Smoke perforates the room spreading to every corner of the trailer. Mold clings to the corners of each suffocating wall. The couch cushions sink and trap you in their hug making you fight to escape them. Grime and dirt cover the carpet in a stained furry, coatimg your feet in dirt whenever you walk across. The filthy cigarette tray and drained alcohol bottles fill every surface and every corner trapping you in the drowning scent of self destruction. Worst of all, no matter wher you go your never alone, the boosting sound of the ball game on TV always playing to remind you. Every suffocating second in that trailer breaks you more and more. Every “Your a women shouldn’t you be cooking?” And “Your 7 you should be old enough to take care of the kids.” Breaks down your pride bit by bit till your an obident daughter just like he wants. The longer you stay, the more you fade away.

not ominous, more like sad and tired lol. this is kind of my twist on the prompt, so not exactly what it’s asking for.

Time seems to pass much faster on a full stomach than it does when I’m starving. I blink and it’s already dusk, the sunlight shrinking away more and more with every passing second. Has food always made me this tired? Heavy? I am shown to the bathroom once my sister is done. I turn on the bath water, wiping the fog off of the mirror from my sister’s shower. There’s a small cut near my hairline that I hadn’t noticed before. And I have a small bruise on my jaw. I frown, running my fingers over my face. When did my skin get so pale? Since when were my cheekbones this pronounced? Have my eye bags always been this dark and round? Turning away from the stranger in the glass, I strip my clothes off and fold them neatly on the tank of the toilet. Carefully, I step over the wall of the tub into the streams of the shower, my whole body relaxing as the water, hot and steady, rains against my chest and beads down my arms and legs. I close my eyes, turning so that the water pours down my back. Deep breath in. Out. Deep breath in. And out. On the wall next to me is a small ledge where a bottle of standard soap and a handmade scrubber sit quietly. I wrap my hand around the scrubber, lathering it with the liquid soap and water. Slowly, I rub it across my skin, starting with my arms, then my chest and back, then my legs. Every now and then I’ll find a hidden rash or scrape irritated by the rough brush, but for the most part, the sensation of scrubbing the soap across my grimy body for the first time in weeks is as if I’m shedding an old layer of skin. By the time I’ve rubbed away any remaining remnants of the forest, my body is already swaying with fatigue. I want to stay here forever, to have this hot, steaming rain pattering across my raw skin until I can’t stay awake anymore. And although at the moment that idea seems reasonable, I know I can’t. So, with a squeak and the twist of a handle, I’m left shivering and wet, the wooden floor cold against my bare feet. A fluffy white towel has been left out for me on a small hanger, and I grab it, grateful for its warmth. Rubbing away the fog with the palm of my hand, I take one last look at the girl in the mirror, studying her dripping hair and tired brown eyes. She deserves so much better. At last, I open the bathroom door, and a sharp gust of air saps all of the warmth from the shower out of my body. For a moment, it’s the coldest I’ve ever felt.

In the heart of a small, forgotten town, there stood an ancient house, known by all as the birthplace of its most revered resident. The air clung with a heavy stillness, as though time itself had come to a halt within its weathered walls. Whispers of the past echoed through its corridors, carrying tales of an ominous history that sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to listen.

The house, once filled with laughter and warmth, now lay abandoned, its windows boarded up and its paint peeling away like the facade of a fading memory. The wind sighed mournfully as it swept through the overgrown garden, causing the trees to sway in melancholic harmony.

Few were brave enough to venture near, for they had heard the tales of the cursed place. Rumors spoke of a dark secret, concealed within the very foundation of the house. Superstition had woven its threads tightly, as whispers suggested that the birth of the town's most celebrated figure was, in fact, a result of a malevolent pact with the unknown.

Locals would recount tales of strange happenings on moonlit nights. They spoke of eerie apparitions that glided through the shadowed hallways, their ghostly forms barely visible through the haze of the supernatural. The air itself seemed to carry an ancient sadness, causing even the bravest souls to tremble in fear.

