Made of Glass

Book One

CHAPTER 1

"Nervous?" asked the cab driver. He watched me through the rear-view mirror with an unlit cigarette dangling from his thin lips. His question wasn't out of interest. He wanted me to pay my fare and get out of his car. He had pulled into the driveway of my childhood home five minutes ago, but I had yet to move. He wanted to be on his way, and I couldn't blame him. This forest radiated uneasiness. It made you believe in all those creepy stories from your childhood. If you looked too hard at the trees, you just might convince yourself they were watching you.

"Sorry," I muttered, finally handing him the bills I had crumbled in my hand. I grabbed my duffle bag and got out of the car.

My brother's royal blue car was parked in the driveway. I could see Paul milling around in the garage, sneaking looks in my direction. It'd been two years since we'd last seen each other. Shortly after my sixteenth birthday, I'd run away and never looked back.

I surveyed my childhood home and shivered in disgust. It was the only house within a two-kilometre radius, and the decrepit wooden cabin was straight out of a cheesy horror film. The doorframe and window coverings had rotted beyond repair, and the grass stood at knee height. Small purple weeds covered the front lawn, protruding from in between the gravel stone of the makeshift driveway. Paint peeled from the wood, and the deck was riddled with holes. Rotten. That's what it was. What it had always been.

I had vowed never to come back to this cursed place, and yet here I was. The conversation I was about to have with my estranged brother was enough to make me want to turn and run. But I couldn't decide if I was more afraid of this house, or what lurked in the forest. I'd convinced myself I was an adult now. Eighteen. But coming back here reinforced one thing: I was still just a silly little kid, believing in fairy tales and ghosts.

I dug my heels into the ground and crossed my arms tightly across my chest. My eyes closed instinctively and the image of our white paneled house with a baby blue door and bright red window shutters fluttered through my mind. We were happy then, but after my father left, my mother dragged Paul and I into oblivion, pulling me out of school and locking me away like the poor, dark haired version of Rapunzel.

I was only four when our father left, and Paul ten. His disappearance was quick. One night he was home cooking us macaroni and cheese, and the next morning he and his 1969 Chevy Nova were gone.

He'd taken Louie with him, our two-year-old Beagle mix, but conveniently left his kids behind. For weeks after I cried hot, bitter tears, full of childhood confusion and loss. Mostly I cried because I wanted Louie back, and because I didn't want to live in the middle of the forest where shadows moved in the night and unexplainable events became the norm.

I opened my eyes and focused on Paul, my brother; a word that held little meaning. Unfortunately, I couldn't stand on the side of the road forever, thinking about the past. I had to confront the present, and help my stranger of a brother deal with the aftermath our mother's death.

I flexed my fingers and began to move forward, counting my steps and trying to quell the burning sensation of dread that was rooted deep in my chest. I stepped into the garage, and came face to face with my older brother. I studied him intently, and he did the same. Suddenly, two years felt like ten. The boy I remembered had turned into a man. I could see the same pain and recognition in his face.

Paul had been a short, slightly pudgy kid with light blue eyes and fluffy strawberry blond hair. His hair had stayed the same beautiful shade, but he had thinned out and finally surpassed the 6ft mark, beating me by a couple of inches. He was an exact mix of our plain faced, golden-haired mother and our redheaded, man- child of a father. Somehow, I had ended up with hair the darkest shade of black, and a skin tone several shades darker than that of my fair-haired, fair-skinned family. The only trait I'd inherited from my mother was her multi-coloured eyes. I had one eye so brown it was almost black, and one the colour of an evergreen forest.