Psychological Thriller - English - Young Female
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
the Omen of Crow's nest. Chapter One. The electrodes in my brain were like a loop recorder, continuously dredging up the past and problematic for the psychiatrist at the Greenfield sanitarium who was in the process of rewiring me. Bear with me, as I digress, I witnessed the gruesome death of my father by a mob of birds. I know what you're picturing a scene from Alfred Hitchcock's horror movie. The birds, not exactly like the movie, it happened in my bedroom, an aberration that my brain conjured. So they say grandma had reinforced dad's untimely disappearance to the police after the thunderstorm, he'd raced to catch a late flight, an overseas business trip lacking evidence of any misdeeds, no mutilations as I described. The police had nothing to go on besides a batshit crazy kid. I experienced a day mare, a delusion and it hadn't been the first time so, said grandma. Afterward mom spent a week in bed purporting she had a bug, she couldn't keep anything down and stopped eating. I noticed her yellow E- six skin and her hair matted as if a brush hadn't made contact in weeks. 13 days past at a snail's pace since that night I was in the library's alcove, my daily vigil half expecting dad to come strolling up the cobbled walkway, my fretful nous heightening because I'd spilled my guts to my best friend Hillary, telling her everything if she repeated it to anyone, The repercussions would come back to bite me. Sitting on the window seat winding and unwinding my hair on my fingers. I absolutely stared into the fields across the lane, intent on the developing opaque mist weaving toward crow's nest whenever I dwelled on dad's whereabouts my heart had the proclivity of getting funky beating at an abnormal rate. There was a faint knock on the archway that led into the library. I twisted on the window seat and gasped Dad, un distinguishable, like a hologram. He appeared alive. I repressed my instinct to run into his arms. We hadn't had that sort of relationship. Where have you been? Are you okay? I squinted, discerning his expression. Can't say. His voice was not easily and unnatural. Dropped by to pack. He turned and left, punching out my arm. I wanted him to stop. Wait! Dad, wait, unsure of myself and my supposed delirium. I was unable to move the front door snakes shut. My gaze swung to the panes of glass where misty tendrils devoured his body, passing grandma in the foyer and ran outside. Dad! Dad! I cried into the misty mud, Where did he go? I turned in circles trying to catch a wink of him. Everything felt skewed after all I'd been through. I was afraid afraid of another day, mare like before walking backwards turning this way and that I went back in, wiping do from my face. I saw grandma in the corner. Dad was here, I neared, but her eyes were glazed like frost over glass. Did you see him? Her head tilted sideways, pupils enlarged grandma. I never touched her, but that day I touched her arm. I felt it immediately. My hand went through an electrical current. I jerked back. My fingers were singed at the tips. I always thought she was a witch made of magic grandma. I said tentatively. You saw him right? Her eyes fluttered while aligning her shoulders. Now you can stop talking rubbish! She spat condescendingly. Your father wasn't eaten by birds. When? Why? What did words escape me? It wasn't real. Leave it be. Does mom know you Penelope? Let me give you my grandmotherly advice. Her scathing tone cuts like a knife. Shut the funk up, get over it or else you'll be going away and you're not going to like it. I couldn't believe she said The f bomb going. Where if you don't put this behind you, Catherine is looking into a retreat. What does that mean? A sanitarium? Where they put phobic kids and lockdowns like a soldier standing at attention. I blinked, piecing it together. No, mom wouldn't do that grandma didn't move a muscle as she watched me. I couldn't describe what I saw in her face something how she inclined her head. The gleam in her gaze. Ugh! I accused, throwing my arms in the air. It was an illusion. You did. Your hocus pocus thingy? A descending slope to her mouth. Didn't sit well on her face. Kathryn's right. You need help stiffening. My arms to my sides. The tattletale child came out of me. I'm telling mom and asking if dad was here. I turned toward the staircase, grandma grabbed me, her fingers dug into my arm. She was stronger than I thought.