The Entry - Chapter One Part One
Start writing a post
Entertainment

The Entry - Chapter One Part One

The first snippet of the book I've been writing for the past four years.

5
The Entry - Chapter One Part One
Lauren Knecht

MARY ANN

May 7, 1997
They’re coming for me. God, I knew this day would come, but I didn’t think it would be today!

I need to protect June. They will surely take her. No, I will not let them take her!
These people… they are going to kill me. And June, she’s still a baby! What will they do to her…? No. I can’t afford to think this way. I know I will make it. I have to.
They’re coming. They’re only inches away. I can’t


ONE

“June?!”
“Mommy?”
“Sweetie, why were you screaming? Was it another nightmare?”
“Yeah, a really scary one.”
“Will it help to talk about it? What did you dream about this time?”
“JUNE! What the hell is the matter with you?! If I hear one more peep out of you I swear to god…”
“Nick, calm down, she just had a nightmare. I’m sorry, June, daddy just gets upset when he gets woken up. What did you dream about?”
“I… why didn’t you tell me I have two mommies?”
“You have… what?”
“I didn’t know I had two. Where is the other one?”
“Wait…”
“Deborah…”
“No, no that’s not possible. We haven’t even told her yet.”
“How would you even know something like that?”
“My other mommy told me. She said to wait for her. She said she was coming back for me.”

