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"Are we there yet?" asked Peter.
"No," replied Aunt Nora.
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"
"No!" If there was one question Nora Shepherd was beginning to hate, it was that one. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to blot out her nephew's repeated chants of "Are we there yet?" she slowly counted to ten.
"Are we-"
"Peter that's enough!" Judy's hand clamped down over Peter's mouth as she gave him her trademark "Shut up" look. Eventually she released him.
The nine year old folded his arms and sat there with pout. They had been driving for what seemed like hours, at least that's what it felt like to him when he had nothing to keep him amused, not even a toy or his games console.
Well, this sucks. Peter sat there with his arms resting on his seatbelt, already fed up with the whole situation. He sunk into the beige leather seat.
Peter sighed as he glumly watched the world pass by. Instead of the industrial estates and skyscrapers of Albany, his home, all that washed past were fields and rural neighorhoods. Everything rushing in a dull, green blur made him nauseous. He tore himself away from windows, they were starting to fog up from the damp air and pouring rain anyway, and quickly fetched a white, paper sick bag from the pouch on the back of Aunt Nora's seat.
Judy glared at him with sharp green eyes as the rustling from him opening the bag disturbed her from her phone call. She tutted, brushing her straw colored locks aside as she spoke into the small pink phone held up to her ear. "No still in the car," she said, trying to blank out the disgusting sound of her little brother puking into a sick bag. "No that's just Shrimp being car sick again. Honestly I think most of it is just dry retching for attention."
Raindrops tumbled down the window like a stampede of wild buffalo. Even from a very young age Peter would turn to counting them to pass the time on long car journeys. However he soon lost count somewhere near two hundred and gave up.
That's odd, what did I eat today that had corn in it? Peter glimpsed at the contents of his sick bag.
"Ugh! Peter! Don't look at it!" Judy yelled, gagging at her brother's morbid fascination with his own vomit. "What were you expecting to be in there?!"
"Well, I had corn today," Peter remarked. "Ah, must have been Aunt Nora's tuna casserole."
Now Judy felt sick. "Aunt Nora, pull over before I throw up!"
"Peter put thing away!" Aunt Nora yelled. "We're almost there, Judy!"
"Where's there?" Peter asked.
"Our new home Peter..." Aunt Nora replied. He's asked that same question five times today already!
"What's wrong with your old house?" Peter asked, sitting up.
"This new place is bigger and in such a lovely neighborhood! You'll make lots of new friends!" Aunt Nora replied.
"I don't want any new friends! I miss my old friends!" Peter whined.
Aunt Nora didn't reply, however Peter could hear her counting again. He decided to shut up for the rest of the trip.
A cool but expected October breeze disturbed the vibrant carpet of leaves stripped from the trees as fall set in. Stood in front of an empty, worn out mansion infested with dry rot, was a sold sign.
Aunt Nora's red sports car pulled up on the kerb. In stark contrast to the rotten, old mansion it was shiny and almost brand new.
"Well, here we are kids," sad Aunt Nora. Eager to look around she almost forgot to turn off the ignition.
You have got to be kidding me... Peter couldn't believe his eyes. Beyond the rusted gates a crumbling,white mansion barely stood there. It was way too rotten and busted to live there. Aunt Nora... What were you thinking...?
Well, come on you two! Have a look!" said Nora.
"Yeah, move it Shrimp!" Judy gave Peter a swift kick up the backside to get him moving.
Peter shot her an icy glare. That's it! I swear, if you call me that one more time! He growled as he got out and set foot on the sidewalk with his muddy, black sneakers. Dusting himself off, he looked up at the decayed mansion.
"What do you two think? Lovely isn't it?" Aunt Nora asked.
"Eh," Judy mumbled, far more interested in texting her friends.
"Peter?" Aunt Nora asked.
What do I say? "No Aunt Nora, I think it looks like dump"? Peter was reluctant to be honest, fearing she would get mad at him. "It's fine, I guess." Liar. It was not fine. The shutters were hanging by a rusty hinge.
"Good. Why don't we see what's inside?" said Aunt Nora as she went on ahead down the stone path. Peter went to follow but was stopped by Judy.
"Liar. You don't like this house at all do you?" Judy asked him.
"What's it to you?" Peter was in no mood to acknoledge her questions as they felt more like an interrogation. Besides why should he give her the time of day when she'd been picking on him all day.
"I can read you like a book, Shrimp. You're already sick of this place and we've only just got here!" said Judy.
"First off, stop calling me that! My name is Peter!" Peter said sharply. "And secondly, Look at it! the whole place is falling apart!"
"I have eyes, Peter!" said Judy. she softened her frigid tone slightly. "You're still missing Mom and Dad, aren't ya?" It seemed that soon after Mom and Dad died in that car accident in Canada Aunt Nora was desperate to get rid of anything that reminded her of them. Peter and Judy barely had time to mourn them.
The question pierced Peter's heart like an arrow. He could only nod. Of course I miss them! Why did they go on that stupid holiday anyway?
"Hurry up! you can both play later!" Aunt Nora called them from the end of the winding path to the front door. It was flanked either side by overgrown lawns boarded by twisted barbed wire rose bushes with dead brown blooms. Judy pushed Peter to get him to go through the rusted iron gates first. They simply read: "Parrish Hall" in gothic letters.
At the end of the serpent-like path that crunched under Peter's sneakers were some elegant, but worn and cracked marble steps. at the top were two tremendous oak doors with golden lion heads for door knockers. He was reluctant to touch them in case they sorung to life and growled at him.
"Now where did I put the house keys?" asked Aunt Nora.
You have got to be kidding me! you've lost them already?! Peter squeezed the top of his nose.
"Ah, here they are." Aunt Nora pulled out a keyring with an old fashioned brass key on it and unlocked the doors. They creaked open as Peter imagined doors would in a film about a spooky mansion. There was something eerie about the whole place, however logically they were only groaning like that because their hinges were rusty and needed some oil.