She hadn't really been surprised when her parents had come to her to announce the news that they would be leaving Summerville. Summerville was their home, but so much had happened over the past couple of years, she couldn't blame them for wanting to pick up and go.  After everything they'd had to deal with, they deserved a fresh start. And she wanted that for them. She wanted them to have a chance to be happy, to have a little peace.

Which is why she didn't point out that moving away, and taking the problem with them, would ruin their chances.

She had wanted to stay back and let them go on without her. She could have crashed with her aunt, who'd offered her the spare bedroom for as long as she needed it, but her parents wouldn't hear of it. They didn't want to separate the family, they'd said. There was already one member missing and they weren't about to let go of another one, they'd assured her. But, she really thought they hadn't wanted to leave her behind because they didn't want to lay their burden off onto anyone else.

She had to give Frank and Ella Weston credit for their staying power. A lot of other parents would probably have washed their hands of her the day she turned eighteen. But, they hadn't thrown her out like so much garbage. They had toughed it out with her for two long and arduous years, and she knew it was hard for them because some of those days had been too much for even her to want to handle.

So. for her parents' sake, she really hoped that things would be different in a new house, in a new town, far away from all the old worries and memories.  She hoped things would be different...but, she had no control over...anything...sometimes, so even if she truly and honestly didn't mean to cause trouble, she wasn't sure that she could keep from it.

She was going to try, though. She was going to try her best not to spoil the new life her parents were trying to make for themselves. It would be a shame for them to move hundreds and hundreds of miles away from home to try and live out one of their dreams, only to have her completely destroy it.

It was a really cliché type of dream they had, in her opinion, but if it made them happy, then she wasn't going to tell them that. Didn't everybody want to buy an old house, restore it to its former glory, and then turn it into a quaint little bed and breakfast? Hadn't about a million other people already tried that? And failed? But, she wasn't about to point that fact out, either.

Her mother seemed to think they could make it work and she'd never seen her father so excited about anything in his entire life. He'd actually gone around singing to himself and smiling like a Cheshire Cat while they were packing up their house.  She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him so relaxed and cheerful.

In fact, it was her dad that had found the old house in Cedar Cove. He traveled a lot for his job as an IT consultant for the company he worked for and apparently, he drove through the town often enough to have noticed when the property on SeaWind Lane had been put up for sale.

She'd never heard Cedar Cove mentioned before, but evidently her parents had often talked about what it would be like to buy the old place one day, if they ever had a chance. And after waiting for nearly a decade, their opportunity arose. And they took it.

Of course, it was a nice dream in the abstract, but the reality, as far as she could tell, wasn't quite so rosy. Moving up from Summerville hadn't been all that difficult, but once she'd laid her eyes on the house her parents had paid actual money for, she began to worry that their dream might never make it out of the planning phase. At first glance, she was honestly stunned that her mom had agreed to buy it.

The house, which had been built in 1928, was not in the best shape. Frankly, she thought it looked like that house that was in every single cheesy horror movie she'd ever seen. It was that gloomy and forsaken and dilapidated. The roof was worn, the faded white paint was peeling, the tall windows were dark and grimy, the roof of the covered front porch was sagging on one side, and the entire property was an overgrown and unkempt tangle of weeds.  And to cap it off, the majority of the lot was surrounded by an old, rusted spiked iron fence that really did look like something out of a scary movie. And that was just the outside of the place. The inside was even worse.

The Georgian style house was made up of a maze of rooms, some rather large and some on the smaller side, that had seen far better days. The wood floors were worn and scuffed so that they were scrubbed bare in some places. The old wallpaper was faded and falling down in spots, the ceilings were all discolored and stained, the fireplaces that were in nearly every room were black and dingy, and everything in the house, from the things left behind by previous owners right down to the air itself, smelled stale and flat and unclean. That was probably the worst part. Somehow, the air just seemed...unclean, tainted by the lives and habits of the people who had lived there. There wasn't a breath that she took that didn't smell and taste like cigarette smoke and filth.

How on earth her parents could possibly envision turning the dirty, bedraggled old house into something that would eventually accommodate guests she had no idea. With the shape the place was in, she figured it might take years just to make it livable for themselves.

