Read Online The Awakening of Sunshine Girl (The Haunting of Sunshine Girl) by Paige McKenzie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paige McKenzie
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staircase, like maybe once upon a time Aidan and his wife gave grand parties here and used the stairs to make a magnificent entrance. Each step is covered in what at one time must have been colorful Mexican tile, but the paint has long since faded, and half of them are cracked.
“Aidan?” I say softly, but when I turn around, he’s already gone. I can hear his footsteps as he walks away to someplace behind the stairs in the opposite direction of the room with the furniture covered in sheets.
I grab my duffle bag, swing my backpack onto my shoulders, and start climbing. At the top of the stairs I drop my bags with a dull thud. The house groans in response, as though I hurt it somehow. It’s nearly pitch dark up here, and I run my hands along the wall until I hit a light switch.
Thankfully this one turns on, though the tiny, dirty bulbs screwed into the chandelier above my head don’t exactly give off what you could call bright light. Now I can see there’s a long hall in front of me, dotted with big doors directly across from one another, three on each side, with an enormous bay window at the end. There’s so much space between each door I can tellthe rooms behind them must be huge. I take the knife out of my bag and slip it in my back pocket.
When I open the door closest to me, on the right, I’m hit by a hot, stale breeze, like the house is letting out a breath it had been holding in as long as the door was shut. I cough as dust collides with my face, and I run my fingers along the wall until I find another light switch. Some weak yellow light blinks down from the candle-shaped fixtures screwed into the walls, and I notice a few cockroaches scrambling for cover. Yuck . (At least they’re not spiders, though.)
There are two enormous chairs framing a fireplace—who was the architect who thought a fireplace was necessary here ? Wood-paneled walls are lined with packed bookshelves, lilac-colored velvet drapes cover the large windows, and the floor is covered in a matted cream-colored carpet. It looks more like a room you’d find in an English country manor rather than a house in the middle of a jungle. It would be the perfect Jane Austen fantasy if it weren’t for the bugs crawling about, vines growing over the windows, and the humidity so powerful that the peeling lavender wallpaper looks like it’s sweating.
When I close the door, the house inhales again. I spin around like I expect to find a giant standing behind me, taking enormous labored breaths, but there’s no one there.
I open the next right-hand door, and inside is a bedroom. A big wooden bed covered in a peach blanket sits smack in the center of the room. I step inside and bounce onto the bed, giving it a try, feeling a little bit like Goldilocks testing out the three bears’ beds. It’s so covered in dust, it makes me sneeze.
Back to the hallway, and on to the next door: another exhalation, another bedroom. And another bed so covered in a dustyblanket—bright blue and silky this time—that I sneeze when I sit on it. But the lamp on the nightstand works and there are no visible bugs. Score one for the second bedroom.
I cross to the other side of the hall, opening the door closest to the bay window. The light switch in this room not only works; it reveals an elaborate crystal chandelier hanging down from the center of the ceiling that actually floods the room with bright white light.
The four-poster bed in the center of the room is so big that it could easily accommodate a family of five.
My breaths come quickly as I realize that this must have been my birth parents’ room. I run my fingers along the back of a silky green chair at the foot of the bed. There is a fancy desk with a mirror behind it on the wall across from the door. No, not a desk—a vanity. Where women sit and put on their makeup. Where Aidan’s wife sat to put on her makeup.
The wooden surface of the vanity is so smooth that it shines even beneath a layer of dust. There
“Aidan?” I say softly, but when I turn around, he’s already gone. I can hear his footsteps as he walks away to someplace behind the stairs in the opposite direction of the room with the furniture covered in sheets.
I grab my duffle bag, swing my backpack onto my shoulders, and start climbing. At the top of the stairs I drop my bags with a dull thud. The house groans in response, as though I hurt it somehow. It’s nearly pitch dark up here, and I run my hands along the wall until I hit a light switch.
Thankfully this one turns on, though the tiny, dirty bulbs screwed into the chandelier above my head don’t exactly give off what you could call bright light. Now I can see there’s a long hall in front of me, dotted with big doors directly across from one another, three on each side, with an enormous bay window at the end. There’s so much space between each door I can tellthe rooms behind them must be huge. I take the knife out of my bag and slip it in my back pocket.
When I open the door closest to me, on the right, I’m hit by a hot, stale breeze, like the house is letting out a breath it had been holding in as long as the door was shut. I cough as dust collides with my face, and I run my fingers along the wall until I find another light switch. Some weak yellow light blinks down from the candle-shaped fixtures screwed into the walls, and I notice a few cockroaches scrambling for cover. Yuck . (At least they’re not spiders, though.)
There are two enormous chairs framing a fireplace—who was the architect who thought a fireplace was necessary here ? Wood-paneled walls are lined with packed bookshelves, lilac-colored velvet drapes cover the large windows, and the floor is covered in a matted cream-colored carpet. It looks more like a room you’d find in an English country manor rather than a house in the middle of a jungle. It would be the perfect Jane Austen fantasy if it weren’t for the bugs crawling about, vines growing over the windows, and the humidity so powerful that the peeling lavender wallpaper looks like it’s sweating.
When I close the door, the house inhales again. I spin around like I expect to find a giant standing behind me, taking enormous labored breaths, but there’s no one there.
I open the next right-hand door, and inside is a bedroom. A big wooden bed covered in a peach blanket sits smack in the center of the room. I step inside and bounce onto the bed, giving it a try, feeling a little bit like Goldilocks testing out the three bears’ beds. It’s so covered in dust, it makes me sneeze.
Back to the hallway, and on to the next door: another exhalation, another bedroom. And another bed so covered in a dustyblanket—bright blue and silky this time—that I sneeze when I sit on it. But the lamp on the nightstand works and there are no visible bugs. Score one for the second bedroom.
I cross to the other side of the hall, opening the door closest to the bay window. The light switch in this room not only works; it reveals an elaborate crystal chandelier hanging down from the center of the ceiling that actually floods the room with bright white light.
The four-poster bed in the center of the room is so big that it could easily accommodate a family of five.
My breaths come quickly as I realize that this must have been my birth parents’ room. I run my fingers along the back of a silky green chair at the foot of the bed. There is a fancy desk with a mirror behind it on the wall across from the door. No, not a desk—a vanity. Where women sit and put on their makeup. Where Aidan’s wife sat to put on her makeup.
The wooden surface of the vanity is so smooth that it shines even beneath a layer of dust. There
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