Aimecia And Croca

Aimecia rode with their mother on the way home. For whatever reason, they had always decided to wear their cap everywhere they went. Everything time her mother would be spent, Ms. Cadburry always had the same answer. “Do you feel naked not wearing that cap?” her mother said. Though she dreaded the question every time, by now she had gotten used to it.

“Nope, I just like wearing this hat.” It was a circular cap, with a brown trim. Much like the caps you might find a news ancor wearing. But Aimecia did not want to be a news ancor, or at least not the ancor. Because ancors hooked onto things, and would not let go. “Is there something wrong with me wearing this cap, mommy.” said Ms. Cadburry.

“Nope.” said her mother, turning her eyes to the road.

Aimecia was dropped off at her home, where she walked up the stairs. Without a word of goodbye, her mother simply drove off. Part of her fantasized about the idea of her mother’s wheels coming off, but decided against the thought as it would kill her. She held onto the trim of her hat, leaning forward as if to block out the rays of the sunlight. Then stared briefly into the sky. “I will always wear this hat.” said Ms. Cadburry. Then held onto the knob, and went inside.

Then placed her hat on the dinner table. “Except just this once.”

It was a lonely kitchen, that aspect she didn’t mind. But the silence was always deafening. She had a whole two weeks to think about nothing but the silence. This series of events will be about the midweek.

Aimecia smoked a cigar, and despre the fact that it made her want to choke, she felt it gave her some semblance of character. All the cool writers smoke cigars, she thought. She smoked writing poetry, illustratring illustrations, writing short stories. The smoke would never give her a break. It was this night that would go slightly differently.

She got up out of bed in a fit of panic. The spider felt completely real, it was as big as a dog. It crawled all over her body, and tried to eat her like a hog. Yet it seemed like merely the fact that she got her was what was able to save her from being eaten. She took her cap from her coffee table, placed on her her head. “Alright, let’s get writing.”

Aimecia was many years younger, she was playing with her pet duck. She ran and ran through the meadow green, along with her pet rabbit. The cat merely followed, or at least it seemed such, because it wanted to eat the pet rabbit. Thus she always carried the rabbit wearever she went. “Quack, it’s almost sundown.” said the duck. It waddled about. “Things come out in the dark.” At first Aimecia wanted to laugh at the duck, then she began to see shadows watching watching watching.

Some of the shadows warped into the physical plain, and then ....

It was a memory dump, something that Aimecia had had since she was twenty two. She never understood why it was her pets she remembered the most. Part of her wondered if perhaps part of her memories were not real, and that was why she had writers block. For the young woman had come to rely on the nature of memory, or rather analysing it’s empty spaces. Wondering if there were missing parts of the puzzles, pieces that she could find to fill the gap.

She got herself an energy drink, took a sip.

Then back to the notebook she took a dip.

This was the story she wrote.

Aimecia and Croca boarded the cart on the cold Winter morning. The wind, while chilly, had not began to have it’s sharpness felt. Though their coats were thick, the icy blade of the cold still cut through just a little bit. Although their wooden shoes provided coolness in the Winter, they were what kept them warm as they made their trip to their Aunts. “But I don’t want to listen to the poet,” said Croca, who was fidgeting. As she had no book to read, unlike her sister Aimecia.

Mother turned around, being one usually responcible for their during trips, as their father was often to busy cursing at other carts that would nearly swerve into their cart. “Aimecia, let your sister read it for a while.” she said. Aimecia grumbled, and tossed the book at Croca. “That’s not how you treat a library book. If we have to pay another library fine.” Aimecia did not really care, as her mother always payed the fine anyway. Though maybe for once, her mother actually got tired of it.

It was a long trip, and even Aimecia, who had gotten a habit of sleeping late, became tired enough where she was willing to sleep in the cart cot. Thus two days passed.

Aimecia offered to take in Croca’s luggage, while she ran to visit the garden. Aimecia knocked on the door. Her parents had already left them both behind. Her aunt slowly opened the door. “You shouldn’t be late for the Holidays,” said the Aunt. Aimecia simply giggled, and walked inside in order to put up her stuff. She want to start as good as she could, as her aunts peering eyes always made her feel small. Aimecia never told her how it made her want to pluck them out.

