One Month Later

Most people run from nightmares; well, my mom seeks them out. Her name is Millicent Moon, and she's a horror novelist—the female version of Stephen King, minus the megabucks and movie deals obviously. Whenever Mom starts working on a new book, she scouts out the perfect setting. Then she, my grandfather Papa Dan, and I move there. We've lived in a lot of cool places: the Queen Anne's neighborhood in Seattle; a loft overlooking the Cumberland River in Nashville; a neighborhood in southwest Boston where writers like Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau used to hang out. But we've never lived anywhere like the place we're moving now, and I'd be a whole lot happier if we never did to be honest.

The reason why we end up going here is because Mom thinks it would be the best for us, mostly for me, to start anew. Two years ago, I was in Road To Becoming A Prima Ballerina. When all of a sudden, BAAAAAAAAAAAAM! Our car smashes. Shattering my dreams destroying my dancing career, ultimately. It wasn't my car we're riding. It was to my fellow dancer. A Principal dancer into the Royal Ballet School. We were about to have a Welcoming Party for newbies. I included. But on our way, a truck came into our way which hit us like baseball, which instantly took the lives of my two ballet-mates, and smashed my left toe like a potatoe. The ordeal left me unfit to any ballet recital for the rest of my life.

Yes, I can walk as if nothing has happened. But won't be able to dance as spritely as before.

It was two years ago now. And I kind of accepted my fate in the process. After a series of psycho-therapy sessions ofcourse.

We're almost there, Tansy," Mom says, tucking a lock of straight black hair behind her ear and staring ahead at the dusty, rutted road as if it's paved with diamonds. In the backseat, Papa Dan whistles. Loudly. I recognize the tune though. The lyrics have something to do with mares eating oats and little lambs eating ivy. Which is kinda spooky to say the least, especially when you move to a town like this.

Mom is currently working on a new novel. Which is as always a horror/thriller fiction. She says it will take place in the town where my grandfather spent his childhood: Cedar Canyon, Texas, population 2,250. Which, after driving through the town for the first time a minute ago, is a nightmare in itself, if you ask me. This will be my first small town experience, which is one reason why this move is the hardest one I've made so far.

After he finished school, Papa Dan left Cedar Canyon and never returned, so I haven't been here before and neither has mom. But it is perfect to have a fresh new start. As mom used to say. She keeps saying it'll be easy to make friends in a little town, but I know that the size of the place won't change anything. There's no convincing her of that, though. Mom's chasing miracles by moving here. She hopes that Cedar Canyon will (1) make ME forget — about the incident and the lost of my ballet career, and (2) make Papa Dan remember. Coz he's having a real hard time dealing with Dementia.

"I wish you would look at the photo." Mom slides her cat-eye sunglasses to the tip of her nose and glances across at me. "The place is incredible. Eloise said there's an old wagon bridge at the edge of the property near the canyon."

I turn to stare out the window at a dark cloud in the distance and try to tune out my grandfather's whistling. Over the past two days, I haven't spoken more than five words to Mom. But then, since she told me we were moving, I've hardly spoken much more than that, anyway. Maybe she's getting used to my near-silence. Not that I was gone mute. But, I simply don't feel like talking at all.

We're moving to an old texan house. A crazy old manor to be exact. Which once belong to a gross-rich country family. Eloise—the leasing agent—said that it stood empty for centuries! Well, I feel just that but its only for five long generations. Before Mom found that picture, we were going to live in a house in town, instead of out in the boonies. But she called and asked about the place, and just my luck, Eloise confirmed that the house is in Cedar Canyon and that it was AVAILABLE!

"It even has a turret!" Mom gushes. "Can you imagine a turret in the middle of the Texas Panhandle?"

I give her another glance. To be honest, I haven't seen her so excited since the day we first pulled up in front of our tiny bungalow in California, the place we just left. We're not a frequent mover from the start. We're just a normal family consist of Mother and Daughter, just like in the Gilmore Girls. If you were asking about my biological father, try to watch Gilmore Girls to catch a glimpse of us. I swear, it was just like us! I have my two grandparents from the mother side just like that... and a Mom, just like that.

Papa Dan, on the other hand, is my dad's father. He has lived with us all of my life, eversince I was born. I don't give any detail as to what happened between my parents, JUST WATCH THE GILMORE GIRLS will ya?