On the rare occasion when a stray visitor braved the threshold, they would find themselves in a place frozen in time. Cobwebs adorned forgotten corners, and dust coated every surface, as if the very essence of life had fled long ago. The birthplace of a legend had transformed into a mausoleum of lost hopes and faded dreams.

Yet, in the midst of the eerie silence, there lingered a lingering sense of fascination. Curiosity drew wanderers to peer through the cracks in the boarded windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the enigmatic past that had unfolded within those walls. Whispers of forgotten stories whispered in the wind, their haunting melody drawing inquisitive souls like moths to a flame.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the desolate landscape, the house stood as a silent sentinel, guarding its secrets with an unwavering grip. The birthplace remained a paradox, enticing those who dared to uncover its mysteries, yet warning them of the darkness that lay within.

And so, the ominous birthplace endured, its presence a testament to the enduring power of legends and the chilling allure of the unknown. It remained a place where the line between reality and myth blurred, where the past clung stubbornly to the present, beckoning those who sought to unravel its foreboding tale.

“Suzy, you really can’t let them do this. It’s embarrassing for you. It’s embarrassing for me.”

She looked at him in this place that was all his. His books. His pictures. His knick knacks and memories from his successful life in film and teaching. She felt small.

Susan remembered being here as a student. She was so excited. She had so many hopes and ambitions. Back then, every corner of his office was a mystery. She wanted to know so much about his stuff, about him. As she had spent more time here, it had become a sort of second home. A place where she could find an excuse to hang out. To be part of the memories and history of this place.

But now, as the afternoon faded and the office grew darker, she felt uneasy. The books were old. The knick knacks were dusty. The small couch in the corner had cracks and tears. She had been so young, and naïve, and just plain stupid. She felt angry and hurt and ashamed.

She glared him down. “Steven, you’re an asshole. You were as asshole then. You’re a bigger asshole now. These kids, my kids, have more talent and passion than you and yours could ever have. They are going to win this stupid festival of yours.”

“Suzy, don’t be a bitch,” he said. “Don’t let your pride degrade you. Don’t let it screw you again.”

“Steven, Stevie, you degraded me. You screwed me. But it stops right here and now.”

With that, Susan Lilly turned and stormed out of his office, slamming the door. Somewhere back inside, she heard one of his knick knack fall off one of his shelves and clatter to the floor.

The cawing starts every day right before sundown, so be sure to be timely. If you step lightly, you could make it across the cracked, decaying pathway to the enclosed hollow stairs. Be sure to open the iron door with gentle dexterity, and close it silently as to not make your presence announced.

When you reach the top of the landing, pick up your pace down the endless, echoing hall my darling. Hold your breath and whatever you do - don't look behind you. Try to ignore the muffled airspace they are closing in with from an uncomfortable distance.

q u i c k l y n o w reach the front step and pull back the remains of the tattered door mat. See the deep scratches in the woodgrain as a warning from the failed arrivals of the recent past. They are only silently showing you the reward for a glistening key held too exposed in the palm of your hand for your eager attempts to get beyond. They love its’ gleam. You are so close, and with a steady force unlock the doo— they heard the reverberated click of your excitement as you opened it. Move swiftly in for cover! Seal the entry, and lock the latch behind you!

Nest into this space as you are safe, for tonight. Do not to let the deafening silence outside haunt you. Try not to think about it, my love...

it is only a confirmation they have landed.

Once cozy; always a delightful sanctuary for freedom of thought and action. But now as I peered through the half open door I observed my room such as I had never seen it.

The wooden door had deep divots scratched into its surface; the paint peeling away so you could glimpse rotting wood underneath. I gasped when I saw the now uneven plank floor, warped and cracking with every step I took.

A horrible creaking groan dripped from the rusty hinges as I pushed on the door, and I winced in disgust. The room itself was dim and foreboding, with wispy spiderwebs cluttering the corners and a thick layer of dust covering everything.

