This may or may not go into my next portfolio. I have no clue how I came up with this... actually, I do. I was listening to the Pan's Labyrinth soundtrack...

Hummingbird

“Okay little miss that’s enough. Where are you?” he yelled into the dark, empty house. Dilapidated, ready to topple down, that’s what it was. He could hear her humming, then giggling.

“Where are you?” she called back, mocking him with her bright, childish voice. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. It was raining outside, his hair was wet. He wiped his hands on his jeans. Where was she? She must be wet as well, leaving behind wet little footprints.

“Come on, you have to tell me where you are?” he pleaded, laughing nervously, his eyes scanning the wooden floor and the dust that had settled there. Tiny footprints tempted him up the stairs. Her humming got louder. So melodious, so pretty. But no, he wouldn’t let her draw him in. Her voice was magic, quickening his heartbeat as it raced his blood through his veins.

The stairs creaked under his heavy steps. Her humming grew quiet again, like something far away, out of a dream. Of course she wouldn’t tell him where she was hiding. It was an age-old game she was playing, predator and prey. The lines had gotten blurry though and he wasn’t sure if he was the hunter or the hunted.

Upstairs, where the air grew cooler and much staler, he tried to be quiet, as quiet as the child that was successfully eluding him. The floorboards moaned under his weight and he closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to find her before the house would swallow her. She stopped humming and the silence was startling him.

“Calleigh? Where are you?” he demanded to know. He was tired; fear was creeping up his spine and punched him in the stomach. Somewhere in this vast house she was giggling again and then resumed her humming. Pretty little voice that she had. Oh so pretty, breaking forth out of her skinny chest, whistling past lips that were entirely too gorgeous to belong to a child.

“Calleigh? I’m not Calleigh.” Her answer echoed through the house. She was mocking him again. It seemed like that was all she did lately. Such a weird child. He feared her as much as he was drawn to her and he shouldn’t be. It was wrong. Her voice never broke as she continued to hum.

The doorway to the attic yawned in front of him like a dark mouth, smelling of decaying teeth and other filth. She had to be up there. The humming got louder, started to sound sad, despair creeping into her voice. The sadness gnawed at his heart, beckoned for him to come to her. His hands grasped the railing, hung on to it as if it was a lifeline as he ascended the stairs. He felt as if he was walking to the gallows that had robbed so many people of their lives in this town so very many years ago.

There she was, the precious child. Sitting on the floor by the window, with her back turned to him, bent over something. She was still humming; her long, black hair wet, hanging down her back like thick rat tails. Silver glistened in it, spider webs she had caught on her way up here. She wasn’t afraid of insects, she was afraid of nothing that came from the earth’s womb.

Moonlight shone through the window and he could make out the edges of the puddle she was kneeling in. It glistened darkly, almost beautifully in the light. His presence unacknowledged, he came closer, wanted to see what she had in front of her before she could hide it away.

She heard his footsteps as they crept closer, turned around with a start and stared at him. Her eyes seemed purple in the light of the moon. She smiled a creepy smile at him as he came closer with a furrowed brow. There was something on her lips, glistening as darkly as the puddle.

Watching him calmly as he came closer, she raised her hand to her lips and slowly licked each finger with a precision that gave him goose bumps. He stopped, his eyes glued to her lips. He could almost feel them on his body and shuddered. The little witch. Little children weren’t supposed to be precise like this. While she licked her hands meticulously she held his gaze almost seductively. The way his lover would hold his gaze before her hand found the bulge between his legs.

“Calleigh?” he asked into the silence bounding off the walls around him. She smiled, her little tongue running up her middle finger, circling at the top to get the liquid caught beneath her nail. Then she swallowed, licked her lips and wiped her hands on her dress.

“Found a puppy.” she stated and pointed to the lifeless fur pile in front of her. His eyes grew wide. She was kneeling in the dog’s blood; it had been the dog’s blood she’d been licking off of her hands. Grinning a devilish grin she turned to look at the dog, hands clasped in her lap.

“Can I keep it?”

The End.