Feral (The Irisbourn Chronicles Book 1) (2 page)

"Yes, I'm fairly sure,"
Jess confirmed.
 
"I haven't seen
anyone come in or out.
 
No one could
possibly still be here."

"It's all very odd, isn't
it?" I said, voicing what everyone must have been thinking.

"Or just very fortunate,"
Matt suggested.

Torn between discovering the rest
of the house and doing her job, Jess reluctantly announced that she would be
working on the rest of the doors on the first floor.
 
After she left, Heather, Matt, and I split up
to explore the opulent interior in silence.
 
We had always been inclined to act independently.

The clicks of my shoes echoed
ominously, bouncing off vaulted ceilings into unexplored hallways.
 
On the ceiling, light exploded off cobwebbed
crystal chandeliers into hundreds of tiny rainbows.
 
I quickly discovered that the house had three
floors and a cellar with too many rooms on each level to bother counting.
 
After a half hour of aimless wandering, I
drifted into one of the lifeless bedrooms to absorb the reality of our new
home.

Sunlight filtered in through a long
window, which also offered a pleasant view of the driveway.
 
Because the room was situated within a corner
of the house, another window provided a clear view of the side of my neighbor's
house.
 
For the first time, I clearly saw
the weathered condition of the residence beside ours.
 
What had once been a marvelous work of
architecture now bore the scars of time in its cracking paint and sagging
frame.
 
Behind frosted glass, gaping
blackness held the secrets of prior tenants.

In a passing glance, I thought I
glimpsed a flash of a pale face in the downstairs window.
 
My eyes probed the shadowy window for the
face, but I never found it again.
 
I
shook my head briskly.
 
My mind must have
been playing tricks on me.

The more I forced myself to ignore
the window, the more I felt with the strangest certainty that someone was
watching me.
 
But I was probably just
being absurd.
 
Sheesh, what was wrong
with me these days?
 
I fell onto the bed,
the sheets of which matched the deep violet walls.
 
While fiddling with the lacy sheets (somehow
completely bug-free), I heard the floor creak behind me, and I turned around in
alarm, my hand flying to my throat.

"Crap, Matt, it's just
you.
 
Don't surprise me like that!"
I recovered my composure and kept the fleeting fear from my eyes.
 
"The house, it's stunning.
 
I can't believe it's ours."

"Neither can I.
 
What luck, right?" Matt raised his eyebrows.
 
"You know, if you want this room, you
can have it.
 
Heather's already called
the blue one down the hall."

"What about you? Don't you
want it?"

Matt shook his head.
 
"Purple's not really my color.
 
Besides, I'm probably going to end up taking
the master anyway."

"Thanks," I shot him an
appreciative smile.
 
"I like this
room."
 
Well, except for the creepy
window.

Finished staking out her sleeping
quarters, Heather skipped into the room and let out a low whistle.
 
"Wow, this room is big!
 
Why didn't I pick this one?" She tossed
her hair and scowled at her misfortune.
 
"I'm going to try not to complain though.
 
I'm in a good mood today."
 
Or at least she was in a better one, now that
she was no longer around Jess.

I was about to sarcastically thank
her for her generosity when my stomach growled ferociously.

"Look who's hungry," Matt
noted. "Where do you all want to go for dinner?"

Heather’s eyes lit up at the
mention of food.
 
"Italian!"

"Hold on," I broke in.
"Jess is still downstairs, and we smell like the inside of our musty old
car.
 
Let Jess finish first, then let’s
unpack and shower, and then we can go."
 
I hesitated.
 
Suddenly I felt as
if I were encroaching on the authoritative position of my mother.

Frowning, Heather whined loudly and
marched out the door.
 
But I caught Matt
grinning at me with a hint of pride before following her out.

Chapter
Three

In oversized sweatpants and a
t-shirt, I sat cross-legged in the fancy leather seat of the bustling Italian
restaurant.
 
Before leaving the house, I
had quickly slid my wet hair into a messy bun, which now hung in damp tendrils
around my neck.
 
Since I had thrown on
the first articles of clothing on the top of my suitcase, I was completely
underdressed for the posh "Grande Ristorante Italiano."
 
Hell, I probably would have looked sloppy at
a McDonalds.

Biting my lip, I hastily chose a
chicken dish from the extensive menu.
 