-----

Clone.
That’s what I think when I look at the girl in the mirror. Outfitted in a Catholic- school uniform, with its light blue plaid skirt and white blouse, she is unrecognizable to me. Usually when I look into this mirror, I see the same girl dressed in shorts, exposing her long legs, and a casual t- shirt exposing… well… not so much. This is me. But it isn’t really.
Although now, with my skirt regulation length and hardly any makeup on my face, I at least think that I am ready for a long day of senior year. It honestly seems like this year has been a millennium. But just thinking about the prissy girls, the dumber- than- dumb boys, and the teachers that really don’t care about anything we students do… it makes me want to stay home and forget about school. I look into the mirror one more time, smoothing my long brown hair down, and try to forget about it.
“June!” my “mom” calls. She insists I never fail to think of her as my mother, even though I was adopted when I was one.
“Coming!” I half-groan, half-yell back.
I haul my filled backpack downstairs, taking each step one at a time so I don’t trip over my own feet. Of course, the first person I see when I walk into the kitchen is my father sitting at the table, not even glancing in my direction as I walk by. His tired mud-tinted eyes linger on another book he has yet to finish reading. As usual, my mother’s worried stare from behind the counter acts as a reply to the silence. I walk past both of them, awkwardly getting myself a bowl from the cabinet and filling it with cereal; some apple and cinnamon flavored kind of flakes. At least it’s better than my other options of corn flakes, corn flakes, and (you guessed it) cornflakes.
Normally I would never eat breakfast, let alone soggy, disgusting cereal, but my mother gets worried when I don’t eat.
I sit down at the kitchen table, hoping that my father will say something to me. Anything. It’s always seemed as if I were forced upon him, like he never wanted me invading his perfect family in the first place. I am so deep in thought that when he finally says something, I barely hear him.
“What?” I ask. He shakes his head and looks down again. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, my mother speaks up.
“June?” she addresses me.
“Yeah?”
Silence. At times, it takes mom a while to think of what to say. I suspect she has the same fear of being judged as I do.
“... Did you remember everything?” She asks with a sort of carefulness in her voice as she speaks.
“I think so...” I say. “Ah, wait...”
I sigh, dropping my backpack, and run upstairs into my parent’s bedroom.
“Science book...” I say to myself as I enter. I see it on my parent’s dresser right away, where they had taken it the night before. “It’s two in the morning,” my mother had said. “It’s no use studying this late if you’re going to be too tired to take the test.” My father had given me one of his harsh looks as he walked by, disappointed in me as always.
I walk over and grab my trusty Study of Biology textbook, but when I go to pick it up, I see another book under it. It looks to me like a journal. It has a leather cover and the pages stick out a little. Only the ends of handwritten words are visible, almost like the book is just trying to taunt me. I look back over my shoulder before kneeling down and picking it up. Staring at the cover this closely, something about it seems familiar to me.
“Hurry up, June!” My mother yells.
“Just a second!”
I turn my attention back to the book, and cautiously open it, my curiosity getting the better of me. When I flip the cover, I see that the first several pages have been torn out. Despite missing these pages, the book surprisingly has many more, even though it is very small and thin. I see sloppy handwriting, written all in pen, as my eyes travel to the top of the page.
“May 7, 1997.”
My first birthday.
Why is this here? I think to myself as I continue down the page.
The more I read, the more shocked I become. Why would someone ever try to hurt my mother? And why do my “parents” have her journal in their room? Were they hiding it?
For some reason the writing ends halfway down the page, with no sign of an ending sentence. I flip to the next page, but I don’t really expect to see anything. I would’ve thought that the journal would end on the previous page, given that my mother’s supposed last words were written on it.
“Don’t trust them,” it says. Nothing else. Confused, I stuff the journal in my jacket, hiding it from view.
When I walk into the kitchen and grab my backpack, I know that I need to keep quiet… for now. I don’t want to immediately start a fight with my parents over whatever the heck this means.
“Bye,” I say hurriedly, running out the door and stuffing the journal inside my backpack in the process. My mother starts to tell me to wait, but I am already gone.
When I pull up to my school lot, I check myself one more time in the rearview mirror.
Ugh… good enough, I guess.
I grab my backpack resting on the seat next to me and open it, rummaging around for the journal. The thick pages are like a drug; checking them every five minutes seems almost… tempting. I open it one more time before getting out of the car, looking at the message. I must have read it millions of times on the way here. A million and one. A million and two.
The next page sticks out a bit, and when I look closer I notice that there is another entry. I flip to the next page and start reading.
“You can’t ignore the truth forever, June. I promise it will not end well.”
The words send paralyzing electric currents down my spine. I try to shake them off, but it is nearly impossible. So I do the only thing I can think of doing: ripping the pages out. As I attempt this, I notice that I am unable to tear the pages, not even a little. New words form themselves, fading into the paper.
“You cannot destroy the journal until your fate has been decided,” they say.
I push my doubt to the back of my mind and shove the book in my bag, actually wanting to get in the school mindset for once.
My cloak of invisibility always seems to activate itself as soon as the tip of my shoe enters the school doors, making me seemingly nonexistent to everyone around me. Teachers are armed and ready with demerits, eager to catch a couple holding hands or someone with “unusually” dyed hair. But the day lingers on without any of these problems, like God’s plan (the teachers attempt to use the phrase at every possible opportunity) is to make it as boring as it could possibly be. On top of that, everyone else seems to be enjoying this school but me. So when sixth period English rolls around and Leslie walks in, I practically collapse with relief.
“What took you so long?”
“Sorry, sorry, I had to hand in some medical form.”
“Our favorite class, and you miss even a second of it to take a trivial scrap of paper to the Room of Doom?”
A smile spreads wide across her face. “You’ve been calling it that for the longest time. It’s just the principal’s office, June. By the way, I’m impressed by your use of the word ‘trivial’ in a sentence.”
“‘Only the best vocabulary is acceptable in this English class,’” I grin, quoting our teacher who has yet to show up. Again. It is a relief of sorts; I’m not really in the mood for a slowly balding, crotchety older man to tell me my English isn’t acceptable. When Leslie sits down at the seat in front of me, I tap her on the shoulder.
“Hey, Leslie, can you do me a favor?”
“Anything for you babe,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes. When she sees my expression, she laughs and says a bit more seriously, “Sure what is it?”
“I found this today, and I’m not really sure what it means.” I hand her the journal, and she opens it to the first page. There is a long pause where her eyes just linger on the page. They dart back to me.
“Um, June? I think you might be going a little cuckoo, there.”
“How so?”
“There’s nothing written on these pages.” She hands the book to me, but I don’t see what she is talking about. The same words are written clearly on the page, seeming even more aggressive than before.
“You can’t see it?”
“You’ve got me. Is this a joke, my friend?” Leslie looks around. “Am I being punked?”
“No, no, of course not.” I look down at my shoes. “You know, it doesn’t really matter.”
“Hey, maybe your parents will know about it.”
After she says this, our teacher walks in.
“Turn around, eyes to the front, notes out.”
Before she turns around, Leslie giggles and says behind her shoulder, “Remind me why I like this class again.”
“English,” I say in a low voice.
“Right,” she smirks.

