Scared of Bullets

Love only exists in fairy tales.

People tell me all the time that I should write a story based on my dreams. I never thought I could do that. First of all, when I write I write because it's somewhat of an outlet for me. Then whatever I had running around in my brain is at rest because I got it all out. I don't write so the reader can be captivated. I don't write to excite people, or to tell them a story.

I'm bad at story telling!
That's the bottom line!

But I had another dream.

So I thought I'd give this story telling thing a shot:

I looked up at the cloudy sky as an omen. Something was wrong. Mom was busy talking to Dad on the front porch of the house we were looking at. Moving was such a hassle. And even though Mom and Dad had been divorced for 3 years, they were still fighting like they were married. I don't know what Mom was thinking when she had Dad be our real estate agent.
I was uneasy about the weather and I grabbed my little sister's hand so I could follow my bickering parents inside. Corrina, my six year old sister, clung to my side. She was more quiet than usual which made me even more uneasy.
Right when we walked through the door, I heard whispers. I stopped and listened harder, Corrina hid her face in my skirt. My parents didn't seem to notice, but I knew I wasn't just hearing things. Something was definitely wrong.
"Mom, can we look at the house later?" I knew it was a long shot, but I had to ask.
She waved off my question, "No no, we're here let's just figure this out now. Watch your sister?"
Corrina tugged on my hand and I looked down at her. "Becki, I'm scared,"she whispered and I picked her up and followed my parents further into the house even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.
It really was a beautiful house. Brand new, nicely painted. I just couldn't seem to feel comfortable in that house.
Then we all heard a horrible, screeching, scream. It didn't sound human. My parents grew silent and I saw it in my dad's eyes. He knew. He knew about something.
"Corrina-!" my dad reached out to take her from me, but quickly recoiled.
I looked at her face to see her eyes black, tears of blood streaming down her face. Her mouth was open and that screech came from her lungs and seemed to resonate throughout the room.
Horror ripped through my brain.
"We have to leave." My dad said this statement with more fear in his face than I'd ever seen in my life.
We ran for the door, Corrina in my arms, still crying tears of blood.
The clouds outside were even darker and more menacing than when we first arrived. My mom climbed in the driver's seat of my dad's car, my dad in the passenger. Corrina and I were in the backseat and barely had time to close the door before my mom sped off. Corrina's eyes were clear and blue again. Her blond hair stuck to her blood stained face and she sat in my lap, clinging to me as if her life depended on it.
Whatever was back in that house was after us. I could feel it's evil chasing us. My dad reached into the glove box and pulled out a gun.
"What the hell are you going to do with that?!" I yelled at him, terrified still. I could feel the evil gaining on us even as we sped down the highway.
"You think I can fully trust you with Corrina?" Dad yelled back as he crawled into the backseat with us. It wasn't really a question, it was a statement. And it stung, sending my thoughts to the past.

When Corrina was 4 years old.
"Corrina!" My mom had screamed, holding her close in her arms. "Stay with me, baby. Stay with me!"
I had just stared at all the blood on the floor, at the knife that Corrina had found on the table. Somehow my parents had figured it had all been my fault. And I had let the guilt sink into my very self.

I heard my mom scream, and it brought me back to the present. The car swerved a bit, but stayed in the lane. I could hear the gunshot and time slowed down. I saw the pain in my dad's face, saw the gunshot wound in his chest. And then all of a sudden time sped up. Taking Corrina with me, we both curled up on the floor of the car, in the smallest ball possible. I heard more gunshots, my mother screaming, and then it all stopped.

My father didn't survive the first gunshot wound, let alone the other two that hit him in the stomach and then the shoulder.
Corrina and I had lived, not knowing what had killed our father or what that screeching sound had come from.
My mother had lived also, but never spoke of that day after Dad's funeral.
But every time I close my eyes to sleep, I hear the whispers.