0 comments/ 12074 views/ 0 favorites Within Ch. 01 By: LuthienEllesar Authors Note: This story is very long, and very detailed. There won't be any sex at all for quite a few more chapters, so if you're looking for straight up porn, this isn't it. I love feedback, and the more feedback I get... the faster I write. Thanks for reading. As soon as I stepped inside the door onto the worn blue carpet, I knew there was something different about this house. I was only fourteen at the time. Generally oblivious to the world at large, except for the small bubble in which I lived, unordinary things were, well... out of the ordinary. My life was fairly mundane, with small spots of excitement, like being allowed to watch a movie with a PG-13 rating. Neither of my parents quite knew what to do with their child who lived in her own fantasy world, full of dragons, knights on horseback, and unicorns that pranced through shadowed glades. Both being devout Christians, such things as dragons were works of the devil, and the fact that I believed in such nonsense was a constant source of puzzlement to them, as if they couldn't understand where I got such nonsensical ideas. I wasn't a very practical child; my head was inclined more towards books and my own fantasies than such stable, upright things as school and George Washington's biography. Truth be told, as far as reading materials went, I had a strong dislike of anything that wasn't fiction. I had the idea set in my stubborn little brain that if it was non-fiction, it wasn't any good. Namely, I couldn't use my ample imagination, which jumped at any chance to get out of the small, but fertile field that was my mind. Non fiction couldn't be fun, because it had already happened. You couldn't change it in your imagination, or put yourself in its place. In actuality I suppose you could. But to a fourteen year old there's a world of difference between putting yourself standing on a curb during the Montgomery bus boycott to riding on a pure white unicorn, hair flying behind you, riding to save the man of your dreams from the dreadful dragon (which turned out to be friendly once you charmed it with your sparkling wit). Of course a bonus to dreaming in fantasy land was you could cure all your own faults as well. Instead of dull blue-grey-green eyes (that just couldn't make up their mind as to what color they wanted to be), you had sparkling eyes the color of the ocean, or as your love told you 'The color of the sky on the most beautiful day on earth.' Instead of frizzy, mouse brown hair you had long, flowing golden tresses, or in my case, red tresses. I'd always had a fascination for red hair, I suppose it had something to do with the fact that my father had red hair, and I simply adored my father, except when I hated him. In my dream world I had deep, emerald eyes and long, curly auburn hair and alabaster skin... quite a contrast to reality. I really had mouse brown hair, eyes that couldn't make up their mind to a color, and freckles everywhere, along with the usual teenage scattering of those horrid red spots they affectionately dub pimples. I had been blessed with a speedy metabolism, and I never had to worry much about my weight. If anything I was maybe a pound overweight, and very rarely that, most people tried to make me eat. My parents, thank god, never stuffed food down my throat once I was in my teens, though my mother still made the occasional snide comment about my eating habits and how much junk food I ate. My mother lived off of snide comments. Her daily sustenance was blame-everyone-else-for-the-problems-of-the-world. All you had to do was open your mouth and say anything and she'd instantly blame it on someone. I'd say something like... "These eggs are cold." And I'd get... "You didn't get to the table fast enough, I called you." Or I might say... "Oh drat I can't find the dog's leash." And get "I told you to put it where it belongs; it's your own fault." I swear I think the woman got off on the words 'Your fault.' You didn't even have to try to blame her for anything and she'd defend herself. My father on the other hand, not being able to stand my mother (who could) threw himself into his work and was rarely, if ever seen, and then only long enough to make a few comments and go to bed, where he commenced to snore like a lawnmower, only worse. My father did everything in a big way, snored, got mad, made decisions, sneezed... I remember once sitting in church with my fellow sniveling sixth graders on the third floor with some snappy old lady making us sing dull hymns and listen to a boring lesson on why exactly Moses had parted the Red Sea, as if any of us cared. The absolute bliss of her droning, boring voice was shattered by the sound of a foghorn that sounded like it had a ballistic missile shoved down its throat. Everyone looked at each other in alarm, (the teacher didn't have anyone to