A Hole of Lies

Chapter 13

The way back home was quiet. I was too busy staring out the window, too busy trying to remember that I had come from here. I liked it. It was neat and not deserted, it had big houses with nice, healthy lawns. That is until I saw Paul's house. The grass, if you could even call it that, was way overgrown and was about as tall as the house itself. The house, was as horrid as the lawn it lay upon, if not worse. The panelling on the outside was ripping and pealing. Almost all the windows, as far as I could see, were shattered and cracked, revealing the inside that I've been dreading to see ever since I lay eyes on it a few minutes ago. Has it always been this way? Have I always had this gut feeling that I want to put it in a trashbag and throw it away, where it belongs? Has it always had this dark and gloomy shadow hanging over it? Now on the inside, I'm just afraid. It would probably be like everyone's worst nightmare. No. Worse. If there was anything worse. It would be like all your worst nightmares combined into one. I bet it smelled of a pig stall. God dammit, I bet it was a pig stall! I bet the house was a mess. You know what? There is no point in explaining it since it would probably take my whole life trying to get to all the little details that shared this nightmare, making it complete. The house reminded me of a graveyard. It was a dark, sad, terrible place that nobody cared about. Not only the sad way it stood hunching over, but the smell. The odor, my God, you could smell it from three driveways down. IN a car! How did Paul ever live there?! I still remember when the outside walls were a beautiful shade of grey stone, the front door was grand and inviting with it's marvelous red coat, the lawn was trimmed, a light shade of green, it was well taken care of, and rose beds outlined the house. It was, indeed, marvelous. The inside was also great. It had three levels, since we were actually rich, back then. Back then. Good days. Good times. No, but seriously, the house was grand. Three floors, well, at least it had three floors before the huge tornado came and ripped those two extra levels off, like sweeping a dirty floor. It ripped out the flowers, the grass, the trees, our car. Everything. Rain poured and flooded our house for days, maybe even weeks, before the workers could build a roof for us. I slept in the kitchen for all those days, since my room and all my belongings in their were broken and scattered all across town. I kind of enjoyed it. It was different: going to sleep looking at the bright stars protecting the night sky, seeing an occasional shooting star. Waking up in the middle of the night clearly hearing the owls hooting their hoots, the crickets chirping their chirps, the stars still hanging over my head. Then waking up in the morning with the birds flying overhead, the trees swaying with the early morning breeze. It would've been some nice stories to tell class. But I didn't- I didn't want everybody to think that I didn't have anything, that I was living in a roofless home.

That was all still when my mother was alive. She loved it. She loved the outodoors, so having no roof was awesome for her. Once, Dad woke up one morning and found bird poop on his shirt. I hated all the bugs that managed to crawl into our house during the night. Eh. Just to think about it makes me sick. Once the builders finished the roof, I didn't like it. It felt out of place and disordered. First of all, it was supposed to be two stories higher then it was. Secondly, it didn't match the color pattern nor the characteristics of the house. Thirdly, it just didn't fit with our style. What I'm trying to say here is it didn't fit, it didn't look right, it was out of place. The house was dark. It was becoming more unpleasant. That, miraculously, was a few days before Mom got struck. I think this roof was a sign. A sign that something bad was going to happen, since the roof was already so wrong. 

Sigh.

"Do you remember all this?" A voice suddenly asks, making me jump. I blink continuously for a about a minute.

"Jules? Do you remember?" Marty's voice rang in my ears.

"Sorry, what?"

"Do you remember what your seeing?" He asks again.

"Oh, yes, I surely do. There is definitely no way of forgetting all those minor details that share that house." I say, nodding towards the graveyard-like house. "The shattered windows, the peeling paint, the broken doors on the inside, the stained carpets."

"Jeez, Jules. What's happened to you? Your sitting so straight, like your royalty." He began. I could feel a list coming on. But I did now only notice I was sitting very tall. "You are talking like your being interviewed, with long, smart, words. Which is definitely not you. And, I never knew you took things in such close perspective. How do you remember all those details?"

"I don't, actually. But I can see it right now, Marty." I explained.

"You can see INSIDE?! What? How? It's super dark!" Marty exclaimed, swivelling across the road. "That's, like, a block down!"

"Marty, please stop yelling, first of all. And second, I already told you: my senses are strong. And, last time I checked, that includes eye-sight."

"Okay, okay, jeez, Julie. Since when have you become Miss. Smarty-pants?"

"Marty, since always. I just can't believe I got such bad grades. I will make up for it, I promise. I'm sorry. Next report card, expect to see straight A's." I disclosed, trying to end the conversation, but Marty didn't get that hint.

"Fine, fine I just want-" He started, raising his hands up from the wheel.

"Keep your hands on the wheel!" I almost scream.

"Jeez, okay, okay. Since when have you been so afraid of driving?"

"Since to accident, Marty." I mentioned.

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry. Oh, we're here!" Marty proclaimed.

Before me was a huge house, the same material and color of my old house : grey stone. The door was also grand . The driveway: huge. As Marty pulled up on it, it didn't make a sound, unlike the driveway next door, which was gravel and made the car sway back a forward.

Once we got inside, waves of memories hit me. The house smelled of cooking smoke, of salmon, of fruit smoothies, of meatloaf, of chicken, of food. But it also smelled of Marty. But I guess Marty smells like food so lets just say what I smelled was food. It made my stomach growl.

"Wow." I said, taking a step back.

"What?" Marty spluttered in with all my bags behind me.

"You don't smell that?" I asked, sniffing the air. "Ahhhhh, smells so good."

"Uhhh Jules? This is what it's always smelled like."

"Oh, really? Hm, I guess I never noticed." I admitted, taking my bags from him and marching up the stairs, leaving Marty looking paralyzed, as if I'd slapped him and pretended that nothing had happened.

 I put my bags down on my bed in my room and flopped down lazily.

"Ahhhh. A normal bed!" I sighed to myself.

I sat up and looked around my room. Eh. Who made these horrible color choices? The walls were pink along with the ceiling, the soft carpet was neon green, there were matching colored beanbags, matching colored desk, and the sheets on the bed were neon yellow, with fluffy pink pillows scattered around it. There were random green, pink, and yellow fluffy objects hanging from the ceiling and the room smelled a whole lot like....... perfume. I turned my head towards the door. Right next to it was a scarf hanging on a hook. I picked it up, which revealed a huge dent in the wall. What had happened here? I'm going to have to tell Marty about this.....

I walked down to the bathroom next to my room. It was a mess. There were tissues with black mascara stains on them, a pink brush was on the floor. What had happened here as well? There was make up scattered around the counter top. Who's was this?

I went back to my room. I noticed signs on my door that said,"CASSANDRA'S ROOM. NO BOYS ALLOWED."  and another one that read, "CASSY'S ROOM. STAY BACK IF I WERE YOU."  

I walked back downstairs to ask Marty about it. When I found him I said,"Marty, where is my room? The one with all the obnoxious neon colors I thought was mine, but it has signs saying 'Cassandra's room', so I guess it wasn't my room."

"Hon, you are Cassandra. Now go to bed, it's late. You're going to school tomorrow." Marty said, almost annoyed with my question.

"But-" I started

"No, but's. Go." Marty said, shooing me away.

I ran upstairs and up to the blinding room. I climbed into bed and quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.