Trapped

I

I pulled the sleeves of my dark gray sweatshirt up to my elbows again, but just like the billion times before that, they resiliently fell back to being in the way of my hands. I huffed, blowing a stray hair away from my face. My brown hair was in a nice ponytail, until I got out of the car in front of that forsaken place. The chill wind here was unreal.

After the seven hour car ride, I was continuing on with the day's fun and excitement by unpacking my stuff. Why did I have to have so many damn clothes? My father was being more unhelpful than usual, as all he had done was hurry one box in. Yes, you guessed it, it was his computer box. The workaholic was practically dying in the car without working for seven whole hours. The horror.

The front door let out a huge creak, as I stepped inside for the first time, adorned with three boxes stacked on top of each other. I could barely see around them, but enough was visible to get a good sense of the place.

Directly in front of me, was an old fashioned, carpeted staircase. Apparently, this house was built in the 17th century, and though it had been through minimal remodeling, it still looked very old fashioned. I was standing in a large foyer. The air smelled stiff and musty. A thin veil of dust covered everything, suffocating the life out of pictures hanging on the wall and furniture sitting in what looked like a living room.

I scrunched my nose up, looking at my maybe once grand but now uglier than Donald Trump, house. "Dad?" I called out, stepping forwards a little more into the room.

There was no response, so I shrugged and kept walking. The first stair creaked loudly as I stepped onto it. It seemed to echo throughout the large house. At the top of the stairs, was a long hallway, with several rooms lining it. I set the things in my hands down next to the staircase and decided to take an exploration break, because who doesn't love exploring? It's one of the only good things about moving.

The first room on the left was at the very end of the hallway. I opened the door to reveal an extravagantly large room. There was nothing in it, but an old rocking chair in the corner. Talk about creepy. This was not going to be my room.

Behind door number two, as they would say on Jeopardy, was my father. He was typing furiously at his computer and talking on the phone at the same time. He didn't notice me come in or leave. Talk about oblivious.

The third room was my father's. I could tell it was his because there was extraordinarily bland, gray wall paper and no windows. Who knows why someone would make an entire room without windows, but there it was. There was also small, boring, gray bag on the ground in the corner that belonged to him. I rolled my eyes and moved on.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth rooms were more of the same, except these had windows, because they were actually normal, real life, rooms.

The last room on the other side of the hallway was the one. I could just feel it. I opened the door to reveal a queen sized bed in a big room, with old fashioned curtains surrounding it, shielding it from the world. There was no other furniture, except for a floor length lamp in the corner, but that wasn't what caught my attention. What I actually liked about it was the balcony. On the left side of the room, was two doors that lead out to a large balcony. Yes, finally something I might like in this awful mess of a town.

I opened the doors, letting in a gust of cold wind. I smiled, taking a step out. The old wood creaked beneath my feet. I grabbed on to the wooden railing and looked out. I had a lovely view of the woods. Wow. How exciting.

I thought that the most exciting thing happening in those woods was squirrels making more squirrels.

I ran a finger over the banister for a few seconds, until I hit a rough patch. "Ow," I moaned, examining the splinter that had buried itself in my left index finger. Even the best thing in the house had an underlying force trying to anger me.

I rolled my eyes, before retreating from the cold and back into the house. I would not ever call it my house.

A bed had never felt harder and more foreign than the one I laid back on that night, after eating a soggy slice of pizza by myself, in the chilled and dark living room. My father ate in his office, as usual. The lumpy mattress had feathers sticking out of it and poking my back. Yes, you heard me, it was filled with feathers. Freaking feathers. That was practically a crime in it self in my book.

I tossed and turned for hours on end. I finally gave up with sleep and picked up my phone at 2:55. I played some stupid game for a few minutes, but just when the clock turned to three, my phone shut down and wouldn't turn back on.

I scrunched my eyebrows together, obviously confused. It was plugged in, currently charging, so it couldn't have died. Maybe the outlet didn't work, which would make sense, since the house was so old. But, the electricity was a recent improvement to the house, so it should have worked.

I rolled my eyes once again and put the useless thing down on my bedside table, before shifting onto my other side and forcing my eyes shut.

I immediately realized how much colder it had just gotten in the room. It was very cold before, but now, as I breathed out, a white puff of my warm breath was visible in the air. I shivered and pulled the thin blanket up to my chin. It was going to be a long, long night.