It's In the Dark

Chapter 9: What About Me: Victoria

Sunday. The weekend was passing in a hurry. After an awfully eventful Friday night, I wished that the weekend would last a little bit longer. Yes, I was grounded and wasn't able to leave the comfort of my front porch, but it's fine, because that's where my comfort ended. I didn't want to be anywhere else. The world outside my front yard seemed dark and scary. All of my friends have been tormented by some evil creature. I had caught a glimpse of the madness when we were trapped in the cemetery, but it all seemed so impersonal. My friends had all been attacked directly, at least aside from Josh and myself. It almost made it seem like it wasn't real. Like it doesn't really affect me when I'm alone. Of course, I'm not naive enough to think that I alone am immune to this insanity, but it makes it bearable to sleep and live if I imagine that I am, and I was willing to lie to myself until it felt true.

I had spent half of yesterday doing yard work. Working in my mom's garden, using my dad's lawn mower to cut the backyard, and raking leaves from near the driveway. "If you are tough enough to break into a cemetery, housework is the least of your worries," is what my parents said, so this was an added bonus to my house arrest. I didn't care, at the moment, it really did seem like the least of my worries. I'm not a fan of physical labor, and of course my parents know that, so this entire weekend was made to be my own personal hell. Today I would have to help with breakfast, clean the gutters, and help my dad paint the shed. "Great..." I muttered to myself as I eased out of bed. I hadn't had any contact with my friends since that terrifying ordeal the other night, and I'm not talking about being arrested. I wonder how they were... if they were safe. "Vicky!" Just then a loud voice with a harsh tone had torn me away from my thoughts. "Coming!" I yelled back. I wandered downstairs to find my mom in the kitchen. It was 7:30 am, much too early for anyone to be up on a Sunday morning. "Try not to yell so loudly, your father is still resting," my mom said in a hushed tone. "See...my point exactly" I thought to myself as I let out an exaggerated yawn. There was only my mom, dad, and I, though I did have an older sister who had recently gone off to college. I looked over to the counter with all of the prepped breakfast items and silently wished I could trade places with her. I then looked out of the kitchen window towards the shed and wondered whether our detective game the other night had actually been worth it. I felt like all we really found out was what the inside of a holding cell looks like. I hadn't planned on finding that out for at least another 2 years. "Oh goodie" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "we're having pancakes." I lifted the flour bag from the counter as I surveyed the other ingredients. It's a well-known fact in my house that I hate cooking. It's an even more well known fact, that after the "house almost burning down" incident last year, that I hate cooking pancakes the most. "From scratch no less," I muttered, shooting a glance in my mom's direction. A sly grin appeared on her lips. "I thought it would be fun," she said, "a real bonding experience." I let out a groan. This was like my own interpersonal hell, a punishment tailored specifically for me. My parents seemed even more evil than whatever I saw in that cemetery.

My day went on quite eventfully. I cooked, and with almost no time in between, I went outside to clean the gutters. Do you know how much gunk accumulates in there? So much for having my nails done. As much as I tried not to use my hands, luck was just not on my side. Yes, I wore gloves, but that's beside the point. After that, we moved directly on to painting the shed. "I'm never getting in trouble again" I thought to myself. The sun was setting just beyond the horizon when my dad finally declared that the shed looked good enough to stop. I'm not sure how many coats of paint you need to put on something for it to be considered enough, but apparently one isn't the right number, and neither is two. I went into the house and cast myself onto my bed. I was beat, I almost closed my eyes for the night, right then and there, but I thought it'd be a good idea to clean up first. Well at least I knew I would sleep well tonight. I rushed to the bathroom to start my shower. It seemed that the earth had the same idea, because while I was in there, it began to pour outside. It sounded as if someone had left a faucet on. I had halfway expected to see a river outside my bedroom window with how much water seemed to be pouring from the sky. I looked out the window to see a sheet of rain cascading over the roof adjacent to my safe space. The sky was a dark gray, and then as if on cue, lightning flashed and danced across the sky. It seemed so close, I felt like it struck right in our backyard. It surprised me so much that I dropped my curtain, and I drew back away from the window. It was followed by a loud garish roar of thunder. I then thought of the gutters that I was forced to help clean earlier, all the leaves and gunk that I waded through.. "You better not mess up my gutters," I yelled as I swung open my bedroom curtain. As if the foul weather would respond, or as if it could understand my frustration. Suddenly, another quick lightning bolt appeared eerily close to my window, as if it did. I dashed to my bed and buried my face into the pillow. "Argh! Why would you even make me paint the shed if you knew it'd be for nothing!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, muffled by the fluff in my pillow. "Evil!"