THE GREY chpt. 1 First Draft

We're not sure how it all started
But there are six of us
And we must never come together
We are the reason you're afraid of the dark
If you're not then you should be
So many horrible things hide there
So many terrible things we can do
My name is Helena Ramsey
I am a Grey Child
There are six of us
And we must never come together
At least
That's what I was told

Stone cold asphalt beneath her cheek, a girl awakes and lifts herself from the ground of the parking lot. There was a crash, one that knocked her over, in reverse it happens, now she's running backwards to where she was before the crash. It's night and the darkness hides the living shadows darting this way and that, trying to snatch her up but backwards in time she ducks and dodges their reach. Back inside the building where this all started, she disappears behind the door she burst from, and settles from a rabbit's sprint to a cat's crouch aside a boy her age with brown hair and green eyes. Time starts going forward again, she looks into those green eyes as he tells her, "Be careful, Helena."
She takes a breath, turns, and springs into action, bursting through the double doors of the old hospital, dashing across the desolate and dark parking lot, into a field of ghouls that grab for her with black skeletal arms but she slips just outside of their grasp, all but one, it takes hold of her, lifts her 10 feet into the air then she squirms from its grip, falls back to the solid earth, hits her head against the solid ground.
Helena's pitch black eyes fly open, she lies in bed, safely tucked under warm covers. Covers of the bed and the covers of the calming moonlight that beams through thin curtains; paints the room silver, paints the boxes stacked against the wall silver, and paints the fair-haired girl silver. It isn't as dark as her dream this night. Silence, the house is asleep, when she sits up in her bed she doesn't disturb that serene quiet of the night. That's when the knock comes. The resounding gunshot-sound of metal on metal from the doorknocker breaks the stillness of the main floor, echoes right up the stairs, and into Helena's bedroom. She leaps from the bed like a cat, glides down the hallway like a bird, and creeps down the stairs cautiously like a mouse.
She's always known things, had a certain feel about things, happenings, and people. She doesn't feel anything dangerous about the person at the door, not even at this hour of the night. Just an urgent need for the door to open, now. When she does she's met by a boy her age with brown hair but his eyes aren't green, they're as black as hers. He looks down at her from a good 7 inches above her eye level, breathes the mist creeping down the mountain into the valley, and waits for answers. The only answer she can give him at the moment is this, "My name is Helena Ramsey." And then invites him in for the rest.
It's morning now, half the mist from the night still lingers in the shrubbery of the mountain. The golden glow of the sun glistens through the tips of the treetops, illuminates the broad side of the house, the house too big for just two people. But it wasn't bought to house two people. The boxes of belongings an aging tawny-haired, slightly burly for someone raised in a city, man carries from the back of his black SUV into the newly occupied house don't hold much so there will be room for the others. He trudges up the driveway, over crunchy brown leaves, and into Helena. It's autumn, so the morning is cold, so Helena is wearing his large winter parka (she couldn't find her own winter wear in all the boxes) as she stands at the edge of the front porch, looking down at him. His first words to her of the day are, "When should we expect the others?"
"Sooner than we can prepare for." She answers.
He nods and goes back to packing their boxes inside the house, behind the front door he has to nudge past his and Helena's morbidly obese Jack Russell terrier to get inside. Helena hears the click of the door closing, after that there is nothing. Nothing is what she needs. She stares in the direction of the rising sun, she squints her eyes as she looks down the mountain to the valley where the outer suburbs of the city's more private residents live. She looks to the right from there towards the city at the end of the valley, in that direction she extends her hand into the open air. Reaching for the city, Helena closes her eyes, and feels for any life down there.



