Voices in my head.

They whisper to me, telling me of the hauntings of this world and of the shadows that lurk in the darkness around me.

Go to her.

Go to whom? My mother? She always needs me, but just for trifle, insignificant tasks, like reading her the paper or making her lunch.

She needs you.

No, I say. She does not need me, she just needs her paper, or her book, or her dinner.

Go to her.

Fine! I tell them, leaving the serene park where I am sitting, listening to the voices. I follow the path through the bushes and shrubbery that line the huge yard. The path puts me out onto the dusty roads—from calm in the park, to bustling and loud in the city streets.


I am, I say. I am. I rush down the roads, past the large houses that tower over me. Why would she need me, I think. Really need me?


They are insistent, pressing me along and rushing me forward. What is the matter? I wonder, but I get no reply.

I arrive at my mother's house after a long while of listening to voices bouncing around in my head. I run inside, searching for her, searching.

Too late.

They are hissing at me. Too late… I wonder. Too late for..?

I find my mother. She is sitting at the breakfast table, as still as a rock, eyes emotionless, expressionless.

'Mother?' I say quietly, afraid. 'Are you all right?'


Is that my own thought, or the voices? I can never tell.

My mother does not turn to face me. She starts to speak in monotone, still without emotion.

'There are many things I never told you,' she begins. 'Stories of voices of the past, ancestors who will haunt you with their memories.'

I freeze. Is she talking about… the voices?

'Ancestors,' she continues, 'who will never leave you alone, who will tell you things… things you might not want to hear.'

'What are you talking about?' I ask quickly. 'Voices in your head?'

She nods quickly, still staring at nothing. 'Yes,' she says. 'They will tell you things… scary things. You might not want to hear them… but they can also help you.'

I nod. 'I know,' I say. 'They tell me.'

Her eyes widen, although she still does not look at me. 'They…they tell you?

I nod and say, 'Yes, for a while now.'

She is silent, thinking.

She is afraid.

Once again, is that me or just them?

'I will not live much longer,' my mother says, sounding calm but uncaring. 'It is my time.'

My mouth is open, gaping. 'But Mother,' I say. 'Why?'

'It is my time,' she simply repeats.

'What about the voices?' I ask again.

'They will not hurt you,' my mother says. 'They will tell you things you will not want to hear, though.'

I nod. 'I love you, Mother,' I say.

'And I you,' she replies. 'You must go.'

I hug her stiff, still body and walk out the front door, thinking. Why had she never told me before?


They hiss in my ear.

Yes. We will tell you.

I shudder. What will they tell me, and why, suddenly, do the voices seem dangerous? Why am I afraid?

We will tell you,

They repeat, scaring me. I shake, looking around for an escape from my mind—or the mind that they force onto me. There is none.


Please review. I already have 10 chapters written of this story, and this is by far the shortest one. If you couldn't tell, the bolditalic font means the 'voices' are speaking. More will be explained later on. Please review.