On the flip side, the work that needed to be done would keep herself and her parents busy for a long time to come, which might be a good thing. If she was busy working, maybe she wouldn't have time to focus on anything else. Maybe keeping her mind occupied would help her more than all the other things she'd tried over the past two years.  And if it didn't help, in the very least, it couldn't hurt.

Clydie pulled in a breath of the stale, tainted air and let it slowly back out again. She wished she felt different about the house, but when it came right down to it, she hated the place.  She could simply find nothing redeeming about it at all.  It was dingy and dark and there was a film of nicotine adhered to everything. The entire house was tacky with it. The windows, the mirrors, the walls, the floors—every step was like walking on the sticky, unwashed floor of a movie theatre—everything was just coated in the stuff.

There was also an atmosphere about the house that made her...uneasy. She couldn't say whether it was the drabness of every room, or the fact that the house really did remind her of something out of a scary movie, but she was just...unsettled. She couldn't imagine actually living in the house, actually being comfortable there, eating and sleeping there. She had enough trouble sleeping in her nice clean room back home. She had no clue how would she sleep in a dreary, dirty, worn out space that reeked of grime and second hand smoke.

Looking around the big kitchen, where she'd been standing and basically doing nothing for a good ten minutes, she still couldn't believe her mom had agreed to purchase the property. Dreaming of opening a business was one thing, but paying real money for a house that needed so much work, which meant a lot more money would have to go into it, seemed to go against the very fiber of Ella Weston's being. The woman was practically a skin-flint and was so tight fisted when it came to the family budget that she was almost tyrannical.  

And that fact led her to question just how desperate her parents had been to try and escape their lives back in Summerville.  Of course, the answer was that they'd been just desperate enough to sink their hard earned cash into a rundown, shabby, tatty old house that might never be inhabitable.

Pulling in another breath, as if deep breathing could fix anything, Clydie turned toward the enormous porcelain sink that was stained and in dire need of a scrubbing, and looked through the big window there. That window was just like all the others in the house. Tall and wide and made of two separate panes of glass that were wavy and imperfect, with an old fashioned latch right in the center that allowed both halves to be pushed outward. And like all the other windows in the house, this one was dingy and covered in a film of dirt and smoke, making everything on the other side seem blurry and out of focus, almost like viewing the scene through a brown fog.

She didn't exactly love the house, but the property it was sitting on was going to be lovely, if they ever managed to clean it up. Though, at the moment, she couldn't imagine how long it would take them to get all the vines and weeds and brambles under control.

From her vantage point through the kitchen window, she could see the stand of old evergreen trees off to the left, their trunks and branches gnarled and twisted from likely centuries of withstanding the ravages of wind and storm. Straight ahead, beyond the jumble of wild growing grasses and vines that made up the back garden, was a sloping, rocky drop-off which led down to a long strip of dark sand...and the vast sweep of sea beyond. 

That endless expanse of dark grey waves, churning away beneath the lowering clouds of the autumn sky, seemed to go on forever, stretching out until it became one with the horizon. Taking in the sight of those tumultuous waves, she had to admit that she'd never seen a body of water that appeared so brooding and somber. There was absolutely nothing inviting about it. She couldn't imagine anyone swimming or enjoying that water in any sort of way. To her, those steel grey waves seemed to be telling everyone to stay away, warning them to stay on dry land or risk succumbing to whatever darkness might be lurking just below the surface.

But, despite how uninviting it seemed, she wanted to get out there onto the sand, just to hear the sound of those off-putting waves lapping the shoreline. She wanted to take in some fresh air and get the scent of nicotine out of her nose and throat. In fact, she just wanted to...be doing anything else, almost anywhere else.

But, she wasn't anywhere else. She was in Cedar Cove, in a dingy house that smelled of dirt and tobacco, with parents who just wanted her to be okay. So, what could she do but pretend to be okay? And someone who was okay wouldn't be outside, moping on the beach, when there was work to do. She would be pitching in and helping to get things done.