A blue-haired girl has to drive with her headlights on because the summer night is so dark. She drives a little too fast down a residential area; she doesn't live there, she lives in the city, her friend lives here. Some days, when she gets the car, she visits her, and today her dad is working extra hours at the station so she gets to visit her until late in the evening. But she doesn't want to worry her brother, so she doesn't stay out too late, she also doesn't want the surprise of finally coming home and finding out her dad is already there. This is why she's driving a little above the speed limit of a residential area in the suburbs, this is what she's thinking about during the cool, dark summer night.
         She doesn't see the man until he flies over the roof of the car, though her eyes never leave road. He just appeared out of thin air, and then dented the hood of their white Prius, tumbled over it, and then landed on the pavement behind it. The blue-haired girl hits the breaks after the thunderous crashing of a body rolling over the cabin abruptly cease. She feels sick when she then hears crumpling and padded thuds as the body falls to the ground.
She knows what she saw before he disappeared behind her, she saw a black leather jacket, blue jeans, black hair, and a surprised as all hell face. She also saw something silver, partially white, partially metallic- reflective like a mirror, she saw something feathered. She knows what she saw wasn't normal, and probably isn't human. Which is why when she bolts out the driver side door of the car to first check to see if he's still alive then with great struggle in a great hurry, so that no one would see her put a body in the trunk of her car, load him into her car she doesn't drive straight for the hospital.
That was three months ago. The golden glow of the morning sun paints a three bedroom apartment orange. One of the three residents, a man in a police uniform, calls to his two kids, "Christopher. Clover. You two better eat something before you go to school." He picks up his jacket because this autumn morning is cold, then heads out the door. He calls one more time to them, "I'm off, don't get into any trouble today, make good choices. I'll see you two after work." From their individual rooms Christopher calls, "Bye, Dad." And Clover calls, "Have a good day." Then the front door slams shut, a few moments later a door clicks opens. Christopher leaves his room, walks down the hallway, and enters the kitchen to get some coffee. He splashed some creamer into the mug then calls to his sister, "Clover. Don't be late again today." A blue-haired girl answers to the call from the bathroom at the end of the hall, "You don't be late today."
She emerges from the bathroom twisting half of her waist-long hair into a bun and meets Christopher in the kitchen. The sun leaks into the kitchen from the living room windows, making Christopher appear extra blond today. The sun makes Clover's hair a different shade of blue, a little green, but not towards the roots where her natural brown hair is starting to sprout through.
"I'm never late." Christopher tells Clover before downing half the cup of coffee. "Unlike you."
"Unlike you, I have a life." She remarks as she reaches into the cupboard for a mug.
"You're an outcast, you have an outcast's life, the only friend you have is an old quack fortune teller." He takes the mug from her when she reaches for the coffee pot. "The last thing you need is caffeine."
"Aren't you always the caring and loving older brother?" Clover sarcastically replies.
"I tell it how it is"
Clover rolls her eyes, they could go all day having this argument, so she changes the subject, "So what are we doing for dinner tonight?" She inquires while preparing herself some orange juice.
"Order a pizza, I'll be studying at the library after school."
"Do you have any fun studying? You were doing that last night."
"No," He sighs and picks up his backpack from the kitchen table, "but I have to pass these finals." He turns and heads for the door. "Don't be late." Christopher reminds Clover.
"Try not to be so anal, a little fun never hurt anyone." She finishes her glass of orange juice.
"That's probably what your mom thought. Try to make friends your age, who aren't heroin addicts." He calls from the doorway.
The door closes but Clover continues to stare daggers into the wood. Usually her brother is much nicer to her, he's four years and six months older than her so he's always been careful about her. While also taking care of her like a parent should, something their dad is too busy for and her mom just didn't do. But jeez, you're late for class one day and you pay for it the rest of the week.
Clover flicks the power switch to the coffee pot off and walks towards her room. In her room she throws her bag on her bed and sorts through the many piles of papers on her desk for her homework, if it's even there, and she secretly prays that if it's there that she remembered to do it. After finding it, completely blank except for her name filled out at the top, under her sketchbook a shadow fills her room and a sharp clamoring startles her out of her quickly goose-pimpled skin. She turns toward her window, red curtains up but locked shut against the fall chill, and meets the glare of a friendly face. A guy not too older than her in a black leather jacket, black hair, and pitch black eyes. Just like hers.



A gust of gently howling wind, sharp and cool, scatters a flurry of lemon-yellow leaves across the empty trail. Clover draws the collar of her coat tighter around herself. "Come on, at least to the bluffs and back." She tries to persuade her companion over the crispy crunching of dead leaves and thump of their boots atop the packed dirt of the trail.
"No. I hate flying in the rain."
"Doesn't look like it's raining now." She gestures upwards to the golden rays of the sun streaming across the pale blue sky, scattered cotton wisps of clouds here and there.
"Oh it will. There's these big-ass rainclouds coming from the south."
"How would you know that?"
"I was there this morning."
"Todd."
"Hey, you're the one who told me that you're not going to sneak out anymore." He shrugs his shoulders, the collar of his jacket bobs up and down the tattoo on his neck. "Anyway, it was much colder then, its better you didn't come, you'd have froze."
"The cold doesn't bother me." Clover clenches her jaw to keep it from chattering.
Todd smiles at Clover's unyielding stubbornness, and unwillingness to admit to simply being cold on an autumn morning. It's not her fault, she's short, she's skinny, but she impresses with her bigger-than-her-body personality. "We need to hang out. Let's go see a movie later. I'm sure Regal Cinemas has forgotten all about us breaking in last time, we can do it again."
For the first time of the day she smiles, "I'll bring the chips and salsa." For maybe the umpteenth time in the three months since they've met, Clover is incredibly grateful that she didn't kill him.
"Bring your brother."
"Nah, you'll have to drag him out of the library kicking and screaming, he's studying today."
"Aw, I swear he's avoiding me. He still hasn't called me back."
Clover rolls her eyes, it's only been three months since they 'met' but she knows when he's joking. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Well, we-- "
"I'm sure I don't want to know." With both arms she attempts to shove Todd into the bushes in front of her school.
"We're definitely doing something today."
"Yes, yes we are. I'll see you after school." She bounds up the stone staircase. Not too high lest her skirt fly up.
"Sure, be good, don't bite anyone again yet, you only got your shots yesterday." He calls after her.
Clover can only look back appalled from inside the door, she's sure someone at least heard that. She would be horrified, but it's not her job to care what anyone thinks.
Two girls stop in the hallway and look towards the floor like they're looking at something against nature, at least one of them does. The other asks the abomination, "Hey, Clover. How are you today?"
"The day just started." Clover doesn't look away from the homework in her lap.
"Well, how are you doing today--so far?" The girl tries to be cute, her friend rolls her eyes at this whole situation then whispers to the side of her friend's glossy hot cocoa-coloured hair, "Let's just go to class already."
"Just wait, this will only take a second." The brown-haired girl says to her red-haired friend then turns back to Clover, who still hasn't answered her question but she disregards that. "Hey, do you remember when we were in middle school and we started a gambling ring during free time?" She laughs at the only childhood story she has with Clover.
"Taylor, I remember you ratting me out to the teacher when I won your lunch money in poker."
"So, we used to be friends, I thought you would let that slide."
"So, snitches get stitches."
Taylor looks uneasy while her friend regards Clover with a look that says what she's thinking, you're mental. Taylor drops the old friend act after immediately regretting trying it out in the first place. "You're in front of my locker."
Clover picks up her things to go.