Chapter 4

I didn't expect to sleep so soundly after the dinner tonight but it seems I was more worn out than I thought. I slept like the dead.

I woke up the next morning to an open window and a chilling cold creeping up my spine. I'm not sure I remembered leaving the window ajar but I was too drowsy to probe much deeper.

I lazily rubbed the back of my head as I got off the bed to close the window. The curtains curled under the cold wind seeping in and I stared out into the thick mist overlying the forest. It was eerily dark, not to mention the cold was biting into my skin.

I closed the window, went to the bathroom and got into a hot shower, recollecting everything that had happened to me so far; the creep in the woods; Edvin; Oeric and Diana's response to that shed yesterday.

In the end the thing that bothered me most was Diana's reaction to my request from last night. It was far too dramatic and exaggerated. She even left her dinner as it was and I had to clean up after her —something she wouldn't normally do.

I got out of the steaming shower and went downstairs to the kitchen to grab a glass of milk and noticed a stick-note on the fridge saying that both Diana and Dave were out at the Bolt residence.

"What..?" I mumbled.

Isn't it like 4 in the morning right now? Strange.

I was trying to make sense of their incoherent departure to the Bolt's. What could they be doing so early in the morning? Surely not something as tedious as knitting. Then what? Gossips? Animal slaughter? Witchcraft? Hiding a dead body?

A headache kicked in and I decided to stop thinking about the subject entirely. Only weird thoughts kept popping up in my head.

A more productive thought came to me and I decided to go and check out the shed in the back while they were still gone.

I pulled on a jacket, grabbed a chain of keys hanging by the door and a flashlight from the drawer then went out into the cold.

Crossing my arms over my chest to shield myself from the cold, I trekked towards the shed. Skipper joined me along the way. It seemed like he got up quite early as well. We both made it to the shed together and I tried to open the door with the keys I brought along.

The lock was very old and none of the keys I brought could open it. So, in the end I had to go in through the window.

I pushed open the window and sifted in through the bottom. While I did, I was painfully reminded of how I had to cut back on the calories because it was much harder than I thought to play detective with your butt covered in all that fat.

Panting, once inside, I pushed myself off of the floor and dusted my clothes. The smell inside was literally nauseous. I held back the gag reflex kicking in and was about to bolt out but stopped as I considered all the hard work I put into just getting inside.

It would be a waste to back out without at least looking around a little.

I switched on the flash light and began examining my surroundings, however, all I found was nothing but junk.

Junk.

And, wait for it.... more junk.

To be honest, I wasn't even sure if what I was looking at with all those layers of filth covering it. I was lucky that I managed to land at a clear spot after shoving myself in through the window otherwise most of the floor was smothered with moldy, discarded trash.

The workroom was a single cabin studio with perhaps an attached bathroom behind the door half hidden beyond a crooked shelf on the right. There were a pair of large windows on the wall opposite of where I stood and the window next to the door through which I came. The glass was plastered with old newspaper and magazine covers and the parts that weren't were either cracked or were clouded with mist.

The room in itself was suffocating with stories of boxes piled one above the other. The walls on either side of me were capped with shelves carrying books and frames that were too hard to identify so I gave up trying.

In short, I was standing inside a dark stifling room with an unbelievably strong stench that was enough to throttle you. Perfect. Ignoring my unhelpful monologue, I flashed the light around the room and caught a glimmer of something shiny inside a box.

Cutlery perhaps?

I searched around some more, carefully trekking across the junk on the floor and rummaging through a bunch of boxes before deciding that the smell would kill me before I find anything of interest and that the entire idea was just a waste of time.

Other than the smell, there was another uncomfortable feeling creeping up my spine that arose the fine hair on my neck.

I felt like someone was watching me. I knew I was being paranoid but remembering what happened yesterday, I say it's well justified.

I had seen a man's face peering at me from a distance in the forest. A strange man that could still be loitering outside, looking at me from the dark where I cannot see him. Any normal person would be petrified.

And a dark, unkempt cabin full of rubbish and old shit wasn't making me feel any better.

In order to get a better look outside, I cautiously tiptoed towards the window facing the wood. But as I did, I accidentally bumped into a random box and then commenced a domino effect with me stumbling over a whole bunch of other boxes.

