Huh? What’s between the drapes? I adjust them. Why are mom and dad outside? Whatever… It doesn’t matter. If I open the window, they’ll just yell at me to check my phone like they always do. They are standing outside and I close the curtain. I guess… I should go charge my phone and find out why they are outside. Ignoring them. I plug my Samsung galaxy 2 into the charger. A battery symbol appears with a lightning bolt inside.
I have wondered for years why my parents only wish to communicate through our phones. They avoid talking to me and act like other people in our town. Superstitious. Anytime I say anything, one of two actions occurs from it: bad juju and go to your bedroom.
I slump over the desk. A sigh escapes. This is so stupid! Some papers were crumply underneath my arms. Stupid parents. Stupid papers. Stupid superstitions. Okay…. Some aren’t bad or, I presume, fake. I don’t know. The papers I’m crumbling I was to turn in this morning to my teacher, but when I tried to leave my bedroom, the door was locked and I can’t leave. This is not the first time my parents have sealed me in a bedroom. Thank goodness I have a bathroom, a mini-fridge, and an electric skillet to cook the only shelf-stable food I have. Ramen. I have a water distiller in my bedroom because my parents sometimes bring bottled water to drink and other times do not.
Should I even try opening my bedroom door? Would I be able to identify what’s going on? Considering they’re outside; I bet mom overheated the oil again and has an oil fire that demands to be put out. I swear she needs to google how to stop an oil fire or the fire department commits to tell her.
Man, this chair is creaky. I need a new one. One that isn’t so old. Hmm… there’s something shiny near the window. I peek through the mesh curtains, grandpa. Grandpa. Why is he here? What is going on? He only shows up when something bad has happened.
Damn it. My parents and their stupid text messages. I can stand in the same room and they’ll send me messages. When I say something, they tell me to go back to my bedroom. My room is on the third floor of the residence of this Victorian dwelling. I’m in the upper viewing portion. Why is my grandpa here? I should discover why.
“Ah!” I trip over a couple of books I left near the doorway. Why do I do this? Crap, I bumped against my bedroom door, making a tiny thud. Ultimately, the door didn’t budge. Great: The closed exit. I can’t escape. Well, since I’m stuck, I might as well review the mail.
I pull the mailbox open. There’s an envelope inside. I pick the envelope out of the door and close it with some ash coming. A whiff of smoky wood develops inside the room. I overhear someone in the distance. “Hey man, did you hear something?” A man with a squeaky and crackling voice says.
Another one answers with a deep-sounding voice. “No,”
“Are you sure? I swear this residence is as creepy as their haunted home off 4th street.”
“Sigh: Of course, it is as creepy I swear the family conjured a witch and she’s haunting the place.” The deep-sounding guy was grunting in annoyance. “Lift the charred little thing.”
“I hope it isn’t a child.”
No! Not again! My parents expected me to get the dog out like I was here…. Like I was here…. I am here though. How am I still alive and why did the room not burn down? Little alone, why did I not smell smoke until I opened my mailbox? Now that I think about it, the mail is a slight warmer but not burning.
Ughh!!! What is happening? Damn it this home is as troubled as the previous one! Great, now everyone at school is going to call me ‘witch’ again because they’re afraid. Yet, they might forget I exist, so I don’t have to deal with being called a witch. What I don’t understand how other students don’t realize I’m afraid. Come on! Do they really believe I have no fears? I somehow lived through one terrified home. Now I’m living in a second one. But what’s weird? This household hasn’t perceived to be creepy. Not once have I had an unpleasant atmosphere, even now. Oddly, I feel protected.
A door slams closed. I peek outside the window. Oh, thank goodness my parent’s little dog is still alive! Firefighters are taking a bag with something inside. The ambulance car door opens. A firefighter nod at a guy inside the ambulance and then puts the bag onto the metal bed inside the vehicle. Wonder what the poor little thing that was in our building at the moment of the fire beside me. I don’t even want to consider about myself or what’s taking place in this room. Yeah, I must be sleeping. This is just a dream. When I wake up, everything will be back to normal. I’ll go along with the illusion.
Some kids are on the sidewalk a couple of houses down. They’re saying things. Barely, I make out ‘witch’ from one of them. The other one stares at the home with me inside, searching, yet doesn’t see me and doesn’t scream while running away. He said ‘sad witch’ I guess, but I’m not sure. I’m not the best at mouth reading.
The silence is broken when my father asks. “Was there anyone inside?”
I believe the squeaky sounding firefighter is next to dad. He watches him. “We found only one body inside the building.”
A police representative limps over. The poor guy has a messed up leg. Yet he continues to be a police officer. Interesting, he is the one who takes calls about our family home off 4th street.
“Sorry for your loss, Mr. Lunix.” He pauses, peering at the sack like he can see through it. “I’m sure you and your wife didn’t mean to allow your dog inside the dwelling when the fire broke out.”
Puppy? What? No! No! No! No! No! It can’t be. No, it can’t be… the puppy can’t be dead. I see the little fur ball near mom! Yes, it’s right next to her. The little dog barks, ultimately no one responds to it. The dog notices up at me before vanishing…