The Follower

Part 1

  As I walked through the hallways, I contemplated my options. There were four bedrooms to chose from. Well, actually there are three because my mom said she gets the master's. I walked to the doorway of my first option, and stepped and entered the room. This one is by far the creepiest. The wood floor  is scratched and stained, and the walls are an even bigger mess. The old 70’s wallpaper drooped from where it had pulled away from the sheet rock years ago. In the corner it looks as if a child had gotten ahold of some markers and decided to throw up all over their passion on the wall. I walked the length of the room to the window. It was a decent view of the front yard; I could see my sister taking about boxes from the moving van.

     My mom must be somewhere away from my sister, something I was great fun for.  They always seem to be fighting now-a-day. Dad’s death seemed to take a toll on all of us, but I’m the only one who seems to Handel my grief in a normal way. My mom and sister spend hours screaming at each other for the stupidest stuff. Just last night it was because my sister finished a bag of chips without telling my mom. When my sister tried to pull me into the argument to fight on her side, I just rolled my eyes and put in my headphones. I didn’t need another headache. Especially because I was going to be in a car with them for 3 more hours until we got to our house. Which happens to be the one I’m in right now.

     I’ve been getting more headaches recently. It could be from the stress of moving, but I’m guessing it’s my mom’s and sister’s fighting that’s causing them. And because of the headaches, I’ve been taking Tylenol more often and in bigger quantities. It’s not helping the pain either. But the only solution I have it to take more, I Mena what else is there to do? I’ve tried to get my mom and sister to stop fighting, but then they start pointing fingers and saying the other on is the problem when it’s both of them.

     “Evan!” I hear my mom call from downstairs.

     “ Coming,” I call back, before running down the hallway.

     As I enter the small kitchen, my mom is putting plates away in a cabinet. She's wearing tight, blue, skinny jeans and a tight, black T-shirt. Her honey blond hair is up in a curly ponytail, and it swings with each of movement she makes. I know she not quite the stereotypical mom everyone thinks of, but that just her.

     “Have you picked a room yet?”  she asks.

     “Yeah. I think  going to go with the creepy one,” I reply.

     “Creepy one?” she asks, clearly confused.

     “The one with the old wallpaper,” I clear up.

     “Oh! I think that was the doctor’s old office,” she informs me.

     By “Doctor” she means the guy that use to own our house. He apparently retired and now lives in Florida. I don’t know why though. People here, in Alabama, have way cooler accents. My sister and I both grew up in Wisconsin, so we both find it funny how people talk here. When we went to the grocery store yesterday, we got scolded by my mom because we laughs at the cashiers accent when he was ringing us up. He had the thickest accent I have ever heard!

     My eyes widen when I hear the crash from the entrance of the house. Oh no. Sounds like Scarlet, my sister, dropped a box.

     “Scarlet!” My mother screams through the house. “Tell me you did not just drop that box full of glasses!”

     I exit the kitchen and run up the stair to my new room, before they start screaming. Only to find, and remember, that my room is completely empty, and that I need to go retrieve my stuff from the moving van. I put in my headphone and turn up some music, just in case anyone want to try to bring me into the fight, and I make my way downstairs into the war zone

     After an hour, I finally had my bed assembled, and pushed into place against the right wall of my room. So I went to start bringing up pieces of my dresser to my room, only to get stopped in the hallway by Scarlet.

     “Mom ordered a pizza and said it’s time to eat,” she said after I pulled out my headphones. And of course, she imitated my mom in a bratty voice.

     “Ok,” I reply, following Scarlet to the porch because we didn’t have the table set up yet.

     I walk onto the porch with Scarlet and grab a piece of pizza out of the box. As I sat I heard my sister take a jab at my mother. I only know she said something rude because I hear my mom fire back with something louder. I try to outlast their screaming so I could finish my dinner, but I soon get a headache. I stand from my spot and make my way inside. While I walk away, they are still screaming.

     I walk to the bathroom in search of Tylenol. When I open the medicine cabinet above the sink, I learn the bathroom hasn’t been moved in yet. I close the cabinet and look at my reflection in the mirror. I have messy black hair that’s longer in the top and shorter on the sides, and I have steel grey eyes and a strong jaw line. My nose isn’t too big and I have an athletic body. I’ve been called many names over the years. Though I wouldn’t call myself them, i've heard them all; hot, cute, handsome, ect. But then again, my whole family gets called those names. My parents definitely had nice genes.

     I turn on the cold water and lean over the sink, I then proceed to splash water on my face. The attempt to refresh myself fails, and I’m on my adventure to find some Tylenol. After I’ve looked through all the boxes on the main and second floor, I make my way to the basement. I’ve heard my mom and Scarlet taking boxes down there all day, so I think this trip will be promising.

     After I’ve looked through many of the boxes, I move one to get to the next. When I move that box though, I uncover something surprising.

     A door. A very small door to be precise. It looks to be made of old, dark, wood with a dirty brass nob. It only stands about a foot and a half tall. The size you would think a leprechaun uses. Why would there be a creepy, old looking, small for in our basement? And what does it hide? I guess there's only one way to find out, but I wish I had another option.

     I stretch me hand towards the door knob, terrified of what lies behind it. When I make contact, I brace the cold metal and slowly start to turn the knob. When I feel the knob an it’s extent of its turning, I’m scared. What could be behind it? I tenderly pull the door towards me. When its fully open, I lean forward, looking into the darkness my eyes haven’t adjusted to yet. I squint and cry out as something jumps out of the doorway. I swing my head side to side looking for whatever just came out of that door. I’m fully aware of my sweaty palms and racing heart.

     I hear the basement door creak open and the room floods with light.

     “Evan are you ok? I thought I heard something,” I hear my mother’s worried voice ask from the stairs.

     When I look around the ate u was kneeling in, I instantly feel dumb for my mistake. It had not been a terrifying creature that jumped out at me, but a spider.

     “Yeah I’m  I reply to her.

     “Ok  Honey,” she says before the door shuts again.

     I have back to the door, feeling silly for mistaking a spider for something so scary. Not saying I don’t have a fear of spiders. Those thing are disgusting. I turn back to the door, to take a closer inspection.
    
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Hey guys!

So how'd you like it? Please tell me!!!

I used Broken Home by 5SOS because it helped a lot with creating Evan's home life.

               -Shelby 😈