As
I was about to snap it shut, I noticed a group of friends sitting at a secluded
table in the corner of the restaurant.
 
From behind the shelter of my menu, I observed them laughing raucously
at something an excited girl with bouncing pigtails had said.
 
I sighed forlornly.
 
Four months ago I would have looked like any
one of them, chattering away with my closest friend over dinner at the
mall.
 
But all that had changed now.
 
The only people I knew within a nine hundred
mile radius were my sister and my brother.

One of the boys from the group
caught me staring absent mindedly at their table and looked at me with peculiar
amusement.
 
Ashamed, I averted my eyes
and ducked behind my menu.

The rest of the dinner proceeded
quickly, and Matt, Heather, and I found ourselves back at home in our separate
rooms within an hour.
 
Just as I had
contentedly plopped down onto my bed, my phone buzzed in my messenger bag
hanging from the bed frame.
 
Hoisting
myself off the mattress, I stuck my hand into my bag and blindly grabbed for
the device.

Upon activating the screen, I
discovered three text messages from Dylan, my best friend.
 
I guess I wasn't checking my phone
enough.
 
The messages read 1.
Just a heads up, I'm using ur old locker 2
store my comic collection
2.
Seen any
cowboys yet?
3.
 
AMBER!
 
Steve Jobs did not invent
ur phone 4 u 2 ignore it!

Blowing my hair out of my face, I
typed out,
Sorry, gosh.
 
Patience, please.
 
No cowboys -- this may be Texas, but it's
still the twenty-first century.

Immediately Dylan texted back,
How about longhorn cattle?

Before I had a chance to respond, a
picture I had taken of him sleeping in math class popped up on my screen,
alerting me that I had an incoming call.
 
I answered it without having to think.

"So, did you see any
cattle?"

I was taken off guard by the wave
of relief I felt just in hearing the familiar tone of his voice.
 
With spotty cell phone coverage along the
highway and the rush of moving, I had barely heard from him for two weeks.

"Well, yeah," I
admitted.
 
"But no cowboys."

"Who do you think are raising
the cattle?"
 
Dylan said slyly.

"Uh, ranchers.
 
Don't be silly, Dylan.
 
Anyway, I'll need to Skype you so you can see
our new home, because it looks like it fell from the pages of a
fairytale."

"Tomorrow, maybe.
 
I've got an exam to study for.
 
Speaking of which, when are you going back to
school? It's already, like, the middle of the first semester."

I tensely wound a strand of hair
around my index finger.
 
The inevitable
approach of school always made me panic in a way that I felt was fairly close
to a premature mid-life crisis.

"In two days, I think.
 
Matt still needs to call and get Heather and
me enrolled."
 
I sighed sadly.
 
"I can't believe I live in Texas
now."

"Yeah, imagine how boring your
life's going to be without me," Dylan teased, trying to lighten my mood.

"But we'll still keep in
touch, so not everything's changing, right?" I asked seriously.

"Right, of course.
 
We'll still be friends," Dylan
confirmed.
 
I could tell he was surprised
that I even felt the need to ask.
 
"No
matter what.
 
But, hey, aren’t you two
hours ahead?
 
You should probably get to
bed –er, sorry, I meant
hit the hay
.
 
What with you being a cowboy and all."

I groaned.
 
I had completely forgotten about the time
difference.
 
"You're right, it's
pretty late.”

“I wish I knew the antonym of
howdy,” Dylan mused thoughtfully.
 
His
obsession with stereotypes was incorrigible.

“I’m going to sleep.”
 
Even though I tried to sound upset, I still
ended up smiling.

I hung up and collapsed onto my bed
with a loud huff.
 
I couldn't believe
that I was going to have to suffer through the rest of high school separated
from my best friend by a thousand miles.

Chapter
Four

The next morning I awoke to a
resounding metallic crash.
 
I leapt out
of my bed half unconscious and stumbled over my own feet as I hunted for what
had pulled me from the depths of my first good dream in days.
 
Of course, what with my terrible sense of
direction, I ended up getting lost before I was finally able to follow the
racket into the kitchen.
 
I was greeted
by a mess of pots and pans strewn all over the floor, with Matt muttering under
his breath as he knelt to pick them up.

"Morning Matt.
 
Uh, what happened here?"

Matt looked up, startled.
 
Obviously he had not noticed me.
 
