Read Online The Witches of Merribay (The Seaforth Chronicles) by B.J. Smash - Free Book Online
Authors: B.J. Smash
Ads: Link
bone. The trembling subsided, but I knew deep down in my soul that I had not seen the last of that old man.
Chapter Eight
Picking up the phone, I called Aunt Clover to set up my sleepover for Saturday night. I hadn't had a chance to ask her at supper. The atmosphere had been so thick that you could almost walk on it.
Aunt Clover said she didn't have any plans and seemed thrilled about the idea. “We'll watch some horror flicks,” she said, which was fine with me as long as she fell asleep at midnight. No horror movie in the world could surpass what just happened to me.
Settling down, and normalizing my breath, I proceeded to walk to my sister ’s bedroom, three doors down. Taking my time, I slowly walked along the hallway and the wooden floorboards, admiring the red-and-cream-colored Persian rug. I even took the time to study a couple of pictures on the hallway wall. The picture I had always loved was a painting of a place in Ireland. The border was a shamrock, and the picture itself, a castle. My sister and I used to fantasize about living in this castle. We'd pretend we were princesses, and in our games that we played, she would always have to be the outranking princess, of course, and I would have to carry out all of her demands.
I wished that I could be there right now in that castle and not about to head into my sister ’s room. Finally arriving at the door, I raised my hand and knocked. She had the hair dryer blowing and turned it off abruptly.
“Come in.”
Walking into her room was like walking into hurricane aftermath; it looked like a wind tunnel had just whirled its way through. She had tried on everything in her closets, and their final resting place was the floor. I picked clothes up as I walked, to avoid stepping on them. A few of the items had been stolen from my own closet.
The screen from her open window was missing, as were the blinds, and the summery breeze blew through , billowing out the yellow curtains in intervals.
Several glasses and coffee cups were sitting around in various places, along with plates and bowls scattered throughout, even on her pillows. I had to wonder if she shared the pillow with the plates or if she actually moved them out of the way.
Fashion and makeup magazines were sprawled out everywhere, from the bed to the floor and into the connecting bathroom. It amazed me that Gran hadn't complained to her about cleaning her room. It was nothing short of a pigsty.
“I know , it's a mess. Maybe you can help me clean it. You know I'm not good with cleaning,” were her first words to me.
“Well, I suppose I can help you for a few minutes.” I wasn't one for uncleanliness , and this toxic mess had to go.
“Great . And then I can fix your hair—maybe apply some makeup. I mean, really, you could look so much better than you do,” she said with her usual uppity tone.
I cringed . The last thing I wanted was a makeover from my sister, and cleaning sounded like the better choice. She tossed me a box of garbage bags, and I knew that somehow she had premeditated this. In her mind, if Gran forced us to spend time together, why not have Ivy clean?
Immediately, I set to work cleaning the mess, throwing crumpled trash into the bag and stacking magazines . She sorted through the clothes, tossing what she considered dirty into one pile and clean into another.
When we could actually see the floor, she sat on her bed and watched me . I continued to work, gathering the dirty dishes into a laundry basket. She picked up a plate of half-eaten marshmallow brownies from her pillow and handed it to me.
“Yuck!” I said . “I thought you didn't eat sweets anymore.” What I thought were marshmallow brownies weren't really marshmallows at all.
“I don't . That's why they have mold all over them.”
“You couldn't take this down to the kitchen a bit sooner?
“I forgot about them.”
“They are on your pillow , for crying out loud.” I had to wonder if she had even been
Chapter Eight
Picking up the phone, I called Aunt Clover to set up my sleepover for Saturday night. I hadn't had a chance to ask her at supper. The atmosphere had been so thick that you could almost walk on it.
Aunt Clover said she didn't have any plans and seemed thrilled about the idea. “We'll watch some horror flicks,” she said, which was fine with me as long as she fell asleep at midnight. No horror movie in the world could surpass what just happened to me.
Settling down, and normalizing my breath, I proceeded to walk to my sister ’s bedroom, three doors down. Taking my time, I slowly walked along the hallway and the wooden floorboards, admiring the red-and-cream-colored Persian rug. I even took the time to study a couple of pictures on the hallway wall. The picture I had always loved was a painting of a place in Ireland. The border was a shamrock, and the picture itself, a castle. My sister and I used to fantasize about living in this castle. We'd pretend we were princesses, and in our games that we played, she would always have to be the outranking princess, of course, and I would have to carry out all of her demands.
I wished that I could be there right now in that castle and not about to head into my sister ’s room. Finally arriving at the door, I raised my hand and knocked. She had the hair dryer blowing and turned it off abruptly.
“Come in.”
Walking into her room was like walking into hurricane aftermath; it looked like a wind tunnel had just whirled its way through. She had tried on everything in her closets, and their final resting place was the floor. I picked clothes up as I walked, to avoid stepping on them. A few of the items had been stolen from my own closet.
The screen from her open window was missing, as were the blinds, and the summery breeze blew through , billowing out the yellow curtains in intervals.
Several glasses and coffee cups were sitting around in various places, along with plates and bowls scattered throughout, even on her pillows. I had to wonder if she shared the pillow with the plates or if she actually moved them out of the way.
Fashion and makeup magazines were sprawled out everywhere, from the bed to the floor and into the connecting bathroom. It amazed me that Gran hadn't complained to her about cleaning her room. It was nothing short of a pigsty.
“I know , it's a mess. Maybe you can help me clean it. You know I'm not good with cleaning,” were her first words to me.
“Well, I suppose I can help you for a few minutes.” I wasn't one for uncleanliness , and this toxic mess had to go.
“Great . And then I can fix your hair—maybe apply some makeup. I mean, really, you could look so much better than you do,” she said with her usual uppity tone.
I cringed . The last thing I wanted was a makeover from my sister, and cleaning sounded like the better choice. She tossed me a box of garbage bags, and I knew that somehow she had premeditated this. In her mind, if Gran forced us to spend time together, why not have Ivy clean?
Immediately, I set to work cleaning the mess, throwing crumpled trash into the bag and stacking magazines . She sorted through the clothes, tossing what she considered dirty into one pile and clean into another.
When we could actually see the floor, she sat on her bed and watched me . I continued to work, gathering the dirty dishes into a laundry basket. She picked up a plate of half-eaten marshmallow brownies from her pillow and handed it to me.
“Yuck!” I said . “I thought you didn't eat sweets anymore.” What I thought were marshmallow brownies weren't really marshmallows at all.
“I don't . That's why they have mold all over them.”
“You couldn't take this down to the kitchen a bit sooner?
“I forgot about them.”
“They are on your pillow , for crying out loud.” I had to wonder if she had even been
Similar Books
