The Girl

	Port Pleasant was a small town that was sandwiched between woodlands and the Mississippi River.  With only seven-hundred people and fifty-seven square miles of land, it was hardly a township, more like a slum of the nearby city of Oxford. Although the land itself was beautiful, most of the buildings erected in the “town” were broken down two story wooden houses. The three local playgrounds weren’t much better; two were one more scrape away from being deemed a safety hazard and the other was composed of a small wooden fort coated in graffiti and the semen of the town’s harlot fling of the week. Only after you went West, towards the woods, did the town improve slightly. Up on the hills there were two well-maintained graveyards that were surrounded on all sides by condominiums.

	The woods themselves made up large portion of the town, although it was uninhabited beyond the tree line. Instead, the people of Port Pleasant dropped their random assortment of trash and scrap wherever they could inside the woods. Despite their parent’s insistence, their children often made forts out of the garbage of the town. When teenagers weren’t fucking in one of the random tree houses or trash forts, they were shooting at the windows in the condos with paintball guns.

	Deep in the woods where not even the children or teenagers went, was a small clearing with a wooden shack. The small wooden structure was left untouched by even nature. An invisible umbrella kept snow and rain off of the clearing and invisible walls kept everyone and everything out. Proudly, the ten-by-thirteen shack sat on its carpet of autumn leaves. Two windows on every wall of the house gave the sole inhabitant of the shack a perfect view of the scenery. In her wooden cage, she watched animals go about their daily life.

	For the last two-hundred years she sat at the small circular table that once served as the family dining table. Her legs were forever propped up on the spare stools and her soulless eyes forever watched the world go by. One hundred years ago she had a name, but that was back when she was also a legend. Without anyone acknowledging her existence, her power slowly faded away until the only thing she could do was whisper. As the world passed her by, the forgotten prisoner whispered prayers for her salvation. She was still whispering when the world turned its back on her.

							…

	When the girl’s father was exiled from their village and forced her and her ten year old sister to move out to the middle of nowhere to start a new life, she was optimistic. After all, she got to go on an adventure that most girls at the age of thirteen only dreamed of. When her small family found the clearing with other signs of life, it was her pleas that persuaded her father to build their small home there. It was also her idea to replant the trees used to make her house so that the squirrels and birds wouldn’t be homeless.
	The girl didn’t complain about the cramped living quarters that she shared with her family, she was used to living in a small loft. Grass dolls that she and her sister made were displayed on top of their father’s bookshelves. Her little sister, Jennifer, named one of them after one their father’s.  Jennifer would sing “Necromancy, Necromancy” in random pitches and tones as they sat down at the table for dinner. She would sing it every time she started to play with the doll, infact. The girl never understood why her father would wince whenever Jennifer would sing the song. When he told her to drop it, she did so.
	The girl loved her father as much as she loved her sister and her mother. When her mother died from disease that she could not pronounce, she was filled with coldness unmatched by the harshest winter. She didn’t want to cry in front of Jennifer, she made a promise to her father not to do so. Instead she cried while alone or in the dead of night. Her father would not speak or eat for days after the death of her mother. Reading books about Necromancy seemed to sustain him. Jennifer named one of her dolls Necromancy as a way to get her father’s attention. She even told him that Necromancy was a pretty name and that she would love to meet her sometime.
	Her father grimaced after hearing that.
…
	The prisoner of the wooden shack finished her prayers.  Thinking about the old days always seemed to help with the praying, even though there haven’t been any changes ever since she started praying.  Her mother always said that God was listening whenever someone prayed. With child-like mentality the girl believed that her prayers have been heard.
	At her feet there was a small dusty tome; it was her father’s suicide diary. She knew the red cover by heart; she was the one that found it and the body after playing with her sister in the woods. The girl had no strength to even turn and look at the book itself. Instead she relied on her memories and constant study of the book to “read” what she read all those years ago.

						…

	Jennifer ran deep into the heart of the woods in an attempt to get away. Her shrill voice rang out as she called “Slow Sally” in a mocking tone. The two sisters often went into the forest to explore and play. Their father made them promise beforehand that they would never go beyond a few hundred feet from the house. Although they loved their father with all their hearts, they often disobeyed their promise and went deeper. With each trip into the forest they went deeper and deeper, to the point of having to trek there at dawn, and return by dusk. Sally often felt a small pang of guilt whenever they went on their little escapades. It crawled around as if it were a glass filled with stampeding insects, ultimately overriding any enjoyment she would have on the trip. That didn’t stop her or her sister from repeating the same trip the next day.

	Their little foray into the forest seemed to land them in a section that they have never been before. A small creek bubbled nearby and small animals were snapping twigs in the distance. Her sister was nowhere to be seen. Jennifer had completely disappeared, as did the sound of her voice. The girl debated retracing her steps back home and finding her sister than home. Something told her that her younger sister was hiding nearby, but it seemed off. Normally a small insult would call out from behind a tree or rock that would give Jennifer away. Apart from the standard sounds of nature, there wasn’t anything betraying the younger sister’s location. Defeated, Sally called out for her younger sister.

	“Come on,” Sally called, “stop hiding and come out.”

	Silence.

	“Please?”

	More silence. Fear built up inside her like a paper filled fire. The frightened state of the girl caused her senses to pick up things she normally wouldn’t, such as the muffled laughter coming from behind her. Sally spun around to only see more trees. She heard the laughter again, a faint echo this time. She frantically ran to the sound in hopes to find her younger sister, only to be disappointed when she reached the area where she thought it came from. Sally called out once again, this time she was answered with louder laughter. Invigorated, she ran to the source, which seemed to be straight ahead. After another five minutes of frantic running she reached her home. Flabbergasted, she collapsed.