There was so much to do in the house that it felt a bit overwhelming, but she could at least get started on her own room, especially if she wanted to have any hope of being comfortable enough to sleep. Her things were already upstairs in the bedroom she'd chosen, boxed up and waiting to be sorted through. Of course, she couldn't put her things away until she'd cleaned the film of nicotine off everything, which could, in theory, take at least a month of Sundays.

Turning away from the blurred view of the harbour looming outside, she set her gaze on the butcher block work table and the pile of cleaning supplies there. She had no idea just how to clean away decades of stale, sticky cigarette smoke, but she knew for sure that if she couldn't manage it, she would be pitching up in the car that night.

Wanting to just get it over with, and wishing she could dredge up a bit more enthusiasm for things in general, she moved away from the sink and over to the table, grabbing a plastic bucket and beginning to chuck things into it. There were a plethora of bottles and cans to choose from, so she just tossed in one of everything, added a couple of old cleaning rags to the top, and headed across the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door and out into the long hallway that led up the foyer.  Hoofing it, she wended her way through the maze of boxes that were filling up the large entryway and hitched a right, toward the wide, slightly curving staircase.

Hurrying up to the second story landing, she hooked another right and made her way down that dim, long corridor, past all the closed doors with the slivers of light spilling out from underneath them. Her room lay behind the very last door at the end of the hall and twisting the stiff, old fashioned glass knob and stepping inside, she had to fight the feeling of dread that washed through her.

She really and truly didn't want to be ungrateful, but she could not imagine ever being at ease in the space. Granted, it was a very large space, with more than enough room for her and her things, but it was just as dreary, dingy, and foreboding as the rest of the house. The ceiling was yellowed, the wallpaper faded and dull, the wood floor scratched and worn. And, naturally, there was the ever present film of nicotine, dimming the window and making the floor boards want to hold onto her shoes. 

 And then there was the bathroom—oh god, the bathroom—but that space was so terrifying she didn't even want to think about it just then.

Clydie paused just over the threshold, clutching her bucket, and trying to determine where on earth to begin. The movers had dumped the pieces of her furniture and all her boxes into the center of the room, which already held some furniture that came with the house, creating something of a jumbled mess for her to deal with.  But, there was no point in trying to organize anything until she'd tackled some of the grime.  There wasn't much she could do about the discolored ceiling, that would probably take gallons of paint, but the wallpaper she could try and spiff up a bit. A little soap, a little elbow grease, and the pale pink paper with the small red roses spattered over it would at least be clean.  Or...clean-ish.

Having a starting point seemed to perk her up somewhat, so she emptied the cleaning supplies onto the old, sheet covered bed that had been left behind, poured a squirt of this and a splash of that into her bucket, and turned toward the bathroom. 

 Oh god, the bathroom. 

 She didn't consider herself a snob or a prissy sort of girl, but the bathrooms in the Weston's new home were a step below gas station level. They were legitimately frightening.

Tentatively pushing open the bathroom door, bucket in hand, she sent a quick prayer heavenward before entering the room with that was an odd mix of salmon pink and pea green.  But, the addling color combination wasn't the problem.  The problem was that the pea green tiles covering the walls and floor, and the salmon pink tub, toilet, and sink, looked as if they had been neglected for...decades.  The tub and toilet were particularly terrifying in ways she couldn't even begin to put into words.  The kind of terrifying that would require stringent hovering and showering with flip flops on.

Going over to the bathtub, she turned one of the squeaky old taps---which immediately set off a round of loud clanging and banging behind the walls---and quickly filled the bucket with hot water, feeling thankful that the house even had hot, running water, and then escaped just as quickly as she could, finding herself really hoping that her parents had budgeted for a complete overhaul of every bathroom in the house, because there was no way anyone would pay money to stay in a place where they might risk getting cholera just because they had to pee.

Back out in the bedroom, and thankfully still alive and breathing, she walked over to the window and placed the bucket there, deciding that she could air out the room while she was working, figuring that fresh sea air and crisp autumn breezes could only help the situation.

