My Story With No Name- Chapter One

Okey Dokey. Here 'tis.
Please keep in mind that this is kinda a rough draft. Let me know whatcha think!



I peer out of the mini-van passenger window, the rain streaking down it obscuring my view.
Not like there’s much to see. Trees. Dreary, gloomy trees. Oh, and rain, of course. I’m losing my mental stability with all of this moving. Seven different houses, states, schools, and towns in the past ten years. Which in my opinion is six houses, states, schools, and towns too many. But here we are again, on our way to “Parker Falls” in northern California. Mom laughs aloud at something the guy on the radio says. I resist rolling my eyes, even though I know she wouldn’t notice if I did. I haven’t always had such a cruddy attitude. Just when we move. Again. I shift in the seat, and rub the side of my face on the headrest. It feels like we’ve been driving forever. We have though, now that I think about it, straight across the country. At least we’re almost there, not that I’m looking forward to getting there much. I wonder what – “Hungry?” Mom asks, interrupting my thoughts. I shake my head. “Not really. Why? Are you?” She just wants to make sure I’m in the best mood possible when we get to the new house. Surprisingly, mom nods. “Yeah, starving.” “We can stop then. I could go for something, I guess,” I lie, and I try to push the thought of eating when I’m not hungry to the side. Mom starts to prattle on about places to eat, once we’ve got into the supposedly ‘tiny town’ of Parker Falls. I’ve never been there, but Mom has, when she went to buy the house, and she’s been singing its praises ever since. I nod and say ‘okay’ at the right times, but I’m completely zoned out. I’m too busy thinking about our last house in Winston-Salam, North Carolina, and my wonderful friends I’d made there. Maybe we’ll stay longer this time… Mom says that we can stay until I graduate high-school, and choose where I want to go to college. So that’s at least two years, maybe three. It’s already the beginning of October, so the school year is set in stone. I sigh. Twenty minutes crawl by. I sigh again. Ten more minutes go by, and we slowly pass a big wooden sign on the side of the road. Welcome to Parker Falls, CA. Population 4,001. Est.1840. I’m unable to suppress the sigh that escapes my lips. 4,001 people?! That’s small. Really small Mom claps her hands together above the steering wheel. “Here we are! Finally!” She announces excitedly. “Finally,” I repeat and sit up, then pull my knees up to my chin. The tree’s on both sides of the two-lane road are clearing, and now houses are starting to line it straight ahead. After a few minutes, the houses stop and store-fronts and sidewalks now line the street, along with more people than I would’ve thought on a weekday afternoon in the rain. I perk-up a little, and start looking around. “Isn’t it charming, Ivy?” Mom asks. I nod, more enthusiastically this time. “I’ll drive by the high-school, so you know where it’s at, okay?” She asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer, and continues, “After we get settled into the house, we’ll look for a car for you.” I purse my lips together, and hope the walk to school isn’t too far from the house… I’m not a morning person. I start twisting a curly strand of hair between two fingers, and smile a little at my mother. She’s looking out the windows in rapture, her dark bob of hair swishing around, and her deep grey eyes bright with excitement. I have her grey eyes, though mine have a good deal of blue in them. I have brown (in my opinion horrible) curly hair, where Mom’s is nearly black, and dead straight. People don’t usually think we’re related. The surroundings change from stores and trees, to houses and trees again, and then a parking lot and a big brick building spread out on the right beside us. It’s full of cars, (the parking lot, not the building) and teenagers. The wide lawn in front of the school is also filled with more various youth, doing various things. Parker Falls High School. I chew on my lower lip. Mom picks up some written directions, and we follow the road for a few more minutes, passing more houses that are growing in size. We turn onto a side street, and then onto another. The street we’re on now in lined on both sides with gigantic oak trees, whose branches meet over the road, like we’re in an eerie tunnel, completely blocking out the sky and view of the gray rain clouds. The houses that I can see are basically mansions, and old looking, all set far back off the road, and all framed by more giant trees. There’s no way our house is on this street. I glance wide-eyed at mom, and she smiles as we stop in front of a cobble-stone driveway. I look out and up the long green lawn, which stretches out in front of a huge white house, surrounded by 4 or 5 massive oak trees. The house has at least 16 windows just on the front. I pop open my door and step out right into a puddle on the sidewalk. I can feel the wet seeping into my shoes. How on earth could we afford this place?! It must be a wreck inside… probably falling to pieces (Mom has tried her hand at renovating before… it wasn’t pretty)…it probably has toxic mold growing in the walls. I can just see my mother standing inside it with a realtor, both of them wearing masks, and mom saying: “Oh, the masks aren’t a big deal. We can live with the toxic mold… it’s such a great deal!” I smile a little at my (probably true) idea, as Mom rounds the hood of the van and steps to my side. She mistakes my slight smile as happiness. “Oh, I knew you’d love it!” She says and gives me a half-hug. My smile fades and I turn to face her. “What’s wrong with it?” I ask flatly. She looks at the house, then at me, then at the house. “Wrong? With what? The house? Nothing’s wrong with it! Why would you think that?” She asks, surprised, and all in a rush. She looks like she’s been accused of a crime she has no idea she committed. I raise my eyebrows and purse my lips suspiciously. She shrugs, “I promise. It’s been repainted and remodeled inside. And it was built in 1890! Isn’t that cool?” I have to admit, that is cool. I don’t ask any more questions as mom leads me up the long driveway and onto a sidewalk, whose concrete squares, are cracked and stained. They look like they’ve been here since 1890. There’s a slightly dilapidated little detached garage off a ways to the side, and an