look at so she stared at the white board in shock). I calmly stated "My father sneezed." For a moment no one heard me, so I repeated myself. Heads turned in unison and stared at me in shock, as if wondering how on heavens name one person could create such a noise and still be with us on this earth. Of course, in silent defense of my dear father, I defiantly stared back until the teacher harrumphed and went on with the dull lesson. I got home and politely informed my father that unless he wished what small social standing I maintained with my fellow Sunday scholars to completely dissipate, he was to desist from sneezing in church. He found something incredibly funny in that, though for the life of me I didn't know what. My parents were determined I grow up without outside influences from all the other boys and girls "in the world" which was my parents title for children not in my church. So I, with a lonely eye, watched with envy the neighborhood children getting on the bus every morning to go to public school, while I wearily trudged down into my basement to face my mother and a dreary day of home school. I didn't learn much, my head was always disappearing into the clouds, much to the dismay of my mother, who didn't quite like the idea of instructing a headless daughter. Yet despite my lack of said head, she was always telling me to use it. "I didn't know." "Next time use your head!" I never knew quite what she meant. I was quite tempted to lop off said bodily part and throw it at her the next time she said that, who knows, maybe that's what she meant. At the age of seven I was given my first pet by a rather understanding family friend who realized I was an intelligent, but quite lonely child. She bestowed on me a rat of some proportions, a black one, whom I immediately dubbed whiskers and my mother changed to Primrose. My mother was like that, she had to be in charge of everything, and she always knew just how everything should be done. She basically ran my life until I was around nine, at which point I rebelled against her making all my decisions for me, and was immediately pronounced "unmanageable" and "rebellious." I certainly wasn't trying to be rebellious. There's just something wrong when you receive a toy bear and want to name it Bear and your mother insists upon calling it Buttons. I mean really. It's not her bear. If she wants to name it that so bad she can very well go out and procure herself one of her own. I didn't even like bears that much, I was a horse fan. I think all young girls are at some point. My mother, however, loved bears to the point of obsession, and as a result, my entire bedroom was decorated with bears. It should have been a museum, there were bears on the walls, bears on the bed, bears on the dresser, bears everywhere. I remember quite vividly that my silent rebellion against this treatment was to make sure the room was as filthy as possible. When I changed my clothes, I managed to land an article on all eight of the biggest bears in the room...unintentionally, of course. It wasn't my fault you couldn't see them. By the time a week had gone by, my room was no longer decorated with bears, but rather with clothes, and I was quite satisfied with myself and my cleverness, until my mother collected all the clothes to wash. Then the whole horrid ritual had to start all over again, but such is the life and trials of a nine year old. When I was eight, we moved to the wretched hotness of the desert that people call California. I took an immediate dislike to the weather, I was a pale child, and the sun was not my friend. I, however, adapted, as so many times we are wont to do. After four years of living in a somewhat large house that had low rent, the landlord, an unkind old fellow, informed us he was selling out and moving to the Bahamas, and we were to find alternate lodging within thirty days. My parents scurried around like chickens with their heads cut off looking for another rental. A mutual friend of the family told us about a small house for rent on a street not too far away. My parents jumped at it and immediately whisked me into the car and off to investigate the house. We pulled up in front of the 'for rent' sign and stopped. The house was small, fairly so, our previous house had been two stories, while this house was merely one. The other house had been a lovely slate blue with brick trim; this house was a faded yellow-beige with even more faded blue trim. The front yard was small, with one lopsided, misplaced tree off to one side, about twice as tall as I was (which wasn't very tall). We all stared in silence. My father spoke up in a grim tone after a few moments. "Let's go look inside." The landlord, who was a land-owning fireman, was renting out his childhood home for almost twice as much as our previous house had cost, but my father, in dire straits, agreed. I had lingered outside, peering at