Grimmsdale

Red

Pfff!!!!, I spit out the mouthwash into the sink, wiping my mouth. I looked down, turning on the faucet and watching the fluid swirl around, draining downward into the sink. I stuck my toothbrush back into my mouth as I opened up my cabinet.

My eyes scanned over the various canisters and medicines of the large cabinet. I grabbed a scrunchie from the top shelf and closed the cabinet door.

"Hurry up, hon, you'll be late for your bus!" Mom called.

"Ok, ok..." I said, voice muffled by the toothbrush. I put my hair into the scrunchie, making a high ponytail. I popped the toothbrush out of my mouth, dropping it back into the cabinet. I closed the cabinet for a final time, leaving the bathroom. I shrugged my black leather jacket on as I walked down the hallway.

The hallways were old, almost as old as the house itself. The walls were a dusty gray, decorated by older, and even dustier pictures and paintings of past relatives. The floor creaked with each step I took. The hallway opened up to a larger room, the living room.

The living room was huge. The ceiling was high, a chandelier hanging from above, its glass shards glistening. The walls were the same dusty color of the hallways, but the pictures and paintings replaced by more current family photos.

"Come one now, here's lunch!" Mom said. She tossed me a paper bag. I quickly held out my hand, catching it in midair.

"Good reflexes..." Mom grinned. I rolled my eyes.

"Really? You can't just hand it to me?" I said, turning towards the door.

"Your dad says hi! Would have said it himself, but work calls."

"Not shocked...." I said.

My dad is the local sheriff. He recently got the job here while investigating a chain of murders that led to this town. Most of the time he's at work, and for the past couple of days, the only time we really talked was when I helped him out of the field after an investigation started.

My Dad is what you would call a bit 'rough around the edges'. He doesn't speak often, and when he does, his deep, surly voice makes you wanna pee yourself.
He usually stocks up on antiques. Any type of old weapons, artifacts, family heirlooms, you name it. Ask anybody, and they would tell you all about how he knows the story behind everything in his weapons vault. Honestly, it's pretty sweet.

My mom works as my Dad's deputy. She works just as hard as he does, especially on these murder cases. She isn't as quiet as Dad, but when it comes to being tough, they're both just as scary. Her whole childhood was filled to the brim with any type of guns, knives, bows, crossbows, anything that kills, her also being from a hunting family like Dad. And all that time being around such weapons, she knows how to use them well. Mom can strip, clean, and reassemble any type of firearm a person brings in.

Both of my parents are pretty tough when it comes to their knowledge in self defense. Along with the weapons use, both of my parents received training in 4 different types of martial arts from when they were kids. I'm guessing that's why they keep pushing it onto me. Heck, I already help them out with cases. I started my training as a homicide detective before we even moved here.

I slipped on my black Skullcandy Hesh headphones, plugging it up to my Walkman.

My house was conveniently placed into the middle of thick woods. The trees made it so that you could only barely see the neighbor's house. Doesn't matter though. We just moved here....

My house is old. It's been passed down through my family for a few generations, recently to my great grandmother. When she died, she decided to give the house to my family. Now here we are...stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Outside it was chilly. The tall trees that surrounded my house were dotted with patches of orange and yellow leaves. The said leaves were starting to flutter to the cold ground, crunching under my black boots. The wind was blowing softly, tossing the leaves around as they swirled around me. Wisps of vapor clouded out of my mouth with each breath.

I walked on, pressing the play button on my Walkman. My headphones started to blast Five Finger Death Punch as I kept walking. I came up towards another house on the way to my stop.

The house was large, around the size of mine, and was a deep red. The details of the house, which also included the door, were black. A porch was out in the front, decked by a rocking chair, which was being seated by an elderly woman. She was knitting a red jacket, her ancient, arthritic hands moving surprisingly quickly a s she weaved the needles and yarn into patterns. I glanced over at her.

"Can already tell what your favourite color is...." I said sarcastically before turning back to my path.