Jev

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Sage

It's barely October here in small-town Granby but already, it's showing. Leaves, rust-colored and deft, fall in herald of the coming season, and the subtle smell of decay and cinnamon fill the air. Believe it or not, this isn't something I'm used to —experiencing the change of seasons—, and as my aunt Helen's pistachio-green Studebaker trundles its way up the driveway of our newly bought home, I can't help the unfamiliar sense of anxiety that spurs from it.

Back home in Dakota our summers were hot, humid, and year-round. Coats never went on sale at Burlington, central air was essential, and the heady aromas of autumn were scents that could only be found in a department store candle. For those reasons alone, Helen had the heat on full blast; the air vents pumping stale, hot air out by the second.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat and use my index finger to draw the neckline of my sweatshirt down away from my throat. "Is this it, Helen?"

On cue, the GPS chirps the arrival of our destination, and she leans forward and shuts it off with a single tap of her nude-polished nail. I watch as she turns to glance over at me; brown eyes wide and inquisitive behind thick, square-rimmed glasses. "It's an old house," she starts.

Her head tips in a self-assured nod. "But it's ours, and it has potential."

I force myself not to say anything and allow her a simple, distracted nod. It didn't matter how many times she reiterated it, I had heard this country song before and I was never gonna let myself believe her.

"Just keep an open mind, alright? I promise you, this is the new start we've been searching for."

"Of course."

Satisfied, her eyes move towards the rearview mirror, "What about you, Mils? You ready, girl?"

Behind us, my Labrador retriever Millie rests against the windowsill. Blonde ears perk at the sound of her name, but she doesn't turn; penny-colored eyes both curious and eager as she familiarizes herself with the vicinity around us. I'm sure there's not a doubt in Helen's mind that our dog isn't ready; she never did care too much for the sultry temperatures back home, let alone our tiny two-bedroom apartment. If anything, the proposition of limitless open running space had sealed the deal for her.

"Oh, she's ready," Helen comments, playfully. She expertly maneuvers the car to a full stop and cuts the engine with a flourish. Her head rolls to the side and her shoulders dramatically hunch forward against the wheel; umber curls creating a veil around her. The action is theatrical but charming, and it easily reminds me of my late mother, her sister.

I turn away, unclicking my seatbelt. "I can't feel my legs."

"That makes two of us," she agrees.

I nudge my shoulder hard against the jammed door and step out of the car. Leaves crunch noisily underneath the weight of my Keds and I pull my hood from my head as I turn my eyes up at the Victorian-style residence that my aunt had mysteriously inherited two months ago.

There it sat. Ghastly, brooding, and practically looming menacingly over us. I furrow my brows, confused. So, this was it? This was our new start?

With its steep mansard roofs, ornate pillars, and gable-fronts, it looked like something straight out of a horror special. In fact, I was almost convinced that the old Mystery, Inc. gang would come rushing up at any minute in search of the Headless Spector; we were actually moving into a real-life Scooby-Doo manor.

Great.

Behind me, the car door slams shut and Helen rushes to my side with an eager Mils at her heels. I watch as she thumbs her glasses her up nose and tilts her head back, getting the full scope. "Wow," she exclaims. "It's beautiful."

I let out a dry laugh and she turns to me, deflated. "Oh, come on, Sage. Open mind, remember?"

My eyes roll skywards. It was one thing to have an open mind, but being blatantly naive was another. Reaching up, I finger-comb my recently trimmed brown hair behind my ear, and turn to her with an understated sigh, "It looks haunted."

"I prepare the term, vintage," she nods. "But, that's the beauty of it. Plus, it'll sure be better than having a room the size of a closet, don't you think?"

I think of our home back in Dakota, and nod. Okay, she's right. Even with its aged, moss-covered shutters, overgrown shrubs, and decrepit looking wood porch, the house was better. But it didn't help the fact that it was creepy as hell.

"I call dibs on the master bedroom."

"That's the spirit! Now, come on. It's freezing." Then, she wraps an arm around me, slim fingers cupping my shoulder, and hustles us quickly into the house.

»»————- ————-««

AN
HI GUYS

Here's a really small part of the new story that I've been working on! I really think it's going to be a good read. Leave a comment (or vote) if you'd be interested in reading more!

50 reads/votes and I'll update!
(Also, I'm working on an actual description, so it'll be up soon!) thankss