Okay, so, I'm finally starting my first multi-chapter story! The original idea of this plot was inspired by sm4567, and I simply tweaked it just a bit (and don't worry, they gave me full permission to use the idea!). Also, for fair warning, one of the main characters of the story is an OC, so hopefully no one will get mad at me! Other than that, I hope you enjoy it!
"But I'm only fourteen! I couldn't possibly buy my parents' house!"
"Well, maybe your parents should have thought about you before they went off like that!"
The boy's face drained of its color, freckles now standing out like awkward, brown specks that dotted his cheeks. In an instant, he already pushed away from the table and was furiously marching to his room, his younger stepsister in tow before her mother called her back.
That mother was also pale. She really didn't mean those words, but she had to get her point across. And besides; "Business is business."
The young man resembled both his mother and father quite equally. A pile of brown curls were placed atop his head, and big, brown eyes were put onto his face—both of which were taken after his mother. And even though his eye color was from his mother, his poor eyesight was inherited from his father. He decided to wear traditional glasses that resembled his father's; big and round. Tropical freckles dotted his face that was shaped more like his fathers than his mother's heart-shaped one. His physique was a combination of both parent, for he was tall yet masculine; of course that could also change over time but his body shape never really did change drastically.
As he made his way to his room, he dramatically slammed the door behind himself, and slumped down on his bed, holding his forehead in his hands while groaning. A single, brown eye popped out from behind a glass wall and it spotted a pillow that had fallen off of his bed. Angrily, he kicked it across the room where it hit the wall and promptly fell to the floor before he groaned again. A light knock caused his other eye to pop out as well, and then his whole face was revealed from its hiding spot.
"Go away."
"It's me," a soft voice chanted.
"Oh."
That single syllable was enough to let the quiet voice turn the knob to the boy's room and enter. He removed his hands from his face and frowned when she turned her back to close the door behind her. She looked exactly like her mother . . . Not to mention the fact that their names were the same as well. "Little" Jane had dirty blonde hair and curious, green eyes. To the boy, she was like a dog, but not in appearance, that is. You see, Little Jane always took after her mother, whom, of which, was very nosy and annoying—it reminded him of how a dog takes after its owner. And yet, when the dog realized that unhappiness was lingering from someone else, it would sneak over to them and try to cheer them up, which seemed to be exactly what she was doing.
That, or Jane had sent her upstairs to make nice indirectly.
"I'm sorry for what my mother said."
Yeah, Jane probably sent her upstairs.
"It's not your fault," he coolly replied, "so don't feel bad and don't apologize, either. And I'm not going to forgive her until she apologizes instead of sending you up."
"My mother," Little Jane went on, in a tone as if she hadn't even listened to the other, "also says that she didn't mean it. 'Business is business' or something like that . . ." She fiddled with the hem of her dress, trying to find the right words. "She said that she likes your parents too. S-She didn't mean what she said, it was just a, uhm, uh . . . Slip of the tongu—"
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard enough of this." He waved her off while getting off of his bed and headed for the door. When he opened it, the bigger Jane was already making her way up the stairs, as if she was already coming up to speak with him. Both people froze and stared at each other with wide eyes before the young male folded his arms across his chest and began to rhythmically tap his right foot upon the floor.
"I was just coming up to say that the new people moving in should be arriving tomorrow. Are you coming to greet them, or would you rather stay here?"
In reality, the trip from New York to Connecticut wasn't very long, but it seemed very tedious for almost every family member within the Deetz.
"So," Lydia—Charles's daughter and Delia's stepdaughter—piped up from the back seat, "you say that the people who used to live here died?"
"Lydia!" Her fiery stepmother turned around and snapped at her. "All you can think about are dead things. No wonder you're so miserable all of the time!" Turning around, she purposely hit her back against the seat of her chair, huffing. "Whereas you could care less about the fact that we're leaving New York for the middle of nowhere!"
"I don't think that it's the middle of nowhere," Lydia softly commented, glancing out of the window. Her expressionless face slightly lit up when a small smile graced it from seeing all of the older folk outside, doing various chores that needed to be done. She glanced back to Delia, or rather, the back of her head, covered in red hair. "And maybe this scenery can give you inspiration for your"—she glanced down quickly—"art."
Delia was going to turn around once more and snap at her stepdaughter once more, but Charles had abruptly stopped the car, causing both females to stop and look in his direction.
