__Childhood Memories__
By Ashley
It was late evening in the creaky old English home.
Although the year was 1977, inside the home it felt
more like 1947. The house itself was built in 1901,
and all the furniture in it had been made before 1950.
If a man and a girl had not been sitting at the
kitchen table, one might have mistaken the place for a
museum.
"Now, Elizabeth," The man began, holding up a
drawing so that the girl could see. "What type of
demon is this, and more importantly, how do you kill
it?" He frowned at her, his grey-blue eyes boring a
hole through her skull.
Elizabeth stalled. "Ummmmmm...."
The man shook his head. "Elizabeth! Concentrate!
You are a Slayer, the *only* one, may I remind you,
and it is *your* duty to know these things! I won't
always be here to shove them down your throat, and God
forbid, you would have to do this on your own!"
The young Slayer, only fifteen, sighed. She had
heard this lecture a thousand times. Blah, blah,
Slayer duties. Blah, blah, resonsibilty. Blah, blah,
I've got a giant stake up my ass!
"Elizabeth! Are you listening to me? HOW DO YOU KILL
AN AMORAH DEMON?!?"
Elizabeth giggled. The idiot was so angry he gave
her the answer.
Her Watcher stuttered, trying to find the right
curse to use on her, but decided against it. "I'll be
back in a minute." He growled. "I need to find the
other Chronicle.....Stay here!"
"The *other* Chronicle?" Elizabeth asked drily.
He glared at her. "Elizabeth, don't do that. You
know how I can't tolerate insolence."
"Yes, *Mr. Wyndham-Pryce*." She repied, slightly
mocking him, her own silent protest.
The Watcher glared at her again. "Stay *here*."
He turned around swiftly and descended into the
basement, his library.
When she was sure Mr. Wyndham-Pryce (or "Bastard"
as she liked to call him behind his back) was gone,
Elizabeth crept silently down the hall, towards the
stairs, the ones leading up. Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce, a
darling, but too submissive for this decade, was out
grocery shopping, so she didn't have to worry about
anyone else discovering what *she* had discovered.
The Slayer crouched down, and unlocked the small
door under the stairs. She slowly swung it open, and
peeked inside.
"Wesley?" She whispered. "Wes? It's me, Lizzie. Are
you alright?"
A small boy of about eight crawled out of the
shadows. He had dark hair, and the most amazing
blue-grey eyes she had ever seen. These were the eyes
that made here believe the phrase "The eyes are the
windows to your soul".
"L-lizzie?" As soon as he spoke, she grabbed him in
a hug, and he began to cry again.
"Oh Wesley, it's okay." She started to rock him bak
and forth, like a mother. "I'm here now..."
Wesley let go of her, and whiped his face on the
sleeve of his school blazer. "Wyndham-Pryces never
c-cry." He said bravely, and stared at her.
Elizabeth stroked his head. "Is that what your
father told you?"
He nodded, eyes filling up with tears once again.
"H-he also said that I'll never be a W-watcher. That's
why he p-put me in h-here. I didn't do my L-latin
correctly."
Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat. "Of
course you'll be a Watcher! And I promise, you'll be
the best Watcher *ever*!"
Wesley looked up at her with those eyes again.
"R-really?"
She smiled. "Really. And I wish that, right now,
you could be *my* Watcher. We could-"
She was interupted by a creak on the basement
stairs. *He* was coming. How had he moved so fast?
"Hurry, Wesley!" She cried, and pushed him back
under the stairs. Damnit! It wasn't supposed to end
this way! She was supposed to make his feel better,
not shove him in the closet like his father did! She
locked the door, and ran to the kitchen, carefully
avoiding all of the spots she knew creaked.
Elizabeth flew onto her chair just as the elder
Wyndham-Pryce came into the room. "So...did you find
the Chronicle?" She asked, trying to disguised the
fact that she was breathing heavily.
He didn't notice. "Yes, yes. It, of course, wasn't
in it's proper place. That child, *Wesley*, must have
moved it again." The disgust was clear in his voice.
He was not proud of his boy. He would never would be
proud of his boy.
Elizabeth stared at the page in front of her.
Under the dark stairs, Wesley sobbed.
* * *