I never thought it could get like this, but when your home has been boarded up for so long I guess it loses its magic.

I continued in my examination of the place, wrinkling my nose at the musty smell that rose from the carpeting (along with a sizable cloud of dust). I dared not touch the bed, for it looked as if the mattress would fall through if so much as a fly landed on it.

I paused before the streaky mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of my face through the dirt. Something shifted beyond the bed, and memories of checking for monsters underneath played with my brain. I transferred my weight to one foot as I leaned to look for the source of the sound.

A little cloud of dust rose beyond the moldy mattress, and I instinctively backed towards the door. Whatever it was seemed to be coming towards me, though in the dimness of the room I couldn’t quite make it out.

Then I screamed as a long snake slithered past me, traversing on its lazy way into the hall. I covered my mouth and waited for my pounding heart to slow back to its regular rhythm.

Years of neglect and isolation had turned my safe place into a nightmare. A hint of sadness touched me as I recalled the memories that would always be a part of this room.

Laughter when friends came to visit. Brainstorming ideas for novels. Singing my heart out when home alone. Hiding under the covers while watching scary movies and videos. Crying when someone close to me broke my heart.

Gone.

A sad smile caressed my lips as my eyes searched the walls and furniture. I pulled the door closed and returned to the cheery outside, feeling comforted by the sun and the breeze.

But the knowledge that those days were gone also brought the realization that they were not lost. Though I didn’t have the space anymore, I had the memories and to me that was just as good. I had a new space I could make memories in. With change comes growth, and we decide if it will be for the better or not.

I smiled.

Oh ! The dead cry out from bloodied ground, muskets make a thundering sound, thousands fall in line, hoofbeats pound the earth in rhyme, Northern and Southern brothers against each other, the smoke of fire shall smother.

Thousands are dead at slavery’s hand, the playing of “Dixie” in the army band, Oh ! The dead cry out from bloodied ground, muskets make a thundering sound.

Carrie had hiked through this forest many times--it was her refuge, when life was beating her up. With each inhale, the scent of woody pine cleansed her mind and quieted her self-doubt. The dappled sunlight filtered through the ancient trees and sparkled in the slow drips of sap clinging to the crevasses of the bark. Beneath her feet, layers of brown pine needles shushed under her feet and cushioned every step. The sounds...

She stopped dead. No birds, no squirrels, no rustling of the forest's busy fauna. What would cause this? Her heartbeat started to quicken with the overwhelming feeling of danger.

The room smelled of apple bomb and boy. The curtains were closed, and all but one night lamp were off. Stuffed animals scattered about the floor and bed stared glassy eyed at me. A cold chill ran up my spin as the air conditioning kicked on.

Ghost snoozed on the paw dusted dog bed beside my closet door to my right. The empty space where Angel should have been now left longing and cold. I tossed and turned but couldn’t seem to catch an ounce of sleep. Once only Ghost and I would have made do. Sometimes Blane would find his way beside me or Will would make plans for sleep overs.

Now I was so use to being able to feel him beside me. I shifted onto my left side. A flash catching my attention. I pushed myself up, looking up at the red fender hanging on my wall beside my bathroom.

Maybe music could help. I reached over, grabbing my phone off the stand behind me. I connected the speakers built into the ceiling, setting off the LEDs now washing the room in a deep red, and clicking on my meditation music.

Yeah yeah! I know. But here’s some advice. Don’t judge until your try it.

I shifted to reach the lights control, shut them off and tossed about for eternity. The next thing I remember is the pounding on the door. I jolted to my feet. Ghost barked in alarm as I rushed over, swinging the doors open for Damon to storm in.

“Morning to you too.” I grumbled. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as he paced to the windows, pulling them open. “What’s going on?” He scanned the horizon with a colder look then I’d seen before.

“Damon?” I moved to his side. “What’s wrong?”

