The Fear

Chapter 2: A House for the Artistically Challenged

 Olisha parked in the driveway of an old Victorian house, one of the really old bed and breakfast-types. The sage green paint was fading and peeling, the white trim new in contrast. A simple stone birdbath stuck out of the neatly trimmed green lawn, a bright purple shed just visible from the backyard. Every room seemed to be occupied by someone or something, the indication be a rustle of curtains or a shadow passing by the window. It was old, strange, and in need of modernization; I loved it. Trouble and Olisha opened their doors and left the car to go unlock the door while Rayne turned to me.

"You'll love it here; I know you will," she said.

"I bet I will," I replied chipperly. I would, but I'd miss it more; miss them more. Just like Izzy. I followed Rayne to the stained glass front door, now open, and stepped into the house.

The inside was pretty different; more in-time than the exterior. Satiny couches and glasstop tables were everywhere, handmade vases and sculptures cluttering up the open spaces, finely made colorful tapestries and twisted Gothic paintings of Olisha's design lining the walls. It was like a ragtag home for the artistically challenged.

"Your boxes already arrived," said Trouble. "They're on the third floor, fourth door on the left. You can just head up." I nodded and hopped up the staircase in front of me, taking a leap over three at a time. I found the door and stepped inside.

A full bed was pushed against the far wall, lilac sheets prepped. The matching black nightstand sat next to it with a nice dresser on the right and a bookshelf parallel to it. A big closet was built next to me. The ten boxes and three suitcases I owned were piled in the middle, waiting for the next chance of being used. They'd only be replaced anyways; what was the point? Instead of brooding over this, I immersed myself in unpacking.

The first box I opened was filled with my velvet clothing. That was my obsession. I had to buy anything velvet, dark purple, or that was adorned with spiders, blood, dragons, and skulls. It seemed to call to me, and made me more comfortable in my own skin. I hung up the velvet in its own section slowly, dark-colored garment by dark-colored garment. I hung the matching green drapes and organized my jewelry and such. Despite my constant movement, I acquired quite a lot of personal effects over the years. There was, unfortunately, a horrible memory connected to each. At least I'd gotten rid of the pink velvet dress; that was the dress I wore while feeding from Izzy. Just thinking of it made my throat close. I was almost done shelving my books when someone knocked three times on my closed door.

"Knock knock. Can I come in?" asked Rayne.

"Yeah," I called without turning. I heard the door creak open and Rayne's oversized boots clobbered over to me. They sounded like Izzy's boots; dammit. My breathing transitioned to my mouth to keep it soft and less noticeable.

"Tonight we're having a bonfire. D'you wanna join? Everyone wants to introduce themselves." I looked back to see her watching me uncertainly. She looked worried about me; wasn't everyone, I thought bitterly.

"Sure. My other homes usually don't do that," I remarked, pushing hair from my face. The memory cleared from my eyes. She brightened up.

"Great! But I'd change. We want to know your real self, not the foster home poster child." I laughed, a tired chuckle.

"I'll try to do that. When does it start?"

"Tonight at nightfall. See you then." With a grin and a wave, Rayne left me to wallow and decide.

I was a suckerpunch at first impressions, and they said to dress like me. So I grabbed all velvet. My versatile black leggings tucked into leather riding boots and the red long-sleeved sweater with the daring neckline and Celtic swirls design. A spider ring shimmied onto my right hand and all I could do was wait and worry. My mind was exhausted; all I wanted to do was start running as far as I could from this house, this wonderful family. For the first time, I couldn't hide my emotions.

But I wasn't used to the worry. I never cared about my foster family's opinion, mostly because I never stayed long enough for them to form one other than fear. After all, not even the mosquitoes would bite me. This family felt different, and I was sure it was because they knew something, if not everything. Were they psychiatrists, doctors? Could they explain me if I didn't kill them first?

I felt nightfall before I saw it. I guess it was part of being a monster. Looking out of my window, I saw a fire burning in the middle of the backyard in the midst of the encroaching darkness. Several people were already gathered, more approaching. Taking a deep breath, I closed the curtain and stepped out of my room, the safety blanket. I kept breathing evenly until I reached the back door, which I opened smoothly and took slow steps to the fire. Dread settled like a content black cat in my stomach.

Rayne was the first one to look over when I walked out. She squealed and ran to meet me with a hug. I awkwardly returned the gesture through her death squeeze.

"Hello to you too, Rayne," I mumbled. She giggled.

"Almost everyone's here. I'll give you the good guy/bad guy scale when it comes to dating," she whispered. I smiled while I blushed. This was much different. She separated from me until only our hands were touching and ran to the fire, dragging me like a child's doll.