Number 667

Chapter One

Vivian tugged at her collar, the uncomfortable feeling of being watched returning. Adding to that, the clothes her mother had picked out were itchy and hot. Her smoky grey eyes darted from side to side as Vivian was bumped and jostled in the beige SUV. Her black hair was rustled and disturbed from its perch on her shoulders, and her flats scooted around the floor. Vivian watched the mesmerizing movement until she couldn't take it anymore and focused her eyes on the gloomy fall scenery outside her window.
The surrounding forest reflected Vivian's mood - sulky and irritated. The move had been harsh on everyone, but as her parents said, Vivian didn't like change. She hadn't changed the room in her old house from the time they moved in until the time they moved out, she had had the same friends since she was five, and she always - always - kept the same necklace clasped firmly around her neck. No one knew exactly why - the necklace was just a plain silver chain with a glass teardrop at the end - but all they knew was that Vivian liked the necklace, so it stayed. Usually, Vivian got what she wanted, when she wanted it.
After ten years and a day, or so it seemed to Vivian, they arrived at the small house that was to be their home. It was in a small neighborhood, near a small school, that was in a small town. Small, small, small. At least, that's what Vivian thought.
Though the house was, in fact, small, the grounds were not. The lawn stretched out for a good 20 yards before running into an old brown fence. In front of the house, there was a sour cherry tree that was just big enough to where Vivian could just fit into its branches, if she so desired, though she wouldn't. That just simply wasn't the type of person she was.
The SUV pulled up into the driveway, and Vivian's mother parked the car and stepped out onto the pathway from the driveway to the cream white front door. Vivian's father did the same, and they both gazed up at the white house, and from their vintage point they could see the attic window, its deep blue curtains drawn.
"Honey?" Vivian's mother asked, lightly tapping the car door window with her fingernail. "Do you want to get out and take a look at the house before we unpack?" Vivian didn't even look at her before answering plainly, "No." Vivian's mother sighed, whispering to Vivian's father, "Andy, do you really think the move was a good idea? I mean, I know I said she'd adjust, but..." She trailed off, staring into the bare branches of the cherry tree. "I know. She doesn't like change. But she'll have to adjust eventually. We had to move. We didn't have a choice. Unless I want to get fired, we all have to adjust." Vivian's father said. Vivian's mother sighed and grabbed the keys from her pocket, sliding them into the lock.
At the front door, there was a landing, and there were two staircases - one to the basement, one to the living area. Vivian's parents walked in, going up to the living area. From there, there was a doorway to the kitchen, and then the room branched off into a hallway. There were multiple doors in the hallway, containing two bathrooms on one side and two bedrooms on the other. There was a locked door at the end of the hallway.
"Well," Vivian's mother said. "I can certainly adjust to this." She walked into the kitchen, which had all but a table and chairs. It was complete with a counter near the window on the far wall and an island three paces from it. "I'll go get Vivian to start unpacking." Vivian's mother said abruptly. She briskly walked down the stairs, her high-heeled shoes making little tapping sounds as she walked. "Vivian!" She called from outside the car. "Time to unpack! You can bring in your books first!"
Vivian reluctantly opened the car door, stepping out onto the asphalt. She fidgeted in the tight pants and the ugly fleece sweater, immediately saying, "Can I change first? If you wanted to put on a show for the neighbors, it isn't working." Vivian's mother pinched the bridge of her nose under her glasses and said, "Alright. Whatever. Just put your clothes in the dresser while you're at it. Your father can carry in your books." Vivian yanked open the lift gate, grabbing one of the many boxes, this one neatly labeled "Vivian Clothes". Vivian smiled in satisfaction. Neat. Orderly. Just how she liked it.
She hefted the box into her arms, and she managed to hold it without struggling. Not because the girl was athletic, no. The lanky 12-year-old was anything but athletic. Smart, yes. Clever, yes. But not athletic. No, she was able to hold the box because she willed herself to. And Vivian Long always got what she wanted. She could be an athlete if she wanted. She could be anything she wanted, simply because she was confident enough on the inside to will herself to do practically anything.
Vivian gritted her teeth as she dropped the box onto the carpeted floor of what she decided would be her room. It had one window facing the back yard on the left side, and on the opposite side, facing vertically towards the window, was her bed. It had crisp, clean blue comforter - the same blue as the attic curtains - and white sheets in the same condition. It was lacking a pillow, though, to Vivian's distaste. Without a pillow the whole bed looked off. Wrong. So she marched outside, found a pillow in the lift gate, and evened it out on the bed. Then she tested the lamp on her mahogany nightstand beside her bed - the light bulb was burnt out - and changed her clothes into a respectable grey skirt that brushed her knees and a white blouse that was brand new, and then set to work neatly folding her clothes and placing them in stacks in her dresser.
