#idk whos browsing the aunt jill tag but here you go lol

[fiendishartist2]

this house says my name like an elegy- petscop

Wheezing breaths echoed through quiet suburbia. Her shaking hands fought to drag her uncooperative body up the concrete steps.

Care's lungs were set aflame with every inhale; her hands– crusty with dried blood and dirt– trembled with exhaustion and effort. Without any remaining strength, she ran on adrenaline alone, spurred on by the haven that stretched above her. Her home was just out of reach, yet she continued; just a few more steps and she would be safe.

Minutes– or hours, or seconds– later, Care climbed the final step and collapsed in a heaving heap on the green house's doormat. The sound of her thundering heart enveloped her and she gave into her bone-deep sorrow. Care coughed, out of breath, and let out a loud, whimpering cry.

Eventually, the sun began to set over Care's shivering form, bathing her in yellow light. Slowly, she pushed herself off of the rough matt, swaying in place, and groped around the black blob ahead of her. Finally, she found the doorknob and turned it. The heavy door creaked and Care entered the house.

Loud pop music and mumbling voices met Care's arrival. She vaguely recognised the song playing, something upbeat and pitchy; it sounded like something she would have liked before. Now, it just blurred into the background and made the pain in her hands pulse harder with the beat.

Colourful blotches covered the ceiling as tall, humanoid shapes roamed the living room, each of their distinctive faces turning to stare at her. The blue-clad blob stood.

"You made it. Happy birthday!" She cheered.

Care wilted under their gazes, her weak knees giving out beneath her. She tried in vain to hide her deformed face from the people gathered around her. Someone crouched in front of her and started to pet her dirt-matted hair. The voice of her mother hummed.

"Aw, baby," She cooed, "Let's get you cleaned up."

Care dug her nails into her face, desperate to keep her mother from seeing how ugly she was. Arms enveloped her and Care was gripped by a fleeting moment of panic, before her mother lifted her gently off of the ground and carried her down the hallway.

Anna placed Care on her newly washed and made bed. She flitted around the room, chattering about how excited she was about the party and how very happy everyone would be that Care was home. The room’s heavy silence was only interrupted by Anna rummaging in Care's closet; she tossed clothing and toys behind her as she dug desperately for something.

She emerged with a bright red wool dress with a white collar and deep red, shiny ribbon. Scurrying across the room, Anna kneeled in front of her daughter. Her grin fell at the sight of Care's hands still smashed against her face.

"Why are you covering your face?" She asked bluntly, voice sweet and imploring. Care buried her face further into her palms and shuddered.

"Oh." Anna slumped and let the dress fall into her lap. Carefully, she reached out and pried Care's hands away from her face. Care stared wide-eyed at her mother, her lip trembling. In a small voice, cracking from disuse, Care cried to her mother.

"Am I me?"

Anna laughed, "You're so silly, Care. Of course I recognise you."

She pet Care's cheek affectionately and began dressing her in the outfit she had picked out.

By her wrist, Care was pulled out of her room. Anna smiled at the rest of the family as she dragged Care into the living room, sitting her down on the big leather couch and taking off into the kitchen. Her legs stuck uncomfortably to the cushion. Care watched as her mother weaved manically between family members standing around.

The couch dipped next to her. Aunt Jill silently wrapped an arm around Care’s small, shivering frame. Her grip tightened as yelling started to filter out of the kitchen, sighing and letting a tear fall on Care's head. Her head hurt.

Care watched, detached, as the shouting got louder and more people gathered at the source. Her cousin, Daniel– all straight, frayed hair and resentment– pushed his way out the kitchen. He spun on his heel and pointed into the shifting haze of people glaring at him.

"I told you- you never listened! This is your fault!" Daniel screamed; his wild hair haloed his rage-filled face as he threw open the front door.

"Fuck you, Anna! Fuck all of you!" The house shook with the force of the following slam. Jill’s grip was crushing.

The party stood still.

Anna stumbled out of the kitchen, plate and fork in hand. She locked eyes with Care and beamed, anguish settling in the wrinkles around her toothy smile. With unsteady feet, she crossed the living room, bumping into onlookers along the way.

She dropped onto Care's opposite side, shoving a plate of smeared chocolate cake into her small hands.

"Go ahead and have a slice, sweetheart!" Her smile wobbled, voice high and breathy. Her eyes cut away– to the front door, to the ceiling, to the window, to her daughter's confused, dark eyes.

Anna pulled out a camera and Care cried into her birthday cake.

Paul searched through the numerous boxes in Anna's garage. If Jill wasn't going to tell him where that damn disk was, he was just going to find it himself.

He opened another box and pushed aside its contents. In his haste, a single photograph fell out of its sleeve and fluttered to the floor. Paul huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes, bending over to pick the Polaroid back up. He turned it over and was met with the face of a crying little girl. Her wide-eyed face was covered in dirt and grass stains, her hands marred by deep red gashes and still more dirt. Next to her sat a grinning woman, her bright red hair sticking up in all directions, her giant smile surrounded by creases of stress.

Paul furrowed his patchy eyebrows. Judging by the cake in the girl's lap, it looked like it was taken during a party. He checked the date written in a shaky scrawl, smudged halfway across the bottom of the Polaroid– 12 November, 1997.

"Who is that…?" He mumbled to himself. Staring at the girl in the picture, something stirred deep inside of him– a sickening familiarity. Paul couldn't remember ever seeing this girl in his life, but he knew the shape of her eyes, the sharp slant of her nose, the space between her eyelids and hairline where eyebrows should have been; he knew it like he had faced it in the mirror every day of his life.

His throat grew dry– something was seriously wrong with the picture in his hand. Something that for the life of him, Paul could not place.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, quickly giving in to the voice in his head pleading for him to turn away from the offending photo. He wanted to get out of this room as soon as possible. The family already intimidated him enough– he didn't need to go finding all of Anna's weird shit.

As he laid the photo back in its box and searched for another to ransack, Paul idly itched the faint white lines on the back of his hand.