Wolfsbane

Wolfsbane: Chapter One

Moving to a new place was something my family was used to, but this place was different. The moment we passed the "Welcome to Arnsberg" sign it felt like a jolt of electricity had bolted its way through my veins. Something just felt off about the small town in the middle of West Virginia. Of course I was the kind of girl to ignore it and push it away like there was nothing to be worried about; like there was nothing to be afraid of. 

Our new house was a two story Victorian style home. I hated Victorian style homes. My mother had a tendency to try and grab one wherever we went. Her grandmother had one, she always explained, and they brought back good memories for her. They only freaked me out. I hated the feeling you got in the middle of the night when the wind hit the windows and all the floorboards in the house decided to scream at once. I'm a light sleeper but of course I'm the only one bothered by all the noise. 

My little brother, Grant, is sitting in the seat next to me with his eyes glued to his Nintendo DS. He's playing Mario and ignoring the rest of us, which is a daily thing for him. He's thirteen and hates the world already. He has me beat, I think I waited until I was fourteen to start feeling that way. Meanwhile my mother is constantly saying "Sweetheart isn't this beautiful?" to my father every five seconds. She loves this place too much. Too bad we won't be here long. 

"Turn right here." She instructs to my father, who is driving our red Toyota Prius. Her pointed pink nails catch the sunlight as she shows him what street to turn down. "We're nearly there! Isn't this exciting, Terra?" 

I want to ignore her and leave her sitting there without someone to boast to about how she found such a lovely town to move to. Of course she would never let me get away with that. If I didn't answer her she would turn around in her seat and scold me for being rude. Why couldn't she ever put Grant in these positions and leave me out of it? 

"It looks a lot like the last place." I answer, because it's partially true. 

"I think it's a lot nicer." My mother disagrees, of course, because she's always finding a way to convince herself that moving every six months is good for them. They'll always find a more and more beautiful place. I wonder how long that lie will last. 

My parents are Lynette and Vince. They've known each other since elementary school and started dating their freshman year of High School. They won prom King and Queen, she went to a great school, he went into the military for six years, and then they had us. Sometimes I wonder if they would have been better off without kids, but my mother wanted them, so here we are. My father travels for work. He doesn't have to jump from one place to another, but he likes to. It makes me wonder if he cares if his children ever have a social life. I'm thinking the answer is "probably not". 

When we drive up to the house I am horrified. It looks like someone hasn't lived here for at least a decade. The dreadful color whoever owned the place decided to paint it is a yellow and the shutters on the windows are white and very dirty. There are vines crawling up the front and sides. It makes me feel like I'm moving into the perfect setting for a horror movie. Isn't that how it always feels, though? These places are always creepy and you won't catch me asking whatever friends I can manage to make in the next six months to come over for dinner. 

"Wow, this is even better than the last one." 

I try with all my might not to mouth the words as she says them. By now we expect her to say that every single time. I mentally pat myself on the back when I notice my father is looking at me in the review mirror. I'm pretty sure he's checking to make sure I'm being respectful. Thanks, dad, man of little faith. I want to stick my tongue out or roll my eyes at him, but I once again refrain. I'm not a child anymore and he'd make sure to remind me of that.