Something Strange: The Arsonist

II: Rory

        Rory sidestepped his little brother as Ryder came barreling down the stairs on a pile of blankets. He smiled and walked out of the way and up to his room. His door was white with a bronze handle that creaked when you turned it. The mess inside was normal for a sixth grade dude, as you could imagine. But Rory's consisted mostly of books. Piles of the ones he'd read, piles at the end of his bed of the ones he planned to read. He collapsed onto his bed and relaxed. Thoughts danced through his head. Like any mostly quite person, his head was louder than he was.

        He loved to write. Notebooks filled up with ideas for stories and word docs on his laptop covered in words. He, like any other writer, had a problem where he would write a story forever, then come up with another good idea and forget about the last. He sighed and propped himself up, rolling up his shutters and letting the light in.

        Friday afternoon was one of his favorite moments. After a long week of school, ideas and influences from his everyday life appeared one by one in his stories. Even the most ordinary things could become extraordinary. He was about to prove his own point.

        "Rory! Come get the mail!" His mother called from the bottom of the stairs. Every day. Why couldn't she just call him before he went to his room? Who knows. He stood up from his bed and slumped to the door. His room being the warmest in the house, he was reluctant to open the door. As he did, a burst of cold air entered his room. Pulling his jacket close, he walked down the hardwood stairs.

        The door was just by the stairs, at the end and to the right. He grabbed his coat and slipped on his rubber boots, because he could get those on the quickest. As he opened the door, another nose-numbing draft hit him in the face. Rory lived in a suburban neighborhood. Identical two story houses lined the street with a small, bare tree in each yard.

        He clutched the clasp to the mailbox lightly, the ice on it freezing his fingertips. He threw it open fast and drew out the mail. Then, smiling mischeviously, he stepped back and kicked the lid, attempting to close it. His left foot slipped on the ice and sent him onto his back. He hit the concrete driveway hard. The lanky, brown haired boy tried to stand with a groan, only to land on his butt once again. He heard his nine year old neighbor giggle in his yard as he spread salt onto their walkway. Rory rubbed his head and cautiously stood up.         

        This time, Rory walked slowly up to the door. Maybe he would hire Max (his neighbor) to salt their driveway. He opened the door with a sore hiss and stumbled inside. A bundle of bills and a package sat cradled in his arms. He flicked through them.

        "Mom and Dad's, Mom and Dad's..." He skipped to the package. "Mine!" He whipered. He pried off his boots and walked up the stairs. The carpet felt otherworldly on his cold feet and the warm doornob was comforting. He sagged onto his bed once again, this time orying the padded shipping bag open as he fell. He pulled the bubble wrap out and found a box swaddled in the mix. He lifted the lid to find a light blue crystal, about the size of a quarter, and roughly cut. As soon as he picked it up, it began to crumble and he felt very dizzy. He watched, helpless, as it sifted through his fingers and drifted under the door.

        Then, as soon as it came, the dizzy spell diminished. He stood up. That was insane! He ran over and looked under the door. It hadn't caught on the carpet. He opened the door. No blueish cloud of dust there. Maybe it's downstairs! Rory ran down the stairs and around the house. In that door, out that door. Even in the bathroom. It was nowhere. He frowned. Back to my room, I suppose.

        Suddely, a gust of cold wind caught him off gaurd and all he could see was dark. he closed his eyes. Then he hit the ground. Right on his sore butt. He pried open his eyes cautiously and looked around. He was in his room. He stood up as to confirm his surroundings. Yep, same room. He checked his watch 4:15. Same time. He opened the door and ran down the stairs. the room he had dissapeared in seemed the same too.

        "Mom?"

        "Yes?" Came a yell from the living room. He ran over to her.

        "Has anything...strange...happened in here?"

        "No, no particularly strange. Your brother ate a cheerio off the floor, if that counts as strange." Rory frowned and walked off. He then smiled and thought about his room again. Same cold air, same dark, then he was there, on his bed. He grinned like a little kid.

        "I can teleport!"