The small town of Gig Harbour was always quiet. The weather rarely swayed from the grey drizzle that was settled in the sky. Temperature was the only way to distinguish the seasons. The town was in Washington and overlooked the bay, but the sea was never blue; always grey, reflecting the sky. It just made the area seem more overcast.
We were the first family to move there in years. We moved four years ago, when I was 12, straight from Cambridge across the world to Gig Harbour. It wasn't an improvement, if anything it made me more introverted. The children my age soon realised I wasn't going to be any fun to them, wasn't going to play along with their English ideals. I didn't drink tea, I didn't speak how they liked. When they spoke to me in false English accents, begging me to repeat what they said- "Lilianna say 'Tea and crumpets'!", "Lilianna say 'Jolly good show'!". I don't know what they expected, but my answer was always the same cold silence, which only seemed to irritate them.
The beginning of the summer holidays, the three months American children apparently needed to survive another school year, was average. My parents were busy tending to their beloved flower shop, not that I minded; it gave me more time to myself.
Generally, I holed myself up in my room writing or occasionally painting. Sometimes, I'd stare out of my window at the woods behind. The woods had always attracted my attention, whether it was the eerie pale blue mist that crept out in quiet whispers, or the ominous silence that always shrouded it in mystery. I never tried to paint it, knowing I could never match the strange beauty it beheld.
With our house being partly away from the town, the area was silent at night and I was able to lie on my bed, staring at the stars through the skylight. Occasionally, the moon would pass over as well and I would watch as it crossed the sky, or at least the small part of it I could see. Strangely, birds never flew across from the woods, only towards it. From school I had heard the rumours of the wild animals that lived in the woods, bears and wolves that supposedly killed anyone who entered. However even I, as naive as I was, doubted that they were true. Something drew me to those woods and I knew it would only be a matter of time before I gained the courage to visit them myself.
Surprisingly I went out the next day, dragging myself to the harbour with my sketchpad and pencils. Across the water I could see the mountain that rose up from the ground, towering above and making the town itself seem even smaller. I began to sketch from the edge of the wooden pier, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the oddly hot weather. The sky was still grey but humid, as if a storm was on the horizon, threatening to arrive at any time.
Jeans and a black t-shirt were probably not the best clothing to wear here, I considered on reflection, before tucking my dirty blonde hair behind my ear and continuing to draw. My hand moved swiftly across the page, shading, darkening outlines, making the picture real; to me at least.
After a while, the sky began to darken and I glanced up to see the clouds had darkened considerably. I leapt up from the wooden pier I had been sat on as the first raindrops began to pelt down. I shielded my sketchbook, sprinting down the pier to get to shelter. My feet began to slip and I began to fall, leering dangerously towards the water, before suddenly gaining my balance and sprinting again. The pier hadn't felt so long as I strolled down it earlier.
Finally, I reached the concrete pavement and ducked under an awning, gasping for breath from the sprint. Taking out my sketchbook, I smiled at the dry page and carefully pulled the protective cover over it before tucking it under my t shirt and began to trudge the mile home. It was pouring now, but the rain had never bothered me like it bothered my parents. I embraced it; it made me feel alive. If I hadn't had my sketchbook, I wouldn't have left the pier.
There was no one around as I walked, and I smiled knowing I was completely alone. I never understood why rain stopped people going about their lives. It was just water, the very water we required to live. Everything smelled fresher, brighter with the rain, my very senses would come alive. Then again, maybe that was just me; in fact, it was highly likely.
My hair was soaked, twisting and curling round my face. It looked wilder than ever, refusing to even tuck behind my ear. I laughed and shook my head, watching it dance among the rain drops. People glared at me through their windows, irritated with the strange girl practically skipping down their road. That was another thing about Americans, about people in general. They hated to see another person happy, as if I shouldn't be happy just because they weren't. Personally, I didn't see the relevance.
Soon enough, I was out of the suburban areas and walking down the dirty, rarely used track that I preferred to walking alongside the busy main road, or whatever Americans called it. It went slightly off the road, through a field but not entering the woods. The sound of rain hammering on the concrete road was still audible from the track, along with the occasional beep of horns. The grass around me sparkled with the raindrops, but barely in the dim light. I gently touched my notebook, grimacing at how soaked my t-shirt was, and began to walk quicker.
By the time I got home, it was dark and I was drenched. Water dripped into a puddle on the floor beneath me as my parents yelled at me for coming in so late and not answering my phone. I stood listening silently, waiting for them to finish so I could dry myself off. Now I was inside, I could feel the full extent of the cold.
When I finally escaped, I ran up to my room and collapsed down on my bed, shaking but smiling. I always forgot how happy the rain made me until I went out in it. Carefully, I took my sketchbook out from under my t-shirt and examined it. To my relief, it wasn't too badly damaged from the water and I laid it down on my bed.
Jumping up, I took a quick shower before curling up under my duvet. The rain was still hammering down on my window from the thick black clouds that blocked the stars from my view. I watched the water tumble down onto the skylight, rolling down it before disappearing from sight.
I woke up with a start, unsure when I had fallen asleep and what had woken me. Frowning, I glanced around at my bedroom to find the source but found none. A screech came from above me, making me scream in turn and stare up at my skylight. Nothing was there. All clouds had dispersed and the moon's normally comforting light gave my room an eerie glow, making me more jumpy. My eyes flitted around the room, then to the window and then back to the skylight. There was nothing unusual anywhere, just the moonlight and the mist creeping out from the woods.
Shaking my head, I lay back down and closed my eyes. It was nothing, an owl overhead. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right; something had changed, although I didn't know what.
As the early light of dawn shimmered on my bedroom wall, it gave little relief to the edginess I had felt all night. The light seemed to be mocking me for my irrational fear. I frowned and rubbed my eyes, sitting up and staring out of the window. Everything looked ordinary, yet the woods seemed to ooze an uneasiness that wasn't there before. All the wonder and respect I had felt for them had been replaced with fear and doubt. Doubt of what? I didn't even know myself.
I pulled out my laptop and pulled up a blank word document, staring at it for a while before jotting down some notes and closing the page, leaving me staring at my laptop background. It was the default picture, I'd never been bothered to change it; it was a comforting piece of familiarity.
"Lilianna! Breakfast!" My mum called, and I rolled my eyes. They were going to yell at me again before returning to their flower shop and forgetting I existed. Making sure I was presentable, I traipsed downstairs and sat down in the chair opposite my mothers. Dad had already gone to work.
I ate quickly, desperate to leave so I could go out and finish my drawing. The silence made the room tense as my mother stared at me, willing me to say something. As soon as I had finished, I put my plate in the kitchen and bolted upstairs.
