¢нαяσℓєттє ~ Property of -Rawrz-

[rawrz .]

How about a ghost story? How'd you like that for a change? No, it's not a love story, a ghost story. Go ahead, step into my world, put that book with the love and the romance down, with the small town on the beach just like any other, with the friends and a stuck up girl as your enemy. No, this time it's me, I'm your enemy. Believe it or not ...

Chapter One

There's this place in my head, a cold, dark scary place. I only go there in my dreams, but it's there, every night. Every time I close my eyes; I go there again. I don't remember any of it though, just remember waking up in a cold sweat, with a chill running down my back that doesn't stop 'till I turn the lights on. Sure, people have nightmares sometimes, but like I said this happens every night. It's not the same thing, and you'd know if you were me, but you're not the one having these horrifying dreams.
I think the worst part is that I can't remember them, which other people would say it's the best. I want to know what it is that's scaring me so much, what it is that gets me freaked out and actually wanting to go to school. I know it's all in my head though; it's probably all those scary movies I watched when I was younger, or it could be those cold pizza's I used to eat while staying up late playing video games 'till my eyes were so red and bloodshot; you'd think I was the one that you were supposed to destory.
Whatever it is, it's made me go bonkers ever since that first time it happened, only a few months ago back in June. I had just got home from some movie with my friend, and boy was it late. My mom had been yelling at me for staying out until two o'clock, and honestly I was just too tired to care.
"Mom, please I just want to go to bed," I said, dragging my feet towards the stairs, just about ready to collapse.
"Well, if you want your sleep that bad, I would've thought about it before I went to some all-night party with those girls, I told you their no good young lady, they've got the parents like a devil, and ya' shouldn'tve been around them in the first part," My mother had this thick country accent, being born and raised in the south, having eleven kids and not ever moving away from Kentucky, you'd expect just as much. Me, on the other hand, I don't have such an accent. You see, there's the country side of this town, and the classy side, the one with all the people who actually learned how to talk in pre-school and own all the schools here. Sadly, I live right on the border between a modern-day lifestyle and making eggs the "right way", and I swear that line crosses right through our house and splits me off from the rest of them.
Anyway, I finally got upstairs and I knew something was wrong, someone had been in there, I could just, feel it. I looked to the spot where I kept my old antique baseball my grandma had given me for my eleventh birthday, nope, it was still there "Jackie Robinson" and all. My clothes seemed to be fine, nothing my younger brother had done to them except maybe thrown his oldsock into my clothespantry. I'm telling you that closet reeked of sweat, though it may have been my dirty soccer uniform that I kept in there. Everything in my room was perfectly fine, the bed was made, the knick-knacks all in their place, just something felt ... strange. I shook off the feeling and went to get my shower and brush my teeth, when I came back I noticed the window was open. My mom had probably done that, even though I hate it. She says we should enjoy "natures air conditioning" instead of using ours all the time, but I don't see why she insists on us doing that.
Besides, I like the heat. I reached over and shut the window, and when I turned around, I heard it open again.
"What? That can't be right ..." I shut it again, this time staring at it to make sure it was closed. I turned the light out, jumped into bed, and closed my eyes to sleep.

"Charolette! Charolette baby wake up!" I felt my mother shaking me like crazy, and I jumped up in bed, my heart pounding.
"M-Mamma?" I asked, trying to remember my dream, but I couldn't.
"Charolette! Oh, you had me scared to death," I felt a cold spot on my leg, and looked down to see the ice pack she had placed on my forehead that had dropped when I sat up.
"W-what happened? What happened? I-I don't even ..." She shook her head, the lights were on and I could see her hair getting frizzier by the second, it did that when she got nervous or scared.
"I don't know either, gosh you were screaming, i came up here and all the covers were off, you were kicking and screaming like someone was trying to kidnap you, oh you must've had a bad dream, I'm sorry honey,"
I nodded and placed my finger to my temple, feeling the sweat falling down my forehead. "Yeah ... I must have ..." I looked around and sighed, the sun was up, and I glanced to my clock. Five thirty, it read.
"Why don't I fix you some breakfast?"
"Yeah ... Yeah, why don't you,"

[rawrz .]

