Nightmares (Intro and Chapters 1&2)

Introduction

Everybody has their story, its just that mine is a little… well, different.

Chapter 1

When I was a little girl I had a very normal family. My Mom took care of me and the house. And my Dad worked as a car salesman. Life was typical, average, easy, and quiet. I went to normal schools, and lived a normal life. That was that it was so normal I thought it boring. My friends and I sometimes went to the movies, the beach, school, etc. But when I got home, it was always the same, and even though people were living there, it was almost as if the house, and the people in it were dead.
My Mom and Dad trusted me as much as they trusted any teenage daughter. In other words, not much. To me the house was a cage; a cage that was filled with too many pillows. At the time, little did I know that a simple walk down the street with my Mom and Dad would scar me for the rest of my life.

Chapter 2

My neighborhood was clean and neat, sometimes I though too much so. There were lots of birds, and enough trees to make you want to scream during a hurricane.
On one of those typical August afternoons, you know, hazy, hot and humid, chance of thundershowers… My Mom, Dad, and I went for a walk, which was unusual for us. We had never gone walking before, at least as far as I could remember. My parents weren’t exactly outdoorsy folks. When we were a block or two away from home, and near the tire swing where I used to play, we saw a man sitting there. He looked like he could have been homeless, that was except for a fancy black car and driver that was waiting for him.
His hair was a little to long to be cute, but no quite long enough to pull back. His face was young, but he looked worn and tired, as if he hadn’t really slept in days. But he was probably no more than twenty-five.
When we passed he gave us a nod, smiled, and waved at us. The weird part was that he winked at my parents. They waved back friendly as ever.
“Who is that guy?” I thought to myself. But he just sat there on the tire swing, and we kept on walking.
I later wrote of the incident as coincidence. People were always mistaking my Dad for some computer person, whose name I can never remember, now especially since his… and my Mom’s death…