“Angel is gone. He disappeared late last night.”

“What?” Tears blurred in my vision. I covered my face with my hands as they streamed down.

I should have followed. I should have stopped him entirely. But those eyes… his confidence in himself. His voice as he promised me he’d be back by dawn. Apparently someone else had other plans.

“This is no time for tears.” Damon scowled. “Grab your weapons. We have a dragon to hunt.”

We soared across the palace gardens, shooting towards the Arctic Territory Kingdom where the Goddess Marona ruled with an icy, iron fist. Keeping above the sea of grey.

Abruptly the dark angel shot down. I darted after, rebounding after a terrifying free fall. He targeted an ice mountain below.

I womdered how he knew where to go. Obviously he was an angel and my commander.

I folded my wings in, preparing my shield as he slammed into the face… and bounced harmlessly off. I gasped as I watched him spiral down. Sighing in relief as those gorgeous, black wings recovered in time.

I canceled my shield, placing a hand on the force field. Cold, dark energy creeped up my arm. I growled irritably, pushing the magic back while using my light magic to break through. Moments late the field shattered allowing me to blast a hole into the mountain.

We flew deep down where a cavern opened up. Several Zeron soldiers and the Prince himself circled a not so happy Angel. His vibrant, sapphire eyes stared Lucius down. The dragon paid him no mind.

They turned to us as we landed. Damon released his silver bow swords and readied himself for a fight.

“A pleasure you could join us.” Lucius bowed before unsheathing Xanus. The sister blade to my sword Sadotius. Ghost purple flames danced around the darkened silver of the sword. His normally grey eyes now burned with a purple, gold light.

“Release my Angel.” I demanded. I summoned my red scabbard to my hip, slipping out the white flaming sword Sadotius. A dangerous hummed filled the room. The soldiers moved against the wall, their skin pale but face expressionless. Very similar to a dragon I know.

“Forgive me Princes but that is not something I can do right at the moment.” He bowed again. I snarled in anger. My eyes flashing fiery blue,

“Then I guess I’ll have to free him myself.” I hissed, raising my sword in challenge.

“We do not have to fight.” He countered.

“Then let him go.”

“Forgive me but I cannot. I guess this is unavoidable.” He did the same, moving forward. Our swords brightened as we closed the distance. The room vibrating with power.

Exhausted from a day of emotional upheaval, I curl into a fetal position and drift off to sleep. Innocent thoughts of joy fill me. I dream about spending my future with the only woman I’ve ever loved and hope she feels the same way about me.

Without warning, a blood curdling moan slices through the air with exacting precision. It jolts me awake and provokes a response. I am scared and alone. Another maniacal groan follows, mixed with distressed screams pleading for the inflicted pain to stop. I feel both protected and suffocated by the blanketed darkness. Somewhere in the shadows lurks a nemesis waiting to strike.

Uncertain whether to remain in place or investigate the haunted shouts of despair, I take a step toward the sound and press my ear against the air. Labored breathing can be heard in the distance. Unable to locate its source, I step forward once more.

From out of the darkness, invisible hands grab a hold of me and push from behind. Powerless to fight off the attack, I close my eyes and pray for the ordeal to stop. No one appears to be listening. My captor guides me in a specific direction to a destination only they are aware of. After being shoved and throttled a bit, the manhandling subsides. I pass out.

A strange voice with a foreign accent calls out while he smacks me into consciousness. The muffled sound of laughter makes me feel mocked.

“Stop hitting me!” I cry out while swinging my fists.

My pleas are ignored as if no one understands a word I say.

I look around to get my bearings but the room is filled with lights so bright they blind my focus. It takes a few seconds to adjust my eyes to the unfamiliar surroundings.

When my vision clears, I see an unfamiliar man approaching. His hand grips tight a sharpened object. Assuming his intentions are ominous, I try to crawl away. A few seconds later, he severs my umbilical cord and delivers me into the waiting arms of my mother.