Aubrey Is Missing and No One Understands

5. THERE WAS AN OLD LADY WHO SWALLOWED A FLY

        "So. Deston, huh?" Aunt Christy starts, eyes still on the road. "You know my great grandpa tried applying there."

        "Did he get in?" I ask. I didn't even know Deston is that old. "Mom never told me anything about him."

        "Yeah." She curls her lip.  "Of course. He was a smart lad."

        Hearing her say that makes me feel a little bit better. It's not really something to hold on, but at least it means my blood has met Deston before. 

        "He didn't last very long there," she continues.

        "Oh..." My heart immediately sinks to the depths of disappointment. "What happened?"

        "He went absolutely crazy after two weeks of learning there." She shrugs, as if that's not much of a big deal.

        "Wait, wha—"

        "You know a lot people go nuts there." She pushes her hot pink glasses up by the edge. "So many people have died there, my mom and I started calling it Final Destonation."

        "Oh my goodness. That's awful." How am I going to survive there? I'll die within my first hour of lecture. "Wait, b-but die in what way?"

        "You know, just the usual. Like disease—" She pauses for a moment as she turns left at an intersection. "Disease, stress, suicide, murdered, drug overdose, kale overdose."

        "Kale overdose?! That's a thing?!" I lean in forward in shock. 

       "Yeah, my uncle died because he ate too much kale," she says in the calmest tone ever.

        "I-I'm... How does that eve—what?" I raise both my hands up in the air.

        "We're almost at my house, by the way." She drops the subject like nothing. I mean, it's not like anything we just talked about will matter to my future or anything. I am totally going to be a fine little lass in Final Destonation. Not worried about a thing, no, no.

        Our Hello Kitty decal-decorated Subaru screeches to a sudden halt. On our right, stands an ordinary, traditional-looking suburban house, matching all the other houses along the road that never ends. But what makes this house on our right Aunt Christy's is the plethora of oversized poodle statues, sporting designer hats and bags, casually hanging around in the front yard.

        Aunt Christy fumbles through her ring of ten thousand keys, inserting 9999 of them into the petite keyhole, before finally finding the one that fits.

        "Do I get a spare key?" I ask, hoping she had thought about that prior to my arrival.

        "A spare key?" She leers at me weirdly. "This thing I'm holding right now IS a set of spare keys. I lost the original keys to the house."

        "Oh..." I can feel my brain cells gradually deteriorating the more I spend time with her. Was I really expecting this very wise and level-headed lady to say yes? "But I need a key to get in, in case you're not here to open the door for me."

        "Oh, right!" A light bulb peeks out behind her head. "I'll just make a spare set of keys to these spare set of keys, then. No biggie. I'll be sure to get 'em for you tomorrow."

        While Christy is somehow struggling to open her own door, I turn around and start scanning to take in as much information I can get about what will be my neighborhood soon. Trees, patches of grass and bushes, chipped sidewalks, and rows of uniform houses—nothing special, but certainly different. Chill, but not the quiet and peaceful type of chill. Or maybe, chilling­ is the word I'm looking for, as in bone-chilling, spine-chilling, creepy. As if a screenshot, a picture, framed high up on the wall where I can't reach, so I can't grasp it, so I can't observe it closely, and figure out what's so wrong with it. It's static, murky, dull, with monochromatic gray undertones, contrasting the bright, baby-blue, noon sky.

        Something seems gravely wrong.

        "Got it!" Christy finally manages to unlock the door. "Gimme some of your bags, love. I'll help bring them upstairs to your room."

        "Hey, what's the crime rate here?" I blurted out. "Or, I don't know, paranormal activity rate?" There's a fine line between keeping your stupid thoughts to yourself and vomiting your stupid thoughts to innocent bystanders. That fine line is a tripwire, and I keep on tripping on it.

        "Crime rate?" She lets out a teeny-tiny chuckle, then proceeds to declare in a quirky old-timer voice. "There hasn't been any crime here for 25 years."

        OK, maybe I am being a paranoid twig. Laugh at me, whatever. But let me tell you, something is off. Can't wait to I-told-you-so myself when all my neighbors come out in the middle of the night in black cloaks, carrying candles and showing off three eyes.

        Oh, speaking of neighbors, I need to see Aubrey, like, right now. I've wasted enough time dilly-dallying, I completely forgot about my best friend, the sole reason I came here (not really). In fact, I haven't mentioned her name in 25 ye— Damn it, Aunt Christy! I haven't mentioned her name in nearly three chapters.

        I can hear Christy singing and humming the tune of There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly upstairs. Why do I know that horrifying nursery rhyme? I don't know. Anyway, I don't want to interrupt her solo debut by initiating an everlasting conversation with her, so I decide to just slam the door as loud as possible (without breaking it, of course), to alert her of me leaving. Through the walls of the house, I can hear her yell something about a bowl of green mushrooms, or maybe something else, I don't know, and I honestly don't really care, so I leave for Aubrey's.

        There hasn't been anyone opening this phone for twent—.

        I haven't opened my phone since I got off my plane, so naturally, it's still on airplane mode. Right after toggling it off, as I expected, dings upon dings upon dings blared out. Because obviously, I am a social butterfly and I have so many friends (ha ha).

        Let's see.

        An email from KFC, offering 2.5% discounts. Yes, wonderful. 2.5 is bigger than zero.

        Uniqlo just came up with this month's new theme—some random cartoon character that I do not recognize at all. Why am I even subscribed to this thing?

        A reminder to update my phone's software, which I am delaying again for the umpteenth time. Great, great, moving on.

        That's it.

        That is all.

        No more.

        No message from Aubrey.

        No message from Aubrey.

        Something is gravely wrong.