Stormy sat at the coffee table, the creamy golden color of the morning sun casting it's rays into the gloom of the dark kitchen. Through the window she could see cars roll lazily by as early risers drove to their jobs, or jogged down the sleepy streets. The cup in her hands had long been emptied, so she left it there as she stood with a sigh, taking one last woeful glance at the For Sale sign in her yard before turning and heading up the stairs. Like the cup, the house had long been emptied of a good number of it's contents. Only a few scattered pieces of furniture remained, not nearly enough to break the feeling of the bare rooms. They had come in less than a month ago to dust the house, remove all of her belongings, and paint the walls. The house still smelled like paint, the varnish on the wood floors smelled of lemon, and the two mingled in a rather unpleasant way in the stale air. Down the upstairs hall, the farthest door on the left was her room, where an old metal-framed bed with a thin, bare matress served as the only furniture. Why they had left the bed, she didn't know, but she lay down on it, grateful for something familiar. The bed smelled like lavender and apples, the way the entire house used to smell before...Stormy closed her eyes tight against tears she knew couldn't come, gripping imaginary sheets tight in a fist. She leaned over and reached under the bed, bringing out a dusty picture frame. It was the one thing she had been able to hide from the renovators, a picture of a happy looking young woman, about 20 years old, with long black hair and bright blue eyes. In the picture next to her was a young man, with the same eyes and hair, though his skin was a bit more tanned. They were both smiling, the trees in the background said that the two were probably on a hike or a camping trip. Stormy traced a finger first over the girl, then over the girl's brother, a sad smile crossing her lips.
A car engine rumbled into the driveway, and Stormy hastily put the picture back under the bed.
The bed beneath her didn't creak under her weight as she sat up, her feet coaxed no creaking from the old wood floor as she ran down the stairs, past a hallway mirror that showed her no reflection of herself, to the window that overlooked the walkway to the front door. A stout woman in a red buisness suit was walking up the cobblestone path, her heels making loud clacking sounds with every step. "I'm sorry, I'm showing a house today, you'll have to do the lunch without me." Her voice drifted in as she turned the key and opened the door. "No, the Friar street house. Uh huh, yes." Stormy glared as the woman closed the door behind her, not seeming to notice the girl as she continued her conversation with the unseen person on the other end of the phone. "Tragic story, I know. But, it's a great selling point to the right people. Anyway, they should be here any minute, so I gotta run. Uh huh. Yeah. I'll talk to you later! MUAH!" The woman closed her phone and put it back in her purse, then did a slight double take when she saw the cup on the table. "Well, what in the world is that doing there?" She asked herself quietly, returning the cup to an empty cupboard.
"I don't want you to sell the house." Stormy said firmly, folding her hands across her chest and standing directly in front of the woman. The real estate woman took no notice, and simply walked right by her. "I'm serious!" She said, a little louder, but the woman kept walking. Stormy growled in frustration, and stomped out of the room to plop herself at the foot of the stairs. It was no use, the woman couldn't see her, and couldn't hear her. The only thing she could think of to stop them from selling the house was to scare off whoever came to look at it...but how could she do that, when no one could hear or see her?
· Sun Nov 25, 2012 @ 11:41am · 0 Comments