the dirt lined flower beds underneath the dirty windows, and after giving my parents enough time to make the tour, I followed. My feet carried me inside the door, onto the faded blue carpet, and I stopped. Something felt different. I couldn't quite place it, but something just felt strange. I stared about me, as if half expecting to see something gruesome drawn on the walls, or one of those chalk outlines on the floor. I shook my head after a moment, told my overactive imagination to pipe down, and followed my parents into what was to be my room. Small, with two windows on either side (it was a corner room), and one small closet. I had been accustomed to bigger rooms, but this would do. I never spent much time in my room anyway, except to lay my tired and tousled head down on the pillow and lay my troubled mind to rest. Most of my day was spent outside in the backyard, acting out all sorts of tales with my toy horses in the tall grass, or reading inside on the sofa. My parents moved on down the hall and I stood in the middle of the room by myself, mentally putting all my furniture in its place in the room, then I realized my mother would arrange the room the way she wanted, and it was useless deciding where I wanted things. A breeze blew across my face and the back of my neck and I turned, I hadn't remembered the window or the door being open, but they must have been to allow a breeze. The air was musty, almost stiflingly so, and I crossed to the window to open it further. To my shock, the window was closed. I thought nothing more of it, why should I, the other must have been cracked. It took me quite a while to figure out how to open the window, Socrates and Shakespeare were not beyond my capacity, but apparently a simple window mechanism was. I finally figured it out and the window swung open with a creak. Strangely enough, the air that poured in on the sunny day was warm, not in the least bit cool. I wondered then where on earth the cool breeze had come from, and after some thought determined it must have been a wind blowing off from the ocean. I crossed to the other window, and stood on my tiptoes to further open it. I struggled with the turning wheel for a few moments before I realized that the latch was still fastened. So the wind hadn't come from here either. Strange. I shrugged it off, my fertile mind for once not romanticizing the incident, and I ventured off to explore the house further. Within Ch. 02 Wow. I'm very happy with the rating I'm getting on these chapters. Thanks to everyone who votes. Once again, sorry, but no sex just yet. The first 3 chapters are all background that is quite boring, but must be told. There should be a bit more action by the 4th or so chapter. Thanks to everyone who reads. A week or two later we were all moved in. My room was arranged as my mother wanted, as usual, despite my comments of where I wanted things. For the first night I was stuck on a mattress on the floor, which I didn't really mind. I liked sleeping on the floor. I didn't mind my high four poster bed, but sleeping on a mattress on the floor was different, and therefore, exciting. I couldn't fall asleep; it was far too exciting, being in a new house. I waited for both of my parents to come tuck me in, as they still did every night. After I could hear the melodic sound of twin snores coming from their room, I rose and crossed to the window, pulling back the shade and opening it. My mother always forbade me from opening the blinds; she thought someone was waiting outside to look in. I looked out onto the small square of half green, half yellow grass that was the lawn. In the moonlight it almost looked halfway decent. There was nothing else in the room but the mattresses, and as I turned I was struck with how small it was, even with just that... and how empty. I was struck with a moment of utter aloneness and I raced for the mattresses, huddling under the covers as if they would protect me. I always had had that notion in my head, that my covers and my stuffed animals were all powerful and would protect me. I used to sleep with about thirty of them around me, on me, around me, and under me. For some reason, in my small, childish mind, I thought they would come alive and protect me if any nasty thing came in the night to attack me. I was also under the impression that my covers were an impenetrable shield, and if they were completely wrapped around me up to my chin I was safe. After a few moments more of waiting for something to spring up at me out of the darkness, I racked up enough courage to open my eyes, half expecting some horrible apparition to be standing beside my bed, glaring down at me. I wasn't afraid of what the creatures my mind conjured up would DO to me; I was simply terrified of seeing them, of opening my eyes and seeing them glowering down at me. I haven't the faintest idea why, it was absolutely absurd, what damage