*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2226599-Introduction-Deanna
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Supernatural · #2226599
Introduction to the prompt of a curse. Entry for CLASH!
Jumping out of the shower, Deanna sang along to the last verse of Wolves (One Direction). She had cringed when it first came on the radio, but quickly got into it. Much better music than from Victoria's reign. Dressing in her white chiffon dress that brushed her ankles, she thought about an interesting way to tell Maison Tepes about his impending doom. An investment banker who recently made some underhand investments to some very sketchy individuals to pay for evil entertainment, she thought the news best be delivered dramatically. She thought hard about it for a few moments, checking her mental checklist:

• Screeching the news Woman in White style. Too basic, dull, and over-used.

• Seduce him, but at the last moment levitate and screech the news. Would be surprising, wouldn’t be difficult as he’s had marital affairs with far less beautiful women than Deanna. However, she didn’t think she could stomach the action of seducing the creep. So, no.

• Sing Taylor Swift’s Bad Blood at such a magic high frequency that he simultaneously understands it, whilst rupturing his heart. Pause the song to give him the news of his doom and resume alongside his laboured breathing. Bit gruesome, but funny as his blood is literally turning bad. Yet, completed last week so feels like cheating to repeat it so soon.

Still undecided, she flipped through her notebook looking at past warnings for inspiration. Until an idea sprung to mind. She could create a typical banshee keening sound in his apartment, a loud, pathetic sound that only he can hear. Leave it be for a few minutes, and then appear in front of him to screech, before disappearing. Repeat this a few times, although not past the number of times it would appear comical, just enough for him to be scared. Just as he quivers, arrive again in her white dress and flowing hair, to hover a few inches above the ground and screech his warning. Yes, she thought, Maison Tepes will be appropriately scared and ready for death. Good one.

Twirling round in celebration, she glanced in the mirror and decided her red-rimmed eyes needed to appear more blood-red and less ruby-red. Having fixed this, she began her ascent on Maison Tepes.

. . .


Meanwhile, London had gone quiet. The London Eye had ceased turning, the Houses of Parliament had closed, and the bustling streets of Piccadilly had just stilled. A pigeon’s flapping wings eerily broke the silence, as it nosedived onto a London Party Boat celebrating Sheila’s 50th on the Thames. Maybe the pigeon was thrown off course by the absence of human voices, the crashes of vehicles and the smoke from the crashes down below as it settled on the noisy boat. In fact, the CD churning for Sheila’s 50th was one of the only human noises left, as all humans had suddenly stopped. Sheila was crouched on the boat, head lolling against her 3rd husband’s shoulder as her sister rocked back and forth against her back. The tourist boat set to pass the Party Boat didn’t, as it suddenly halted in the water with the driver slumped over the wheel and the speaker paused mid-sentence. The beady eyes of the pigeon surveyed around the Thames to see no one standing. Instead, the people were slack against the floor or frantically rocking themselves. Several dogs barked at their masters, confused by this sudden halt in human existence.

Soon, the pigeon grew restless and flew to Carnaby Street, which mirrored the unsettling image of the rest of London. It was like people had simply retreated into their mind. The grey wings flapped against the dirty window of Maison Pepes' apartment on Carnaby Street echoed London's gently shooshing sound. Through the yellow blinds, if the pigeon had cared to look, Deanna was visible having stopped her message of doom in utter amazement.

. . .


Shocked, Deanna surveyed the scene surrounding her. Much to her initial dismay she’d had to stop keening due to an absolute lack of reaction from Maison Pepes. Even when she’d upped her game by creating the image of blood above her heart on her white dress and screeched in apparent pain; there was no reaction. At first, she thought she had forgotten to turn herself visible, but no.

She walked over to Maison Pepes, thinking that he’d already been murdered and internally hoping against it as she was meant to tell him before his death. Goodness, this was frankly not on her agenda for today.

Parting his lips, Deanna noticed white ooze leaking out from his teeth. Startled, she jumped back and retched into his potted plant. Still, no acknowledgement from him. This was beginning to look a lot more serious than before. White ooze from the mouth was unheard of in her time.

She straightened, tied her hair up with the green band always on her wrist, and paced around his living room before pausing to open the window. Gazing across London, she saw the back of a beady eyed pigeon flying away and a blond-haired woman slumped face first out her window. That was unusual. Out of her gaping mouth was more white ooze. Taking her gaze downwards onto the usually bustling Carnaby Street, Deanna couldn't believe her eyes. Hundreds of people just laying loose on the floor. Some looked like they'd managed to keep control of their bodies long enough to sit down before falling to their backs or stomachs. Others looked like they'd just collapsed, as they laid in their undignified positions on the unclean ground. One man had his open eyes staring at a butt of a cigarette, whilst his partner laid his head against his shoulder. This was not usual at all.

. . .


Deanna appeared on the ground to gently close the man's eyes and rest his head in a more comfortable position. Having closed his eyes, she registered every human's eyes were wide open. Not only that, but the white sclera of the eye had covered the cornea, to amount to a misty cloud-like effect. Combined with the white oozing teeth, Deanna knew something supernatural was going on. Really, the whole population laying slumped where they once stood should have been the biggest giveaway but running the female choir and fighting society Scarlett Spirits had clearly distracted her from her once sharp game.

Luckily, being a banshee made her in touch with the supernatural. Zapping back to her original target of Maison Pepes, she lifted her index finger and placed it on the centre of his forehead crease. Here she noticed that he was vibrating ever so slightly. Her vines of blood leading all the way through her finger became visible and glowed for a few seconds as she dived into Maison Pepes' mind.

. . .


Jumping back a few feet, and landing like a cat, the banshee shrieked in horror. Nightmares. He's living his nightmares again and again. Deanna doesn't normally do pity. After all, it was her place to scare the living daylights out of people with a prophecy for their impending doom. Death, though, is better than living your worst nightmares again and again.

Trying to make sense out of this utter disaster, Deanna went back down to Carnaby Street and picked a scruffy looking child. After all, the girl is 5, what nightmares can she have? Raising her index finger again, her blood glows bright, and she enters the girl's mind.
This time the force of the nightmare threw her back 6 feet. She shuddered in dismay. That should be no child's nightmare. She shouldn't even know about that. Poor baby.

Third time, she picked the Prime Minister. Apparating to Downing Street, she opened the door and strode in not caring about the security cameras. Even if there wasn't the crisis, she would just seem like a ghost. Having noticed his head pushed back to the side, hand twitching on top of the dregs of a coffee, Deanna braced herself ready to enter his nightmares.

One, two, three... go!

"CHRIST!"

She gasped a prayer as the horror forced her to fall all the miles to Dover alongside an ear-splitting screech.

. . .


Shaking all over, she carefully zapped herself around the United Kingdom. Everywhere is the same. Every woman, child and man are locked inside their mind, experiencing their worst fears, and cowering over scenes that seem as real as their life was before. Even though she'd only encountered a few curses before this, and none at this level, Deanna realised this was an immensely powerful curse. It must be her duty to remove it. This could be why she's the only banshee left in the UK. This could be her purpose.

First, discover if anyone else is immune to this curse. Hopefully more supernatural beings are, she could use their assistance.

© Copyright 2020 Becca Winchester (beckyimpala at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2226599-Introduction-Deanna