At the window hung a pair of lace curtains that were brown with age and smoke and rather stiff with residue, and she snapped them open, a move that sent a plume of thick, coarse dust out into the air. That dust, which felt chunky somehow, instantly got sucked down into her lungs, invading her airways and setting off a bought of coughing that lasted for a full five minutes, only ending after she was pretty sure she'd hacked up a sizeable piece of her left lung.

When she was able to straighten up, she reached for the old fashioned window latch and quickly unlocked it, shoving both sides of the window open and allowing a cool, damp breeze to rush into the room, washing over her with such suddenness that she gasped and took a couple of steps backward.

That brisk surge was a bit of a shock, but it was also a welcome reprieve from the stale air inside the house and her lungs dragged it in, trying to rid themselves of the nicotine and the upsettlingly chunky dust. Blinking away the blur of tears brought on by her nearly fatal coughing fit, she pulled in another breath and stepped up to the window, looking out over the backyard and the unending harbour beyond.  

Almost instantly, a flash of something off to the left caught her attention and she glanced that way, a hard jolt going through her and the breath she'd just taken rushing right back out of her... because there, standing just beneath one of the gnarled evergreen trees...was a...figure.

Oh god. Please, no. Not again.  Not so soon!

Even as that jolt of fear was racing through her, stuttering her pulse and tingling her limbs, she began trying to blink it away, trying to make it disappear.  But, rather than disappearing, it instead took a few steps out from beneath the low hanging branches, which brought it out of the shadows and into the broad daylight.

Please, god, no. No...

For the span of a long moment, she stood frozen, looking down at that figure, her heart thumping so hard she thought it might burst right out of her chest. She blinked again, several more times, trying to make it vanish, but it was useless. It was there, in plain view, and it wasn't going away until it was good and ready.

It...the figure...was dressed like any person would be, only perhaps slightly out of season, wearing cut off jean shorts and a tank top even though it was jeans and sleeves weather, though she did have a sweater or jacket around her waist. It...she...had dark hair hanging down past her shoulders, incredibly thick brows, a sharply pointed chin...a few necklaces around her neck and a few bracelets on her wrists, a pair of pink Converse sneakers on her feet.  And there was something on her forearm, visible despite how faded she was.  It was a long, dark mark...a scar maybe...but, in such an odd shape.

It..she...was a young girl...who looked just like all the other young girls.

Had anyone else been able to see her, they might have thought they were simply looking at a person standing down in the garden. Just an ordinary...person.  But, no.  It...she...was not just an ordinary person.

The girl standing down in the garden, the girl who was now looking directly up at her as she peered down from the window, would have seemed ordinary...were it not for the fact that she appeared a bit off-color somehow, almost muted...like an old, forgotten photograph that time was fading away.  

And then, of course, there were the eyes.  

Or at least, those wide, bottomless black voids where the eyes should have been...voids which stood out in glaring contrast against the dull, muted pallor of the girl's face...  The girl's face...that was completely unfamiliar to her.

That abrupt realization slammed into her like a closed fist, sending something akin to terror skittering through her entire body.  Oh god.  What was happening?  What...was happening?  She'd never seen anyone but her sister...  She'd never seen anyone but...Sam.  Only Sam...  And the young girl down in the garden, staring up at her with those coal black eyes...was not Sam.

"Clydie!" the deep voice blasted in her ear, sending fear spiking straight down her spine and pushing a loud shriek up out of her throat.

She whirled around toward the voice, her stomach lunging right up into her chest and her body bolting forward...only to slam headlong into the wall of the person who was blocking her path, that impact tearing another shriek from her.

"Clydie! It's me! It's just me!" the now familiar voice shot through her skull even as hands clamped down onto her shoulders, steadying her on her feet.

The feel of those hands on her, firm and heavy and...real...had her mind instantly snapping too and she found herself looking up into the handsome, sympathetic face of...her father. Seeing the man there caused a wave of knee buckling relief to sweep through her and for a brief second, she found herself hard pressed not to sob.

It was just her father.  Her father...and not...something else.

"Clydie, I'm sorry! I'm sorry.  I didn't meant to scare you," her dad apologized, looking down at her with his brows drawn together and his dark eyes filled with worry. "I thought you heard me coming in."