could they do staring down at me? But terrified of that I was. After glancing fearfully about the room for quite some time, I ventured out of bed once more, clinging to the vestiges of my childhood in the form of a ratty teddy bear I'd had since my birth. I padded over to the window once more, dragging the mattress over beneath it and sitting down, leaning against the wall under the window. I closed my eyes for a moment. After a few peaceful moments of sitting like that, my eyes flew open. That damned breeze was back, flitting across my eyelids, denying me of sleep with its sheer coldness. Outside it was a typical California night, almost as hot as the day. So unless someone had left the fridge open, the breeze was pretty much unexplained. I couldn't fool myself with the breeze off the ocean bit again, there were no windows open. I sat puzzled for a moment. I'd always very analytical mind, and this problem was simply refusing to be analyzed. I shrugged it off as yet another strange happening. My mind was enough of a fantasy ground as it was without me feeding it further. I'd wished on every piece of jewelry I had, rings, necklaces, bracelets, anklets... anything. I wished on every star I saw, which took me about 3 seconds in California with all the smog. I was literally in a dream world every moment. If I was walking down the street, I was going to get accosted, and beat the man up skillfully and impress Mr. Right, who would happen to be standing there. If I was at the store, I was going to stop a shoplifter. If I was home, someone was going to break in and threaten my parents and I'd slip away and sneak up behind them, knock them out, take their gun, and point it at their accomplice with some deadpan line such as 'Drop it.' I even stood in front of the floor length mirror and practiced such things, enacting everything out. Needless to say I took anything my own mind told me with a grain of salt. I'd seen UFO's, Dragons, and everything else you shouldn't see with a rational mind. The breeze really wasn't bothering me. In fact, it felt good. I closed my eyes again as it blew across my face, almost caressing it. I sighed to myself, it didn't feel good... it felt wonderful. The soft wind continued ruffling my hair. My eyes still closed, I began speaking out loud, softly, though I had no idea why. "I'm not really fond of this house. Its small compared to our old one. Where on earth am I going to put all my books?" I sighed slightly, getting up long enough to go to my overnight bag and pull out a hair tie, pulling my shoulder length, frizzy hair back into some semblance of a ponytail. I sat down once more. " I wish I really did have long red hair and emerald green eyes and alabaster skin. I wish I was pretty." I never had gotten along well with the children in my church, I was far more concerned with books than boys, and I wasn't in the least bit attractive, rather, people mistook me for a boy occasionally. I sighed. My freckles and more than the average amount of pimples didn't help to make me attractive. Neither did my gigantically huge coke bottle glasses that I was constantly pushing up on my nose. I was generally a wreck. My skinny figure was nice, but not in the clothes my conservative mother forced me to wear, making me look angular and clumsy. I smiled at my absurdity, talking to the air. Really. I wasn't that far gone. "Oh well. I suppose I couldn't find anything better to talk to, now could I? Besides. You won't tell anyone my secrets. Like how much I wish I had someone that cared. I mean my father does, but he's never here. My mother may, in some twisted way, but I highly doubt it." I sighed again. "I feel so... alone sometimes. Like why wake up in the morning, you know?" I smiled slightly. "If it wasn't for my books I don't know what I'd do. Without them I'd have no way of escaping this world that holds me captive." I smiled slightly. "But I do escape. I escape to the wilds of Africa, to the forests of Mirkwood, to the canopies of the city skyscrapers towering over me." I opened my eyes. "I feel idiotic, talking to the air. But I never have been good at keeping a diary. If my mother could hear me she'd say I love hearing the sound of my own voice." I laughed slightly. "I'd say she was right. It is rather melodic." I laughed again at my own wry joke, then clapped a hand over my mouth as I realized I'd laughed somewhat loudly. "Ok, time to go to bed." I scrambled under the covers and lay down, the wind once again soothing my forehead and smoothing my hair. As I drifted off to sleep, I swore I felt fingers brushing my cheek, but the startling thought was lost amidst the clouds of sleep as I let myself fall into them. The next thing I knew, it was morning and the sun was beating unmercifully down on my face. Within Ch. 03 Authors note: I'd like to extend a hearty thank you to everyone whose been reading my little episodes. For