Chapter 1 Of My Book: Shalamrood

I have to thank a lot of people, friends and strangers that purchased my book. I didn’t think it would’ve gotten this much attention because I wrote it for myself and never attended on publishing. Still shy about it. I’m starting on my next book so let’s see where this will take us. Here’s the first chapter of Shalamrood: Mountain Of Jinn

You can also find it on Amazon on the links below.

Shalamrood Ebook

Shalamrood Paperback

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

Autumn leaves and cedar crumble beneath my feet as I run away, trembling in horror through the violent rain to find solace in the deciduous wet woodlands, making an effort not to stumble, I focus on the scarce light source of the full moon shining, appearing like a shattered mirror reflecting scattered light through the canopy formed by thirty feet trees overhead.
Dead broken branches form crosses, lying ominously across the patch of evergreen. The air becomes redolent of a heavy blend of swamp tang and churned earth; at that moment it combined with dread and blood, and the single sounds I make out is my breath gasping for oxygen, echoing through the surrealistic dark night.
Sharp branches and dense shoulder high thickets reach out pulling at my damp hair, scratching my face, resembling reaching hands as if to prevent me from passing on through that mysterious path. Pushing boughs aside, lost and petrified as my chest burns with every breath I inhale until it becomes unbearable. Coming to a stop, more than a stumble, I collapse onto hands and knees scraping them and roll out into the deep abyss and out of nowhere, besieged by glacial water.
Fear and shock surge throughout my entire body, kicking fiercely to swim to the surface. How did I sink so deep into the lake? Why can’t I reach the surface?
Struggling as hard as I can underwater, thrashing blindly and attempt to reach out for the top. Having no memory of how I came to be underwater; barely realizing I was drowning, with weeds wrapped around arms, crawling up around my legs and neck, choking me. Black spots dance in front of my eyes, as I pull and fight, trying to reach my head above water. I stare up and through the black lake; I catch sight of the bright full moon as rain drops causes the surface to wrinkle, and after a while, give up, sinking into the depths where ever the weeds are dragging me.
Verging on, delirious from lack of air I still, and drift toward the bottom of the black water, mentally saying goodbye to everyone I’d ever known and yet again no one is here to rescue me. I am once again, completely alone.
Lungs fit to burst, I glance up one last time at the orb of night, giving out a scream. Complete silence, air bubbles exit my mouth as I squall looking at the taunting moon laughing at me.
The lights in front of me become brighter, carrying out a last roar, this time it breaks the sullen silence.
The vehicle came to a sharp turn and unexpected halt, a loud and lingering honk carried with an insult passed by in fast motion.
“What the fuck?” A man’s furious voice called next to her in the car.
Grasping for breath, tears flowed onto her cheeks, as she tried finding her place from illusion to reality and turned around to her husband, hands gripping the wheels as he gawked at her with those wide eyes that grew wild when he was angry. When will these nightmares end? Every night, for the past three or four weeks, it was a continuous horror.
“I’m fine.” Were barely the words she could express as she took off her dark brown Gucci prescription glasses, and wiped away a tear, missing a sliding tear escaping her opposite cheek as a droplet fell onto her white Vucana wool sweater, remembering the boutique owner saying she should be careful with this expensive fabric and not even spray perfume as it’s rare. Is it ruined now? She crossed her legs on the car seat, playing with the drawstrings on her gray sweatpants. Chic on the top, comfortable on the bottom, she assured herself while wearing her clothes in the morning, getting prepared for the long road trip ahead.
The black Range Rover, still parked after the sudden stop on the side of the roadway as the windshield wiper made screeching noises and polished away the heavy rainfall. She stared out from the car window into the stormy night, trying to wipe out the visions. It felt so real.
“We can turn around and head back home.” He played make belief piano on the steering wheel, and she immediately recognized it was Beethoven’s Adagio Sostenuto, because he used to play it on their grand piano all the time.
“No,” She turned to him and forced a smile, “this trip is good for us. We need this.”
Daniel peered through the rearview mirror and geared into drive, signaling to the left, and carefully drove into the dead of night. Their black Persian cat, Aleister Crowley meowed from the rear to detest the vehicle from moving.
Honey slid her fingers through the crate’s window and Aleister narrowed his gleaming orange eyes and ignored her.    “Remember when a burglar came and Aleister attacked him like a wolf?”
“And when there was a fire, he woke us up as if to say; get up assholes or you’ll become my barbecued meal!” Daniel smiled. “Or when he stares into a distance as if he’s sees a ghost. He’s freaky.”
“Hey!” Honey knew her cat was creepy, but she loved the fat lazy bastard. “He’s our guardian angel.”