Chapter 2

Charolette, I hated that name. I often wonder why my mother chose to name me Charolette. And with eleven brothers and sisters with actual cool names, how she got around to picking Charolette. I'm not even the youngest! We've got a little baby boy named Skip, and a five year old brat named Quinn. Oh, you don't believe how ordinary and dumb my name is? Well, I'll start at the beginning.
The first daughter was named Shae, then there was Bonnie, again a girl. Kipp was next in line, then Ewin, Wyatt and Jesse, all boys. Dallas and Cooper, me Charolette, I was next, then of course Quinn and Skip. Can you belive that? All those eleven kids, and I had to be the normal one with the normal name that nothing happens to! Well, I guess that's fine because I am the only normal one in this family. Well except for dad, that is.
If you take any "normal" day for my family, you've got a whole lot of crazy going on and only a little bit of organization. The only reason why is because most of us have lived with these people for over ten years, so of course you get used to it.
I'm always the last one up, waking right when my alarm clock wants me to, no earlier. While the rest of them wake up right when the sun hits their eyes and somehow wakes them up. I go downstairs, just like always and it's already like a circus. Shae's calling her boyfriend about some fight they had the other night, Bonnie's doing her nails. The baby's crying as loud as it can to where it's really hurting my ears. Quinn's trying to get Mom to pay attention to some sort of drawing she did that looks like a jacked up meatball, while Jesse and Wyatt play paper football and scarf those pancakes into their mouth. Kipp and Ewin try to calm Dallas and Cooper down from a fist fight their having, and just like always I make my way through the mess, past the dog, dodging the paper footballs and getting milk and cereal out before it's too late and Shae comes running by crying.
There you go, believe it or not all of that happens in that small little "kitchen" we have. And then just like always, Bonnie and Kipp go off to their college classes, while the rest of us pile into the bus that takes us to the highschool, well besides Shae who's just living there because she can't find a job yet. The bus driver looks at us with some version of an evil eye, which I guess is okay because I'm the only girl and of course he hates our family because what my brothers do. Just like always, I sit down next to my best friend in the whole world, Zane.
Zane, the scrawny one sitting in the back, on the seat just above the wheel with his backpack placed beside him to save me a spot. Zane, the one with the red streaks in his hair and holes on his lips where snakebites used to live. Zane, the one I've known and trusted since kindergarten and is absoultly positively nothing like me.
"Hey Choco," Choco was the pet name he gave me, which I go by at school, at home, everywhere. Except my mom refuses to call me that.
"I've told you, I gave you the name Charolette for a reason,"
I'd always roll my eyes and say, "What does my great grandmother have to do with you picking a name for me?"
She'd shy off from that topic and say her bread was burning or something like that. My mom, she cooks, a lot, and bread is just one of her many home-made products we get.
"Okay, so I've got this idea," Zane says, excitedly.
I roll my eyes and laugh, "Not another one, look Zane, you can't just go on believing that one day you're going to write a book, it's never going to happen. Not if you don't start making good grades and actually have time to, and the money," I said.
Zane shook his head, "No no, I will, alright. Just you wait and see, this time it's going to be a ghost story, yup, and it'll h-"
I cut him off by pressing my finger to his lip, "Okay, if you can't read ghost stories, and get scared by 'Casper the Friendly Ghost' I don't think you can write a ghost story,"
Zane sighed and pulled my finger away from his lip. Zane was totally into writing, but he's never finished a book, yet has started a lot. It seems that each day he comes in with a new idea of something he'll write about, yet he never writes about anything. He has an amazing way with words, and knows everything about punctuation and grammer, but he can't sit down and actually write, he just can't he doesn't have enough focus.


WIP! XP Sorry just kinda bored now Lol

[AninaAna]

Its good

[rawrz .]

Thankyou! (:

[AninaAna]

My pleasure