Forever Changed (3 page)

T
hen, I slid his wedding ring off of his finger and the demonic skull ring off his other hand. I placed them on my gold chain that I always wore around my neck.

I got up and walked slowly and quietly upstairs to my little hidden room
. I wanted to get my spare camera. I grabbed it and walked back down.

As bad as I hated to
, I took pictures of the murder scene. The blood and brains on the wall, the door frame, the carpet, my little hiding spot in the closet, and of course, my father’s dead body. It was horrible I know, but for some reason I needed to do this. I set the self- timer and took a picture of myself holding his feet. I placed the camera around my neck and started dragging my father to the back door.

He was not a heavy man and I was thankful for this, but I was b
eing easy with him as well; I didn’t want to hurt him. I dragged him through the storm to his grave, in the garden. When I got there I stopped long enough to grab my camera and take pictures of my father and his grave. The lightening gave it a good effect and I was excited to see the outcome, however long that would be before I could bring myself to develop the film.

With each step I made
, I took pictures. I took pictures of me placing his body in his grave, covering it with the mud, and then kneeling by the side crying. I sat there in the rain next to my father’s grave, talking to him, and crying hard. I already felt miserably alone.

What was I going to do? I knew there was something my father needed to tell me
. He was smiling at me while my mother yelled at him and he was still smiling when she pulled the trigger! I needed to find out, but first I had to finish with the mess and then get some sleep.

I headed back in the house and took pictures of the blood trail that was left behind
, from dragging his body to the back door. I took pictures of the murder scene without his body. I grabbed a bucket of hot water and bleach. I started cleaning up the bloody mess.

I gagged when wiping the brains off the wall and the floor. I found part of his ear and chunks of his hair everywhere. I took pictures of myself cleaning the mess and
also when I vomited. Every detail I captured on my film roll. I have no idea why I did this, but something told me I needed to, and I always go with my gut feeling.

When I was finished
, after six hours of disposing of my father’s body and cleaning, I headed up the stairs to my own room.  I stopped by my parent’s room on the first floor and heard my mother snoring. I continued up to my room and shut the door softly behind me. I emptied my pockets out into my dresser drawer. I didn’t want my mother to find all that money. I then proceeded to my bathroom. I turned on the hot water, undressed, and got into the shower. The water was scorching hot, but I was so numb from the cold storm and so exhausted that I didn’t care. I stood there after washing all the blood off of me, until the water turned cold.

I was exhausted and sore. I got out of the shower, dressed, and laid down in my bed. I wrapped myself up in my big thick black comforter and cried. Darkness engulfed me. I fell asleep.

Chapter 5

I was jarred out of a dreamless sleep, to my mother banging on my bedroom door. I am guessing I had locked it because she kept rattling the door knob. I was thankful for this, considering that I did not trust her at all now.

“What
?” I yelled out throwing the comforter back, sitting up, and wincing from the pain in my head.

“I am running to town to take care of some business. I have to make sure that no
one becomes suspicious about your father. I am going to tell them that he has gone out of the country for business.” My mother said this as if it were true. I knew that the people she informed about my father would know it to be true as well.

The truth was my mother murdered my father in cold blood and I buried him in the garden. That was the truth. I was hoping it was just a nightmare, but my mother’s words confirmed that it was not.

“Why are you telling me? I don’t care what you do! You’re a horrible mother and a truth be told, a horrible wife." I slammed myself back into my bed, pulling the comforter back over my head, begging the tears not to flow.

“It is what it is, Elizabeth.
Feel whatever you want, but you don’t know the truth. You will though, soon. I am sure your father has left a trail, but if I have anything to do with it, you will never find out!” She screamed. I heard her stomp down the spiral staircase.

What does she mean by that? I wondered this as I crawled out
of bed and headed for the bathroom. My room was huge; you could build a small house in as much room as I had.

Our house was like a mansion, every generation of Marc
us’s had built onto the house what they wanted. I do not even know how many generations back, but I know it was started in the 1800’s.

The only pictures in our house are
of family members from each generation, from the time pictures were possible, until now. I was the last of the family line. We all looked alike, had the same dark brown hair, the same pale skin, and we all had the same serious look on our faces.

Our eyes were the only thing that made the pictures
stand out. Each of us had the brightest blue eyes; anyone would think that they had been photo shopped. In my case, they thought I had custom made contacts, which is far from the truth. 

The house is set up to where only a blood child may have the house at their disposal
, once their father passed away of course. So, each father has passed the house down to their son and each building onto it.

My father ha
s built quite a bit. I have more than one room, all connected to my bedroom. My father had built what rooms he wanted, and he had put up a huge wall to block off most of the mansion. The only way in was through a door with a skeleton key.

I have been through the whole mansion a few times, but did not enjoy it. Let’s just say that my grandfathers had a very warped imagination.
So my father turned one side of the huge mansion into a small mansion, just for the three of us.