Top this embarrassing pirouette with an unrefined, "—Uff!" and this entire spectacle ended with me finally landing on a bunch of hard edged casings.

My whole body was sore with pain.

I groaned as I pulled myself back up and went to pick up the flashlight I had dropped. As I did, I noticed an album lying open half outside a toppled box. That's where my curiosity was piqued.

I rearranged the toppled box and opened it completely to reveal a stash of albums.

Jackpot.

I grabbed the light and the oldest looking album from the box and sat myself next to the wall cross-legged. The album was ancient judging by the amount of dust adhering to it and how fragile each page was. I carefully opened the album at its first page and flashed the light on the picture at its center.

Standing in the picture was a middle aged man and a woman, I presumed was his wife, the label at the bottom read Floyed and Annabelle Rosamund, 1820.

That was the only picture, that dated so far back from which I figured that Floyed and Annabelle Rosamund were the first of our ancestors.

I looked through the other pictures, showing the Rosamund's entire family history along with our family tree explaining our heritage by the end of each album. It didn't take me long to get through the entire collection. However, as I flipped through picture after picture of my family, something very odd occurred to me.

There were absolutely no pictures of my mother. In fact, her name wasn't even mentioned in the family tree.

I could easily recognize Diana in most of the photos but that just made my mother's omission even stranger.

My mother, Hail Rosamund, was the first born in the family and she was older than Diana yet I couldn't find a single trace of her amongst the Rosamunds.

There must be some pictures here.

I kept looking through album after album when I finally found one.

It was lodged, almost as if to hide it, behind the cover of the most recent album. In the picture, she was standing next to Diana and a little girl between them.

There was a very subtle frown on my mothers face. I could tell that she was unhappy because that was the face she made every time I would do something stupid and got myself grounded.

Aunt Diana in contrast, never looked happier. She was literally beaming, pulling the little girl into a tight hug at her side. Although the picture was a little ambiguous, I could tell the girl in the middle was 3 or 4 years old. She looked confused but not unhappy as she stiffly held onto Diana's hand.

It was dated back to 24 December, 1995 and at the back the initials D.R, H.R and C.R were written roughly at the corner.

D.R for Diana Rosamund.

H.R for my mothers initials, Hail Rosamund.

C.R for..... Chloe Rosamund? Me?

No way.

That can't be me. My name never carried the surname 'Rosamund'. I had always been a Campbell. I didn't even knew the Rosamunds existed until my mother passed away.

But the time gap seemed to fit. If the photo was taken sometime in 1995, then I would probably be 3 years old. But why was I holding Diana's hand instead of my mothers? I don't remember ever meeting her before my mother's death.

Crunch*

I jolted at the sound and hastily turned the flashlight off.

Skipper growled.

There was definitely someone outside. And whoever he was, he was close. I could hear the sound of leaves crushing under his feet as he shifted.

I sat there cross legged without making a sound until my eyes had adjusted to the dark. Once I could see what was where I, as quietly as I could, got up from my spot and made way towards the window through which I first entered and carefully got out.

As soon as I stepped out, Skipper closed the distance between us and stood in front of me protectively. He had his fangs bared and was growling at the unknown intruder.

I shushed him to make sure the stalker won't discover where we were.

In a moment of hesitation I contemplated my options. Running back to the house didn't hold much appeal now that I knew I'd be alone with no one to call for help.

Then, all of a sudden, as though flipping a switch on my personality, I felt an unfamiliar spontaneity took hold of me, a surge of boldness flooded through me and unlike myself I decided to go after whoever it was that was after me.

I grabbed an abandoned shovel and hid behind the crates lining the front side of the shed. I bobbed my head up and looked around in the dark but the fog was thick and I could barely make out the tree line much less get a clear view of the stalker.

Skipper let out a low growl beside me facing the direction of the woods and I made a swift beeline around the shed towards its back and peered from the edge.

Skipper was now in full attack mode, his fangs bared, ears flat and back arched. Thanks to Skipper I could briefly tell where the stalker was but the fog and the darkness kept me from pinpointing his exact position.