It only took him a moment to regain his
constantly sunny disposition, one I could not help but suspect he forced for the
sake of Heather and me.

"Morning Amber!” he
chirped.
 
He even looked like a bird when
he said it, with his bright eyes and singsong inflections.
 
“I was just moving a box of kitchenware I
found in the pantry.
 
It was heavier than
I thought it would be."

Behind him, an abused cardboard box
lay sideways on the floor, a gaping hole through its base.
 
I crouched to help him collect the explosion
of pots on the ground.

"You know, before we can use
these dishes, we're going to need to buy food first."

"I'm about to go to the
store.
 
You can watch yourself and your
sister here for about an hour, right?" Matt placed the last pot on the
counter with satisfaction and brushed his hands on his pants.

"Matt.
 
We've stayed home alone before.
 
You don't need to worry about us," I
looked at him earnestly, ceasing the opportunity to minimize his
responsibilities.
 
The last time we had
all lived together, I had been a little older than ten.
 
Heather and I didn’t need a babysitter
anymore, and he wasn't our dad.

When our parents had died, Matt was
only twenty-four and had just graduated from the University of Iowa with a
writing degree.
 
Although he had
originally aspired to go to New York, he immediately moved back to California
and assumed guardianship of my sister and me.
 
Singlehandedly keeping Heather and me afloat, he took care of all the
responsibilities that used to belong to our parents, including paying the
bills.
 
Fortunately, what with their
sizeable life insurance policies and savings, our parents had already prepared
for the worst-case scenario and left us with more than sufficient funds to
support ourselves.
 
Nevertheless, I
couldn't help but feel as if Matt were restraining himself for the sake of
Heather and me.
 
He should have been
making mistakes with his other writer friends in New York City, being young and
stupid and reckless.
 
But here he was – a
middle aged man at twenty-four, with no parents and two kids to take care
of.
 
I couldn’t even remember the last time
he had been on a date.

"Well, I guess you're
right.
 
I'll be back in a bit."
 
Matt absentmindedly swung the keys to our
beat-up minivan around his finger.
 
"Tell Heth I'm gone."

"Sure.
 
Take your time.”

When I found Heather, she was
snoring under a mountain of covers, and I knew better than to wake the sleeping
beast.
 
With nothing better to do, I
decided that I might as well familiarize myself with the house so that I could
avoid getting lost like an idiot again.
 
I roamed the hallways, tediously exploring every nook and cranny.
 
The unbroken pin drop silence of the house
was deafening, and my ears rang.

In the upstairs hallway I came
across a locked slender door.
 
As much as
I pounded and jiggled the handle, it wouldn't budge. I probably would have left
it alone and forgotten about it, had it not been for the disturbing face engraved
on the knob.
 
A gaping mouth with an
unhinged jaw had been molded into it to make it look like it was
screaming.
 
The people who had built this
place must have had a rather dark taste in décor.
 
Upon further inspection, I found that it also
possessed the “absurd little metal doohickey" Jess had claimed to be a
second lock.
 
Except on this door, it was
the only lock.

Although I suspected that it was
probably just a linen closet that the old tenants had forgotten to unlock, I
felt an inexplicable urge to open it.
 
Inspired by Jess' success with our locks, I retrieved a paperclip, a
butter knife, and my emergency credit card.
 
Laying the utensils in front of the door, I assessed the best way to
attack the situation.
 
Stabbing the
doorknob with the butter knife didn't work, and the door only chipped the edges
of my credit card.
 
Clearly, lock picking
in television shows wasn't very reliable.
 
Since the door lacked a normal lock, I would have to find a way to pick
the unusual cavity, something Jess couldn’t even do.
 
With a sigh of impatience, I jammed the
paperclip into the space, effectively snapping it in two.
 
I swore softly and bent over the knob to make
sure that I hadn’t damaged it.
 
As I
leaned toward the door, my mother’s necklace slipped out from under my shirt,
and I jumped back at the sight of its unnatural radiance.

A soft bright haze was emanating
from the center of the orb, similar to the liquid inside a glow stick.
 
For a second I was afraid that I had broken
it.
 
It was fully intact, though, and
dimly shining in some ethereal way I did not even realize was possible.
 
After all, I had never seen the necklace do
such a thing when it had belonged to my mother.

My eyes went to the locking cavity
in the door, and then back to the necklace.
 
Something in my brain clicked.
 
