Normalcy Won't Suffice

Chapter One

"Lucille? Hey we're coming up. Robby is with us, Trevoyne forgot and invited him. I'm sorry." My best friend had spoken over the phone. I ran my hand through my hair, my nervousness breaking out.

"It's fine Emelia. I'll cope. I'm over it now." I lied to her. My voice didn't break, and I had no guilt. It was a small lie, and her happiness mattered more to me then my own. Plus forty-eight hours of Robby was something I could deal with if I had her by my side.

The plan was that since my parents and brothers were out of town for the next two days Emelia would stay with me. But the part my parents didn't plan on was Trevoyne staying with us, or the twelve bottles of beer under my bed. My family had left me with a list of rules and chores to do over the two days they were out. But everyone knew once the parents were out it was free rule. And the only thing I had really done was clean my area of the house.

We also had to stay away from upstairs, I had enough money to buy a weeks worth of food from the Walmart down the road, and the keys to everything including the El Camino my brother James loved.

Emilia and I had planned it out, we would stay downstairs and have Trevoyne stay with us, he would park his car out back where no one would see and come inside through the basement doors. I was the one who offered, she only accepted knowing the weird stuff that goes on around my house. But I guess Trevoyne forgot about what happened between me and Robby and decided to have extra help and called in the only recruit he'd thought I'd be comfortable with.

My house was built on two levels. The upstairs was a trim and tidy house. The walls lined with pictures of us and three rooms for my older brother James, one for my younger brother Wayne, and one for my parents. The attic held all of the junk my family had no use for but couldn't let go. The kitchen held food they liked, a dining room we never used unless it was a holiday or my parents friends were over. The living room where my dad had his games piled up and his favorite shows recorded. Then the garage with every tool imaginable and the three cars my family owned.

The second level was where I stayed. It had two bedrooms. One was where I sleeped and kept my clothes. The other was where I kept my art supplies, books, and other stuff I used to work with. Then I had a small kitchen stocked full of cooking utensils and food that my mother turned her nose down on. Across from the kitchen was a supply closet large enough to not only hold a washer and dryer but cleaning supplies and still have left over room for about six people. The entertainment room was where I spent most time. It was around two hundred square feet, decorated with pixie lights, posters for stuff I liked, and shelves full of old memorabilia I had gained over the years plus the photos my mother framed and said would add color to the dark paint. The entertainment room was where I stayed my time, my television, games, movies, music, and documentaries were all arranged by genre and in alphabetical order in the drawers and shelves framed arround the Television. I had three gaming systems, a cable box, and enough speakers to fill a metal heads concert. And a bathroom with a large tub and shower.

I never had to fear my parents or siblings opening the trap door that led from the closet upstairs to the supply closet to yell about the music or volume of my television. The house was weird while on the first level you could hear our neighbors screaming, the second level was sound proofed. You couldn't hear a thing unless the trapdoor was open.

The third level was unknown to us until we ripped the carpet up on the second level and found another trapdoor. When opened this one led down to a series of tunnels all with dead ends. The tunnels were metal walled. And the floor was conrete. No one had known about it. Not the property lister, who hadn't know about the second level until she fell in through the trapdoor. Not the original landowner whose great grandfather before him created it.