Something rustled in the distance and suddenly Skipper whipped his head back and barked. He paced back and forth before me then took off, disappearing into the fog.

Now I was standing alone in the dark growing mist with just a shovel to protect myself.

I was beginning to despise my impulsiveness. I'm usually a meek and docile person, that is, until I loose my rational judgement to whims. That's when I can literally get myself killed.

My mother once told me that I almost drowned myself when I was little because of it. I don't even remember doing something that stupid but after today I'm beginning to see how that would've happened.

Shit, I cursed, inwardly.

I can't believe I actually thought I could take on some stalker with a measly shovel. Was looking at his face more important than my safety? No. Of course, not. Then why was I feeling the gravity of my situation now when it's already too late to turn back.

If I turn heels and make a run for it, I'm sure he would give chase which was even worse considering I could barely outrun aunt Diana if I had to.

I don't even know who this stalker was, he's been out for me since yesterday. He could be a psychotic killer for all I know. And to think I could scare a psychotic killer with a shovel was beyond ridiculous, it was stupid.

Step* step* step*

I froze. There was someone standing only a few feet away from me. I could see his dark silhouette just staring at me as he stood there. I could also feel the killing intent coming from him.

A dark eerie feeling creeped up my spine. The aura of death and demise was so strong that it was almost palpable. He was going to hurt me, kill me even.

I drew a step back.

That's when I felt the warmth of someone standing behind me. I hurled around, shovel in hand but stopped midway when—

"Hey," Edvin whispered in my ear, his face unbelievably close.

The startle was strong enough to make me stumble to the ground like an uncoordinated cripple.

I glared up at his grinning face as he stifled a laugh and held out a hand for me. I spotted Skipper at his heels wagging his tail happily like he accomplished something great and was expecting a treat.

Somewhere in the background, I thought I heard someone's receding footsteps until they completely faded and all I heard was the sound of my frantic breathing and Skippers tail patting the ground.

I reluctantly grabbed Edvin's hand and pulled myself up.

"What are you doing out here in this fog?" he asked, helping me brush the dirt off the back of my jacket.

I glared at him. "I should be the one asking you that, don't you think? Why are you here?" I looked at him accusingly.

It was strange that he would be here so early unless he was up to something. Something no good, I figured.

My doubt was slowly becoming fear when he suddenly held his hands up saying, "Woah, woah, calm down!" He looked at me all innocent and hurt. "I'm not a creep. Dave sent me here to fetch you. There at our place, if you didn't know."

After a long pause where I just glowered at him like his entire existence was a threat to my life, I dropped the doubt from my face.

He was clearly innocent. There was obviously another person here. I had heard his steps when he left. Not to mention Skipper was at complete ease with Edvin.

I believe in my dog's senses more than my own.

Besides, Edvin is too nice to be a stalker. "I know," I said, wearily.

Seeing me revert back to myself he asked, "You alright?"

"I hope so," I said, checking for pain as I flexed my arms and shoulder.

His grin returned and he threw an arm over my shoulder tugging me towards the house. Skipper followed behind.

~~~

"Say," he said suddenly once we were secure inside the warmth and comfort of the farmhouse. "I've been meaning to ask you this..."

I stopped stirring the instant noodles I was making for Edvin in substitute for a real breakfast and looked back at him. "What?" I asked.

"What were you doing out there?" He cocked his head to the side looking confused. "Don't tell me, you were sneaking around in your own house."

"A ha ha. About that..." I trailed off, scratching the back of my head awkwardly.

"I mean the house was empty anyway," he held back a grin as he went on, "So sneaking around would kind of make you look like an idiot."

"Yeah, yeah," I snapped back and resumed cooking. "Make fun of me all you want but you'd always be the person who manages to make that unbelievable height and wild hair a source of terror for unsuspecting passersby."

I was sulking. To be honest I was a little embarrassed about how I got the startle of my life just a while ago.

"You know, normal people would call that shaggy hair and unbelievable height 'sexy'."

"Ha-Ha." I rolled my eyes.

"I'm serious!"

And when I looked back at him he was actually serious. For some reason, that just cracked me up even more and I started laughing outloud.

"Now I'm offended."

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