As
crazy as it seemed, their shapes seemed to complement each other.
 
I removed the chain from my neck and placed
the orb into the orifice.

It fit perfectly.

I turned the orb clockwise until it
popped out in release.
 
A chemical hiss
emerged from within the door, followed by little clicks and clangs.
 
After a final metal sliding noise, everything
became silent.

I gingerly placed my hand on the
knob. The piercing sting of insanely cold metal shocked me, and I jumped back
in surprise.
 
It hadn’t been like that
before.
 
Anticipating the temperature, I
grabbed the knob again and twisted.
 
The
door seemed heavy, like metal, and the instant I cracked it open, a freezing
gust of air burst out from behind it, slamming the door against the wall and
knocking me onto the floor.
 
Dazed, I
peered inside the room, half-expecting the door to have led directly out into
open air.
 
But the room inside was
windowless, and therefore pitch-black.
 
Where could that gust have come from?

While I waited for my eyes to
adjust to the darkness, my stomach squirmed uncomfortably.
 
The room appeared too deep to be just a
closet.
 
I shuddered at my memories of
corny horror movies in which serial killers and monsters lurked in every
shadow.
 
Although Dylan and I had always
laughed at the ridiculous plots and ignorance of the main characters, now the
films seemed a little closer to reality.

I breathed deeply and forced myself
to take control of my wild imagination.
 
What would Matt think of me if he knew I was afraid of a dark room?
 
Monsters didn't exist.
 
Serial killers didn't live in people's
houses.
 
I was being juvenile.

With my narrow beam of
phone-powered light to guide me, I entered into the room with extreme
caution.
 
Almost immediately a cloud of
dust infiltrated my lungs, sending me into a violent fit of coughing, during
which I entirely forgot about monsters and murderers.
 
Before continuing, I made sure to place the
sheer fabric of my shirt sleeve over my mouth.
 
With such little light, it was impossible to tell if mold or asbestos
was up here.

I shined my weak light into the
darkness and prepared myself for anything that might jump out and attack
me.
 
Waves of fear rolled through me, and
my brain screamed at me to leave.
 
But I
didn't leave.
 
I didn't want to carry the
personal shame of being afraid of something so ordinary.
 
Some innate, irrational hunger for
self-confirmation urged me forward.
 
I
narrowed my eyes at the darkness, trying to search for anything I might
recognize.

At first, based on the wooden
beams, whitewashed walls, and scuffed floor, I assumed that the door must have
just lead out into the attic.
 
However,
as I ventured further inside, I realized that I was not standing in an attic,
but a barren, unfinished room.
 
Could
previous owners have built this room, and then simply lost the motivation to
finish it?
 
I couldn't remember Matt
telling me anything about an unfinished room.
 
As I was about to take leave of the mysterious room, my eyes caught
sight of a ladder that I had initially overlooked as part of the wall.
 
Propped up in the corner, the top of the
ladder led to a square opening in the ceiling. Well, hell.
 
Now where did
this
lead?
 
Finding rooms
folded within one another was just bizarre.

I stared wide-eyed at the ominous
blackness above me, and for a while I considered abandoning the expedition
altogether.
 
Then I remembered what Matt
would have done in my situation.
 
Instead
of visualizing malicious red eyes peering down from the opening, Matt would
have confidently scaled that ladder by now in order to prove to his younger
sisters that their new house was safe.
 
Once again, I suppressed my fears, and, holding my phone between my
teeth, climbed the noisy, groaning ladder.
 
As soon as I was up, I knew that I was in another unfinished, monster-free
room identical to the one I had just emerged from.

I rewarded myself with long,
relaxing breaths of musty air.

Then I distinguished the muffled
scrapes originating from the room below me.
 
Surely my brain was playing tricks on me.
 
I had been everywhere in this house, and I
had found absolutely nothing definitively supernatural.
 
Yet the scrapes continued to grow louder
until they became discernible clicking.
 
My heart slammed against my ribcage, and I was shoved back into my
panicked state of mind.
 
Something was
definitely moving down there.
 
I could
clearly distinguish footsteps skidding along the unclean, gritty floor of the
room below me.
 
With trembling fingers, I
prepared to use my precious phone as a deadly projectile.
 
Moments away from releasing a bloodcurdling
cry for help, I heard a familiar sleepy voice in the darkness inquire,
"Amber, what are you doing up there?"