The Fallen Society

The heat of summer near the sea wasn’t something I’d ever experienced, and the smell of it-fish and saltwater-curled my toes. I’d spent my childhood and most of my teen years in an industrial town run by a logging company, and I was used to trees and ashpine air. At the time, I hated it, wished for anything different to contrast the familiar days that seemed to meld together. Now... I missed it dearly.

Did I want to live in Seaside? No.

Did I have a choice? Again, no.

Having no choice had become my normal.

So I breathed in deep and held it until my cheeks turned red and my throat spasmed. Maybe, just maybe, I could hold it until I turned eighteen in a few years and got out of here for good. I let it out in a big whoosh.

“Wierdo,” Leo said.

I spun and glared at him. He sat behind me, sprawled out, like he was a cat. The car had been made before leather seats were the norm, and fabric patterned with triangles and squares covered the seat. It was drab, but it still worked, so my father would keep driving it until it fell apart. I might be the one to do it. I was sick of the clicky hum of the old engine.

“Shut up.”

He stuck his tongue out.

“It stinks,” I groaned, throwing myself back into my seat with a sigh.

“It’s the water,” Dad said. “It’s a mix of bacteria and seaweed.”

“Thanks for the science class,” Leo drawled with a laugh.

Dad smiled and focused on the road ahead-a narrow stretch of wooden slatted fencing, the only thing between us and the crystal blue sea. His glasses, perched on his nose, were slipping down slightly.

He fixed them with a finger. “After a while, you should get used to the smell; just give it time.”

“I don’t want to give it time,” I murmured.

“I know.”

Guilt ate at my gut as I watched his hands tighten on the steering wheel. Dad didn’t want to move us across the country. He had no choice when his work told him they were letting him go. It was a move or be homeless, and after Mom died and left us with her medical bills, my father had been struggling. He’d claim he wasn’t, but I knew. I wasn’t blind.

I patted his arm. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask, Elara.”

Leo sat forward and piped in, “Wow! It’s busy.”

It was. Shockingly so. Ahead of us, the boardwalk stretched, white planks and roped fencing. Shops were open to the sea air, and people walked everywhere. Swimsuits and shorts, belly tops, wet skin; they laughed, talked, and smiled. The atmosphere drew me in, and suddenly, I began to think that this might not be as bad as I thought. I wasn’t a big swimmer, but I loved the lively atmosphere.

“I know where I’m going to be tonight,” I said.

Leo agreed with a soft hum.

Dad inched the car along the narrow road. People walked ahead without looking back. It was slow going, but we made it through after what felt like hours of stopping, going, stopping.

Finally driving away from the boardwalk, past houses with colours I’d never seen before-bright reds, burnt oranges, and sea blues, Dad ran a hand through his blonde hair and let out a lengthy sigh. I shared the colour, just like his brown eyes, but not the texture; mine was curly and unruly, while his and Leo’s were straight. It was totally unfair. The only reason I didn’t hate my hair was that my mother had shared the chaos; many brushes had been felled trying to tame her locks. I’d inherited the headache from her.

“I know this isn’t going to be what you probably pictured,” Dad said. “But it’s home. Try to see the best in our situation. Okay?”

“What’s that mean?” Leo asked, and I agreed, furrowing my brows. That sounded totally grim. And most worrying, Dad looked grimmer, lips a flat line, like he’d taken the last cookie from the jar and the guilt was eating at him until he couldn’t hold it in.

“You’ll see,” was all Dad said.

We drove for another ten to twenty minutes, past coloured houses, until they became familiar brick and mortar, and trees passed us in a blur. Then, Dad pulled the car up a long driveway. This was more familiar: thick trees and the smell of nature coming in the car through the open windows. My hair slapped my face as I stuck my head outside, trying to see the house we were pulling up to better.

“Oh. Hell no!” Leo exclaimed.

I couldn’t blame him for reacting like that. Dad had good reason for warning us. The house was big. Two floors. That was all it had going for it. Ivy grew up with the old brick and the wooden trimming, once beautifully carved, now weathered and rugged. It looked like the last person who lived in it had been a witch forty years ago.

“It’s livable,” Dad said.

“Are you sure?” I squeaked.

“Yes,” he assured. “I wouldn’t have driven us up here if it wasn’t set up for us. I paid someone a lot of money to make sure it was.”

He didn’t sound fully certain. We were putting a lot of trust into a stranger. I didn’t feel convinced. Maybe it was better inside? I hoped so.

I got out. Leo followed me. Dad stepped out soon after. Then we stood, looking over our new home for a few heavy moments.

“This sucks,” Leo murmured, walking to the back of the car to grab our bags.

I knocked his shoulder with mine. “Stop it,” I whispered harshly.

Leo glanced at Dad as he opened the trunk of the car with a sigh. Dad stood with his hand in his hair, pretending to be fine, just like always. After a few seconds of watching him, Leo’s expression softened, and he nodded at me. It was our promise to hold off on our usual banter. A year older than me, he always had a handle on his emotions better, understood quicker. I was jealous that he could control himself like that. It took me days to calm down if I was worked up. I’d been careful to keep myself from freaking out while Dad was dealing with the move; I didn’t want to risk making it worse, even if I wanted to jump out of my skin.

“Bags inside. Then I’ll get some food going.” Dad smiled at us, walking over. He grabbed a handful of bags and slung them over his shoulder. We didn’t have much, just a few boxes and bags of clothing and other personal belongings.

We were starting completely over.

“Burgers?” Leo said with fake cheer.

“Sure,” Dad returned, clapping him on the shoulder. They walked together towards the house.

