And today, Brett, we have ourselves a car accident on I-95 between a semi-truck carrying oil, and a small grey Honda Accord containing three small children and two adults.
Crazy stuff, Shannon. Ya know, I hear there have been more incidents around these here parts, more than ever before! Could be those new cars put there.
Is that right, Brett? Well, now, I dont know about you, but it could be this weather. These past few weeks have been so weird, even the scientists cant figure out what is causing the weather to go abnormally haywyre.
Yeah! I mean, we havent had a day of simple sunshine, and it hasn't rained in a long while, even though there are dark, swirling clouds out there and harsh winds ever now and then like never before!! Just the other day a nasty, nasty fog came up out of nowhere, right after crazy wind. Starting to make me wonder what's going on.
That is true, Shann- The radio cuts off. We have been listening to it for a while, since I didnt like the silence of this treacherous car ride. Dad hates listening to those inquisitive people though, but I enjoy every second of it. They're like the only light i have in my life anymore. I find them entertaining, too. They arent wrong about the weather, though. Everywhere we have gone so far to live, the weather has followed, bringing dark, cold, dry days upon us. Even when it is supposed to be warm! We never know when those swirling clouds in the sky are going to do something odd, and cause a whole community to go into a frenzied fit.
There are times, I admit, that I wonder what it would be like if it was not just him and I. Would it be serene? No, it couldn't be. I remember how it was with my mother, back when I was really young. It was never calm, always some sort of tension in the room, but it wasn't quite as bad as it is now, I suppose. It isnt like he tries to start over, though. He is always way to invested in his work, which he never explained to me what he does, and shuts it down immediately when I ask. Imagine that, a sixteen year old, who doesnt even know what her own father does for a living!
Of course, I must keep in mind that there would be no "giving someone a chance" since we move constantly. Just the other month I was in northern Montana, going to school, hoping I'd be able to call it home for once. I was poorly mistaken, and now we are in Key Gate, Texas. On the other side of the flipping country! On our move to Texas, so that I could keep up with my studies, we would rent homes and apartments. I found it pointless, but he said he needed to. I'll never understand this man, this man I am forced to call father. After all, he does give me food and a place to sleep at night. I suppose I cant complain too much.
I honestly wish we wouldnt move to Texas, though, especially this place that, as I was growing up before my mother left, it was to be "forbidden" and I was never to be near it. Just a bunch of superstition I say. But as we get closer, and closer to the town every corner we turn, I begin to feel a feeling build in the put of my stomach. Then, as we enter the town, I feel a strange tingle, that almost hurts with the amount of force and sharpness of it, crawl up my spine. I shiver.
We pass many houses that all look similar. They're all small and quaint; they have short, square yards, with small gardens across the front of the house, that vary in color and the number of gnomes. The color of the shingles and siding are the only things that are different from the structure of the houses.
After another hour or so of driving around, we are finally here. A large house, about three stories high, and with many, many windows. However, all the windows are barred off with iron bars that have sharp arrows on the ends. Occasionally, there are windows with small balconies that have the same bars around the platforms. The place looks creepy, to say the least; it sticks out like a sore thumb in these neighborhoods, and the houses surround it seem vacant, from the condition they are in. "Hey, dad?
"Yes, Caetlyn?" His word are laced with frustration, exhaustion, and sarcasm.
"Why'd you have to pick this house?"
"Is there a problem?"
"N-no. I'm just curious, I guess.." My voice trails off towards the end, to a near whisper, as I put my head down and fiddle with my shirt, knowing he wont see the fear I feel, as he is still staring at the road, and the few pedestrians on the other side of the street.
"Well, then, does it matter why I chose it?"
"I ... I dont know.." I say looking up, and notice his expression is hard as he looks at me through the rear view mirror, on the windshield. I immediately make my face go devoid of emotion, not wanting to give him that satisfaction. I see the corners of his lips turn up a little bit, on his clean-shaven face. His dark eyes that seem to have a red tinted to them, and look like ash when he is angry, along with his strong body build, height, and dar, clean cut hair causes a shiver to run through my spine just looking at him. I immediately am afraid, knowing I crossed a line. I avert my eyes, afraid to continue to look at him, as I wait for the impact.
"Well, it doesnt matter. Do you have any other questions?" His words come out of his mouth like a hiss, with his dominant, death-defying glare , and demonically deep voice with an accent I have never heard. He didnt always have the accent. It used to be a regular southern accent. Boy, have many things changed since mom left. I'm surprised I didnt get smacked, but he probably has something else, like extra work for me to do as punishment for questioning him.
"No." I say in a small, yet clear voice. I just want one normal conversation. Just one damn conversation that can be easy. But nothing in this life is easy, I suppose. He's just so distant. I mean, he has always been distant, but ever since the incident, it has gotten way worse and only continues to escalate.
"Get out and get your stuff. Get unpacking. You have work to do." I had a feeling that was what he was going to make me do, instead of hitting me for the public eye to see, so I mentally prepare myself for the workload ahead.
As I get out of the car, I get a better view of the house. From the outside, it is apparent that it could use a paint job and maybe has a few loose screws. I could almost say it looks Victorian. Almost. Honestly, from the looks of it, I'm surprised the thing still stands, since everything looks to date much further back than any recent home. A weird vibe runs off of it onto me, and normally that wouldn't happen. So why is this house so different?