[PTX] Cursed - Supernaturals Series Book I

Chapter One

13 YEARS LATER

I bolt up, screaming, fighting the tangled sheets pinning me in bed. The screaming continues until I blink and look around my room. I abruptly snap my mouth shut. A dream. That was a dream.

What a weird dream, though. I can’t remember ever living in a house with a basement, just penthouse apartments and fancy condos.

Heart still beating in overdrive, I untangle myself from my sheets and crawl out of bed. And then immediately regret it, because it’s very cold in my room and these tiny little sleep shorts don’t really do much in terms of coverage.

Arms wrapped around my thin, oversized sleep shirt, I stumble through my room to the door leading to my bathroom. It’s so cold!

I get the shower running immediately, hopping from foot to foot so my feet don’t freeze on the chilled bathroom tiles. It only takes a minute for the water to heat up, and then I’m stripping off my clothes and leaping under the spray of hot water.

All the leftover tension from my nightmare fades away. I’ve never had a nightmare like that before. I remember having an overactive imagination and a whole collection of imaginary friends, but that dream felt so . . . real. Despite the hot water I shiver. What a creepy dream.

I tilt my head back to wet my hair, humming a Disney tune. During the course of my shower the humming becomes full-on belting, a bottle of conditioner as my makeshift microphone -- and then my foot slips on the wet floor of my shower. For a second I fall backwards, flailing out for something to grab. Luckily this shower-bath-combo came with a handlebar.

After that near-death experience, it’s probably time to get out of the shower. I savor the warmth for a few more seconds before jumping out of the shower and making a desperate grab for my big, fluffy white bathrobe. Success! I wrap myself up in it, burrowing into the warm fluffiness. Paula must have slipped this inside while I was showering (I throw up a quick prayer that it was before I almost cracked my skull) because the fabric is warm and fresh from the dryer. Just like Mom always used to do.

After running a wide-toothed comb through my hair to get out the worst of the tangles, I bundle it up in a big fluffy towel. Time for breakfast!

Tiny feet dwarfed in massive slipper boots, I make my way down the hall from my bedroom to the kitchen. Breakfast is a short affair, eggo waffles sprinkled with chocolate chips, and then I’m heading back up to my room to continue getting ready.

I brush my teeth, then remove the towel on my head and comb my hair again. It’s gotten really long, halfway down my torso, and I just recently dyed it so my dark roots are barely peeking up through the blonde. As I’m drying it, letting it fall in natural waves over my shoulders, I frown at the same old blonde. I’ve had it blonde for a long time now, but going back to dark hair is so boring. Yvette suggested I add some blue tips, which actually seems like a good idea. She even got me a box of hair dye, in a pretty oceanic blue-green colour that would look really good with my skintone.

“You almost done in there, Kirstie?” I jolt at the muffled sound of Paula’s voice. “You need to leave in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m almost done,” I call back to her. She grunts noncommittally, then I hear the sound of her footsteps walking away. I stare at my hair again. Paula would throw a fit if I gave myself blue tips. She’s not even happy about the blonde.

With a grin at myself in the mirror, I grab the box of dye from under the sink.

I put on makeup, then get dressed in a floral sweater and tights. Box of dye securely at the bottom of my backpack, I rocket out of my room with a minute to spare.

“I’m leaving,” I shout as I pull on my heels, not giving Paula the opportunity to respond before I sprint out the door.

No matter how many different apartments we live in, my pre-school routine is always the same. Back when I was little, Mom would take my hand at the top of the stairs and smile down at me with a “ready, mi corazón?” Then I’d nod and we’d sprint down the stairs together. Every day we did this, all the way from kindergarten to grade 6. After that, well, I had to start doing it on my own.

Hand securely on the rail, I barrel down the stairs as fast as I can, taking the steps two at a time -- three if I'm feeling lucky. Our penthouse apartment is on the tenth floor, which would seem like a lot of flights of stairs if I hadn't been doing this since I was a kid.

Like always, there's a sleek black car parked right outside the door. It's chilly for October, even in a place like Buffalo. I miss the warmth of Texas.

"Good morning," I say as I slide into the backseat of the car. Thomas, my driver, just grunts. This is how most of our conversations go.

Instead of bothering him further I pull out my phone and call my Aunt Isabella. After a few rings she picks up, greeting me with a "Kirstie? Is something wrong?"

That's Aunt Isabella for you; always way too worried. I giggle into the phone. "Nothing's wrong, Aunt Isabella. I just had a weird dream and I wanted to ask you a question."

"Dream?"

I explain it to her, even the gory details. Aunt Isabella is probably the person I'm closest to in my family. She's always ready to listen, and her advice is always the best.

"Really creepy, right?" Aunt Isabella makes a murmur of assent. "I don't ever remember living in a house with a basement."

"You wouldn't," Aunt Isabella says, her voice sounding far-off and tinny. "You were very young."

"Okay. Thanks for listening, Aunt Isabella."

"Wait, Kirstie." I put the phone back to my ear, listening. "Let me come pick you up at noon today. We can go out for lunch."

I smile. "That sounds great, Aunt Isabella, I'll see you later."

She says her goodbye and I hang up, bouncing a bit in my seat. Aunt Isabella don’t always get to see each other, because her nursing shifts are so all over the place, but we try to squeeze in at least one lunch each week. Last week was too busy for us to get together, unfortunately. I smile down at the phone clutched in my lap, suddenly giddy. Lunch cannot come soon enough. 

*****

well, here goes nothing. i've got a bunch of these written in advance and i'll try and upload them on a semi-regular schedule, as long as i can get the later chapters written on a good schedule.

also, this story (at first) contains a whole lot of OCs, some of which are quite important to the plot. don't worry, ptx fivesome goodness will come. just.......not for a while. (what can i say i like slow buildup)