the few of you that have commented, thank you from the bottom of my heart, your motivational words inspire me to write more. I love hearing from you! And to everyone whose voted, also a huge thank you, I almost can't beleive the ratings I'm getting! If you haven't voted yet, please take the time to do so, it takes two seconds, and it means so much... and if you have an extra bit of time, please, send me a few lines! As I stated above... I crave feedback! Once again though, no sex quite yet, we must get all the annoying detail out of the way, and then we can get to the goodies. Thanks again! The next few days were a flurry of unpacking boxes and arranging furniture to suit my mother's tastes. The piano, which I was currently endeavoring to learn how to play, was by far the heaviest thing we had to move. It took quite awhile to get the darn thing into the house, where my mother took equally long to decide where to put it. Since I was to be playing the cursed instrument on a daily basis, I meekly suggested I get some say in the matter. My mother turned on my in a cold fury and informed me I was not to tell her where to put things in her house, and that the place I'd suggested would get far too much sun and fade the keys. I looked at the dilapidated, second hand piano whose keys were quite yellow with age, and nodded in mock understanding and meek submittal. I thereafter retreated to the sanctuary of my room, where I brooded in silence for awhile. I was never one to sit idly by, however, so I soon reached into my bag of necessities and emerged triumphantly with a rather battered book. I settled down to read, but with the blinds drawn, I couldn't see a thing. I grumbled to myself, wishing I could open them and let the bright sunlight pour in, but I also knew that would cause my mother to have an absolute fit. Instead, I decided it would be quite better if I just took my book outside. I tucked it under one arm and managed to make my way through the house towards the backyard without my mother seeing me and demanding to know why I wasn't working hard obeying her every command. I sighed with relief as I settled down on the porch with my back against a rotting post. The cement porch overlooked a small patch of green grass that I discerned, to the best of my ability, was intended as a yard. A broken down Jacuzzi with a rotting trellis stood off to one side, and a few trees scattered around the perimeter of grass served as the rest of the so called yard. The foot or so around the porch was cement... then dissolved into grass. I say dissolved because the grass was, indeed, overrunning it in places. Consumed by my examination of the area that was to be my new playground, I didn't notice at first the markings on the cement near the toe of my shoe, resting on the lip of cement beneath the porch. I leaned down, holding onto the post so I wouldn't fall, and managed to make out a name, John. There was more, but at that moment my mother's eagle eye spotted me through the screen and her voice shrilled at me to come back inside and help her with some comforters. I jumped, causing me to lose my balance, and I gracefully tumbled into the grass, landing on my posterior. I yelped and stood, rubbing that sore spot with a hurt expression on my face, turning to glare at the cruel grass which had not cushioned my fall. The grass attempted to look apologetic and failed miserably. I stuck my tongue out at it, then turned and flounced away in the most mature fashion I could think of, which ended up sending me crashing to the floor again on my step up into the house. I looked up to see my mother standing over me with hands on hips. "I asked you to come help me." She glared and stalked in the direction of the kitchen, where apparently, according to her mumblings as she stalked away, the 'stupid movers' had put the bedclothes. I promptly forgot all about the markings on the cement and headed off after my mother before I faced her wrath yet again. By the time I finished helping her, It was getting to be dusky outside. My mother sighed, realizing she wasn't going to get anything more done today, and sent me off to do something "creative." I ended up helping my father hook our ancient computer up, something I was quite good at despite my age. My understanding father realized I took pride in my computer-putting-together talents, and wisely left me to myself, giving me more time to think. I lay on my back on the carpet, hooking wires in merrily and mumbling to myself. I'd always had a sense of when people were near, even when I couldn't see a thing, and just as I connected the keyboard, I felt someone standing beside my legs. Assuming it was my father, since my mother was all to busy unpacking dishes and silverware to concern herself with what I was doing, I spoke. "I'm almost finished here, and I'm pretty sure I got everything right." When I was met with silence, I