She shook her head in answer, struggling to find her voice and get her racing heartbeat under control. She couldn't seem to do either in that instant, but she did manage to glance over her shoulder, out the window and back toward the stand of evergreen trees. But, the young girl was gone.  Thank god, she...it...was gone.

Though, the question was, for how long?

"Clydie? Are...are you okay?" her dad questioned, his words laced with a tone that washed over her like a wave of ice cold water.

Damn. She'd heard that tone before. Many, many times before.  It was dread. Her dad knew what was happening and he was dreading the thought of it...dreading that it had started already.

"I-I'm okay," she forced herself to croak out, pulling her gaze away from the garden and bringing it back around to her father. "I'm fine. You-you just scared me."

They'd moved hundreds and hundreds of miles away from home and her dad clearly did not want to have to deal with it so soon.  Not after they'd given up everything in an effort to start over and leave some of the problems behind.  Her father...he deserved to be free of those old problems, if anyone did.  So, she was going to try her best to give that to him, no matter what she had to do.

"What were you doing? Is there something outside?" Frank asked, his gaze going past her and out the open window.

"No," she lied, trying to pull herself together. "I-I was just...I dunno, daydreaming, I guess. And I didn't hear you come into the room."

Frank turned his deep brown eyes back to her, a tiny little spark of hope flaring up inside them. "Daydreaming? I don't think you've done that in a while. Was it a nice daydream, at least? I mean, you must have been pretty lost in it, if you didn't hear my clodhoppers coming up the stairway."

"It...I think it was nice," she said, trying to smile up at him.

"Well, that's a good sign. Right?" Frank urged with a slight lift of his shoulders.

"It...its probably a good sign," she replied, a part of her beginning to burn with the need to cast another glance out the window, but she fisted her hands and dug her nails into her palms, forcing herself to keep her eyes locked on her father.

It...she...wouldn't be out there, not now.  So, there was no use in looking. If this was going to be like all the other times, it would be too soon to see her again.

"Alright. So, anyway, I came to tell you to come downstairs. We picked up a pizza on the way home from the grocery store," Frank said, shooting another glance out the window, as if he wanted to be sure she hadn't been looking at anything in particular.

"Okay. I-I'll be right down," she told him, trying to inject a bit of normalcy into her voice, as if everything inside her wasn't quaking...as if everything in her life hadn't just plummeted even further into decline.

"Great. But, don't be too long. The pizza is mostly grease and it'll start to congeal once it gets cold," Frank explained, giving her a lopsided grin and a quick wink before dropping his hands, turning on his heel, and striding out the door, leaving the scent of his sharp cologne in his wake.

For a long moment, she stood there, trying to calm her racing pulse, pulling in a few long breaths that were scented with both the brine of the sea and the cheap, drugstore fragrance that Frank liked to pour on.  Both scents, the familiar one and the one she hadn't had a chance to get used to yet, were calming, but in different ways.  And that's what she needed just then.  Something calming...something normal.

She needed bad cologne and cool, clean air. She needed whatever it took to keep her parents from finding out that not only was it happening again, but that it was changing, that it was different than it was before.

Despite her nails digging into her flesh hard enough to cause pain to splinter through her palms, she had to give in and turn back around to the open window. She didn't want to look...she wanted to walked straight out of the bedroom and forget that she'd ever seen the image of that dark haired young girl.  She wanted to forget that it had ever happened because if she acknowledged it, she would also have to acknowledge the fact that her parents were never going to have the life they wanted.

With her heart thumping against her ribcage hard enough to jar her body and her breath coming in short, fast spurts, she turned back to the open window, her gaze sweeping straight over to the stand of evergreens.  But, she was gone.  The girl was...gone.  

That fact didn't bring her any amount of comfort, though.

She had seen the girl down there, beneath the evergreen boughs. And there was every chance that it wouldn't stop there.  There was every chance that she would see the young girl again. And probably again. And again. There was every chance that she would see...her...over and over, just like she'd seen, and continued to see, Sam over and over and over again.

And that left her with the issue of how she was going to keep her parents from finding out that she...was getting worse.