After rereading the same paragraph three times, Emma figured she wasn't going to be getting any more homework done tonight until after all the little ones were in bed. As it was, her current foster mom and her four smaller foster siblings seemed to be having a rather heated disagreement on what exactly you needed to clean in a bath before you were considered "clean". Sighing, Emma looked around the cozy living room. The only other teenaged foster kid in the house, Geoffery, was sitting on the other end of couch, dressed in his usual head to toe in black, lost in whatever screaming was coming from his headphones. Figuring he wouldn't help relieve her boredom, Emma put her book back in her backpack and stood up.
"I'm going to go for a walk," she announced, catching her foster father's eye.
He nodded and replied, "Just don't be back too late, and don't wake anyone when you get in." He then turned his attention back to the game on TV.
Closing the front door, Emma breathed in deeply in relief of the nighttime silence. She glanced around a bit before walking down the porch stairs and went right upon reaching the side walk.
Her latest foster family wasn't the worst she's had in her 15 years of being in the system. Mr. and Mrs. Riston were nice enough. They seemed to at least care about the well being of the kids that lived there rather their paycheck unlike most families she's been sent to. She also likes that she's allowed a certain level of freedom over there that group homes don't allow. All in all, she was reasonably satisfied with them.
What she wasn't quite satisfied with was the small town the Ristons lived in. It's one of those everyone knows everyone. The only real hang out place Emma saw was a coffee and sandwich shop that doubled as the local movie theater. Heck, there were only a handful of traffic lights in the entirety of the city. As a city girl, the town really left something to be desired in Emma.
Crossing a street, Emma realized that she was right around the corner from an old abandoned house she had seen when her social worker first drove her into town. Hitching her bag up her shoulder, she decided to go check it out. She tried not to make herself look too obvious as she neared the old house.
The sprawling three story Victorian home had definitely seen better days. Its faded robin's egg blue paint was chipping from the sides. The wrought iron fence that encased the grounds was over grown with weeds and bushes. The extensive garden was obviously very elaborate at one point but was now creeping unkempt across the uncut lawn.
Emma glanced around as she crept closer. Seeing no one, she slunk over to the gate.
Thankfully, vines hadn't grown over it in such a way that it wouldn't open. She opened it just wide enough for her to slip through before quickly and quietly shutting it. Turning away from the gate, Emma eyed the creepy old house. Several of the windows were boarded up, and the door had a massive padlock locking it shut. Emma managed a few steps before she stumbled over something hidden in the shadows of the overgrown weeds. The echoing noise whatever it was made as it hit the fence caused Emma to duck into the shadows. Cautiously looking around, it didn't seem as though the noise disturbed anyone, so she carefully continued towards the house.
She made her way around to the side where an unboarded window stood just above her reach. She looked behind her for something that would give her the height she needed. Spotting an old stone bench, she congratulated herself for working out as she quickly drug the heavy bench to the edge of the house. Climbing on it, she looked through the glass. However, between the darkness of the night and the dirt caking the window, she couldn't see much inside.
Reaching into her backpack, she dug out a flashlight. Taking another cautious glance around, she turned on the flashlight and placed it right up against the glass, so it would light up the inside of the house instead of the glass. Inside she saw faded peeling wallpaper and old winged armchairs with stuffing pouring out.
Putting her flashlight between her teeth, Emma made quick work of prying open the window before pulling herself up and through it. Holding her flashlight in her hand again, she looked around what appeared to be an old sitting room. Greying cushions sat on the frame of an old settee in the corner. The old, faded Persian rug in the middle of the floor was fraying at the ends, and there seemed to be a hole in the ceiling that led to the floor above.
She was heading to the archway leading to the foyer when the light of her flashlight caught what appeared to be an old trunk in the room opposite. Thinking it might have something valuable inside, she walked towards it.
"Impressive."
The sudden male voice startled Emma who let out a small scream as she turned around to see a hooded boy with his hands in his pockets and a smug smile on his face.
"But you could have just used the back door."