In the kitchen there was a woman in a flowery house dress with grey hair in a loose bun, pulling green beans one by one from a pile in front of her, snapping the stems off the ends and placing them on a wood cutting board. She hummed along to the music coming from a portable antique radio. It sounded like a church song. I didn't recognize her. The humming stopped abruptly and she turned around.
Her tanned, lined face fell in shock. "Heavens!" she exclaimed, throwing her hand to her chest and slapping a handful of peas on the counter. The shock quickly turned to concern as she took in the sight of me standing there in my bathing suit. "Do you need help, dear?"
My mouth dropped open, but I was too stunned to ask her who she was and what she was doing in my house. Then her expression darkened as she looked past me and gripped the edge of the countertop.
"What are you doing here?! Get out, boy!" she commanded, pointing toward the door.
Pete was standing behind me, not looking the least bit surprised. He raised his hands in surrender.
"Yes, ma'am." Then he said to me, "It was nice to meet you...and your grandma."
"She's not my-"
I heard a metallic slicing sound. She was holding a knife in one hand and a sharpening steel in the other, watching Pete with narrowed eyes. He quickly shuffled toward the door without turning his back on the knife-wielding, church song humming woman occupying my house. I followed him.
"That's not my grandma!" I gasped when we reached the car. "I have no idea who that intense old lady is. That's my house, though." I looked up to my bedroom window and shivered. "But it didn't seem like my house."
"Are you flat out nuts? Do you live there or not?"
Hearing the panic rise in his voice set mine off.
"Shit. Shit. Shit. What is going on?" I muttered to myself as I searched for a sign of normalcy. I noticed the shutters on my house were painted dark green when they should have been black. Across the field, the neighbor's entire house was painted a different color and their backyard swing set was gone, along with all the other crap that was usually scattered across the lawn: a trampoline, battery operated kid-sized SUVs, sports equipment. All the trees were the wrong size. Everything was a little bit off, in the way a dream alerts you to the fact that you're dreaming. I decided that had to be the explanation after all and a wave of relief swept over me. It was only a very vivid dream.
"Get back in," Pete said, "let's get outta here."
"Where to now?" I asked casually as I pulled the towel over my lap and he turned back onto the road.
"You tell me," he grumbled.
"Let's go to Paris." If I was dreaming, I figured we might as well get out of town.
"That sounds nice," he said in a patronizing tone. "Let's find your house first so you can pack some clothes."
"I'll buy some when we get there."
He laughed. "With what money? You don't have a dime on you."
"I don't need money," I exclaimed, "I'm dreaming!"
"Okay," he exhaled a rush of air, "maybe you need to see a doctor."
"Why? I'm fine!" I exclaimed, maybe a little too enthusiastically, holding my arms up to demonstrate how fine I was feeling.
He shot me a seriously doubtful look.
"You could take me to my mom's house," I suggested.
"So, your mom and dad are..." Pete hesitated.
YOU ARE READING
The Palmer Pool
Paranormal[Wattys 2022 Winner!] Vanessa Brooks, an anxious and cynical seventeen year-old, discovers she can travel to the summer of 1953 through the run-down community pool in her rural Michigan town and risks her future as she falls for a boy who lives in t...
