The Strange Villa of Black Rose

Hey there! This is my first time trying to write a book, please tell me what you think about it. Thanks! :)))

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                Do you know that terrible feeling you have when something is about to go wrong. The feeling that would send invisible spiders crawling up the spine. How many people have neglected this warning gut instinct and ended up dead? Their body would usually be found some days later, savagely torn apart and then hung soullessly onto trees. Or they would be buried alive. I'm just someone who know those people. I had been a witness to the horrors. And this is my story.

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                I seized my scientific calculator from my handbag and began talking earnestly to it. At the corner of m eyes, I saw Will hesistated. Good. Pretending to be engrossed in my fake conversation, I laughed.

                “Sure, why not.” Twirling my hair with an index finger, I said, “I can’t wait!” I spoke into the inanimated object in my hand currently posing as a communicating device. Discreetly peering left, Will stood a distance off, scratching his neck uncomfortably. Obviously waiting for me to be done. Ha! Dream on, sucker!

                I babbled on animatedly to my 'phone', feeling the slightest bit silly.

                “What? Are you serious? You here! Where?” I acted as if searching for something or someone.

                “Oh, near the coffee shop. Stay there! I’m coming!” With that I shoved my calculator back in my bag and hurried towards my house, leaving poor Will standing dazedly. Sure it’s mean, but he’ll live. I ran down the block until I reached my destination, the idea of my new storyline urging me on.

                 I slammed the screen door hard and glanced back. The stupid thing sort of bounce right back off the doorframe. Groaning, I moved back and closed it gently this time. When will John get this thing properly fixed. I snorted, answering my on question. Probably never, considering the circumstances.

                “Mom! I’m home!”

                A voice rang out from the kitchen, “In here, Kathy.”       

                I poked my head inside, “Hey, mom. Hi, John.”

                He nodded in reply, stuffing pasta into his mouth. I rolled my eyes. Greedy pig.

                “Are you done packing your things?” Mom questioned, looking at me. I grabbed an apple from the fridge and took a bite. Hmm. Delicious.

                Leaning onto the kitchen counter, I replied, “Yep. I’ve got everything except the bathroom stuff. I’ll do that tomorrow.” Her eyebrow shot up. “What?”

                “Well, for a teenager moving. You’re pretty cool about it.”

                “For starters, we’re not just moving. We’re moving to a better part of town. Where all the amazing stores are.” Taking another chomp of the apple, I continued, “And b’sides, I’m bored of all the stalkers in school. They’re annoying. Fresh start sounds great.”

                Mom shook her head, sighing. “You’ve never been interested in dating. Why not give one of them a chance.” She forked some food in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

                Now it’s my turn to sigh. “Mom, when the time is right and I find the right guy, I will. For now, I’ll concentrate on my studies and writing my novel.”

                “But, honey –” She started.

                John interrupted, “I think it’s good that she doesn’t want to date yet. Trust me, that is every parent’s worst nightmare.” Thanks, John,  I thought silently. In times like these, I sure am glad to have a stepfather despite his terrible table manners.

                Mom flung her hands up in mock defeat. “Alright,alright,  I can see when I’m out numbered.” John gave me a look and I threw one right back. We both agreed tacitly that Mom gets a bit dramatic when things don’t go her way.

                “Okay, I go to write my book now. Enjoy your dinner!” I hopped up the stairs.

                “Eat some pasta first!” Mom yelled up.

                I shouted back, “Can’t! I’m on a diet.” Slamming the door once again, I can almost imagine my mother sighing and massaging her forhead. Guess she’ll have to deal with the fact that I’m a teenager.

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