Eventually, the sky started to tint hues of purple and blue, and Vivian went through her nightly routine. First she took a shower, scrubbing her glistening black hair with mint-smelling shampoo. Then she put on her pajamas - soft, plain things that were white and red and perfectly ironed - and brushed her teeth with the same white toothbrush she had been using for exactly six months and two weeks. Then she combed her hair until it was shining and perfect, beautiful as always, and climbed into bed, reluctant to disturb the sheer perfection of the sheets and blanket.
And then, finally, she slid a book slowly from her box of books, which her father had brought in while she was in the shower. It was called The Practical Book for Young Girls. It was Vivian's favorite book to read before she went to bed. Contrary to popular belief, it was not the most boring book in the world. It could possibly be the most proper book in the world, or the most sophisticated, but certainly not boring. Vivian was a curious, interesting child, and she was not at all interested in boring things.
The Practical Book for Young Girls was a book about logic, common sense, and most simply said, general smarts. It taught you how to be fierce, cunning, and clever, and it gave you all sorts of befuddling puzzles that you needn't even have paper for. You could use it to become a genius, or a scientist, or a teacher, or anything that uses the mind to solve problems. And that was exactly why Vivian loved the huge book.
Yes, that was one thing about it. Though it was interesting and generally confusing, The Practical Book for Young Girls was exactly 6,789 pages. Vivian had read all of them. Three times.
Vivian opened the book to a cleanly bookmarked page 3,046. It had her nightly article that she always read. It prepared her for sleep, and if she ever, ever woke up in the morning without reading it the previous night, she would feel dirty and disgusting. Unclean. And, as you know, Vivian did not like things to be unclean. Which is exactly why, after opening to page 3,046, she immediately jumped out of bed when she saw the bug on her floor.
The bug was black, with shining wings that looked rather like Vivian's hair. Its beady eyes seemed to survey the room, but oddly, it's long, stringy feelers did not even twitch. Vivian didn't want to step on it, for fear of getting beetle insides on her clean floor, but she didn't want it in her room either. But on closer inspection, she saw that the beetle was not alive. In fact...
"It's a toy!" Vivian remarked, laughing at herself for not seeing it before. The beetle was nothing more than a small, stuffed piece of fabric with buttons sewn on and small strings tied in to look like feelers. Vivian carefully picked it up in her hands and slid open the window, tossing it out into the frigid fall air. She wondered, Why in the world would someone go through the trouble of making a toy bug? Especially with all the tiny stitches... She shook the though off and climbed into bed, shuffling open a drawer and sliding in The Practical Book for Young Girls. Then she fell asleep feeling like she was pointedly forgetting something... Vivian woke in the morning knowing exactly what she had done wrong. "The Book!" She exclaimed, slamming her palm onto her forehead. Then she shook her head, rustling her uneven hair. "It'll have to wait." She said, pulling herself out of bed. After all, if she read it in the morning, everything would be off. And off was bad. Vivian padded to her dresser, slipping a dark, almost navy, shirt out. Then she found her white skirt, of the same length as the one she had worn yesterday, that had belonged to her uniform from her old school. She breathed in a breath of fresh, morning air and headed to the bathroom, pulling her knee-high socks up to their proper height. She drew the comb through her hair, each separate strand shining. Her hair was always kept brushed and free of tangles. Then it could always be shining and healthy. The soft waves of black would rest on her back today, she decided. She neatly folded them back so that they lay from her shoulders down to her waist. Then she looked at herself in the mirror with her cloudy grey eyes and reassured herself that she couldn't let a silly book article get in the way of Vivian Long. Vivian walked out of the bathroom, her grey flats already on. She glanced at the clock. 7:30. She smiled. The day was off to a good start. Then she peered down the hallway to her parents' bedroom, which was a little ways down the hallway from hers. She could hear her father's snores from the corner of the room where their bed was, but not her mother's soft breaths. She could smell food cooking from the kitchen, so she then knew that her mother was already up making breakfast. Her eyes wandered again to the door at the end of the hallway. Unlike the other doors, which were a deep mahogany with wood finish, this door was raggedy white wood that was lacking a proper sculpting or finish. It had stray slits of wood poking out like knives, and the doorknob was really the only thing of interest on the whole door. It was shiny brass, and Vivian could see her distorted reflection in it. Vivian turned away from the door, mentally slapping herself for being so foolishly absorbed with something so petty as a doorknob. "Vivian!" Her mother called. "Breakfast!" She knew Vivian would be awake, of course. She was always awake at the same time - 7:30 - every day. Either that time, or earlier. Vivian turned her back on the old door and headed to the kitchen for breakfast.