smiled. "Don't worry dad, I didn't connect the keyboard where the monitor should go." I finished figuring out where the last wire should go and slid out from under the desk with a smile on my face, looking up at my father... or rather, where my father should have been. I couldn't remember hearing the door close, to signify him leaving, but there was simply no one there. For that matter, as I thought back, I couldn't remember the door opening either. Strange that. I had a sort of photographic memory. I couldn't remember a thing when it came to studying for a test, but yet when I didn't concentrate and looked at things, I remembered every detail. I knew as I played the last few minutes over in my mind that if the door had opened I would have heard it. I also knew that I had distinctly felt someone in the room with me. Before I could ponder the matter further, I heard my mother calling to me that it was dinner time. I shook my head and hurried off to the table, which, thankfully, had just been set up. After dinner, which consisted of hard boiled eggs my aunt had sent over and salad, I went to bed, knowing that I had another hard day of labor ahead of me. I settled my aching back into the mattress, but for some reason I couldn't sleep. Something was nagging at the back of my mind... something I'd forgotten to do. Suddenly I sat bolt upright. My book! I'd forgotten my book outside on the porch, and the sprinklers were coming on in the morning. I sprang up and then sat down again abruptly, reason for once taking over. I pulled on my fluffy terry cloth robe and some old bear slippers that didn't fit me anymore and I padded out the door, pausing to pick up the old fisher price flashlight that had always resided beside my bed for as long as I could remember. I sneaked outside, hearing both my parents snoring, but I still didn't want to make noise and risk waking them from their 'beauty' sleep. I silently crept down the hall, managing to make as much noise on the creaky floorboards as the proverbial marching band. When I opened the back door, the squeaking and creaking it made would have woken Sleeping Beauty, but my parents snored on. I breathed a sigh of relief, then realized I'd been holding my breath. With a barely concealed laugh at myself and my own silliness, I ventured down the back steps and around the corner of the house. Illuminated in the moonlight shining down through the trees around the yard, was my book, sitting peaceably on the porch. I set my flashlight down, I hardly needed it on this bright a night, and I scooped up my precious book. As I was about to turn to leave, my addled brain suddenly remembered the writing I'd seen on the cement. I turned with my flashlight dangling from one finger, and leaned over once more, looking down at the writing. I managed to once again make out John, beneath that the word 'loves', and what looked like another name, but the grass was obscuring everything but two letters, R, and N. "Rhonda?" I speculated. I certainly couldn't clear the grass away at night, groping in the dark, so I wisely decided to come back in the morning. I stood there for a moment, wondering out loud, but in a whisper. "John loves... John loves... John loves who?" I shrugged and shifted my book slightly to allow my hand a better grip of the flashlight. As I was doing so, my 'I-sense-someone-near' meter went off again and I jumped, turning a full 360 degrees before satisfying myself that there was no one there. The air around me was suddenly cold, and I shivered even in my thick terry robe. I was not beyond imagining all sorts of awful things and I gulped. My frightened eyes stared out at the night, which seemed no longer beautiful and peaceful, but rather sinister and terrifying. I glanced for a brief moment at my path from the porch to the backdoor, and determined there was nothing dripping with swamp ooze standing in my way, and made a mad dash towards the door, almost tripping several times in the whole graceful procedure. I raced inside the door, which I'd thoughtfully left open, and closed it quickly behind me. Thankfully, even in my paranoid state, I maintained enough control to not slam it and wake my parents. I leaned against the inside and sighed slightly, then almost laughed as the cool breeze came back and blew across my face. I made my way back to my room, slowly, and kicked off the slippers. They landed in a far corner of my room, and the terry cloth robe landed beside them. My own tired body landed on the mattress, and I managed to pull the covers up to my chin before closing my eyes. Before I drifted off, I remembered the breeze. I drowsily determined it must come from an open crack in my room somewhere, and I resolved to find it the next day. My mind however, informed me that it had already worked overtime and wasn't working a moment longer, and immediately shut down...sending me into a deep sleep.