Haunting

So…a story. I’ve been thinking over this one for a while, and I’m on my summer holidays with nothing on for now, so updates should be quick at the moment.

 

It might start off a little slow, but it’ll get better as the story goes on. I’ve got big plans for this book J

 

Happy reading, and if it’s not too much trouble, I’d love it if you could comment/vote/fan. Constructive criticism is always welcome J

(Pic is of Tristan and Tally's grandmother's house -->)

 

 

 

Orlando, Florida, USA

 

Tally Nolan absently watched heat rays shimmering upwards from the gleaming black tarmac of the airport runway, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that, any moment now, as soon as that loud woman finally stopped arguing with the airhostess and blocking the stairs, she would be leaving Florida and everything she had ever known for a new life in Ireland with a grandmother she had never met. She was still rather numb, and none of the events of the past week- the car crash, the instant death of her mother, the moment of sheer terror when her father had flat-lined in the ambulance, the petrified screams of her younger brother Tristan- would sink into her head. She didn’t much want them to, either, because that would mean accepting that her parents were dead, were never coming back, and that herself and Tristan, only twelve years old and traumatized by the horrific car crash, would never see their home again. Numb was good, because numb meant that she wouldn’t break down and cry. Tristan needed her, anyway, since it wasn’t like he had anyone else to lean on at the moment.

“Tal, how long will we be on the plane?,” Tristan asked, his normally borderline squeaky tone of voice, due to the fact that his voice was breaking, had been transformed into one that made him sound like a whiny toddler by all of his tears. Although Tristan had never once let Tally nor anyone else, especially the social workers, see him cry, she could tell by his voice and his red-rimmed, heavy-lidded eyes. Tristan was strong, though, and he would pull himself together eventually. He was just a kid- he’d bounce back. At fifteen, Tally was beginning to think that she had long lost her ‘bouncing back’ ability.

“It’ll be about nine hours, Tris, but it’ll be another three hours by car to…her house.” Tally’s throat closed up halfway through, unable as she was to call someone she’d never met a grandmother or ‘granny’, but thankfully Tristan hadn’t seemed to notice. “That’s a really long flight,” Tristan whinged, a habit Tally usually found beyond irritating but was willing to let him get away with for now, “Why are we going to Ireland anyway? Why can’t we stay with Uncle Ryan?”

At the mention of her mother’s older brother’s name, Tally’s jaw tightened and she went rigid for a moment. Ryan McGrath was a dangerous man, one that Tally should stay away from, as her parents had gently explained to her one night after he’d called around to the house in a drunken haze and her father had had to drag him out by the jacket, threatening to call the cops. Uncle Ryan, Tally had later learned, was quite the drug dealer and gun smuggler, and specialized in innovative escape attempts- a hobby he had plenty of time to practice, since he was always in prison. Since Tristan was still only twelve, their parents hadn’t seen the need to fill him in on Uncle Ryan’s misdeeds, instead telling him that their uncle simply ‘wasn’t a very nice man’ and that he ‘lived too far away to visit’. Even being exiled to the middle of the Irish countryside was better than moving in with Uncle Ryan.