Mr. Charles was a sixty year old man who wore a brown suit, brown shoes, and a yellow hat. He had a mop of brown hair, a chin much to short, and blue eyes that were sparkling with memories.
Back when he was a boy, his father worked at the hardware store, and his mother had been a semstress. His father died when a heavey load of wood fell on him, leaving Charles in the hands of his mother. When his mother died, he was only seven. All of his classmates laughed a him because he was an orphan, and when the children asked how his parents had died, all he said was,"I don't talk about it."
After two years of laughing, he was adopted by Mrs. Dibbins, a woman who had been left a widow when her husband had passed away. She was a plump woman with eyes so dark, you would think that they were black. Her lips were stained with her favorite, and most expensive De Chel raspberry colored lipstick and she wore way too much blush. She was a woman who liked collecting dolls, and had no want or need for children and thought that they were pests always dripping with forms of goo. The only reason she adopted Charles was because she needed a servent.
When Charles was told he would be adopted at the age of nine, his heart jumped as he felt loved for once. That soon changed when he arrived at his new home. He was given cleaning supplies, dusty old school books that looked as though if he touched them they would crumple, and a big, rusty key to what he realized would become his bedroom. After they got rid of the spiders and rats, of course.
Three years had passed and he had become aquainted with the idea and way of being a servent. Charles, whose nickname was Charlie at the time, had made friends with the creatures in corners, hidden in the attic, and in the very walls of this house. But he hadn't met the largest one that was scurrying around in hidden places.
