****The Frightening First****

It is the general opinion of most people that good things should happen to good people. However, what if a person wasn't all good? What if people are good and bad, all mixed together – sort of like a pizza with everything on it? Perhaps there are people who are more good than bad – like a very well-made pizza that just happens to have anchovies or black olives, which you might hate. In that case, shouldn't relatively good things happen to them? And what about children? Would you consider a child mostly good if they listen to their parents – most of the time –, don't look down on other children, and never bullied others? And what if the child – or children – in question, happened to also be well-read, talented, and have nice facial features? Shouldn't good things happen to them?

Indigo, Alaric, Wednesday, and Othello Fairchild were some such children. As three slightly similar children in another city far from them ran around a large hotel performing errands, the Fairchild's sat on the shore of the Ocean –AcridCoast, to be precise.

Indigo was the oldest sibling at thirteen, though she was quite small for her age. She had a particularly interesting talent – she could draw a scene from memory. At this moment, Indigo was looking at the ocean, her long black hair tied into a braid down her back, rather than its usually fluffy, curly mess going every which-way. Her dark red-brown eyes were riveted on the sea, the sky, and the beach in front of her. After a moment she turned around to face away from the sea, closing her eyes and pulling a sketchpad and pencil from her bag. Still with her eyes closed Indigo began to draw. Slowly but surely, an ocean started to emerge on the paper. The crashing waves were in the same position they had been when Indigo had turned around, and in the distance a flying seagull could be seen. She thought it was one of her better pictures.

A few yards to her right was a boy of about ten. This was Indigo's brother, Alaric, who looked nothing like his sister apart from his eyes, which were the same colour as hers. Alaric had long, red-ish blonde hair that was slightly wavy but thinner than Indigo's. He was sitting on a large rock with his ear pressed against a sea shell. You see, Alaric had an auditory memory, a phrase which pertains to a talent somewhat like photographic memory, but with words. Any conversation he heard, he remembered. He could recall the way everything had been said as well as all of the words, and he also had very good hearing. Right now he was trying to hear the ocean, which his father had told his was possible if he listened to a seashell.

'Perhaps it only works away from the ocean?' Alaric wondered when all he could seem to hear was his own blood rushing through his veins.

Wednesday Fairchild was sitting farther away from the ocean than her elder siblings. She was around five years old, with the same red-blonde hair as her older brother, though longer and curlier, and had the same eyes as her siblings. She was busily scribbling something in the sand with a stick. Wednesday was multi-lingual – she could speak and write in many different languages. At the moment she was writing the lyrics to an Italian song she had heard the other day, and then translating it to Russian.

Othello, the youngest Fairchild, was almost a year old. He had short, thin, wavy hair and, unlike the other Fairchild siblings, had light blue eyes. He spoke very well for the most part, but occasionally would use words he had needed as a baby. Only his siblings and parents understood these. Othello was a Herbologist – he studied plants and herbs, and knew nearly everything about their healing properties and such – for example, he knew thatSt. John'sWort was a good herb to lighten one's mood, and that if you mixed certain plants, you could make a homemade glue. And even though Othello was still a young boy, if not a baby, he knew from his siblings that 'foreshadowing' meant

Right now, however, Othello had stopped his examination of a barnacle and was looking at a figure in the distance.

"Look!" he said to his siblings. "Look!"

Wednesday looked up at her brother's calls to see a tall figure about twenty or so yards from them. She tapped Alaric, who looked up and saw it as well, and tapped Indigo.

"What do you think that mysterious figure appearing from the effluvium is?" asked Alaric.

"Come again?" said Indigo. Her brother liked to quote large and complicated words he had heard their parents use.

"From the Latin 'Effluvium'," said Wednesday, as the four children stood up, Othello a bit shakily, as he was still learning how to walk properly. "Meaning 'a flowing out.' It's another word for fog."

The children watched nervously as the figure grew closer and closer. It wasn't sunny – definitely not a good day for the beach. Who could it be?

"Jacoby!" said Othello suddenly.

Indeed it was – Mr. Jacoby, a man who owned the land the Fairchild Gold Mines were located on. He was a short, stubby man who always seemed to sweat more than normal, but he was always kind to the children, so they all greeted him politely.

"How do you do, Mr. Jacoby?" said Indigo.

"How do you do, sir?" said Alaric

"How do you do?" said Wednesday.

"How you do?" said Othello.

"Very well, thank you, children," said Mr. Jacoby, but he didn't look well at all. He was pale, sweaty – as usual – and looked very sad. He seemed to struggle with what to say for a moment, while the Fairchild children stood awkwardly in front of him. Indigo thought she should probably say something, but couldn't think of what. What was Mr. Jacoby doing here, anyway?

"Children," he said slowly. "I'm afraid I have to inform you of an extremely…unfavourable experience."

The children simply stared at him in confusion.

Mr. Jacoby shifted awkwardly on his rather large feet.

"Er – what I mean to say is…your parents are now deceased. There was a terrible fire – it destroyed your entire home."

The children still did not speak.

"I'm very, very sorry to tell you this, my dears." Mr. Jacoby said.

Still, the Fairchild children – now the Fairchild orphans – did not move or speak.

"Deceased," said Mr. Jacoby. "Means 'no longer alive.'"

"We know," said Alaric, looking down at the sand. He thought – or perhaps hoped – that Mr. Jacoby was simply horribly mistaken.

"It's from the late fifteenth century English word decease which was a word for a dead person, or those who are dead." Said Wednesday quietly.

"Um…right," said Mr. Jacoby. "Well, it was your parent's wish that I handle your legal affairs – what guardian you will be placed with and such – until Indigo comes of age. Then the deed for the Fairchild Gold Mines and all of its stocks will belong to you."

"Right," said Indigo, feeling like she was in a deep sleep and not in control of her body or words. "Thank you."

"No at all, my dear," said Mr. Jacoby, looking sad. He held out his hand towards the oldest Fairchild. "Come along, children. You'll be staying in my home until further arrangements are made."

After a moment, Indigo took Mr. Jacoby's hand, and Alaric took hers, and Wednesday took Othello's, and the Fairchild orphans left Acrid Coast behind them, along with their former lives.