	In the space of twenty minutes the girl managed to run through the woods back home, a trip that took at least two hours back when it was still a game of tag. Her sister didn’t appear to be back yet, and she didn’t see her father in the window. Sally walked up to the door and went inside.

	Her father wasn’t home, which raised an alarm. This would be the first time that her father hasn’t been home or in clearing since they settled down. All of his books save one were put away and the small bedroll he slept on was placed under the bed that Sally shares with her sister. The single book lay next to one of the last candles they brought with them. It had a red, unmarked cover and had ten pages between its covers. Sally walked over to the table and lit the candle with one of the matches her father laid out.

	She sat down with the book, which was not much larger than a Memo Pad. Her father’s writing took up hardly any room on the pages, but he didn’t write much on each page. Only a paragraph or two that took up half of each page and not every page was filled. Sally skimmed through the small book; up until the seventh page which is where it stopped. The first three pages were mostly filled with an alien language. Sally only knew a few words, such as food, house, and transportation. The fourth and fifth pages were brief descriptions of their lives in their new home. She read that her father knew of his daughter’s adventures into the forest, even the times they went deeper than they should have. These pages were filled with her father’s joy and love for his children. The last two pages were a confession.

	“Your mother did not die from a disease,” it read, “I killed her, out of lust. Not a lust for flesh, but one of power. I needed a fresh body, and you and your sister’s weren't an option. I chose your mother because it was easier to conceal her saying that she was deathly ill. No one would suspect anything out of the ordinary, in fact, most wouldn’t come within a stone’s throw of the house of someone deathly ill. Dysentery was quite common, or so most folk hear. Any world outside of the common man’s vocabulary would be sufficient when it comes to making up diseases.

	After your mother died, I bound her soul to this very book.  The act of binding a soul is no harder than catching a butterfly. All you really need is an object that you want to bind the soul to nearby when the subject dies. Just a simple phrase turns the object into a paranormal net of sorts. One the soul is released from the body it will actually make a beeline straight for the object, which will instantly trap it. Then the newly bound object is like a canvas in terms of freedom of creativity.

	The corpse of your mother was used in another experiment, one that tested how much a body can be revived until breaks for good. She lasted through seven revivals until her body crumbled to dust. Her remains fertilized the small garden we use for sustenance.

	My real goal however, was to give my daughters the longest life possible. Everything in our new life was conceived through magic. The fresh food and water, the small house we live in, and the lack of severe weather were all fabricated with some practice. While you were out playing, I was busy making a spell that would bind whoever read this book to a predetermined area. The area I bound you two is the clearing that surrounds our house. Without your consent, I also made it so that no one could interrupt your new life. Simply by opening this book you erected a small barrier that would keep you in, and everyone else out. It will never falter, and you will live for as long as someone knows you exist.
Which is why I trapped both of you in there; as long as you have each other you will not have to eat, drink or sleep. You will both live forever in a small sheltered environment with no chance of harm.

	I just hope you forgive me for the measures I took to give you a long, happy life.
									-Robert Fawning”

	Sally reread the last few pages carefully. She had trouble understanding what some of the words meant, the shock of her father’s confession. As she sat there in stunned silence, the sun set and the night began. A loud cry finally broke her out of her stupor, a cry from her younger sister. From the windows she was just barely able to identify her younger sister’s petite shape.

	“Sally!!!” Jennifer cried from the tree line. “I can’t leave the forest!”

	Realization dawned on the girl. She was supposed to have read the book while her sister was with her. While her sister was still in the forest, her father’s spell bound her and her alone to the house and clearing. The book did not mention how to lift the spell, only how it was made. Sally slowly moved to go outside to comfort her sister, but she was unable to open the door. Even with all of her might she could not open the door. There wasn’t a lock on the door, nor was there anything blocking it. She was trapped in the house that she shared with her family.

	“Sally!” “Sally!” Her sister cried as she circled the magical barrier, unable to get through to her sister.

	Sally tried to scream back, but no words came out of her mouth. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t speak.

	The girl was now a prisoner, a frightened, mute, songbird looking out of its new cage as its sisters flew free.

						…

	The past swept over the girl in a relentless wave and the only thing she could do is whisper her prayers and hope that she would be able to forget. Memories of her sister sitting out on the barrier until she eventually left, never seeing her again. She never found out what happened to her father, either. Even years after her imprisonment, the girl wondered about the life they are living on the outside. Rage built up inside of her, her anger at the injustice of her father’s actions only subsided recently.

	Slowly as the embers of rage faded, as did her strength. It soon became a chore to even move her hands. Several years’ worth of time passed, the life outside of her immediate view didn’t interest her. Rarely did she see a childlike shape in the trees, but they never came close enough for her to get a good view. One of the first things she prayed for was for one of the children to come close enough that she could see them. Another one of her early prayers was for the return of her voice. She got her voice back days later, only for it to turn to a whisper just four months later.

	To this day, that was one of the two prayers that were answered. Children stopped coming out to the area of her forest, now woodlands, before she could even call one over. Ever since regaining her voice she prayed. What she prayed for varied anywhere from seeing her sister and father again to her curse being ended so she could die.

	The very last thing that the girl prayed for was that her father knew that she forgave him, and that her little sister lived happily ever after. Breath faded from her after she finished, followed by the last of her energy reserves.

	The girl’s life ended short after she lost her voice for the second time.