Rebirth by Andromeda Moore (the rosie project .TXT) 📖

Phoebe Adams had resisted the move at first. There was no end to the convincing and pleading that went on; a neverending stream of well-meaning from her parents. Eventually, all of this coaxing resulted in a half-filled army green suitcase sitting in the middle of Phoebe’s four-poster bed, clothes strewn like casualties all around her room. Phoebe herself sat cross legged in the middle of her floor, an expression of grim refusal plastered on her face.
But they moved all the same. In two months’ time, the clothes were packed neatly into the suitcase and the moving vans had left, vacating their small two bedroom home stripped bare of personality to flee to a house unknown to all of them. The Adams’ van led the way, making their way to the last house at the end of the cul-de-sac.
“This is a great step for all of us, Phoebe,” said her mother as they unpacked.
“I know, but I don’t like it.” Phoebe said with twelve-year-old dignity and grace.
“There are a lot of great opportunities here,” said her father.
Phoebe didn’t listen. They did mean well, but they just didn’t understand.
The next day, as her parents finished the rest of the unpacking, Phoebe braided her hair and headed out of the house in the late afternoon. The grounds surrounding the house yielded nothing of interest, but a few paces into the sparsely wooded backyard yielded a small wooden shed. She expected it to house tools or other curious items, but when she pushed open the rotting door, flashlight in hand, there were a set of old stone steps leading down.
Phoebe, intrigued, followed these steps with one hand on the rough stone wall, the other holding the slightly wavering beam of her flashlight. At last the steps came to an end. The flashlight’s steady beam rested on a smooth concrete floor. Phoebe took a few even steps forward before her flashlight landed on the jagged corner of a block of ice. Her gaze followed the beam as it rested upon the figure of a young woman, encased in ice. She was draped in a simple white shift. Her eyes were closed and her skin pale. Her dark hair was long, and fell in frozen tendrils to her waist. However, the most shocking thing was that Phoebe seemed to be looking at a mirror image of herself. The features had such a shocking resemblance that Phoebe could have been looking at her own reflection.
Phoebe dropped her flashlight. Its beam fell on the bottom stair as Phoebe reached the second-to-last one. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she sprinted up the stairs. She reached the top, slamming the shed door, and promised herself to never go down there again.

It was two weeks after the incident, and Phoebe still wanted answers. But she wouldn’t go back. Not for money, or popularity, or…
“Phoebe, have you seen my flashlight?” her father asked while repairing the sink. “I could really use it.”
“No.” she lied.
“The black one? You haven’t? Cause you used it last.”
“I’ll find it, dad,” she said.
Phoebe parted the overgrown tree branches with leaves that were just now beginning to turn yellow. She located the shed and hesitated for a moment before opening the door and entering.
It was pitch dark the entire way in, and both of Phoebe’s hands were on the left wall, her feet exploring the uneven steps for support. She reached the bottom step, feeling around for the flashlight. She located it at last. The batteries had been completely drained from being left on for two straight weeks. Phoebe turned to retreat up the stairs when she felt a hand plant itself on her shoulder.
Phoebe shrieked in alarm. The hand remained, a slight chill seeping through her jacket from where it lay.
“Do you know who I am?” asked the voice. By the sound of her voice, she didn’t sound frightening. She only sounded desperate and afraid. “Do you know who I am?” she repeated.
“I… ah… no.” Phoebe admitted lamely. The grip tightened on Phoebe’s shoulder, the chill of her hand lingering. Then, the grip loosened and Phoebe was released.
“Then go.” Said the figure. Phoebe retreated up the stairs.
The next day, when Phoebe returned from school, her mother and father were already sitting in the dining room.
“We have to talk to you,” her father said.
“What is it?” Phoebe said.
“When you were born, you were meant to have a twin sister. However, she died at birth.”
Phoebe sat on the overstuffed armchair, unresponsive.
“I didn’t want to make this move harder for you than it is,” her mother offered. “But we thought you would want to know.”
“What was her name supposed to be?” Phoebe asked.
“Melanie,” said her father at last.
It took a month before Phoebe was able to venture back down into the depths of the cavern. However, when she did, she did so with ease, eager to tell Melanie of her identity. However, when she arrived at the bottom of the darkened space, all her flashlight beam found there was a few ragged scraps of white fabric and a few lumps of melted ice floating in red tinted water.

Publication Date: 10-16-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To all of my DA friends. You inspired me to take up writing, and I am grateful to all of you.