Stories? Perhaps. Maybe not.

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The light breeze in the hot summer afternoon was cooling under the old willow. The long stems of leaves running down around Helena provided a sense of security as she clutched the old photos of those she loved. The edges were burnt and the gloss contained a film of dirt and ash. She could smell the smoke drifting in the almost absent air.

She felt another presence nearby but couldn't place her finger on what it was. She looks up. Terrified, she stays quiet as to not disturb the figure standing behind the curtain of green. She's petrified and cannot move. The sweat gathers on her forehead while she pulls the pictures close to her heart, hoping to keep them safe from the figure. 

He moves. A bright shine bounces off the object in his hand and glints in Helena's eyes. She closes them and focuses her attention on hearing the footsteps of the man. He treads lightly so as not to be seen with the bloody stains he has on his shirt and hands. The crunchiness of the dead grass sounds as he finds his way toward a nearby fence. 

He's closer to her now. Helena's eyes remain shut and she holds her breath as he passes by. 

The man never notices her, though she felt his eyes pass over her more than once in the time she had been sitting under the old tree. Why was he there now? What brought him to her safe place? She had run as fast as she could from the fire and there was no way he could have seen her. His footsteps are gone, but the rapid beating of her heart hasn't slowed. She opens her eyes and exhales a sigh of relief as the sound of the footsteps had disappeared. 

She wishes she was brave enough to open her eyes sooner and be able to see the man. She wouldn't be able to describe him anymore than that shadowy dark figure who held the sickle in his hand in blood stained clothes. She unfolded her legs and leaned against the tree. Where would she go now? Who could she turn to? She's a mile away from the nearest town and no one knew who she was. 

She brought the pictures away from her chest and looked down at the polaroids that were all she had of her past. The only boy who truly loved her, her best friend in overalls and shaggy black hair who sat beside her when her mother died all those years ago. His green eyes were the jewels of her childhood and the only distinguishing features she could remember about him before she was taken from him. 

In another, a quarter of the square had been missing. The top right of her mothers hairdo was singed away and the smile she had seen ever so often was etched on the grain. It was odd to see herself so young, as she marveled at how tightly her mother held her on her lap. That old dress had been saved for her and waited for Helena in a trunk beneath the barn, hopefully untouched by the fire. 

The last of the photographs was of her darling sister who she knew was safe since her grandparents had taken her before the darkness came over their lives. Helena would have never been able to prepare herself for what her life, what little of a life there was, would have been like since the death of her mother. Helena and her sister had only known each other for a short time before she was taken as an infant. The father couldn't stand the sight of her little sister, knowing that she was the cause of the death of his wife. It didn't help anymore that Helena was the spitting image of their darling mother, Francesca. 

No one knew the torment she would experience following the birth of Samantha. Her mother was known for her loving nature and she had the essence of one of those women you come across who has such a welcoming smile and lights up any room. Her loveliness surpassed any amount of ugliness in the world. The father didn't deserve her and had stolen her from his brother. She had never known the story behind her planned marriage, she didn't need to know, and would never known. 

Helena had fallen asleep under the willow and had woken up in the dead of night surrounded by darkness. She had grown accustomed to not having any dreams at this point and it never bothered her that her imagination had been locked away and kept inside since that first dreadful night that she had been abused. Her only focus now was to find a way to town and find someone who could help her. She fastened the photos in her bag and examined the contents one by one. A small bread roll, an apple, a small cooking knife, the letter she got from her best friend Jeremy, the 134 dollars she had been saving up since she was 6, a small whistle, a flashlight, and now her treasured photos. She contemplated the options that remained for her and what she needed to do from now on. She was alone now and her first priority was to find the only person besides her mother who loved her. Jeremy should be close by; according to the address on her letter. She tucked her unwanted memories and the chilling past into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and walked out from the safety of the willow and into the night...