Croca had just entered, when Aimecia had already put up their stuff. Even if she were to ask Croca to help her, she knew that doing so would cause her to complain. It was always something; one day it was her arm, another day it was her leg. Not wanting to disturb their Aunt Peg, Aimecia decided to play the diplomat one last time before they had to sleep for the evening.

Lunch was a lunch, nothing special. Thus we shall move on. It was merely Aunt Peg complaining about their manners. But doesn’t every aunt yes use a spoon for every bowl of soup, a fork for every salad bowl, and knife for every steak? Thus we shall move to when the girls slept their first evening in the old stone cottage, where the crazy cat lady next door, always paced around and around and caused a ruckus disturbing their sleep.

Aimecia and Croca woke up to a clatter. “You stay in bed.” said Aimecia to Croca, wanting to check the window.

Make sure it didn’t shatter.

It didn’t, but something else did.

Aimecia and Croca carefully opened the door. There was a cold wind chill. Though by now Aimecia was now currently used to seeing in the dark, Croca would sometimes jump because she thought she saw something lurking. Yet when Aimecia shined the flashlight, there was never anything there. Eventually they walked to the door, being sure to wait till they were outside to put on their clogs. Then they saw the lady unconscious by the stair of the other apartment flat. Croca asked to go back inside, but Aimecia wanted to see of the crazy cat lady they had met the previous visit to their aunts was OK. They walked over.

Aimecia crouched, felt the ladies forehead. “Where am I, and who are you?” said the crazy cat lady. “Have you seen my cats, are they being fed?”

“I’m sure they are fine, but how did you fall?” said Aimecia to the crazy old cat lady.

“So that was what the sudden stop was. I really need to learn not to sleep on the side of the bed. Well I will be off, you two go back to bed, it’s getting late.” The lady then ran to her door, and then slammed it shut.

Croca jumped, Aimecia grabbed her by the wrist and rushed her back inside before their parents found out that they were up late at night.

It was the next evening that Aimecia and Croca went to go see the crazy old cat lady. Aimecia wondered how the old lady, they had made only just a month before, was doing. For the crash was very loud, and yet neither if her and her sister’s parents seemed to have heard the whole thing. It was almost as if the whole thing had been a dream after all, and yet this couldn’t be true. For neither of them were ever asleep. They climbed the stairs, and Aimecia knocked on the door of the crazy old cat lady.

At the door, there was no answer.

“Do you think she is home?” asked Croca.

“Surely she’s got to be.” said Aimecia. And right then was when the door opened, seemingly on it’s own. Then they walked inside through the hallway, and the door shut on it’s own. Both of the girls jumped, and their backs were chilled by the wild wind that combined with the smell of the garbage dump just outside the window.

“I don’t like it in here.” said Croca.

“Shush will you, or are you a chicken?” said Aimecia.

After a few short moments, they eventually thought they saw a glowing white light. Why, it was the light of the glow of an old lamp light. Not the new fangled electronics of this year and after. And there sitting was ... the crazy cat lady. She was half blind, and could barely see out of the one eye she could. “Who is there, is it the milk man?” said the crazy cat lady. Her three cats were sitting on top of her chair. Who sang in riddles:

I am first cat,
I am second cat,
I am third cat,
Where is the forth?

Look not north.

Aimecia realized they must be referring to the crazy old cat lady. “Why do these cats refer to you as another cat?” asked Aimecia to the crazy old cat lady.

“The girls from earlier!” said she.

“Your memory is still sharp.” said Aimecia.

“That as it should be. No go on home.” said the cat lady.

“But what is the book your reading?” said Aimecia.

“It is just a book.” the cat lady said, snapped her fingers. And there they were back in their bedroom. Aimecia hugged each other, wondering how they got back into their rooms.

“I never knew she was magical.” said Aimecia.

“Me neither.”

Aimecia Cadburry was unsure of what to write next for their adventures, but for now she was satisfied that the story was done. For the moment, she tried to remember who the crazy old cat lady was. The crqzy old cat lady without a name. There was something sinister about the cat lady, though it wasn’t that she herself a ghost. Something about was someone that ghosts would always feared.

But for now she took her nap.

And hoped she wouldn’t wake up scared.

Then the next afternoon came.

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