The next day, standing in the kitchen after waking up and performing the same monotonous routine, I ponder running right out the door without one word to my parents. Deciding against it, I produce the book from my bag, march over to my father, and slam the book down in front of him.
“What is this?” I say, keeping my voice level. He stares down at the journal without saying anything. Then, for the first time that I know of, he starts laughing. It sounds forced, like everything else he does, and after a few seconds it stops abruptly. He slowly glances up at me with a hostile, hateful look. Then, before I know what’s happening, he hits me right across the face. I barely have time to cry out before he grabs me by my shirt. His coffee is spilled all over the table. He doesn’t seem to notice as it slowly drips from the table on to the floor.
“What are you talking about?” he growls. It is probably the first time he has addressed me directly, rather than talking about me to my mother. “It’s blank.”
I look down at the page. The writing is still there, right in plain sight. Is there something wrong with me? Or is it just everyone else?
“Mom…” I say, hoping she will come to my rescue.
“Don’t disrespect your father, June,” is all she says.
“But…” I stutter, picking up the journal and showing it to her. “You don’t see it?”
My mother comes closer and closer.
“Of course not. Are you feeling all right?”
Another worried look.
“Maybe you should just give it to me, June.”
My father lets go of my shirt, and I slowly back away.
“June,” my father says sternly. “Listen to your mother. Give her the book. Now.”
I hold the book close to my chest.
“No.”
They both stare, and when I turn my head slightly I see my mother moving over towards the kitchen counter. She knows I see her doing this, so when she picks up the knife, she does it so I can see. I scream, hoping someone will hear me and come to my rescue. My mother doesn’t seem fazed. She just continues walking over to me.
I inch away, never taking my eyes off of her. There is no escape. None that I can see. The front door would be my first choice, of course, but my mother stands right in my path. From where I’m standing it might again, but I never stop running. The balcony. It’s all I can think of.
Too high, too high.
I ignore the shouts in my head, telling me to stop. Our house is one of the largest in the neighborhood. I know that once I hit the concrete driveway below it will be over. Still, the slim chance of not injuring myself is better than not trying at all. I look over the edge, climb over, and jump.

Report this Content
This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
Student Life

Waitlisted for a College Class? Here's What to Do!

Dealing with the inevitable realities of college life.

53002
college students waiting in a long line in the hallway
StableDiffusion

Course registration at college can be a big hassle and is almost never talked about. Classes you want to take fill up before you get a chance to register. You might change your mind about a class you want to take and must struggle to find another class to fit in the same time period. You also have to make sure no classes clash by time. Like I said, it's a big hassle.

This semester, I was waitlisted for two classes. Most people in this situation, especially first years, freak out because they don't know what to do. Here is what you should do when this happens.

Keep Reading...Show less
a man and a woman sitting on the beach in front of the sunset

Whether you met your new love interest online, through mutual friends, or another way entirely, you'll definitely want to know what you're getting into. I mean, really, what's the point in entering a relationship with someone if you don't know whether or not you're compatible on a very basic level?

Consider these 21 questions to ask in the talking stage when getting to know that new guy or girl you just started talking to:

Keep Reading...Show less
Lifestyle

Challah vs. Easter Bread: A Delicious Dilemma

Is there really such a difference in Challah bread or Easter Bread?

34054
loaves of challah and easter bread stacked up aside each other, an abundance of food in baskets
StableDiffusion

Ever since I could remember, it was a treat to receive Easter Bread made by my grandmother. We would only have it once a year and the wait was excruciating. Now that my grandmother has gotten older, she has stopped baking a lot of her recipes that require a lot of hand usage--her traditional Italian baking means no machines. So for the past few years, I have missed enjoying my Easter Bread.

Keep Reading...Show less
Adulting

Unlocking Lake People's Secrets: 15 Must-Knows!

There's no other place you'd rather be in the summer.

956702
Group of joyful friends sitting in a boat
Haley Harvey

The people that spend their summers at the lake are a unique group of people.

Whether you grew up going to the lake, have only recently started going, or have only been once or twice, you know it takes a certain kind of person to be a lake person. To the long-time lake people, the lake holds a special place in your heart, no matter how dirty the water may look.

Keep Reading...Show less
Student Life

Top 10 Reasons My School Rocks!

Why I Chose a Small School Over a Big University.

181484
man in black long sleeve shirt and black pants walking on white concrete pathway

I was asked so many times why I wanted to go to a small school when a big university is so much better. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure a big university is great but I absolutely love going to a small school. I know that I miss out on big sporting events and having people actually know where it is. I can't even count how many times I've been asked where it is and I know they won't know so I just say "somewhere in the middle of Wisconsin." But, I get to know most people at my school and I know my professors very well. Not to mention, being able to walk to the other side of campus in 5 minutes at a casual walking pace. I am so happy I made the decision to go to school where I did. I love my school and these are just a few reasons why.

Keep Reading...Show less

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Facebook Comments