nine
NINE
「an apparition」
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚
ANOTHER BORING DAY in the Glade passed. Sylvia was anxious to get back in the Maze and make up for lost time. She'd been doing anything she could think of to keep busy. Working in the gardens (which made her back sore), helping the Med-jacks (she was useless), Cooking with Frypan (she almost chopped her fingers off), and taking it upon herself to help Gally with his new expansion of the Homestead (he tried murdering her with a hammer). The only jobs she refused to do were working with the Slicers and the Sloppers. The Baggers were a different story, for they usually had nothing to do besides tend to the graves. Thus, they usually helped out with the other jobs.
Sometimes she walked with Nick as he made his rounds around the Glade, saying hello to everyone and making small talk. He was truly a friend to everyone in the Glade. Other times she would sit in his room as he worked at his desk on something she didn't bother to look at and poke around in his personal belongings. She had found some awfully strange things, including papers with random sketchings on them and a book about some futuristic society.
One of the things she did most was spend time in the Map Room. She would perfect lines and compare maps endlessly. All for which amounted to nothing. There was nothing new day after day in the Maze. She felt like they were beginning to waste their time working so hard for it. Of course, the Runners had to keep positive for the other Gladers, as to not diminish hope, but it was hard.
Along with the nonexistent findings of the Maze, the Glade had been uneventful as well. The only thing that was worthy of noting was that one of the Gladers had begun to become a bit rebellious — refusing to do his job sometimes and protesting about certain things the leaders do. It was nothing to be concerned about though. No crazy injuries for the Med-jacks to talk about, no fights or arguments, nothing. Really, the most interesting part of her day was dinner.
Sylvia was in the Homestead, washing away the dirt that had accumulated under her fingernails. The cold water ran over her hands, the chill of it causing her nerves to tingle. She dried her hands off and walked out of the bathroom, heading down the hallway and towards the stairs.
She passed by the lounge room and spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. She backtracked and entered the room. She squinted in the darkness of the room, looking to see whoever was in there.
"Syl."
She held back the scream that itched to leave her throat and stumbled backwards, whipping around to face the culprit.
There he was, his tall figure of six feet and dirty blonde hair so dark, it looked a light brown. She stared at him and he stared right back at her. He didn't have any blood smeared on his face or a shaft sticking out his neck like she'd imagined he would have in a vision of him. If these hallucinations really snowballed from traumatic experiences, that's how he should've looked, right?
"What do you want?" She whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?"
Sylvia reeled at the sound of his voice. She didn't expect him to talk back, she figured these visions were only of sight, not hearing as well. He sounded so real. "What...?" was all she could manage.
"I haven't seen you for over a year and your first words to me are 'what do you want?'." He whistled lowly, "Harsh, Syl."
She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fists, "Stop."
He looked at her confusedly, "Stop what?"
"You're not real!" She whisper-shouted.
At this, George laughed, "I'm real, alright."
"Am I dead, then?" She furrowed her brows at him.
George sighed, "You're stupider than I remember."
Sylvia glared at his faded apparition. His skin was pale and the edge of his figure was blurred, as if he was emerging out of thin air. His body blended with his surroundings slightly.
"I'm not a hallucination or some shit," George further explained, "I'm dead, you're not. It's just that you can see me."
"Why?"
George blew a breath out, "To hell If I know why."
"Well, great." Sylvia rolled her eyes, "You're a mighty big help."
"Sorry, I'm not the Keeper of Knowledge." He threw up his hands in an obscene gesture.
He certainly has George's humor, she mused. She didn't know whether to believe that he was really a ghost and she could see him or if this was just a hallucination. She didn't want to think about it. Her head hurt.
Ignoring George's apparition/ghost, Sylvia walked away from him and continued back down the hallway.
"Where are you going?" He called after her.
"To bed."
"So, you discover you can talk to your dead best friend, and you think 'yeah, I'm a bit sleepy. Time for bed!'?" George queried in a mocking tone.
