"God, alright already!" Sam shouted, storming up the carpeted stairs to the second story. "I don't understand why I have to help clean up Gran's old shiz anyways," she mumbled under her breath in annoyance.
For once, it was a beautiful Saturday in Seattle. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and there Sam was stuck inside of her Grandmother's house for 'spring cleaning'. While Sam loved her Grandmother greatly (after all she was the one who taught the young Puckett most of her breaking-and-entering skills) she was probably at least equally disdainful of house hold chores.
"Start with the attic, Melanie should have left the cleaning supplies up there!" her mother shouted with a wicked grin. Sure she loved her daughters, but sometimes it was fun to torture them a little here and there. Mama-Puckett was only human after all.
Blue eyes peered into the bucket brimming with chemicals and dusters. Carelessly hefting the grey container over her shoulder Sam walked over to the old wooden staircase that was already pulled free from the ceiling.
"Because that doesn't look sketchy at all," Sam huffed, tentatively placing a converse-clad shoe onto the faded wood. The staircase squealed with each hesitant step, and Sam let out a sigh of relief when she finally placed both feet onto the floor of the attic.
Her nose wrinkled at the heavy smell of must and dust that clung to the air. She traced her finger along the top of an old dresser, grimacing at the thick pad of dust she accumulated on her finger.
"Really? When was the last time anyone was up here?" she mused to herself, wiping her hand off on her torn blue jeans, "Might as well get this over with."
Pulling out the old feather duster Sam began to assault the modest sized attic. The blonde quickly tugged her shirt over her nose, small clouds of dust dancing around her as she carelessly navigated her way through the store room of old forgotten items. The dull gray room began to come to life as vivid colors and textures were freed from their dust tombs. Finally Sam reached the other end of the attic where a small circular window sat caked with grime. Using her jacket cover elbow Sam cleaned a small circle and peered curiously outside. Bright golden sunlight burst into the room causing Sam to stumble back and cover her eyes with a small cry of shock.
"What the frick," she growled, rubbing her eyes vigorously, "stupid sun!"
Blinking away the white spots, she peered outside of the small segment of cleared glass once more. A dull skyline of trees met her gaze. "Lame," she commented quietly.
Tromping back to the bucket, Sam pulled out some glass cleaner and paper towels. With clear glass, the small window poured forth an endless stream of yellow light, bringing the attic to life. Sam spun on her heel, grimacing at the streak of foot prints in the dust coated floor.
"Just great," she growled.
With an angry huff she marched down the creaking the staircase, stomped down the cream-colored stairwell, stalked into the kitchen and yanked the broom from her mother, and repeated her journey back to the attic. The mother of the Puckett twins laughter could be heard from the house next door.
Broom in tow, Sam began sweeping the splintering wood floor. The mind numbing activity began to lull her into a daze, her blue eyes sweeping the attic without thought.
It was then. The broom came to a halt; blue eyes glued themselves to a chest she had previously failed to notice before. Letting the broom clatter to the ground, Sam stepped slowed towards the black chest, a strange sort of excitement shooting through her veins. Her hands shook as she knelt down; fingers gripped the side handles of the large box. She gave it a tug, and was surprised by how heavy the container seemed to be. Shifting her weight for better leverage, she tugged again using her full body weight. The chest jumped free of its hiding place beneath a table.
Regaining her balance Sam crawled over to the opening of the chest, admiring the gold embossed S. Puckett on the face. She jingled the lock and grinned. With a little more cajoling the old, rusted lock creaked and fell to the ground. Sheer delight twinkled in blue eyes as Sam pushed open the chest and began to rummage through the contents. Inside she found men's clothing, but the style looked from several generations ago. Shifting the clothes to the side a pile of journals with the same embossing as the chest were exposed. Sam picked up one of the brown leather journals and flipped it open. The ripe scent of old books assaulted her noise as she quickly skimmed the sharp cursive handwriting. Finding nothing of interest in the journal her rummage through the chest continued.
