Reflection

Chapter 1

I was sitting in my room when I heard heavy wheels pulls up onto the gravel ground surrounding the exterior of the house. A large, commercial moving van pulls up, halting outside the house as a small blue car follows behind, stopping a little away from the van. I watch from the bedroom window as large muscular Mexican men jump out of the van, cussing in Mexican as they begin to unload the van. A beige couch with coordinating chairs make their way out at the expense of huffing Mexicans as I watch, finding their physical activities humorous. A clicking of a car door echoes the still air as a picture perfect family emerge from the car. I muse to myself, this will be interesting. "Hey, be careful ! Those are priceless antiques!" A blond deathly slender woman screeches at the men that were firing glares at her as they handle her clearly Chinese knockoff vases into the house. "And watch those golf clubs, heaven knows what I'd do if they are even scratched! They probably cost more than that van," bellowed an overly arrogant and prestigious slim man with 5 o'clock shadow parading his face as he glares through his sunglasses at the overworked moving men. Already, it looks like I'll have fun with this family. They fit the whole "oh we pay to have our house cleaned and do not socialise with people that drink coffee from a jar" criteria. They are probably the type that say everything has a logical explanation and use science as an answer to anything they cannot begin to explain. I've had my fair share of families like these as the house is quite expensive and is considered a gem to the area. It's Victorian era vibe is what pulls in hopeful homeowners and retailers into taking a tour around its large, dark interior that is much to my liking as it is to their dislike. I have memorised the speech Sandra and Andrew, Smiths only brave or naive retailers, rhyme off as I follow closely behind. They always say that the lounge area is ideal for peaceful nights by the fire which is wrong, the fire doesn't work properly and when it did, the scent of burning turf was enough to knock any family unconscious as the fumes engulf the large, dark poorly designed "family" room.
I continue gazing out the window to the overcast, cloudy with a chance of thunder day-my kind of day. A big excitable golden retriever emerges from the back of the car growling, baring its canines, in my bedroom windows direction. Damn, dogs are tricky. There was this one time, about 5 years ago, when some spoilt little girls Yorkshire terrier chased me around the house, continually barking until I glared at it, causing it to whimper and flee outside the house. The dog was ran over by the husband returning from his affair as the wheels tracked over its spine,crushing skull with his Porsche. The family had to move as the little girl was so badly affected by the memory of her dear dead Princess. Bad ending,eh?
It's not just dogs, it's cats as well. They are terrible for hissing and scratching and jumping and clawing and, I hate them. All animals try their hardest to inform their owners of my presence but, like all owners, they ignore their pets protective nature and put it down to "animals being animals" or "its a new house, they need to get use to their new surroundings." Oh, stupid humans. Animals do not require something as needy as getting use to a new environment, their incredible sense have already detected every pro and con of the environment before you can even say welcome. They can smell each past owner along with detecting who and what they are and that's when they meet me, they can't smell me and that raises alarm bells.
A tall brunette girl leans against the car, a small bag held in her hand as she pulls away her black oversized rimmed sunglasses to examine the house. She takes a few steps when that annoying blond, presumably her mother joins her side and points to my window,"And that, Sammantha is where your room is, isn't it devine? I mean, look at those windows, gorgeous!" The girl, Sammantha, looks in my direction and stares as her mother walks away to ridicule the moving men over her tacky excuse of ornaments. She tilts her head and looks more, almost as if she's looking at me. "Rupert, come on," she calls to the golden mass at her feet as she makes her way into the house.
I should probably introduce myself...