I stared at the rundown house for a few moments while alone. It was pretty, in an eye-of-the-beholder way. I’d never lived in or visited a cottage before, and this was a far cry from the townhome I’d grown up in. I’d give it a chance. And hell, if it turned out to be crap, I’d just run away.

I’d done it before.

“Home sweet home,” I muttered and grabbed the handle of my backpack, lifting it.

“It’s not so bad.”

I took in the house that Leo’s eyes were going wide at. It wasn’t ‘so bad’. He was right. Rarely. But right now, yeah, I had to agree with the blockhead.

The staircase leading to the second floor greeted us when we stepped inside, with a round grey rug at the bottom to soften footsteps. Standing in the foyer, I noticed how small it felt, made smaller by the dark wood flooring and matching walls. It wasn’t suffocating, just tight. Gilded gold-and-silver paintings covered the walls, old, boring oil parchments-some landscapes, others portraits-shelving with plants and baubles. I peered around the open doorway to my right. I spied burnt orange wallpaper and a brown ceiling. A purple velvet couch with a matching loveseat and a red, similarly velvet armchair in front of a grand fireplace took up most of the dark floor space. The roundish coffee table between them was low and made of oak. There was a cello in the corner with a layer of dust beneath the rows of square windows. If the blinds were open, they’d be showing a nice view of the front yard.

Dad placed the bags in a pile near the front door. It wasn’t red paint that made the wood crimson; if it were, it would be chipping, or it was newly restored. He sighed and looked around.

“We’ll need to dust,” he said, placing a hand on my upper back. “That’s what Ella told me, but other than that, we’re good to settle in.”

“Not me!” Leo and I said in unison.

We glared at each other. Leo shoved me. I shoved him back and then kicked his shin before he could sidestep.

“Ow!” He tried to grab me. I slipped away and hid behind Dad, laughing.

“You two are teenagers, not children,” Dad scolded, giving us both long, painful looks. “You’re both going to be dusting.” He pointed at himself. “I’m going to be cooking. Deal?”

“Fine,” Leo pouted.

“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes.

We weren’t able to find any dusters in the closet under the staircase. So, we used the microfiber cloths we found. After dusting the coffee table, I rubbed the bright orange fabric over the cello with careful strokes. I wasn’t sure if it was expensive. Dad might need to sell it to make some bills.

“Look at that,” Leo said.

I glanced up. He was pointing at a star woven out of sticks hanging from the large bookcase in the corner. It was one of many. I eyed them all around, crudely made and haphazardly hung.

“What are those?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “They’re creepy.”

I didn’t agree. Something about them felt peaceful. I couldn’t place it. Maybe the long drive had knocked some of my brain cells free, and now I was nuts. Because darn, they were creepy, but I just couldn’t be bothered by them. I actually had to stop myself from getting up and touching one.

“Yeah,” I lied, focusing on dusting. “They look like some witch’s art project.”

“They better not be in my room.”

We finished just as the smell of meat cooking began to waft through the old house. Leo had done a half-assed job, but I didn’t fault him for it; we were both tired. I followed him to the kitchen. Past more dark woods and paintings that felt like they were following my every step, giving me gooseflesh, I found it tucked away in the back corner of the house.

Stone. I’d never seen a kitchen made of it before, so I was used to modern cabinetry. Luckily, I spied some stainless steel: the fridge near a door leading to the backyard, the oven beside it, and a basin sink under a tiny half-moon window. The glass of the window was painted in dazzling colours, and it cast across the ivory-tiled floor and danced over the stone island in the middle of the room, where Dad stood over three plates, making burgers, the meat cooked, patties on open buns.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Yes,” Leo groaned.

“I’m starving,” I agreed.

“First meal in our new home.” Dad smiled, squirting ketchup on what I assumed was his burger. “Let’s sit down and enjoy it.”

We did, at a table in the next room over. The dining room was full of light, the heavy blinds left open to let it soak into the dark woods and old tapestries. The table could fit ten, and I felt a bit silly sitting at it with just the three of us. Leo was across from me, and Dad sat at the head of the table. I bit into my burger and moaned.

“This is soooo good.”

“Ew,” Leo gagged. “Don’t make that noise.”

“Creep.” I tossed him a glare.

“So,” Dad interjected smoothly. “How do you like the place? Not what you thought, I know, but it was your mother’s childhood home. She loved it.”

My mom had talked about Seaside throughout my life. To her, it was beautiful and magical, but she never wanted to return. She wouldn’t tell us why, just that it held bad memories for her. She had owned the deed to her childhood home since my grandparents died. The story wasn’t a long one, tragic. Mom got sick, fought it for months, lost, and died, and Dad couldn’t keep up with the bills afterwards. Seaside was our new start. Our only option.

“It’ll take a while,” I said, setting my burger down, no longer hungry. “But we will make this home.”

“Yeah,” Leo agreed, nodding enthusiastically. He went back to gnawing on his burger like he hadn’t eaten on the ride here twice. Seriously, football players could eat a whole cow if they really wanted to. It was disturbing how much protein he needed to sustain himself.

“Yes. I hope so.” Dad smiled. “Excited for school?”

Leo perked up. “Yeah,” he mumbled around his food.

“No?” I winged an eyebrow.

“I had a little hope you might change your mind,” Dad returned with a soft laugh.

“It’s school, Dad,” I argued. “I won’t ever like it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not my thing.”

“This is a new start. New home. New school. New friends. You might like it.”

“Maybe.”

I wasn’t convinced.

School had been a fate worse than death since I’d caught the eye of a few bullies in my hometown. I was under no illusions that Seaside would be different.

If only I knew how wrong I was.