These are a series of outtakes from my completed story 'The Haunting of Edward Masen.' These little snippets give more background and depth to the story, but ultimately did not fit with the overall tone I was going for. Originally, I had planned to write the story from Bella's POV, and later decided against it. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight

CHAPTER ONE: BELLA'S POV

...

As I lie on the dewy grass, a crown of flowers on my head staring up at the sky, it never ceases to fascinate me, of all the things that never change, the sky is constantly changing, shifting. One days there's blackened clouds, next, completely blue. I just lie here imagining pictures of the shapes the clouds conform themselves into. Today is just like any other day.

Nothingness.

And that is all my life now happened to be really, nothing. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to really look back at either. There is no real hope in this world. As beautiful as it is, the constant surrounding roses, blue skies, and green grass, that is all it is. It was as if I became a rock, no longer floating with the water. Life just keeps going on without me and left me here to rot.

Sighing slightly, I roll on my side. Boredom. It's inescapable. There is absolutely nothing left, not anything of value that is. I had my chance at life, and it was over before it really began. Fifteen years and dead, now that left behind a legacy. It was cruel how life gave up on me so easily. It was as if I wasn't worth it, that my sister and I were of the weaker species.

Survival of the fittest, and I lost. But who could possibly win against those odds?

Maybe life knew I wasn't cut out for it, so it ended it early; like a sick miscarriage. Of course sulking wouldn't make the pain go away, but honestly, nothing made the pain go away. It was this constant days and nights of never hearing, feeling, or touching another human being that is making me lose my mind.

Maybe that was why the ghosts from my childhood stories were so angry, imagine, eighty-seven years without touching another human being. There's this itch, this constant itch in my head, and I know it's only a matter of time before my mind breaks. Sometimes I just scream, pulling my long hair, till my scalp bleeds, till clumps of hair lay in my hands, anything to just feel. It never works, the pain and isolation are always with me.

The sky changes again. Tired of lying on the grass, I get up, brush off my white dress and begin to walk towards the house. As I near it, I faintly hear voices coming from inside. I can't make out what is being said, to be honest, I could really care less.

Things like this happen all the time, our home is shared from time to time, and it seems that we have new visitors. After things being so quiet, the last owners having left some time ago, I've gotten used to the quiet, it'll be an adjustment. Usually though, it's nothing too irritating, most people I see in glances, like shadows.

As I enter the house, the voices are louder, more distinct and it's slightly unsettling. Never before have I heard the other's so clearly. it's obvious they're in the library, and I cannot help my curiosity. Slowly I walk towards the door and crack it some. Before me is a boy, a small child who looked no more than seven standing behind his mother. His quite beautiful mother, to be exact. Her hair is a soft blond, like butter, hitting her shoulders in soft waves, her eyes a distinct blue, with small but plump cherry lips. The man to her right, I assume to be her husband, is also easy on the eyes, dark hair and gray eyes, his jaw chiseled at just the right angle. But something in his eyes is off, there's a coldness there, and his wife is fidgeting in a nervous fashion, the boy seems to be purposefully putting distance between himself and his father.

Suddenly I feel disgust well up inside me. I know this picture, I've seen it all my life, lived in that kind of fear, bared witness to that kind of pain. My eyes go over to the boy, the way his little hands cling onto the back of his mother's dress, using it as a shield. To the outside world, no one would even look twice, all they would see is this lovely family, and this adorable little boy being affectionate with his mother.

"Strange is it not," a voice whispers beside me. Victoria peering over my shoulder. It seems I am not alone in this anomaly.

"Very so, I've never heard nor seen anyone so clearly like this before," I respond in a hushed tone.

Suddenly the boy's eyes snap up, quickly scanning the room.

He's heard us.

Dear god he's heard us! Quickly I shut the door, a little too loudly.

"Well, now isn't that interesting," Victoria speaks with smirk while fiddling with a strand of her dark red hair.

My mind is racing, the very fact that he's heard us is exhilarating as it is unnerving. I wonder if he can see us as well.

"No matter, they'll be gone soon enough," she says before turning on her heels.

My hand still rests on the knob, part of me wants to look again, but she's right. They be gone soon. The visitors never stay long. Slowly I release the knob and follow my sister.

...

'The Scarlet Letter' was never one of my favorites, but since I've exhausted all my literary options, and I haven't read this one till the binding has fallen off, it gets me through a few hours. 'Wuthering Heights' is my favorite, but I've always put the novel down after Cathy dies, because frankly, I could care less about the rest. But I've read my copy so many times, I've decided to wait a few years before entertaining myself with it again.

Suddenly a crash from down the hall echoes through the house. Victoria always was one for the dramatics. She tends to have fits when the loneliness becomes too much to bear. Continuing with my book, once again I'm interrupted by a loud voice, a very aggressive and male voice. A slight chill goes down my spine. I'm familiar with this sound. Putting my book down, I get up and slowly make my way down the hallway, the voice more aggressive and angry the closer I get. Slowly opening the door, I see the beautiful woman crying, her husband gripping her wrists.

"Stupid Bitch."

"Jack please," the woman softly cries. "Edward-

He suddenly backhands her across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor.

"You think I care if that little piece of shit hears me you worthless cow!" He bellows before delivering a hard kick to her abdomen. She cries out, obviously trying to keep as quiet as possible so their son doesn't hear. "Let him hear, maybe it'll teach the little faggot how to be a man," he sneers.

"Jack-

"Quiet Woman!" He yells before dropping down and straddling her, pinning her roughly to the floor, his movements are staggered, and I realize he's drunk. "You've gotten mouthy, and I think it's time you remember all that mouth's good for," he slurs.

Suddenly she begins to struggle, pleading and crying only to receive a slap and more threats.

My stomach hurts, I know what is going to happen and disgust wells up inside of me. Unfortunately, there's not much I can do, visitors never are able to see me, nor touch me; so I do the only thing I can think of, I slam the door shut.

Apparently, it works, Jack quickly throws open the door and looks right at me, but it's obvious he can't see me. His eyes are wild, his chest heaving. He suddenly stalks back in the room, but quickly comes back out, hauling his wife by the arm before tossing her out to the floor.

"Sleep somewhere else tonight Winona," He hisses, as if she's the one who just did something awful. "I don't want to look at you," he finishes before slamming the door shut.

She quickly hits the door, pleading for him to let her in, but it's quite clear he's locked her out. Soon she collapses back to the floor, blood flowing from her nose and lip, her body shuddering with her quiet sobs.

And in that moment, her body begins to morph into another, and I'm seeing a completely different person, someone I haven't seen in 86 years, someone just as broken and lost as the woman crying on the floor, bloodied, battered and bruised.

"It cannot be helped," Victoria whispers besides me. "Watching this will accomplish nothing, only bring more pain," she continues. "Go back to bed Bella," she finishes as she grabs my hand.

We walk back down the hallway and towards my room. But I know that in another room, a little boy is probably hiding, hands over ears, trying and failing to convince himself that what's he just heard only transpired in his head. And with that though, a painful familiarity emerges. Little Edward will carry what has just happened with him for the rest of his life.

Some stains can never be removed.

Well, we all knew Jack was dick.