The Bold: Part 1

“Arwen.”


“Whaaaatttt….” groaned the thirteen-year-old girl groggily. She yawned, sat up, and blinked her wary eyes. The figure before Arwen, though she could not see it, must be her father or something. But it was hard to tell in the dark. The beckoning figure yanked Arwen out of bed, cackling evilly under its breath. “Heh heh… we meet again, my precious.”


Arwen screamed when she felt cold, unfamiliar hands grasp her leg. “I hate you! Go away!” She reached for a fluffy pillow and smacked the demon upside the head with it, but still the presence remained. The frightened girl continued to shout until her parents hurried in and wasted no time switching on the lights.


Paul and Bellamy Leashworth knelt over their panicked, sobbing daughter and lifted her back into her bed. With a heave and a sigh, and a few more tears, she was safe and secure under her warm covers.


It was nice to feel the sensation if warmth again. Once every week (at least) Arwen experienced a horrible, traumatizing vision of what she designated “The Monster Witch Thing”. It always seemed so real, yet the thirteen-year-old’s parents reassured her with the same old words every time: “It was just a nightmare, honey. You’ll be okay.”
And Arwen would argue the same way very time: “But…!”


“No ’but’s,” Paul would say. “Remember: breathe in, breathe out,” Bellamy would soothe. And it was like that about every time… except his time.


Because this time, Arwen’s parents had a nice long conversation with their daughter about how much they loved her and would do anything to keep the girl safe. And after that, they all hugged for such a long time… about three minutes, even against Arwen’s wishes.


As the adults left the room almost in tears for some reason, the girl thought back to how the whole nightmare thing began. It started after Arwen’s older brother, Cyan, left for college that she began “seeing things”, as the adults would claim. Arwen sighed, a frazzled feeling overcoming her. She yawned at the clock mounted above the large window, which the girl suspected was The Monster Witch Thing’s entrance, in her room. It was precisely two-forty-seven, which meant Arwen was now thirteen. A teenager, the tired girl thought. A teenager. Next morning when Arwen awoke from a sleepless slumber, she donned her old, holey sweatshirt and trudged downstairs. She opened up the pantry to find a note her mother and father had left. It read: Our Bold and Beloved Arwen, We’re not in the house right now, but the house-trimmer just arrived for his daily housecleaning duties.


Let me guess, thought Arwen, you guys are going to another inventor’s convention. She continued the letter:


We will be gone for a while. You do not need to know where we are and when we are returning. Don’t worry, honey cup, we’ll be home soon. Happy birthday. We love you so much, our brave little angel! -Mum and Dad


Arwen put down the note and remained puzzled for a moment. Why were they acting so… mysterious? Why didn’t Arwen need to know where her own parents were, like, in case of an emergency?? Garrett, their “house-trimmer”, wasn’t THAT helpful besides getting chores done. Even though he was her age.


And… really nice.
But not handsome. In fact, Garrett Scalefield was about the homliest teenager in all of Queensland.


But nice.


After a hearty breakfast of bacon slabs and scrambled eggs (served generously by Garrett), Arwen started upstairs to take a much-needed shower. But Garrett clapped loudly to get the girl’s attention, she spun around to face him, and he shook his head no.


Arwen glanced, perplexed, upstairs, then back at the house-trimmer. “But… why??” she wondered aloud. Garrett then motioned the girl to follow him.
So she did. “Why?” Arwen repeated her unanswered question. “Where are we going? What’s the deal?”


Garrett finally stopped when they were inside the bathroom. He sighed, stood, and closed the door behind them. Then… he locked it.


Suddenly Arwen was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. More frightened than when Cyan had left her alone, more anxious than when The Monster Witch Thing had attempted to kidnap her.


“G-get away f-from m-m-me,” stammered Arwen, watching Garrett reluctantly reveal a wooden club from behind his back.


As the club was raised over her head, the girl felt a little more fierce. “GET AWAY FROM ME NOW!!” In a rage Arwen tackled Garrett. She slapped him a few times. “Where is the key?!!” demanded Arwen, furious.


Now it was Garrett’s turn to be afraid. Sporting a cranberry red face from the slaps, he feebly cowered into the far corner of the bathroom and fished the door key out of his pocket.


Arwen snatched it away quickly. “Thank you,” she grumbled coldly, not meaning her words at all, and fiddling the key around as she tested its unlocking point in the keyhole.
Just before the girl successfully unlocked the door so she would actually make it to school on time, Garrett reached for the club. A few tears streamed down his reddened face as the boy knocked Arwen out cold with a single bash on the head.
Arwen couldn’t really tell what happened next; everything was a huge blur blended with tears and sorrow. The terrified girl wondered what would drive Garrett to do such an awful thing, and why he did it.


All those good questions, but no good answers to match.


Arwen groaned. She wasn’t quite sure where she was or why she was doing. Oh my gosh, she thought hastily, I’m missing school! We have two major tests today in Mr. Swanson’s!


But this was no time to think about school. Arwen’s head had a terrible buzzing sensation, then a few loud, obnoxious knocks. It took a while but soon everything came swimming into view. There were voices. Yes, definitely voices. A few twittery females’, one a deep male’s… Arwen cried out, gasping and trying to move any part of her body, but her arms and legs were completely immobilized. Then it dawned on her that she was trapped! “Let… me… go…!” she managed to squeak.


But, despite her pleads, they did not let her go. Instead, they turned towards her and began talking about what was going to happen.


The poor girl retreated, hanging her head and crying loudly.
A large machine hummed to life.


“This will not hurt a bit,” promised the ominous male voice. “YES IT WILL!!” screeched Arwen, not caring caring how stupid and pitiful she sounded, just as long as she could return home unharmed… which seemed nearly impossible at this point. “LET ME GO!” she wailed, the machine slowly approaching her forehead area. “YES IT WILL!! MUM! DAD!”


Then the dreaded popping of suctions beat against Arwen’s head, everything spun, and one final cry was let out.


“NOOO! NOOOOO!!! STOP IT! PLEASE, STtoooppp….”


“The extraction process has commenced,” explained the man in another room to Paul and Bellamy. The grief-stricken parents asked many questions about the procedure. “Don’t worry,” coaxed the man. “That’s MY job. Now, I know Arwen. WE know Arwen; we know she’s smart and tough and cautious. She’ll do just great out in the field.”


“Really?”


“Yep. Just great.”


“But what about…” Paul choked on the words like a bullfrog had squirmed its way inside. “…us??”


The man hesitated. “She’ll be fine… honest. Of course, the girl won’t know who any of us are…” His voice trailed off, and Bellamy began to sob. Paul gave his wife a squeeze. “Now, now, honey. It’s… It’s for the best.” He turned to the man with a longing expression.


“Right, Cyan?”