Shoving the books to one side, a devious smile stretched across Sam's face. An old liquor bottle rested at the very bottom of the chest, surrounded by a protective layer of woolen socks. Pulling out the thick glass bottle, Sam wiped at the sides to try and find a label however the label appeared to have been scratched out some time ago. With a shrug Sam slammed the chest shut and sat down on top of it. With a twist of her wrist the cork slid out with a loud, satisfying pop. Sam brought the bottle to her nose, taking a deep breath of the brisk scent of hard liquor.
After a quick scan of the attic, and feeling assured that no one was going to walk in on her, Sam brought the bottle to her mouth and took a large swig. The taste was nothing she had ever had, and it frankly it wasn't good either. Like some strange combination of green tea, lavender, and whiskey. Sam forced the mouthful down, the burn unconscionable compared to other liquors she had tried before.
"The shiz," she whizzed while beating on her chest as she tried to control the coughing fit that overcame her. Roughly jabbing the cork in place Sam rose and replaced the bottle in the chest.
"Freaking gross, man!" she coughed, roughly shoving the chest back underneath the table.
"Are you almost done up there, Sam?" Melanie's voice flitted through the attic opening.
Sam jumped and walked over to look down at her mirror image. "Yeah, Mel. Be down in like five, 'kay?"
The other twin nodded and disappeared from sight. Sam sighed and picked the broom back, attempting to finish what she had started. The burn inside of her stomach began to subside, and for the rest of the day Sam gave no thought to the black chest in the attic.
By dinnertime however, Sam felt as sick as she did when Missy had slipped her spoiled chocolates three years ago. Hidden under a pile of blankets she moaned in pain, clutching her stomach. Melanie walked in with a wet rag and stomach medicine.
"Here," Melanie sat down next to her twin and ran the rag across Sam's sweaty forehead. Sam moaned in a combination of relief and pain. Melanie poured the purple liquid onto the spoon and held it out. "Swallow," she commanded gently.
Sam wrapped her lips around the spoon and swallowed the purple swill. Falling back into the blankets she rolled over onto her side again.
"Why don't you take a shower and I will change the sheets?" Melanie offered, saddened by the sight of the sickly teenager. "It might make you feel better."
Sam moaned, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter. Her tank top was plastered to skin with sweat, and she felt grimy after the whole day of cleaning. She chewed on the thought mentally for several seconds before rolling out of bed, grabbing a change of clothes and a towel, and stumbling into the bathroom.
Melanie couldn't help but smile as she watched the other version of herself stumble blindly into the bathroom. With a sigh, she started to strip the bed.
Sam sighed in content as the steaming water soothed her aching muscles and cleaned away the grim and sweat from the day. She felt the familiar pangs of arousal, and groaned in excitement as she relaxed the best way she knew how, a hot shower and an orgasm.
By the time Sam stumbled out of the bathroom Melanie had made the bed and left a glass of water and the bottle of stomach medicine on the nightstand. The bed was neatly made with fresh blue bed sheets. Sam crawled underneath the sheets, and in an instant fell into a deep, dream filled sleep.
The loud blare of her mother's voice was the next thing Sam heard. Her mom and Gran were arguing outside of the house by the beat up wagon the Puckett family owned.
"No I will not adopt another one of your cats!" her mom shouted, storming into the garage and muffling the rest of the conversation.
Sam rolled over and stretched, making a satisfied noise in the back of her throat. The aches and pains of the day before had seemingly melted away over night. Sam was contented to remain the confines of the soft sheets as long as she could, but her body was telling her otherwise.
"Oh man, I need to take a leak," Sam groaned, all but sprinting into the bathroom. Slamming the white door shut, she tugged her plaid pajama pants down but paused. Her green boxer shorts looked different, more filled out. Sam grumbled, pulling the waistband away from her skin and with the other hand reached in to tug out whatever had made its way into her shorts (it had happened before, after all). Her hands however did not find socks like she had been expecting.
Sam pushed her boxer shorts down and stared at the new fleshy protrusion before proceeding to let out a head-splitting scream.