“More like guardian demon.” He chuckled as Honey laid back in her seat.
Daniel ran his hands through his careless salt-and-pepper hair which suited the milky cream skin and long dark eyelashes fanning out his gray eyes, gray of the ocean an instant before dawn’s first rays striking the water when happy, but when angry, eyes were storm clouds, swirling with determination and vigor. They glittered in the sunlight yet appeared blank and unresponsive in the shadows of the night.
The scent of his strong aftershave blended nicely with the open bag of cinnamon rolls. “We’re near, you have five minutes to change your mind.”
“So, if I told you let’s turn around right now, you’d accept?” Honey had a sarcastic note to her words. “You sound so enthusiastic.”
“Only if you wanted to darling.” Daniel lied, grinning wide. “And I’m actually glad we’re finally vacationing.” This time he was honest.
Honey laughed, knowing when he was sincere or not, she gathered her shoulder length honey colored hair and tried making a bun, a skill she quite didn’t master as she’d see models in magazines with the perfect bun, failing, she tied it with a hair-tie and turned the volume higher, swaying in the seat to a favorite, a song Daniel didn’t care for. “When will the others arrive?”
“Who gives a damn?” Per usual, being his careless self, reached out for the can of Coke in the cup holder, barely finishing it in two mouthfuls and let the carbonation burn a trail downwards his throat and put out his hand to give Honey a sip, and she shook her head to his polite gesture, knowing full well he doesn’t share.
Honey finished the cinnamon rolls as she scrunched the bag and dumped it into another plastic bag, given the role as their trash-can. “I need more coffee, this energy drink doesn’t work on me.”
“Because seventy percent of your body-fluid is actually coffee!
“I’m aiming for ninety percent.”
“That’s my girl.” He continued staring out in front, focusing on the road.
While driving, Daniel thought of the past often. Growing up, he was closer to his mother than his Russian, drug-addict father. His father abandoned them before entering this forsaken life, and the father-figure presence was more a shadow than a force. Daniel didn’t even remember his face anymore, his voice was entirely an echo of his own.
It was apparent to him shadow father didn’t enjoy spending time with him, and the solitary childhood memories were at the community park near his mother’s apartment while he deliberately showed a presence for an hour as he sat on a worn out bench while scrawny Daniel, with his untidy black hair played alone, swaying on the swings a couple of times and his father nod for them to leave, buying an ice-cream cone and quickly disposing him back home to his origin.
Daniel’s mother was a nurse, laboring endless hours to take care of her first and last son, never remarrying again. It was the two of them for the most part of their lives, until Honey came into Daniel’s life and stole him as his mother perpetually repeated with dismay, and it was never the same for any of them.
With the constant control of Daniel’s mother over each little occurrence, it was clear she supervised their life. Until Daniel came to terms, it was an unhealthy dependence and eventually cut off the attached string, more like heavy chains around his neck, and they moved far away from her, forbidding Honey to take her calls, giving the ‘don’t ask, only do’ speech.
Honey turned to Daniel, giving an alluring smile that crinkled a dimple on the right cheek, batting those dark eyelashes to him. Her eyes were the color of milk chocolate edged with a deep forest green. Sometimes the two colors appeared to swirl together resembling moss creeping over rich soil. And when she smiled both colors ignited with a glow dazzling with the warmth of the rich brown and seductive green dancing around its edge. She reached out to hold Daniel’s hand, with apprehension, held her hand back. Yes, she loved him. Ten years of marriage had its highs and falls, however they were still together. Was it their memories sticking them together like glue or because they were accustomed to each other? Whatever it was, Love was the core, and their inner children were playmates.
“Do you want me to suck your dick?” Honey joked, remembering their first days of dating and how exciting it was.
“Do you want to crash?” Daniel seemed serious.
“I’d gladly die with a cock in my mouth, just imagine the obituary! At least one exciting thing happened in my life.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“You do know any man would’ve been overjoyed right now, right?”
When did the flame turn to ashes? Sadly, the passion had died out as a withering flower in an empty glass on the counter, neglected to water or give sunlight. Leaves and petals turning brown until it perished. Maybe in every relationship the burning desire fades away by time? Honey thought, or maybe they weren’t a match as assumed they were. Obviously, she wished and worked for it, but Daniel being complicated and self absorbed, or the fact he worked long hours in an advertisement agency as their event and PR director, didn’t bother to make an effort.
