Mom parks the car and eyes the house through the winds shield.Two stories high, a front porch with an ancient-looking porch swing that looks like it couldn't support a baby's weight.In the pictures online the house looked white, but in real life it's grey, except for the front door, which someone decided to paint bright red. Maybe they thought the contrast would look cheerful or something."You can't tell a house is creepy from the outside," Mom adds hopefully."Yes, I can.""How?""The same way I can tell that those jeans you bought before we left Austin will end up hanging in my closet instead of yours.I'm very, very intuitive."Mom laughs. Our little white dog, Oscar, whines from the back seat, begging to be let out so he can explore his new home.As soon as Mom unlatches her seat belt and opens the door, he bounds outside. I stay in the car a second longer, breathing in the wet air blowing in.It's not just the house. Ever since we crossed the state line the world has been grey, shrouded in fog so thick that Mom had to turn the headlights on even though it was the middle of the day.I didn't picture our new life in Washington as quite so colourless.To be honest, I didn't picture it much at all. Instead, I kind of pretended the move wasn't happening, even as our house back in Austin filled with boxes, even when my best friend, Ashley,came over to help us pack. It wasn't until we were actually on the road that I really believed we were moving.
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Evil's Enemy
TerrorShe turned sixteen today. I watched it happen. Katherine, the woman who adopted her, baked her a cake: carrot cake, a burnt sort of orange colour with white frosting smothered over the top of it. A girl named Ashley came over to her house with candl...
