The Awakening: Part 2

I blink rapidly, as the morning rays of sunshine seeps through my window. I stretch my stiff limbs, and glance over at my alarm clock. It hadn’t been set but somehow my body knew to awake around the same time, it was just another day and nothing paranormal would ruin my average life.


Groggily trudging over to my bathroom, I certainly am not a morning person. As I turn the shower on, the metal pipes screech in protest. The water warms up in the time I brush my teeth and do all the mundane things my routine involved. After my shower, I swiftly dry off and throw on a pair of jeans and an old faded T-shirt. I swipe my lashes with mascara, then quickly dashing down the stairwell. I find my mom hovering over the oven, and I instantly sense the aroma of eggs and bacon.


I take a peek at my phone to check the time. Okay, six a.m. I inwardly smile, knowing for once in my high school career, I’m finally going to be on time. My mom turns around and says, “Good morning, sunshine. You must have been tired last night, you were sound asleep when I checked on you around ten, I think,” I shrug and stroll over to one of the bar stools that stood by the island of the kitchen. The lights overhead makes the black granite countertop glisten while I put my elbows on it. My hands support my head as I watch my mom prepare our breakfast. “Yeah. .er. . I guess homework made me exhausted.” I finally explain.


“Well, I would say so, Kellan. I guess that boyfriend of yours was a big help after all,” She teases, but the look of my grief-stricken face changes her playful mood to a more sympathetic tone, “I’m sorry, sweetie. I know it’s hard, but there’s always more fish in the sea, a guy ten times better, you know, all that cliché,” Her bright smile is always contagious and I couldn’t help but smile, too. “That’s the spirit, honey.”


Turning back around, she takes the food and transfers it to two plates. Together we sit down at the small circular dining table in the kitchen. Starved, I dig in. I haven’t eaten for at least twelve hours and the idea of food in my system thrills my stomach. During the meal, I had wondered if I should tell her about what Tristan had done to our blossoming relationship. I had even dared to question about what might of happened to Dad, but I promptly chickened out before the actual question could even formulate in my head. I decided to wait until there was more time to talk about it all. Instead we talked idly about anything else that came to mind. When we finished the delicious meal I volunteered to quickly clear the table before rushing out the door to make it on time to school.


Throughout the day at school, I tried my best to deal with how people teased me and the obnoxious questions about Tristan. I avoided Rosabelle and her clique, their bullying was the last thing I needed today. My best friend Cassie, however, was gone today. I desperately needed her to be my shrink and listen to the new developments of drama that had insinuated over the past forty-eight hours. I text messaged her throughout the day without any reply and even called during lunch and still received nothing in return. After school, I drove home and ate a brief lunch. It appeared that the only positive aspect of this day was how it seemed to go by as quick as I had desired, early on in the day.


Around two-thirty I sit in my warm, cream colored room. My full size bed is centered between two bay windows, the six panels of glass allow light in throughout the day. When the sun sets, I love to watch the glimmer of light shimmer off the water and onto my walls. It creates a warm, aquatic atmosphere that always melted away the stress and unwanted feelings, even if it was just for a few minutes. The wood floor is periodically covered by fuzzy rugs that tickled my feet whenever I step out of bed or walk out of the bathroom. I look around my chamber, sometimes thinking it’s almost too large for any teenager and the house itself was awfully enormous for just two people to live in. Several rooms remain untouched due to the lack of visitors to an isolated lake house. I slightly grin as I think I have the house to myself for another two hours.


Suddenly, a chill replaces the comfortable climate. The unwelcome frigid air raises goose-bumps anywhere my skin is exposed. Hastily, I get up and find the thermostat across the room and check the settings, the puzzling display of seventy degrees fails to explain why I feel like it’s the North Pole. This is too weird, reluctantly starting to walk towards my desk. Sometime during the day, I decided to refresh my memory of the paranormal and research the basics. Halfway there, I sense a faint touch in the middle of my back that sends a shiver up and down my spine. In a flash, I gasp and turn swinging my arms in front of my body defensively. My eyes scan my bedroom looking for anything that might of caused the sensation. I could see nothing out of the ordinary in the freezing room. I struggle to calm myself, when the room starts to shake. Pictures shiver off the hooks and anything that sat upon a table top now lie helplessly on the wooden floor. My breathing quickens, as well as my heart rate. My arms fall limply to my sides and I bolt for my bed, like a small child hiding from the monster in the closet.


Landing on the bed, and I pray for it to stop. The everlasting terror makes me tremble, every second it continues on. The shaking finally stops after what seems like forever. I glance around at the destruction and my eyes begin to water. What seems to be a low growl, soon fills the eerie silence. The demonic snarl makes my whole body shudder and as if on cue, each window panel opens fiercely, sending a swoon of frigid air into my room. I cover my ears and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I’m only dreaming. This is all a dream, this is all a dream. The snarling stops, but something in my ear whispers my name. "Kellan. . ." The voice croaks. I clench the pillow over my head and try to make myself to wake up. This is not happening… But I could not deny what I had just seen, heard, and even felt.


The years of research my dad dedicated himself to consumes my mind. I attempt with all my strength to remember the warnings he had given. There must be a wall blocking all the information I desperately need, because I can’t get to any of it. No matter how hard I try, I can’t think of knowledge that can save my mentality from going completely insane. . . But it all seems to change when I hear another voice. My father’s voice calling out to me. Calling for help.