Aura Asunder | Volume One | Chapter Two
the first volume of Aura Asunder
Aura Asunder | Volume One
Chapter Two
By Ophelia Everfall
| ONE |
Content Warning
“What did I do?”
Janet was whispering beneath breaths, winded, gulping oxygen in gasps.
“Why—fuck dude—why? Oh no.”
She’d been running. Janet couldn’t believe what happened. Everything was going so wrong.
“God—please. Take me back!”
Janet Meadows just made the biggest mistake of her life.
“Take me back, God, please, let me go back. I’ll do something different. I’ll do it all different.”
She couldn’t go home — not to her bedroom — mirrors were there — Mother Dearest would be watching — they’d all know — they could always see when something was wrong for wringing more hurt from.
They’d ask things — questions.
“Why!”
Her shouts had been the waking call of a neighbor who’d always been curious about Janet. He’d watched from his window as she sprinted down the street, wishing to have known the girl. She’d seemed like someone in need of an adult, who wasn’t her parents, to help. How she’d cause trouble would remind that man of who he’d been in youth, and his own friends growing up, but there was simply no place for a single adult male in communities such as Carlton to have any relationship with a young woman.
People would see it as skeevy — wrong — of nature impure. Those projections showed hands of truth in subconsciouses-all which were better left unaddressed by simpletons believing themself godly while each taking to dark-pleasure in quiet comers — thinking despicable things.
“I don’t want to do this anymore!”
Janet Meadows had tears streaming down her cheeks.
She acted too boldly, and with some heart which led her towards the greatest shame she’d ever know. There was nowhere to go. Mother would be awake. They believed her still at Squirrel’s place. Janet told that overseer she was staying with him for the night.
Lies were her right bestowed by all who’d done her wrongly.
Belief was garnered that her mother had planted a camera in Janet’s room. She felt that understood, and by things her mother would pretend to know through intuition.
“I just have eyes on the back of my head, honey.” Had been a most common utterance, some lacing of a devious untruth therein.
While Janet couldn’t be sure, she would not dare to cry before those lenses-presumed from such experiences.
The basement was her underworld.
Janet lifted those tools, weapons, securing her headlamp, slipping on gloves and a spider-protective full-body poncho, ensuring no cracks were available for creepy crawlers to get up her legs — skittering their eightfold, prickly steps across her skin would be most unwanted, or perchance, the sinking of their near-microscopic pincers into her flesh for bites of blood — nothing would be seen replaying more often in mind than what Janet wished to never happen.
She was an arachnophobe, yet the spirit of a spider coursed through the girl. Climbing walls, she’d break through cracks, the darkness was her friend, night would prove some camouflage, speed could be chosen at will, instincts were pure of connection towards the Earth, all alone, while within a community of species which proved most independent, weaving webs to hold her many prey, claiming ever-again something to slurp the pre-digested goo from, slurping always, wrapping unfortunate souls so tightly, and planting seeds by the sack-full which would hatch in times long passed her exit.
Touches upon the aerosol spray-can of vegetable oil’s trigger-valve, had it emboldening a thrown flame from the barbeque-lighter Janet had stolen out of Father Dumbest’s shed.
Janet was a remaker by flame. Other’s webs were ashen, waifish nothings by the time she was done with them. Her path would be cut, burnt, earned.
Eventually finding purchase on those mortared bricks which allowed stepping up towards overhead-floorboards so previously ruptured, Janet bought passage to her favorite heaven of solitude. She crawled into that private womb, she’d found to make, protecting herself, and feeling surely her sanctuary had not been known.
Some gap in the plannings of construction about her home was discovered, utilized, and capitalized upon boldly by the self-proclaimed Witch of Carlton.
Nobody joined Janet’s squad. She’d tried to make a cool-looking FaceGroup page and get people interested in being her witch-friend. Something inside knew why that failed.
Becca was spreading lies about Janet. That evil girl had stolen her heart, then stripped her honor piece by lopped off chunk. They’d been the worst thing anyone could ever be to her estimation — honest about Janet had actually done.