She turned to face him, "Well, what do you want me to do? Start screaming? Make you a cup of tea and ask what you've been doing since dying?"
"Yowza!" He shouted through a smile, "You are so mean! I forgot how mean you were."
Sylvia scoffed, "I am not mean."
"If you're not mean, then I'm not dead." George smirked.
Sylvia swatted at his apparition and he disappeared. She raised a brow in surprise, shocked that the simple trick worked. She made a small, satisfied sound before continuing out of the room.
SYLVIA HATED THE Bloodhouse. Full with the tang of blood and death. Lichen and Kudzu grew up the sides of the faded red barn, giving it an almost abandoned look, left to be devoured by the invading plants. She could hear the bleating of goats and squeals of pigs from the stables where they kept the animals.
She had never liked the idea of the Bloodhouse and usually tried to avoid it. She liked to say that she feared nothing, but if anything made her squeamish, it was the Bloodhouse. Unfortunately for her, Nick had asked her to speak with Troye about asking the Creators for new animals. He was too busy picking apart everything in Ronan's journal.
So she begrudgingly walked down to the Bloodhouse, her new boots becoming spackled with mud. Sylvia spotted Troye with the chickens. He was holding one of the hens under his arm, checking the bottom of her feet.
"The hell are you doing!?" Sylvia playfully called out to him as she approached the coops, squinting from the sunlight.
He didn't look up from the chicken as he responded, still examining the bottom of its foot, "I think she has bumblefoot."
Sylvia laughed, "Bumblefoot?"
He squinted up at her and pointed a finger, "Hey! Don't laugh. Bumblefoot is a very serious condition." Troye placed the chicken on the ground and it ran back to the others in the coop.
"I would imagine, with a name like that."
His mouth twitched into a smile and he stalked up to the fence. Troye was the tallest boy in the Glade, Nick coming in second, Gally in third. Sylvia had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Her five feet and four inches of height didn't help her much.
"Anyway, what's up?" he asked, transferring the dirt on his hands to his pants.
"Nick sent me over to ask if you were up to the idea of getting cows. He says he thinks we're ready for the next step in our farming evolution." Sylvia explained with a light roll of her eyes.
"Cows?" Troye pondered.
"For milk and...beef I guess." She cringed as she said the last part.
"I'm sure Gally will be happy to hear that."
She raised her brows, "He sure does love building next to the smell of shit."
Troye chuckled and said, "Yeah, just tell Nick I'm up for it."
Sylvia peered over his shoulder to look at a boy who was leaning against the Bloodhouse, carving something into the wood. Noticing her attention being drawn away, Troye turned his head to look at the boy.
"Hey, slinthead!" He called out to the boy, "Didn't I tell you to feed the goats? Get back to work!"
The boy's face turned angry, "I'm sick of you acting like you can just tell everyone what to do and if they don't fall at your feet to do it, they're punished! Shucking asshole." he muttered the last part as he stomped off.
Sylvia raised her brows in interest, "Been happening a lot lately?"
Troye sighed, "Anytime I tell the shuckface to do something he throws a fit. I should ask for him to be put in the Slammer."
"Isn't that the guy that came before Kaylus? Roger, was it?" she asked
"Yeah. Been givin' me a real hard time." he rested his elbows on the fence, "He'll get over it."
"Alright, well," she pushed off the fence and started walking backwards, "Gotta report back to Nick." she saluted him mockingly and turned to go.
Troye shook his head as he laughed lightly.
RAIN PUMMELED ON the windows outside and all the Gladers had taken shelter in the Homestead. All of the Runners had come back early. Cole and Hank were the last ones to step through the door and into the safe haven that was the Homestead.
They both dripped water onto the floor and their hair had been plastered to their foreheads. Towels had immediately been fetched for them.
The Homestead bustled with noise and chatter and boys. Too many in such an enclosed area to be comfortable. Some tried taking naps anywhere they could and some busied themselves with whatever they could find. This meant that Sylvia had to step over arms and legs to get wherever she needed to go.