iron lamppost is on the corner of the driveway and sidewalk. We climb the four or five stone steps up onto the stoop where a 7 foot high, wood door stands. Mom searches for a key, and I gape slightly at the vast windows on both sides, which look like they probably reach from floor to ceiling. The front door sweeps open and we step inside. A strong waft of wet paint hits me as soon as I step over the threshold. Hmm. I guess she wasn’t lying. It is completely dark. “Does this wonderful house have electricity, by any chance?” I ask my mother, who I can’t see anymore. A quiet click fills the silence and the high-ceilinged hall is illuminated. Straight ahead on the right wall, a large staircase goes up to the second floor. There’s a doorway on the left wall, and then a hallway that continues past the staircase, leading further into the house. Mom is standing in the doorway on the left, “Gorgeous, huh?” She prompts. I nod. “It’s all the original woodwork. And the floors are original too. The kitchen is re-done, and everything has been painted and cleaned.” She explains, trying hard to convince me of its value. I smile at her, and laugh a little. “Okay, so which room do I get?” I ask, forcing myself to be excited about the whole situation. Mom grins widely, “Any one you’d like.” She announces, and points up the stairs. “But lemme take you on a tour first.” On the main floor alone, there’s a study, family room, living room, dining room, kitchen, breakfast room, two bathrooms and several big hallways. I start thinking of the negative things that come along with having a huge house, such as; cleaning, and well – cleaning. “Why don’t you go upstairs, while I call the moving guys to see where they are…?” Mom mumbles as she tries to find her cell phone. The steps creak rather loudly as I go up, and I turn to face a long hallway with about six or so doors lining it. A big window that faces the backyard lets in a small amount of dim light, which glints off the crystal doorknobs, and a view of grass and more trees. I look a bit closer, and the slight swaying of a wooden swing draws my eye to one of the bigger trees in a far corner of the yard. I imagine the spirits of little children running up and down the stairs, walking through walls. I shudder. Down the hall, and in the last door on the right, I find my favorite of all the rooms. It has three huge windows on the far left wall, which looks out over the front yard and street, and creamy yellow walls. My footsteps echo off the walls as I walk across the room to look out the big panes of glass. One and a half of them are blocked by the sturdy branches of a big tree. That would be ideal for a hasty escape. The movers are backing into the driveway in a huge yellow truck. One younger guy with blond hair and a huge plaid vest is out directing the van, and almost gets hit by the bumper. I laugh aloud, glad that he can’t hear me. But he turns around, his face all red, and glares up at me. I gasp, and move quickly behind the wall next to the window to continue laughing. I might have to stay up here until they leave; I don’t think I could look at him again without cracking-up. I wander out across the room, and inspect the smallish closet and the bathroom I have all to myself. I can hear my mom calling me from downstairs. From the top of the steps, I see that she’s directing the three men with boxes around, and that she’s getting completely caught up in the excitement of it all. “Did you need me?” I ask, when I get to the landing below. “Oh, yeah, did you want to get those boxes of yours out of the van?” Mom asks, and dangles the keys in front of me. “Sure.” It’s a long six trips, carrying the rather heavy boxes from the van all the way down at the street, all the way back up to the house, and up to my room. I close the trunk soundly on the last trip, and balance the box on my hip as I fish around for the keys in my pocket so I can lock the van. A loud purr of an engine startles me from down the street, and I poke my head around the back of the van just as a sleek, expensive looking car streaks by me, at least 55 mph. I stare at the blur of a pale face in the drivers tinted window as it passes, and it stares back. But now it’s at the end of the street, and turning at the intersection. I shudder, and blink my way back to awareness. The sound of the car’s loud humming engine is the only thing that fills my head as I walk back up to the house, and into my room. The movers have already brought in my bed, in pieces, and my mattress, and my dresser. I open all the boxes, which all contain clothes, and start to put them away in the closet, and then after pushing my dresser to where I want it, putting the rest away in it. The movers come in and out, bringing boxes and more furniture. I never look into the face of the blond guy, afraid of what I might see, and what it might cause me to do.


They leave a few hours later, and mom and I continue to sort boxes into their correct rooms until well after midnight. I trip my way upstairs to my room, and change into some ancient pajamas. The lamp on my dresser casts weird, unfamiliar shadows across the room, and the set of windows are completely uncovered, making me feel exposed to the outside and passers-by. I think blinds are now at the top of my list. I wander across the room to them, and run my hand over the old woodwork. It looks pretty sturdy… despite its age. I slowly sit down on the wide sill, testing it, and it’s holding me up just fine. The moon decides to show his face for me, and pops out from behind a thick cloud bank into the clear, starry part of the sky. A white, leaching light floods the front yard and street, and the huge ancient trees cast eerie shadows that stretch far along the grass and up onto the house. In the corner of my eye, I think something just flitted from behind one tree to another. I turn my head and stare at the spot for a few seconds, then slowly stand up again and back away from the windows. I’m pretty sure I saw something, but I don’t think I even want to know what it was… I click off the small lamp and feel my way up into bed. My eyes are only just now adjusting to the darkness, and then to the small amount of light the moon has decided to share with me through my windows. I borough down, and pull the sheets up to my chin. The first night is always the hardest, depending on how tired you are. And unfortunately I’m not too tired.