Claire woke me up early the next morning. I knew she'd had trouble wading through the mass of electrical cords that covered my floor. She always did.
"Frankie and I need to go to Frankfort for a few days. We'll be back as soon as we can. Will you clean out the black shed in the back while we're gone? Just throw anything in jars into the trash. Try not to break any of the other stuff, especially urns. The key's downstairs on the kitchen table along with some other things I need you to do. There are meal instructions on the fridge. Bye, sweetie."
I hadn't caught half of that.
"Bye, Grandma Claire," I muttered and covered my face with my pillow. Evil sunlight...
~*
I woke up again several hours later. Claire had left my door open and the dogs thought it would be fun to lick my feet. And face. And fingers. And pretty much my entire body.
"Tink, Mink, Riki, leave me alone," I mumbled and sighed when they ignored me. Dumb dogs. They never listen to me.
I crawled out of bed, pushing away the dogs. One good thing about living with Grandma is I have my own bathroom. When I lived with Mom and Dad or at the boarding schools, I have to share a bathroom with guests or hundreds of other boys that were pasty and chubby and snobbish and just downright unattractive.
I removed my clothes and showered. I love showers. I love water in general.
Ever try wiping the steam off the mirror after you finish showering? It never works, right? For some reason, it always works for me. It's like I just absorb the moisture from the air.
I always stop to analyze my reflection even though I shouldn't. It always depresses me somehow. My skin is too white. My body's too thin with no substantial muscles. My eyes are too big and wide. My lips are too full and pinkish. I'm too feminine.
Sighing heavily, I went back out into my room. The dogs were in a large, furry pile on my bed, snoring contentedly.
I raspberried them and grabbed a pair of clean boxers from my dresser. They were black. I like black.
I grabbed a pair of dark blue jeans, the kind that are too baggy and make you look like your smuggling midgets, and pulled them on over my boxers. Mom hated the way I dressed. She said it was sloppy and trashy. For some reason, I enjoyed that thought.
Walking back to my dresser, I pulled out the part of my wardrobe she hated more than any other. It was a skin-tight long-sleeved blue t-shirt that hugged my slim arms and accented my barely visible muscles. It had art- fully cut slashes all up the arms with a few on the chest and back. It looked as though someone had been whipped to death while wearing it. My mother hated that shirt with a passion.
I smirked at my reflection and put on a pair of clean white socks, still warm from the dryer, and ran my fingers through my hair as I went downstairs. Mom hated my green highlights, too, but I liked them. They helped express me. The eyebrow piercing supposedly does, too, but it's more there to just piss off my parents.
Grandma had prepared dishes for me for three days with instructions. All I had to do was stick them in the oven and wait. How great is that?
There was a piece of paper and a key taped to the fridge. The piece of paper was a note telling me to clean out the shed and I guessed the key went to the large padlock on the shed's door.
I frowned, being a spoiled brat and not wanting to do actual work on my weekend, but I took the key and went out to the shed anyway.
I pulled on a pair of black Vans and went out to the shed with the dogs, which had woken up, following me. I must admit, I was a bit curious to see what Aunt Clair was hiding in there. Maybe there was stuff in there like the freaky candle room grandma had taken me into.
The pendant she had given rested under my shirt, feeling cool on my skin. It was always there, but I didn't mind. It felt like cool water running on my skin, which was kind of ironic since it was shaped like a tear-drop.
When I got to the shed, the key didn't want to go into the keyhole, but I got it in after five minutes of struggling. The dogs were laughing at me. Scientists may say that dogs can't laugh, but they can. Oh, yes. I AM smarter than scientists with college education.
It took me another ten minutes to turn the key enough to actually open the door, causing those STUPID DOGS to laugh HARDER!!
When the door finally swung open, I was immediately hit by the ominous smell of decay. My face scrunched up noticeably and the dogs backed away from the shed. I flipped them off and covered my mouth and nose with the collar of my shirt, then went inside.
The air made my eyes water and the shirt wasn't helping that much. This place was disgusting. A circled star with burned-up candles around it was in the center of the room. The walls were lined with bookcases full of books, jars, vials, candles, incense, and all kinds of other things.
There was barely any light in the dark shed, so I tried a light-switch by the door. The bulb flickered and died.
"Great," I muttered.
To Be Continued..