The unusual thing though
, is that I am the only blood female within the family. This is a shock to my father and all he can say is that “Something amazing has happened.” I have never asked what he was talking about. Usually, my being the only female gets brought up when my father has a discussion on our family history. Even my grandfather was dumbfounded, from what my father told me, when they found out I was a girl. It is up to me however, to have the next child, so they can become heir to our mansion. This may be difficult to accomplish.

When my father built on to the mansion
, he had first built on his own studio or study, which ever you want to call it. I intend to find it, so that I can dig up what is so special about “our kind” as my father had said.

My room was unique.
Not only had my father built me a bathroom and a bedroom, each side of my bed has a door. However, the doors are not visible unless someone knows they are there.

On the left side of my bed that door
leads into a huge room; my studio is what I call it. My studio is where I hang all the

photos
that I have taken, the walls and ceilings are covered in photos.

I
take pictures of everything. In the last month or so, all I have been taking pictures of is the waterfall, which is about two miles behind our house. I am attracted to this waterfall, but have no idea why when I go for a walk, I end up right at that waterfall. It’s creepy in a way that is if you ask my opinion.

Once you go into my studio
, there is another door in the back. That door leads to my dark room. You didn’t actually think that I would be a photographer and not develop my own pictures did you?

This room is about the size of a kitchen, with shelves and shelves of chemicals and tools that I need to develop my pict
ures. My dark room is my escape. I love seeing what comes out in pictures because sometimes you can never tell.

The door on the right side of my bed leads to my entertainment room. This room has a huge desk, so that I may
write; work

on
the computer and such. There are bookcases that surround the whole room. Most of the books are about witches, angels, vampires, werewolves, demons, and most are nonfiction; I find them very fascinating. I do have other books, but most are horror and a few fantasies.

I do not own books that are romance or anything to do with romance, I find it’s overrated. Besides
, I believe that sex should stay between you, that other person and the four walls where it was performed. I am not going to read about someone’s love life when I do not believe in it. The whole ‘they live happily ever after’ is a crock of shit. My own parent’s relationship has proven that to me.

I have a huge
black leather couch in the center, with a table that holds my laptop, so that I may be comfortable when reading or working. I have a 64’ flat screen TV, which hangs on the wall in front of the couch. It’s attached to a huge stereo and surround sound system, throughout the room.

On both sides of the
TV are shelves that contain a DS, Xbox 360, a PlayStation 3, and a Wii. I have all the electronics that have to do with game systems that you can think of, with hundreds and hundreds of games that go to each system. I rarely play them though.

I have
shelves that have over a thousand CDs and DVDs. On the back wall, I have a pool table and on the right side I have an art area. It is there, that I create pictures out of my head. I have a shelf full of all the art supplies that I could possibly need. I have everything I need without having to leave my house.

I went through the stage of how much
my father would do for me. If I wanted something, I wanted to see if he would really get it. Much to my dissatisfaction, he got me everything I asked for or gave me the money to get it myself.

I am spoiled, but not the spoiled that you would think of
, I don’t let it go to my

Having a
sibling was out of the question. In my family, it was tradition to have only one child and it was always a boy. This is so that they may be able to keep our mansion standing and our name to be passed down, from one generation to the next.

My bedroom is much different and pretty much plain. My room has black carpet, my walls black paint, my curtains black silk, and my bedding wa
s black. The canopy that hangs down around my bed is also black veil. I have a huge dresser that keeps all the stuff I need.

The only thing that stands out in my room is a very old, heavy, grandfather clock and of course the fire place that is right in front of my bed, with a hand carved mantel. 

It is safe to say that I was a very de
pressed and dark seventeen year old girl.

Chapter 6

My bathroom has the sink sitting in black granite with shelves for towels and wash clothes, underneath. There is a huge vanity mirror, which provides plenty of lighting.

I have a closet
door, which leads into a small room. It holds; makeup, feminine products, shampoos, conditioners, lotions, hair dryers, curling irons, combs, hair brushes, and so much more. I have pretty much my own salon in that closet. I also have a small area in there for medicines and another place for over a hundred bottles of perfume.

My floors are black tile along with the to
ilet. There is a red rug that lies in front of my Jacuzzi tub; it sits alone in the middle of the room. I love my tub because all the way around the tub, I have placed black candles. It is so relaxing.

I also have a walk in shower, but I hardly use it.
Next to the walk in shower, is a handle in the floor. When you raise the handle it opens up to a hole. The hole leads all the way to the basement; this is where I throw dirty clothes. What can I say? My father was trying to make my life as luxury as possible. I can tell you though; I would not want to carry a basket full of dirty laundry down five flights of stairs to the basement. No one had installed an elevator when building on their part of the house and my room was located on the fourth floor.