Regret wouldn’t be something felt, accepted, or understood by anything but Janet’s body itself. She wasn’t sleeping well. She’d been having a bad dream. Her cousin was present there often, which taught of some guilt. They were so cute. It was seen as wrong to covet those of blood-relation sexually, and Janet couldn’t help but know herself perverse by how badly she’d always wanted her late member of distant family. They shared the secret wanting the same, once revealing that to her plainly through actions in-private. Janet prayed they weren’t actually related by blood for a future she’d hold most dearly in heartful thoughts.
They’d never acted on it, but Janet was angry about that, especially because they died.
To have lashed out — to have tried so hard for getting the Witch-Bitch Omega Squad up and running — to have lost all self-respect by what was brought out of her through spiteful reaction would prove too much.
Her phone vibrated. Janet didn’t want to look, but she had.
It was him - Squirrel.
Thumb-pressing his message open, Janet looked apprehensively. It was worse than she’d ever imagine, taking her right back, forcing remembrance of the night before — how she’d let Squirrel give her head — how good he’d been at it.
Hope you’re okay! I had a good time with you last night.
That boy was clearly playing some game. He’d known himself the predator. Janet understood immediately what she was to do. Finally, there was something she might use to re-earn sympathies with her family. Tales would be told, lies spread, friendship would just have to die outright so she might protect her honor with those people she’d hated to the bone.
“Mommy!” Janet began to scream from that nook beneath their staircase.
Plans hadn’t come to fruition as imagined.
Janet was not believed how her mind had written the tale to go. Mother didn’t care at all, not really, they’d only wanted to use the situation for power.
She hadn’t thought things through. She’d acted too quickly. Janet knew not of how much her parents loved that boy. The whole town had seen clearly how he was putting himself through the wringer for her, and how kind Squirrel was. Dearest and Dumbest would refuse her biddings.
They’d not allow her to get Teddy involved.
Janet Meadows had been surprised when Father kicked through that wall upon her screaming for affection — the feebly minded man had always tried too hard for earning her own in return. He’d believed himself to have support-possible of offering to his daughter, despite their intelligence-levels, and she’d not let him get but a taste of what he’d wanted, here or there, when it fit for needs of cash.
Having brought a blanket to spend that first night, cramped, in the under-stair hovel she’d inserted a television and game system within, pizza in the hallway, drying out from the night before, and only a few steps from her kitchen, Janet realized herself having made a bedroom she would prefer there-on. Especially because her parents would not be able to hear her when those urges struck for rubbing it.
Her mother wouldn’t be able to watch the recording back either.
Awakening to find that letter arrived, weeks having passed since last seeing her friend, blocking Squirrel outright for the way he’d begun accusing her of taking advantage, Janet was most curious to discover the contents.
It seemed laid there by an angel or fate itself. Something from the night before had come, some magic, proving a heaven of clearest existence in Janet’s future, delivering that letter of her heart.
Underwerth’s School of Mystery Teachings had been the elegantly embroidered return address on that envelope.
Janet Meadows had been chosen, and nothing felt better. She was to be a hero, revered by culture throughout time, for all she’d truly been, and people would know her name by the end.
All would come to understand Janet Meadow’s power. The people of that school clearly wanted her greatness for shining upon them. Their message had touched her heart, mind, and even Janet’s sweatiest groin. That lattermost happening proved most alike herself while reading it over again.
Ms. Meadows,
Underwerth’s School of Mystery Teachings sees your greatness sheltered by the peoples of Chesapeake Country, we’ve been watching for some time as you’ve come to retain such magical power, and we are proud to be offering you this chance for joining us. We will shelter your secrets, protect your growing art, because you are so beyond those others you know, and bring you to those peers and leaders you’ve sought but never found in the world of real.
Our school is a secret. We’ve taken great care to pretend ourselves something we’re not.
Don’t trust your parents — don’t trust anyone.
Look for a sign from the north on the morn of three days of time-forward from your reception of this letter. You will find us there.
Indubitably yours, chosen one,
Professor Lydia Eck
