A/N: Nickelodeon and Chris Savino own The Loud House and related characters. No copyright infringement intended. This story is merely a work of fiction and written under the fair use policy.
Chapter 3 - Get the Message
Dear Spirits,
I am still wondering why I am so different. It's not like I had a childhood. At least, not that I am aware. My earliest memory is of me, sitting in the high chair, eating dinner downstairs. It was spaghetti. It reminded me of worms.
I enjoyed it too much, though. It was all over-
Sigh, Lori is yelling at Lincoln again. It seems that his zombie massacre has led him astray yet again. When will he see that zombies are our friends? I suppose it gives him a feeling of power.
Right, back to the spaghetti. It was all over me, even my in my hair. Lori took the time to wash it out and clean me up. I remember sitting in a bubble-filled sink, staring at Lincoln, who was in the other sink. He'd also made quite a mess. His face was as orange as his shirts are now.
I hear water running. Somebody is in the bathroom.
I wonder what he would look like in black, especially with that white hair. It's so unique, and I don't know if I would even suggest dying it black. Maybe a well-placed hint around Halloween will fix that.
Wonderful. From what I can hear, Lori broke Lincoln's game goggles. It sounds like he's distraught. Maybe I should comfort him like he always reassures me? Who am I kidding? I don't exactly have a warm personality. I'd probably make it worse. I think I'll sneak that way in the duct and watch.
Oh wow. I didn't know my brother knew such colorful metaphors! He just sent Lori a message that rivals my secret rants. Of course, nobody has ever heard one, except you spirits.
Maybe I should return to my room. If Lincoln catches me here, he might vent at me like that.
I empathize with Lincoln right now. I hate it when my siblings play with Edwin. Especially Lana and Lynn. They are so gross and rough. I am not sure how I'd react if they hurt him.
Are you surprised that I feel empathy? Don't be. We goths are people, just like anybody else. We're just much more guarded on who we talk to and who we trust with our feelings. When we write, we don't feel the need to distance ourselves. On the other hand, it's also why we guard our journals so carefully.
What gives? I hear Lincoln again. Only this time he seems happy. What could have changed his demeanor so quickly?
Oh. Lori bought him a new pair of game goggles. Oops. I wonder if he forgot about the message he sent?
Oh well. I guess I'll find out later. I hope Lori doesn't turn him into a pretzel. He makes mistakes, sure, but he's a great guy. Too great sometimes. He and I are like the Sun and the Moon. He has a strength and confidence that I don't. Sometimes I wish I could be more like him. But if I tried and failed, it would crush me. Besides, I like the welcoming calm of the darkness too much.
Perhaps I should check on him. Well, watching from the vent is a no-go, I hear him in there. What's he doing?
Other times, he acts so weirdly that it embarrasses me. Seriously, he wears his underwear on the outside! I get it. Superheroes wear tights, but underwear is not tights. I remember one time, he put on a used pair, that had a stain on it. He ran around for an hour before Lori pointed it out.
Lincoln played it off well, in his usual style. Still, I knew he felt mortified. I envy his ability to take things in stride.
My older sister is now yelling at Lincoln for leaving a message on her phone. I bet she gives him an earful after actually reading it! She can be mean sometimes, but at heart, she's a caring soul. She isn't going to take well to that message after buying new goggles.
Hm. Nothing? What did she do, delete it before even reading it? I wouldn't be surprised. The only messages she reads are the ones from Blobby-Goo-Goo-Werebear.
Message NOT Received.
I swear, their relationship is so gushy. I can't see it lasting too much longer. Bobby can't hold a job, and Lori is going to lose respect at some point, especially if she doesn't make it playing golf.
What is with this family? Everybody does stuff without thinking or analyzing things. Why am I so different? I need some answers before I go insane.
What was that? Did I hear a crash in the attic? I hope Fang didn't knock over his perch again. Last time that happened, he got hurt. I'll be right back. I need to go up and check.
I am not alright at the moment. I need to calm my breathing. I think I now have a possible answer, though I am not sure I like it.
Fang hadn't knocked over his perch at all. He wasn't even there. It seems as if my portrait of Great Grandma Harriet had lept from the table it was on, into the middle of the floor. The glass shattered, so I brought it down here with me. I took the picture out the frame and found more photos between it and the backing.
One was of a younger Harriet, holding a baby that also looked like me. When I turned it over, there was some writing, "Harriet and Margaret." The second picture showed a lady I didn't know, but the text on the back told me it was Margaret, later in life. The third was of Margaret and baby. Again, it looked an awful lot like me! The inscription read, "Margaret and Abigail." The fourth one was a group picture of Harriet, Margaret, and Abigail, in which Abigail was pregnant. The last image hit me the hardest, though. It displayed Abigail holding a baby girl. Me. The back read, "Abigail and Lucille."
There was something odd about the last picture, however. Mom, Dad, and Lincoln were also there. Does this mean I'm adopted?
Message Received.
If true, this secret would undoubtedly help me with one of my other secrets. But it's too early to conclude. Perhaps I will try a tarot reading tomorrow.
Forget the coffin. I need the warm comfort of blankets tonight. May they stifle my tears.