"Girls! I moved our family out here to relax. And goddammit, I will relax. Look, this is a big change from New York, and I want you two to stop arguing all of the time. Maybe some fresh air will both clear your minds from the long drive. And look"—he nodded his head in the direction of their new home—"we're here!"
Several moving trucks had been following the family during the entire drive. Upon getting out, Delia began barking orders at the men in said trucks, even before they actually got out of the trucks. Lydia and Charles, on the other hand, stood on the front lawn, admiring the New England home it all of its glory.
Charles comfortingly put an arm around Lydia's shoulders, beaming. "Isn't it wonderful, Pumpkin?"
Lydia nodded in grave approval. "Yes. It seems fascinating." Retrieving the camera that hung around her neck, she raised it to one of her eyes and began taking pictures, rotating in a circle around the house to get a good angle on each individual photograph. After taking a picture of an opened window in the attic, Lydia retrieved it and quickly looked it over, noticing that there were two smudges within that opened window. Looking up to the window itself, Lydia squinted, trying to locate the sources of these smudges, but unfortunately saw nothing within the window at the time. She then looked around from her father and stepmother to the various workers, trying to find someone to share her discovery with. When it was apparent that she would find no one, Lydia moved on, taking more photographs of the exterior of the house.
"Oh, Adam," a woman's voice softly cried, her arms clutching onto the chest of the bifocaled man next to her, "what is going on?"
"I don't know, Barbara," was his stoic reply, as he softly returned her grip in a reassuring embrace.
Four green eyes peered out of the window with minor interest, while two brown ones looked away in disgust. Both Jane and Little Jane exited the car after it was parked in the driveway of the new Deetz home, leaving the boy all by himself in the passenger seat. He grimaced and watched them as Jane scurried around to find the man who had just bought this house, and when she did, it looked as though she was annoying him to death. Little Jane, on the other hand, had gotten out and began skipping about freely, causing a few movers to stumble about and drop pieces of furniture, in which a redheaded woman would yell at them and scold them for not being careful. Sighing, the boy opened his car door and stepped outside, taking in a deep breath of air before letting everything out like a steam engine.
He shuffled about on the grass, looking around to each and every worker. He could easily tell apart Jane and Little Jane (obviously) as well as the owners of his old house. However, he couldn't exactly pick out what this moving, black speck was and what it was doing, for that matter. Removing his glasses, he quickly wiped them upon his shirt and placed them back upon the bridge of his nose, before the form of a girl took place. He found himself staring at her as she took more pictures before he quickly looked away at something else—his parents raised him in the fact that it was rude to stare at other people, especially when they looked so . . . Different. However, he was not fast enough, and she had spotted him as he had spotted her.
Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he slowly pivoted on his heel, only to be immediately faced with a dark girl. Flinching, he staggered back a few feet and took in her appearance. Her black hair was in pointed tendrils across her forehead and the rest of it piled high on her head, making her hair almost look like a volcanic eruption. Her pale skin was an obvious contrast to her dark hair and her black clothing. A large, black poncho covered most of her body, and her legs were covered in black. A camera hung around her neck and was moving slightly, as if she had just set it there.
Realizing that they had been standing there in silence for a rather long time, he spoke first. "I'm sorry for staring."
"It's no problem," she calmly replied. "I do get people staring quite often, actually."
Now he felt bad. "O-Oh, I'm sorry—"
"You can stop apologizing," her tone was practically flat, although he could've swore that he heard a small giggle emerge from her lips after she had said that. "So, why are you here, anyway?"
"I used to live here," he answered, looping his thumbs in the pockets of his pants. "With my parents, might I add."
"Your parents?" Lydia breathed. "You mean the people that died?"
Sinking back, his face darkened over.
"Oh, ah— I'm sorry. I didn't know that it would just suddenly come out like that." Looking down, she began to fiddle with small buttons on her camera. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss as well."
"S'alright."
Lydia softly smiled at the stranger and he smiled back—with a wider smile, that is.
So, this house really was haunted, wasn't it? Lydia liked that. Of course, she hated the idea of this poor boy having to go through life without his parents, but then again, death did fascinate her. However, even though she didn't know this boy for long, she was growing fond of him in a sense, almost as if he was indirectly telling her that there would be something in that house that she would enjoy immensely. And because she liked him so much, questions regarding his parents' death would be saved for later. For now, introductions were at hand.
Extending her hand, she smirked. "Lydia Deetz. It's a pleasure."
He gripped her hand and gave a firm shake, tensing up slightly when he realized that she was rather cold. "Thomas Maitland. Likewise."
