The House of Li
Chapter One
"You look way too scrawny to be a maid. To be my maid."
I stare at him expectantly.
"I don't know why I'm wasting my precious breath talking to the likes of you. I've tried dealing with pretty girls like you, but I bet you're like the rest of them. I bet you'll run away, and never look back at this place."
I scratch my nose. I lick my dry lips. I continue to watch him, listening to him patiently.
"Leave. Go, right
now, before you freak out and make my mansion a big deal. It's
not haunted, so just leave right now! You hear me, bitch? Get off my property!"
I sit down in an empty loveseat and the family's white cat quietly jumps into my lap. I proceed in petting it and continue watching him. He was such a handsome young man, with his messy brown curls, intense amber eyes, a fine, delicate nose, and a well-toned figure stretched out by years of extensive martial arts training.
Any mother or father would have been proud to have their daughter bring in a man like him home for dinner. That is, if it weren't for his sour tongue.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out, can't you fucking hear me? GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" He started gasping for air, as he slumped to the ground. He looked exhausted from yelling at me. Finally, he angrily crossed his long legs, shot me a deadly glare, and whispered menacingly, "Can you hear me, bitch?"
I tilt my head to get a better angle at his hard, ocher eyes, burning with such unspoken rage and bitterness.
I whisper in my softest tone, "I hear you loud and clear."
The young man seemed startled because he fell backwards and crawled away from me, as though my words were powerful high kicks and merciless punches—physically pushing him back. He distanced himself further and further away from me.
His eyes widened and in a coarse voice he asked, "Who are you?"
I released the cat, and before the feline reached the floor, it disappeared in a puff of white smoke. I stood up, and instantly the sparkling red loveseat became filthy and complex spiderwebs spun themselves around the chair.
I took a step towards the young man and suddenly his starched, pressed, white shirt and black pants became torn and raggedy. His hair was no longer fine and shiny, but disheveled and dusty; and his fiery amber eyes were weak and tearful. All the life drained away from the furniture and walls and photos and the young man.
I offered a single hand, the only thing that hadn't been drained of energy, to the once stunning, young man.
"The name is Kinomoto. Sakura Kinomoto. Sir, I am your new maid. Please let me help you get up."
The man cautiously tapped my hand twice before firmly grasping it. I was inwardly surprised at how cold, but solid, the young man was.
I mean, after all, he's just a ghost.
