open the front door, she found herself outside standing under the Weeping Willow trees in total darkness. The house that was made of stucco quickly turned to wood and became engulfed in flames. She looked around and found that she was not alone. She was standing with several people, none of whom she knew, watching the house burn. Then a cold chill swept over her causing her to quiver. A ripple effect, like that what is seen when a pebble is tossed into standing water, overcame the flaming house. Just as magically as it turned to wood it returned to its stucco state. All the strangers were gone and she was back in her bed in her own room. Daylight filled her room and she could hear her brother running through the house. Her mother was in the kitchen cooking breakfast and her father was outside working in the front yard. She walked out the front door.
"Good morning Daddy, what are you doing?" She asked.
"I'm planting willow trees." He responded with no emotion. Turning to face her, she once again saw his eyes: dark and hollow.
Jolene woke to the loud hum of the alarm clock. Exhausted from another restless night, she reluctantly pulled herself out from beneath the covers. She was a devote catholic but this was one time she did not look forward to going to church.
A week had passed since the death of her parents. A head-on collision had taken them both on a dark cold foggy night. The funeral was to held today and she had to be at the church at ten.
Father Payton began the services but she could not concentrate or hear the
words he spoke. Her mind kept wandering back to when she first met the McAllisters.