The weather outside was thunderous and it didn't look like it would stop anytime soon. They might have to all sleep in the Homestead tonight.
Nick was walking around, taking up conversation with the Gladers. Wherever he went, smiles and laughs followed him. He was a good leader. This was the polite, charming Nick. The Nick everyone wanted to know, wanted to talk to, wanted to laugh with.
Nick was a tall boy with enough muscle that it showed through his t-shirts. He had chiseled cheekbones and a strong, defined jaw. Nick was attractive in the way that people were addicted to coffee. Coffee was able to be changed to your liking. It could be sweet, moderate, or bitter. Nick acted differently depending on who he was talking to, though it was barely noticeable to the naked eye. Sylvia thought coffee looked appealing, but never had the taste for it.
Newt walked up to Sylvia, both of them observing Nick in silence before he spoke to her, "Think he'd be a bloody king outside the Maze?"
"Oh, for sure," She joked, "He could ask a tree to get up and walk and it would."
Newt played out the image in his head, "I could see that happening. I wouldn't even be surprised."
"You know that one tone of voice he uses when he's telling someone to do something?" she asked. When he nodded, she continued, "He'd use that voice."
"And he'd be wearing those awful loafers."
"Oh my God," she groaned, "He needs to get rid of those things. We should burn them."
"I agree," Newt said, "Do us all a favor not having to see those monstrosities everyday."
Sylvia laughed quietly. Her eyes slid across the room and landed on Minho. Her expression faded a bit. He was talking enthusiastically with the Runners about God knows what.
"You know..." Newt started, noticing where her attention had slid, "I don't know why you hate him so much. He can be a bloody slinthead sometimes, but he's not a bad person."
"I have my reasons."
He sighed, "Syl-"
"Don't," she snapped, her good mood turning sour in an instant, "I don't want to talk about this."
Sylvia stalked off to a different section of the Homestead, wandering into the kitchen. The kitchen was dimly lit, one meager light lit the area. Rain pattered and dripped down the windows. She stood next to the window, watching as the rain muddied the ground of the darkened Glade.
Someone was standing out in the rain, staring into the window. They were barely visible through the downpour, almost fifty feet away. Sylvia leaned closer to peer through the window. He disappeared and then reappeared within a second, closer this time. Close enough that she could make out his features.
It was Ronan. He was screaming but there was no sound coming out of his mouth. His jaw dropped open in silent agony. Sylvia stared at his figure until he disappeared again.
This time he reappeared right behind her, a blood curdling scream ripping through her eardrums. She stumbled away, hands covering her ears and eyes tightly shut. She crashed to the ground, knees and elbows smacking the hardwood floor. Ronan's scream was so loud it could pierce the veil between the living and the dead.
She curled up on the cold floor, wood scratching her exposed arms and hands over her ears. The scream slipped between the gaps in her fingers and penetrated her ears. She felt warm liquid begin to cover her fingers. The sound was horrendous; that of a dying animal in immeasurable pain or a human slowly being torn apart. That of a creature that doesn't exist and is hard to describe. Impossible. Unimaginable.
Sylvia layed on her side, her head pounding and spinning until Ronan stopped. She wasn't sure of the exact moment that he stopped, her ears ringing with fervor and her mind dazed. She had only realized that he had stopped because the liquid crusted around her fingers and ears and pulled her skin uncomfortably. She slowly pulled her hands away from her ears and opened her eyes.
She was alone in the dimly lit room. The only evidence of the incident was the blood on her hands. She quickly stood and wavered on her feet. She rushed over to the sink and frantically scrubbed her hands. She looked at her reflection in the window above the sink and pawed at her blood encrusted ears with a damp paper towel. She would have been screwed if anyone found her in that position.
She threw the towel into the trash can and stuffed it deep inside. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes to stop herself from crying or lashing out and breaking something.
Everything seemed to be off kilter these days.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
i changed the cover for the story!! lmk what you guys think! 🤔
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top