ONE
Diana sat on a dusty brown packing case at the foot of their newly built house, looking down at her feet. Thinking only one thing. Why here? Why now? Why Ireland? Why in the middle of winter vacation? Her parents were exacting revenge for something, she was sure. Had they found out who really flushed the Rolex down the toilet?
She stared out across the flat expanse around her. Not a sound. Not one bird singing, no car horns blaring, no kids racing down the street, no parents running after them screaming. Nothing. She missed L.A. already, and it had only been – she glanced at her watch – thirty-two minutes and forty- five seconds since she had stepped off American Airlines in Dublin, to be completely cut off from all of civilization.
Well, not exactly. There was a large mansion two blocks down, partly covered with trees, but she would rather not knock there. She could already tell the inhabitants were exactly the type who would place their customary offering of Jell-O in a vacuumed plastic bag and have in hauled off to a lab to be inspected, before they would take one bite.
She wondered why her mother just had to take this teaching job here, and why, then, they couldn't live in a city or some other place which had people. The rather sketchy explanation her father had supplied was that he had to get "inspired" to write his new book, and this place would serve the purpose. Whatever.
As she stared off into space, dreaming of the sights and sounds of California, her mom spotted her.
"Ah, there you are, Di, – get off my good china plates!" Diana realized she'd been sitting on a crate of her mother's prized possessions, and quickly jumped off. Her father, however, realized there was something bothering her. Besides getting shooed off a good sitting spot.
"Are you all right?" he asked, concerned. "Just fine," mumbled Diana, hoping her lie wouldn't be too noticeable.
"Well, in that case, can you go unpack the microwave?" said her father, and strolled off to inspect the new house.
She gave an audible groan and was just about to step inside, figuring electronic appliance set-up was to be her fate. Then, she suddenly heard a distant, yet distinguishable call for help through the chilly air.
"Did you hear that?" she spun around and questioned her family. "Hear what?" asked Max, her little brother, scratching his head. He waved a pudgy hand in front of his sister's face. "Are you feeling alright, sis? You'd better be, because we don't have a therapist here."
He seemed to believe that was incredibly hilarious, and ran off to unpack his Play Station system. Which probably wouldn't work, since the current here was different, thought Diana. But, she said nothing. Better to let him find out for himself.
"Nope. Nada," said her parents, after listening intently for a few minutes. "Look, it was some kid falling off his sled. No need to worry," her mother said gently, knowing how her daughter loved to investigate the slightest noise.
"Or, it could be someone trapped in a tiny cell being held ransom for a ton of gold," suggested her father. All eyes turned to look at him a bit queerly. "What?" he protested. "Just an idea! See, it's for my new novel called –," he trailed off when he realized not one person from his family was listening. Max, who had now come downstairs, patted his father on the back. "Keep your day job, Dad."
Diana turned around and dashed inside their new house, grabbing the green Jell-O from the refrigerator. She knew someone was in trouble, or, at least, fallen off a sled, and she was determined to take a look.
And, if by some slight chance she was wrong, she would think of an excuse – perhaps the plumber one. That had worked last time in Mrs. Watson's house, where she had investigated some strange sounds. Which turned out to be one of her elderly neighbor's many cats.
Just as she ran past their new yard, her mother stopped her and asked where exactly she was going in that you'd-better-have-a-good-reason tone that mothers have. Not letting her go until she promised to just say hello, not to investigate one bit, and to come right back and unpack the microwave. Crossing her fingers behind her back the whole time, of course.
She turned around and sped toward the House on Haunted Hill as fast as was humanly possible, where she presumed the sound had come from, and ran up the long sloping lawn. Having absolutely no idea of what she would be caught in the middle of, or of what was going to happen.
"Think she'll be all right?" her mother asked her father, looking after Diana, quite worried in that way that mothers have. "Oh, sugar, she'll be just fine," her dad answered, half-listening. "Or–," he had just had another idea and was just about to say it aloud, but thought better of it. And so, they turned back to their copy of Raising Your Weird Twelve-Year Old, leaving their daughter to unravel the mysteries of the universe -- or, at least, their neighbors.
