Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Ouija ❯ The Voice ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Title: Ouija
Author: La Lune
E-mail: la_lune86@hotmail.com
Website: www.geocities.com/la_lune86
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Alternate Reality, Horror

::Standard Disclaimers Apply::

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'The basis of optimism is sheer terror.'
-Oscar Wilde

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Chapter Four: The Voice


Serena sat transfixed, staring disbelievingly at the pad she held
in her suddenly clammy hands. Time seemed to stand still for a long
while, for what felt like hours had in reality been merely minutes. The
thought that maybe in a dream-like state she had awoken during the
night and wrote the two sentences that answered her previous questions
suddenly came to mind. The idea was quickly done away with by just
looking at the handwriting itself, the smooth, fluid cursive letters were
something Serena could only dream of having as her own.

Her own handwriting was a mixture of print and cursive, she
had a tendency to connect certain letters together when writing. She
recalled learning the cursive alphabet in elementary school and how her
teachers always tried to stress the fact that once you started junior high,
to put it simply, print was out and cursive was in, always. Boy, that
was a load of bull. Consciously or unconsciously she could never
manipulate her hand writing to look that perfect.

Eventually she found it within herself to put the pad down, get
dressed, and walk out of her bedroom. She felt quite suddenly
desperately alone, in more ways than one. It wasn't the physical
loneliness she encountered and quite frankly didn't mind; she couldn't
feel anything any more. It was like the switch in her head that when on
let the spirits communicate with her had been switched off. If that was
the case, Serena wondered who was responsible for turning it off.

Serena mentally tried to push these bothersome thoughts to the
back of her mind; she was hungry. Twenty minutes and a bowl of
oatmeal later found Serena back in her room, dressed, and on the verge
of a cleaning binge. This ritual Serena found herself performing was
not necessarily an uncommon occurrence as far as she was concerned.
Serena had a tendency to bottle up her more forceful emotions, anger,
frustration, etc. So as a way to cope, Serena found the task of
scrubbing her house spotless quite soothing. The thought that if it
weren't for Darien her house would be a wreck brought Serena to the
brink of hysterical tears.

Five minutes into her oatmeal she had received a telephone
call from Molly concerning a report Serena had been slaving over.
Apparently, Darien had 'accidentally' given Serena the wrong
specifications and the entire thing would have to be rewritten. It wasn't
so much the fact that she had been working on it for over three weeks,
and it was virtually finished, Darien pulled this kind of crap on her all
the time, she was used to it. What really irked her was the fact that he
didn't even have the gall to call her and laugh in her face, like he was
usually more than happy to do.

Serena grabbed a bottle of Windex and an old rag out of the
hall closet and began to angrily trudge down the stairs.

She almost wished Darien would call, or even better, stop by
so she could tell him off in person, or while she was at it, kick his face
in. Now that would have to be an even more therapeutic than cleaning.

'Hello, Serena.'

What happened next happened so swiftly Serena would later
wonder if it had been a dream. At the sound of the intruding voice
Serena lost her footing, and plummeted down the remaining half of the
stairs. As she had first felt herself falling she had instinctively
tightened her grip on the wooden banister in order to save herself. For
a brief moment Serena was able to regain a precious bit of her
equilibrium and exhaled in relief that she was not lying in a crumpled
heap at the bottom of the stairs.

'Boo.'

The voice jolted Serena once more, only now it was
accompanied with a forceful push from behind, propelling Serena down
the staircase. Serena listened as the temporarily forgotten bottle of
Windex thudded down the steps slowly until finally coming to a halt
beside her. If she had not been so thoroughly winded Serena would
have either burst out in hysterics or into tears at the shear irony of her
current crumpled position at the foot of the stairs.

As Serena slipped into unawareness her senses seemed to
become dazed leaving her in so thick a fog that she was unable to hear
the laughing of a man's voice as she drifted off into oblivion.

She woke close to three hours later with a dull ache throbbing
behind her eyes and a stiff neck. Momentarily disoriented, she fought
her aching muscles in order to sit up. As she slowly gathered her wits
and began to recollect the events that led to her current position, her
thought was suddenly cut off by the same offending voice from earlier.

'Glad to see you awake, Serena.'

She looked around at her surroundings frantically, looking for
someone, anyone that was talking to her. There was no one. Despite
this and all other reasonable thought processes Serena knew for a fact
that whatever it was, it was real. Oh God, it was real.

"Wh - What do you want?" Serena shifted her gaze around the
foyer uneasily, and attempted to stand up upon wobbly legs.

'At the moment I would appreciate your attention.'

"Oh really? And why would a nice detached voice want with
my attention? I'm sure you have much more important things to do
than push me down stairs," Serena tried to keep her tone sarcastic and
most importantly, calm. She began to slowly make her way through
the different rooms in her house looking for who was speaking to her,
closing the door of each room she checked behind her when she was
sure it was empty and she was ready to move on.

'On the contrary Serena, you need my attention.'

Serena glanced into the kitchen, "I don't need your attention,"
she closed the door and moved to the next room.

'Don't be so ready to deny the truth Serena. Tell me, if you
were not speaking to me right now what would you be doing?'

Serena paused in mid stride, what had she been doing? "I
would be out with friends probably."

'Oh really? Since when did washing windows equal going out
with friends?'

Serena stopped dead in the middle of the foyer, "Who the hell
are you?"

'I'm aware that this might sound a trite clichéd but I do believe
you will find me to be your worst nightmare.'

"You've got to be kidding," her voice was light with
incredulous laughter, "I mean for God's sake, don't give yourself so
much credit. Ooooooooh, you made me fall down the stairs, big deal.
I've put myself in a coma before with less effort," still laughing, Serena
sat down on one of the bottom steps on the staircase, "And another
thing 'Mr. Scary Disembodied Voice', in case you don't know or forgot - I'm a psychic. I'm used to these sort of things - Have you ever been possessed by a spirit? Now THAT'S a bitch."

'Hmmm, apparently you're method of dealing with fear is
different that what I first perceived, oh well, no bother,' his voice
suddenly took a sharp tone, 'I need some action Serena, but I don't think
at the moment you would give me a satisfactory response, so I suppose
I'll just have to rile you up a bit.'

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, my dear that in a short time something exceedingly
bad will occur in this meaningless thing you refer to as 'your life'.'

"So why are you telling me this?"

'I'm telling you this so that when it happens you will know
who to give the much deserved credit to.'

"And who would that be?"

'You may call me Legion.'

The reference clicked in Serena's mind, even with the absence
of any substantial religious knowledge. She ran to the library and in
seconds found the relatively new bible, dusty from disuse. She flipped
through the New Testament until she found the ninth verse of the fifth
chapter of Mark:

'My name is Legion; for we are many.'

There was a thud as the heavy book hit the floor. Serena
buried her face in her hands and wept.


To be continued...

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Author's Notes: Sorry for the huge delay in getting this out, I've been
working on four stories at once, which isn't exactly the most effective
method for getting any work done. E-mails are always appreciated!
Thanks for reading!

Until next time...
-La Lune