Violet by Scott Thomas

Author:Scott Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkshares
Published: 2019-10-02T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

IT CAME TO her as a thought, like the other times when she was alone in her room or on the swing or up in her secret playroom.

At first Sadie was sure they were her thoughts, but those had always sounded just like her own voice. These sounded … different. Not completely. The voice of these thoughts was still a little girl, like her, but it was …

She paused, trying to find the right word.

Stronger. That was it. The voice was stronger. Like when the older girls spoke to her on the playground at school. Most of them were nice, like this voice, but they had a way of talking that made Sadie feel even smaller.

This thought had asked her a question. Now it was waiting. She could almost hear it breathing.

Can thoughts breathe?

It was a silly thing to wonder, and yet it sent a shiver through her small body.

“Because I heard something,” Sadie replied out loud. She was careful to keep her voice just above a whisper. She was sure Mommy was downstairs listening. Mommy was always listening, waiting for a reason to ask if she was okay. She was okay. She was better than okay.

It wasn’t only because of the new voice in her mind. Sadie was beginning to see something, too. She couldn’t look straight at it. Looking straight at it made it go away. But if she stared straight at something else—the wall or her ceiling or a book she was pretending to read—she could see a fuzzy shape out of the corner of her eye.

Like right now, as she sat in the circle of sunlight shining through the oval window above her play table. In the middle of the table was a glass jar she had found in a lower cabinet in the kitchen. It was one of those old-timey jars that grandmas put homemade jam in and adults younger than her mommy used for drinking alcohol. These types of jars had a name. On the side of the jar, in swirly, bubbly letters, was the word “Ball,” but she knew that was not its name. She had heard it before, although she couldn’t remember where or when. But she was pretty sure it started with an “M.”

Mason.

That was it!

Mason the Jar.

She had set Mason the Jar on her table like a vase, and in it she had placed one of the purple flowers from her bedroom, one that Mommy had missed when she was sweeping up the mess. Her broom must have knocked it under the bed, but Sadie had found it, and here it was. She had put a little bit of water in Mason the Jar so the pretty flower could drink when it got thirsty.

If she looked right at that flower and did not, for any reason, let her eyes move away from it, she could see the blurry shape standing beside her.

Her friend.

The girl who talked to her in her mind.

Sadie could feel the shape staring at her, as if, up until then, she, too, had been nothing but a sound or a feeling in the house.

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