Diana sat on a dusty brown packing case at the foot of their newly built house, looking down at her feet. Thinking only one thing. Why here? Why now? Why Ireland? Why in the middle of winter vacation? Her parents were exacting revenge for something, she was sure. Had they found out who really flushed the Rolex down the toilet?
She stared out across the flat expanse around her. Not a sound. Not one bird singing, no car horns blaring, no kids racing down the street, no parents running after them screaming. Nothing. She missed L.A. already, and it had only been – she glanced at her watch – thirty-two minutes and forty- five seconds since she had stepped off American Airlines in Dublin, to be completely cut off from all of civilization.
Well, not exactly. There was a large mansion two blocks down, partly covered with trees, but she would rather not knock there. She could already tell the inhabitants were exactly the type who would place their customary offering of Jell-O in a vacuumed plastic bag and have in hauled off to a lab to be inspected, before they would take one bite.
She wondered why her mother just had to take this teaching job here, and why, then, they couldn't live in a city or some other place which had people. The rather sketchy explanation her father had supplied was that he had to get "inspired" to write his new book, and this place would serve the purpose. Whatever.
As she stared off into space, dreaming of the sights and sounds of California, her mom spotted her.
"Ah, there you are, Di, – get off my good china plates!" Diana realized she'd been sitting on a crate of her mother's prized possessions, and quickly jumped off. Her father, however, realized there was something bothering her. Besides getting shooed off a good sitting spot.
"Are you all right?" he asked, concerned. "Just fine," mumbled Diana, hoping her lie wouldn't be too noticeable.
"Well, in that case, can you go unpack the microwave?" said her father, and strolled off to inspect the new house.
She gave an audible groan and was just about to step inside, figuring electronic appliance set-up was to be her fate. Then, she suddenly heard a distant, yet distinguishable call for help through the chilly air.
"Did you hear that?" she spun around and questioned her family. "Hear what?" asked Max, her little brother, scratching his head. He waved a pudgy hand in front of his sister's face. "Are you feeling alright, sis? You'd better be, because we don't have a therapist here."
He seemed to believe that was incredibly hilarious, and ran off to unpack his Play Station system. Which probably wouldn't work, since the current here was different, thought Diana. But, she said nothing. Better to let him find out for himself.
"Nope. Nada," said her parents, after listening intently for a few minutes. "Look, it was some kid falling off his sled. No need to worry," her mother said gently, knowing how her daughter loved to investigate the slightest noise.
"Or, it could be someone trapped in a tiny cell being held ransom for a ton of gold," suggested her father. All eyes turned to look at him a bit queerly. "What?" he protested. "Just an idea! See, it's for my new novel called –," he trailed off when he realized not one person from his family was listening. Max, who had now come downstairs, patted his father on the back. "Keep your day job, Dad."
Diana turned around and dashed inside their new house, grabbing the green Jell-O from the refrigerator. She knew someone was in trouble, or, at least, fallen off a sled, and she was determined to take a look.
And, if by some slight chance she was wrong, she would think of an excuse – perhaps the plumber one. That had worked last time in Mrs. Watson's house, where she had investigated some strange sounds. Which turned out to be one of her elderly neighbor's many cats.
Just as she ran past their new yard, her mother stopped her and asked where exactly she was going in that you'd-better-have-a-good-reason tone that mothers have. Not letting her go until she promised to just say hello, not to investigate one bit, and to come right back and unpack the microwave. Crossing her fingers behind her back the whole time, of course.
She turned around and sped toward the House on Haunted Hill as fast as was humanly possible, where she presumed the sound had come from, and ran up the long sloping lawn. Having absolutely no idea of what she would be caught in the middle of, or of what was going to happen.
"Think she'll be all right?" her mother asked her father, looking after Diana, quite worried in that way that mothers have. "Oh, sugar, she'll be just fine," her dad answered, half-listening. "Or–," he had just had another idea and was just about to say it aloud, but thought better of it. And so, they turned back to their copy of Raising Your Weird Twelve-Year Old, leaving their daughter to unravel the mysteries of the universe -- or, at least, their neighbors.