Five minutes pass. Ten. While I've been watching the bland scenery pass by, my cheek numb from the stale, frigid air blowing at me through the vent, Mom has become quiet and begin scanning me from the rear view mirror. I have a feeling she's freaking out, worrying about my state of mind. Because I hardly spoken since we'd left. Did I mention that already? But before I can even brace myself for an interrogation, the questions begin to flood...

"What are you thinking, sweetie?"

Without looking I answered her back, "Can't you see am writing on my journal?"

"Oh sorry sweetie, I didn't mean to interrupt. It is because I see you all red and sweaty in the face," she informs me.

"Coz I'm suffocating."

Aiming the air-conditioner vent at my face, she says, "Papa Dan, are you hot too?"

Mom doesn't get it. I've never seen a more wide-open space; there's hardly a tree or a tall building in sight or any sign of life whatsoever unless you count cows and prairie dogs. Just miles of flat, parched fields and endless sky. Yet, ever since we crossed the border into the Texas Panhandle, I've felt more trapped than ever…like I can't BREEEEEEATHE!

Five minutes pass. Ten, actually. While I've been watching the bland scenery pass by, my cheek numb from the stale, frigid air blowing at me through the vent, Mom has become abnormally quiet. I have a feeling she's freaking out, worrying about my state of mind, as always even after I finished the psycho-therapy class. But before I can even brace myself for an interrogation, the question begin flooding...

So what did you think of your first glimpse of Cedar Canyon?" she asks. "Isn't it quaint?"

"Yeah, quaint. A couple of gas stations and convenience stores. Oh, and let's not forget that rodeo arena we passed. Every kid here probably wears a cowboy hat."

She blows her bangs off her forehead and sighs. "Didn't you see all the antique stores and that cute old-fashioned diner on Main Street?"

"Dairy Queen?"

"No, not the Dairy Queen, the Longhorn Café!"

"How could I miss that statue of a bull out front? Something tells me they don't have a vegetarian menu." I nibble my cuticle. "Did you notice they only have one theater and the movie that's playing is over a month old?"

"You could always stay busy by taking pictures again. I can't remember the last time you picked up your camera."

My camera was a gift from Papa Dan on my tenth birthday when we'd just moved to Seattle. Nothing, I just thought it is note-worthy. So back to the scene...

"Maybe I will take some shots," I tell her.

"Great." Cautious relief trickles through her voice. "I really miss having your photos for my research. Taking pictures will be good for you."

Translation: It will force me to quit feeling sorry for myself, keep me from going "peanutty" in this crazy old town!

We turn onto a dirt road and hit a pothole. The van rattles. Papa Dan whistles louder. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse Mom's smile. "Look!" She steps on the brake, slinging me toward the dash before my seat belt jerks me back. "There it is!" Mom sticks her sunglasses onto the top of her head. "It's perfect," she says. "Finally, we'd arrived! WELCOME TO OUR NEW HOOOOME!" Mom shrieks.

I glance through the windshield at the four stories of pure creepiness as Papa Dan ends the oat-and-ivy tune and starts whistling The Twilight Zone's theme music. Seriously, he couldn't have chosen a more perfect song. A warm gust of rain-scented air flutters my hair when we're out of the car. Without traffic noise, it's honestly quite spooky in here. The only sounds I hear are a low rumble of thunder, the hiss of the wind, the twitter of a bird or two, and the constant chirp of insects—crickets or maybe cicadas.

More like a scene from the poltergeist film.

"M-mom. I-I c-can't do this." I exclaimed.

"Do what, honey?" she asks succinctly.

"This. I-I can't live in this. Maybe you think it will work. But look at this crazy damn place?! Isn't it... I don't know. Abnormal?" then adds "I mean look at THIS place?! Its totally creepy in here!"

A groove dents the space between her brows. "Honey. Just give this town a chance," she says. "If you like it, I promise we'll stay here until you graduate from high school."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll write fast." Her face softens. "And I'll set the next book back in San Francisco."

"And stay there until I graduate?"

Her smile fans tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. "You drive a hard bargain, but you've got yourself a deal."

And I'm holding her to it! I can't wait to call Hailey and tell her I'll be home soon. I'm going to hate Cedar Canyon! SURELY I WILL! And I've already made up my mind!