The scratching sound of a quill on parchment was music to my ears. Nothing made me happier than sitting in a comfortable chair and writing to my heart's content. What nobody knew was what I wrote; dark thoughts flooded my brain, needing to be said. I sat at the dining room table under candlelight, waiting for my father to return from his inventor's convention. Suddenly, I heard knocking at my front door. I got up from my cozy spot to see who was there. Papa wouldn't knock on his own door, and I wasn't expecting anyone this late at night. I tentatively opened my strong wooden farmhouse door. The late December night revealed a short, old woman with stark white hair. The wind wiped my face as I looked down at her. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself to block the insistent cold. The woman in front of me had a wobbly feel about her; it was a good thing she had a makeshift cane in her wrinkled, withered hand because she looked like the smallest bit of wind would turn her to dust. She breathed heavily and looked like she was waiting for me to speak.
"Do you need something?" Impatience is evident in my tone.
The old woman didn't answer right away, and I was about to slam the door in her annoyingly calm face. Something's not right with her.
"You are in grave danger, Isabelle," she whispered eerily.
"Who are you, and how do you know my name?" My heart was thudding in my chest so hard I wouldn't be surprised if the woman could hear it. The woman in black stared at me, making me squirm uncomfortably, feeling very exposed for some reason.
"You must go to the castle on the other side of the mountain if you want to stay alive. The castle will be your only hope of a cure to the curse." Her voice was so monotonous and emotionless that it sent a shiver of dread down my spine. I scoffed and shook myself, trying to feign annoyance, but then the candle on the table flickered and went out, making me gasp and blink.
Once I regained my composure, I asked, "A castle? There's nothing on the other side of the mountain except a dead forest and ghost stories to scare the children."
"You think so?..... Well, you've already started to rot." Her voice stayed flat and eerie.
"What…?"
The old woman slowly raised one dark, wrinkled hand to point at mine. I looked down at my hands, suddenly terrified by what I would see. The second my gaze landed on my fingers, I choked on a gasp. The tips of my fingers were grey. Not ash. Not ink. Rot. My veins were turning black as well. Spreading slowly.
"Your body will start to crumble from the inside out if you do not begin your journey tomorrow morning. The curse was sealed the second you opened that door. Good luck," she smirked and cackled, the first sign of emotion crossing her face. She became one with the darkness and shadows.
"Tomorrow morning…you will rot soon… castle beyond the mountain… your father will never return… the beast awaits…"
The words floated through the air as the old lady faded from view. Her crooked black teeth haunted my vision. For a brief second, I wondered if I had just imagined her, but when I looked back down at my trembling hands, they were still grey and black, only now the odd color was traveling up my fingers to my palms. I turned and closed the door, expecting to be swallowed in darkness, but the candle on the table burned brightly as if it had never gone out in the first place. I mentally shook myself and gathered my things to take to my dark, plain bedroom. I flopped on my queen-sized bed, feeling completely drained. I drifted in and out of sleep for about an hour before I heard my father's voice ring out through the house.
"Isabelle, I'm home!"
I rushed down the stairs, almost tripping over my feet in my haste. He set his things on the table, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my father, smiling as I breathed in his scent. He smelled of firesmoke and apples.
"How was the convention, Papa?"
"What convention, sweetheart?"
I looked up at him, confused as I pulled away from the hug.
"That's where you went, isn't it?" My voice came out barely above a whisper.
He stared at me for a moment, seeming to search for something in my eyes. Then he shook himself and smiled. His smile seemed evil for some reason, like it wasn't his. His eyes are dead, and his smile was cruel. This is not my Papa.
"Come here, my sweet Belle."
I hid my hands behind my back and stepped closer warily. He wrapped his arm possessively around my waist, locking me in his tight embrace.
"What are you hiding from me?" he growled in my ear.
"What do you mean, Papa? I'm not hiding anything." I say almost breathlessly.
His free hand comes up to grip my face hard. His knuckles were whitening. Pain shot through my jaw fiercely.
"Don't lie to me, Belle!" his anger was evident. Tears well in my eyes, and I bring my hands up to try to pry his hands off of me.
"Who are you! You are not my Father!" I yelled angrily. The man holding me started to change. His hair turned from white to dark brown, and his eyes from blue to green. His body changed too; he was short with a potbelly, and he grew two feet taller and more muscular. I gasped as I saw the familiar face looming down at me.
"Graham? How..?"
"Black magic works like a charm. Now, on to the real question of the night."
Graham got down on one knee, holding a beautiful ring.
"Will you marry me, Belle?" his voice is laced with danger but covered up with boyish confidence. For a second, I'm speechless with anger. I picture a scenario where I'm his wife and I have the urge to retch.
I keep my face blank and step away. "No, Graham, I will never marry you! You just pretended to be my Father! Get out of my house!"
He stood up and sneered, "You are such an ungrateful bitch! You deserve to rot!"
I keep my emotions at bay, but once my front door slams shut, a single tear slides down my face.
"I cannot believe that monster!" I growled aloud. I stomped all the way up the stairs and went to bed angry.
The next morning was bright and shiny, making me feel betrayed; nothing should be happy. I felt like I was close to death. I reluctantly looked down at my hands and screamed. The decay had spread up to my elbows, and all of my twining veins had turned black. I got up and raced to the bathroom just down the hall and I was relieved to see that only my hands and arms seemed to be rotting.
A quiet voice in the back of my head whispered.