The Night

Catherine slept over my house in the summer of 2011. It was a fun night, with us watching movies, making s'mores, laying on the grass and counting the stars. For a moment I didn't worry about her, and she as acting like her old self. We talked about how wonderful our new life would be, what color our room should be, the color of the curtains, that good stuff. Just her and me, in a world of our own.
We soon got tired, and as always, she slept with me. No, we didn't engage in maritals, if that's what you were thinking. We always slept in each other's bed since we became girlfriends. She curled up next to me, and together we fell asleep.
I woke to the sound of hysterical sobbing.
It wasn't my mother; she was dead asleep. It wasn't my brother of my father; they too were asleep. It definitely wasn't me, and it wasn't Catherine at all. But in the dead of night I could hear someone in the house crying in a way that I have never heard before. I don't know where it came from, or who was crying, but it chilled me to the bone. I wanted to go look for the source, maybe even comfort them, but the fear was stronger than my curiosity. Again I looked at Catherine, who was facing away from me. Instinctively I shuffeled closer, wrapped an arm around her, and closed my eyes. The crying continued.

I could do nothing else but listen and pray that it would stop soon.

To be honest I don't know how I did it, but I finally managed to sleep. The morning came, and the crying had finally ceased. Catherine was already in the kitchen, sipping her tea and reading the news. At first I wanted to talk about the crying I heard last night, hoping that perhaps she would have any idea. For some reason I decided against it. Maybe I was just being paranoid and it would turn out that one of my family members was crying. But...but it didn't sound like any of them.

Catherine wanted to go to the bookstore to pick something up and invited me to come with her. The entire drive there was in complete silence. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. I don't think I saw her blink. I placed my hand on her shoulder, and her features softened.
Once we arrived, my beloved raced to the mythology and folklore section. Catherine had always been facinated by Irish folklore, as I already mentioned, and had several books on the topic. But she also had a ravenous appetite for folklore of the rest of the British Isles. Rebecca jokingly called her a walking encyclopedia on anything and everything relating to that subject. It was cute.
But watching Catherine flip through those books, desperate to find...whatever she was looking for, wasn't cute or in any way endearing; it was frightening. Wordlesly, anxiously, she ripped a book from its place from the shelf and tore through the pages in what looked like desperation. But as she picked up another book, a coughing fit shook her, and it fell to the floor.
I forgot to mention before: Catherine had been having these odd coughing fits on and off for a while. She went to the doctor for them, and he could find nothing wrong. Not even when she brought up that she had been having strange boughts of nosebleeds. I forgot what the doctor said, but he gave her something that was supposed to help. It did nothing.
She picked up the book and brought it to the cashier's, wordlessly paying for it and walking out the door. I couldn't get a good look at the title; she held it so close to her chest. We sat in the heated car for a little while.
"Are you okay?" I asked. I hoped that she would say something along the lines of, 'yes, I will be fine.' But all my Catherine did was weep. We sat there, in the heated car, as I held her. She told me that she loved me over and over again, and while I said nothing, I cried as well.
I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a part of the title: 'Fear Dubh.'

This Day in History...

Today was to be our wedding day. We were supposed to have traveled to DC and gotten married in a lovely ceremony. What was to be the happiest day of our lives isn't, and no matter how many times I call her number, she never picks up. No matter how many times I beg for her to answer me and just tell me what happened, there is no one there. It's a bizzare kind of isolation that nothing can cure. Her parents are distraught, obviously. The police have found no trace of her anywhere.
If anyone has seen her, please let me know.

New Year, New Problems

2010 had come and gone, and 2011 came with heavy snow and record cold. It was a bitter, gelid winter that seemed to have no end in sight. The storms that came were relentless to the point of cruelty. Luckily for us, school and planning kept our bones and hearts warm.
Rebecca, Florence, Naomi and Vivian were to be our maids-of-honor, my little brother the best man. My family, Catherine's family, and some friends were invited to the wedding.

The invitations that we had sent out were adorable: it was a single white card, elegant script joyously proclaiming our wedding day, the place, the time, all those little details. Vivian thought that it would be interesting to add in some scents to make it more personal, like gardenia or jasmine. It was a neat idea that Catherine and I liked. We decided that jasmine would work perfectly, and added some glitter in the envelopes for that extra sparkle.

The goings on in our lives were hectic, with the wedding stuff, work, and college. How we managed would have been anyone's guess, but we did it and we did it with pride.
Rebecca (surprise, surprise) got the best report card out of us all. She always did, really. Only one B- in a sea of A's and A+'s. In November of last year she told us that she was seriously considering transfering to Miskatonic University in Massachusettes, and wanted to see if any of us wanted to apply with her. Now, MU is one of the most prestigious universities out there, on par with Harvard and Yale. Someone with Rebecca's smarts would get in without a doubt, but us? It was a 50/50 shot.
Florence was often found in the fitness center after classes, burning off all the stress and any thoughts of doubt, she would say. And when she wasn't getting her cardio in, she was at home writing down business plans for a company that she wants to start. Fürstin is to be her company's name. At first, Florence wanted to work for Vogue, but decided that she could do much better. She always wanted to be a businesswoman, and she wants Naomi to write for her magazine.

Naomi's true love has always been writing. She's been a part of the creative writing club for so long that she may as well be the person who runs it. Since as far back as I can remember she was always writing and reading all these incredible stories. She had written some pretty poems that she submitted to the newspaper often, and had a rough draft of a book series she eventually wanted to get published, but told us that she wanted to also write for a magazine. That's where Florence came in and proposed that Naomi write for her.
Vivian has wanted to make music for the longest time. The stuff she makes now are really catchy and well-made. It's nothing like what the pros do, not yet anyway. She is on our college's radio with her own show, called "Music of the Spheres." It's a hoot and a half listening to her. She hopes that after college she could find someone to help with her music career. She knows that the business is tough, but if anyone could handle it, Vivian would be at the top of the list.

As for Catherine, her grades went down and she dropped out of her beloved home ec club. I feel like a broken record saying this over and over again, but that was totally out of character for her. Yet again, she refused to open up and brushed it off, stating that she just had things on her mind. When she and I were talking about a book we had been reading, there was a stinkbug that had wandered into the kitchen and had begun to fly around obnoxiously. It was crashing into the ceiling and walls like it was drunk, and I laughed at the poor thing's antics. But Catherine...she reacted bizzarely.

She tracted that thing down and smash it into oblivion. Catherine wasn't the biggest fan of bugs, and should she encounter one, she would only swat it away or go into another room. I had never once seen her do that. The she told me that the bug wasn't ordinary...it was watching us.

The explaination was strange, silly, bordering on paranoia. Actually, no. It was paranoia. But after making sure that the bug was dead that no other insect was crawling around us, she calmed down and resumed our discussion as if nothing had happened. The grip Catherine had on my hand, it was as if she believed that she and she alone could protect me.

Happy 22nd, Vivian!

Happy birthday, Vivian! I hope that you have a happy year, and good luck with finishing that electronica album you have been working on.

Haus of Laub is a pretty neat title, if I do say so myself.