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PROMPTS #1
LORRAINE WARREN: “I don’t know how they know, but I feel like they’re waiting for me.”
Maybe it was wrong, it was probably wrong, but it made her feel better. Andy knew that the little old woman sitting across from her --tiny teacup clicking against a saucer in a shaky hand-- was not a psychologist and had no real way to help her at all. Andy understood that she traveled all this way to get a glimpse of a side of things that she was still learning about and that dumping all of her problems on this 91 year old woman was not going to solve anything. Still, once she started opening up she found it hard to stop. Maybe it was just the quiet and reverent vibes that Lorraine Warren was putting out. She made it easy, made talking feel therapeutic even if it wasn’t solving anything at all. The conversation had started about evil dolls, a topic they both had a long and troubled past with, but an hour later and Andy had told Lorraine everything, every little detail about Chucky and the horrors that spirit had brought onto Andy’s life. By the time she had no more story left to tell, she felt spent, relieved, like the feeling you get after you throw up when you’ve been sick for a really long time. Her eyes were watering up and she was having a hard time categorizing all of her feelings but most of it was… positive. It was all positive, and she didn’t want it to stop.
“It’s only a matter of time before they come back,” Andy shrugged. “This trick, this new body,” she gestured up and down to herself, “It’s only going to buy me so much time. I don’t know how they know, but I feel like they’re waiting for me. Chucky. Tiffany. Their whole diseased cult. I’ve been running my whole life, since I was six, always running. I’ve already run into one grave and sometimes I wonder how many more it’ll take before he catches me, really catches me. I’m bound to get tired eventually. It’s… it’s only a matter of time.”
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THE DRUID GIRL: “I could kill him. Probably will kill him.”
There was a soft jingling when Andy ran her fingers over the dangling charms and amulets and pendants that hung from a display hook on the wall. She wondered how many of them were real and had any significant connection to voodoo or charms, and how many of them were tchotchke crap that could easily be passed off to tourist who didn’t know any better? Still, Andy liked the jingle, it made her feel like the wind. She often wished she was the wind, invisible but strong, important one day and then gone the next. She almost let the distraction pull her away forever, getting lost in her fantasy of being a breeze running through a sunny clearing somewhere far away, but she stopped herself, refocused, and turned back to Durantia to finish her story about the doll that changed her life forever.
“Sorry, it’s… it’s hard sometimes. I usually feel crazy when I tell people this stuff so… I’m not used to talking to people who get it.”
Andy cleared her throat, sat down on a small stool in the corner, and folded her hands in her lap before continuing. “It’s this back and forth, this dance we’ve been doing for years. I can’t remember a time where Chucky wasn’t a part of my life. He’s always there, he’s always coming. I could kill him. I probably will kill him. I have killed him. It doesn’t matter. Now things are even more complicated. His soul’s split up in twelve different ways… now I’m slipping down that path, too, and already onto body number two. I… I just have a hard time seeing how any of this can end. How many times can a thing die before it stays dead forever? You got the answer to that in any of your books?”
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