They first met at the hospital when Honey came in for a serious wound on her wrist. She accidentally cut it on a wood plaster taking an antique vase out of its package, yet the hospital thought it was a suicide attempt so they kept her longer. Honey despised the scar and creatively tried hiding it with watches or bracelets and disliked people considering that she wanted to end her existence when it was a stupid accident. Honey was arguing at the staff when Daniel entered into the room with wildflowers in hand to surprise his mom for her birthday.
It was precisely like the romantic movies, when they show love at first sight in slow motion and you can’t make out your surroundings, except that individual. Time froze for Honey when she first set eyes on him and perceived he’d break her heart one day. They chatted and laughed until his mother, Honey’s nurse, told Daniel to leave, but beforehand they exchanged numbers without his mother’s acknowledgement.
The beginning of their relationship was picture perfect, spending most of their time together as often as they could, Honey thought she could never again find another man comparable to Daniel and was head over heels in love with him and Daniel, love-struck, proposed to her in less than three months. They plunged into marriage fast.
After a year, their last minute escapades and vacations turned into Daniel not wanting to go home and Honey spent her money on shopping to fill the void, focusing more of time into work after feeling isolated, so she could keep her mind off of what was bothersome; the emptiness. Working part time as an antique dealer, a family profession, Honey had the knowledge and flair, and it made her an excellent business woman.
The job didn’t require too much of her time as having colleagues at the gallery made it easy and once a week, attended auction events or had meeting at the gallery for high priced luxury items which demanded her experience and skill to provide an estimation. If Honey didn’t have work, she stayed home drawing, attend charity functions, or walked to her favorite place to block the outside world, was a local bookstore having to go without fail each Thursday morning, reading and sipping coffee from their little cafe which mainly served coffee or herbal tea with chocolate-chip cookies. Honey had to claim a location where she could free her mind or she’d go crazy with negative conclusions.
“You also know I’m not like every man.” Daniel replied after a long pause.
“So all men wouldn’t want their wives giving them head, or you all prefer a prostitute?”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing.”
Today I won’t torment and disagree. Honey tried telling herself each day, so they avoided a conflict, maintaining the peace. Any topic she brought up, attempting to discuss what was on her consciousness, turned into a catastrophic argument, which Daniel started and end breaking any fragile objects around, and later leave the house.
Honey’s intentions were never to wage war, ultimately talk, but somehow Daniel felt suffocated, and burst out. It wasn’t regarding trivial and mundane topics, like why he didn’t take the trash out or she didn’t cook again which most couples quarrel about, however somewhat more complex; why Daniel is so secretive, and why he evaded communicating with her and why Honey had mood swings and unexpected lash outs.
Daniel considered his wife couldn’t understand him and made a mountain from a mole and Honey cried while watching romantic dramas, envying her life was more like them than being alone in their large empty house most of the times. Both promising to change, or they’d leave, but they unfailingly had a reason to stay. They still adored each other, something connected them, and neither understood what it was.
Although, Daniel Adrovich, the player as most described him, was a kind hearted man. Sweet, caring, and tried his best to show his devotion, to make her happy and smile. He nick-named her, his Honey Bee rhyming with her last name Mc’Keye, as she replied with a buzz sound, which ended with both of them laughing. It ended most of their discussions at the beginning, but Honey thought Daniel was taking advantage and made it into a game to win and shut her up, but then again Daniel bought her tokens of affection of various bees from plush toys, figurines, even buying bee jewelry to honey scented perfumes, and lotions. If this wasn’t love, what was?
“We’re here.” Daniel lowered the volume of the music blasting as he drove to Honey’s old, but massively spacious cabin which her family inherited, and was passed onto her. Daniel constantly teased, and told her they shouldn’t call it a cabin, because it resembled a castle or mansion. He opened the car door and eased his body to the stony pavement, stretching and cracking his neck as he straightened his outfit. The navy blue cardigan hanging fit on his lean figure had traces of chips on it as he casually dusted it off. He tightened the belt on his khakis before stepping to the rear seat to fetch the luggage.
“We haven’t been here for ages!” Honey gazed out the window to the vast acre of opulent land. The rain had ended as if the sky knew it shouldn’t mess Honey’s clothes, and she peered up at the stars which twinkled and lit up the atmosphere.
She stepped out of the car and stared at the four story white log cabin, lighting up a thin menthol flavored cigarette, and let out a deep long sigh, exhaling the smoke. Aroma of cigarette and roses filled the air. Honey turned her back from the cabin, attempting to hold back tears of nostalgic memories filling the soul.
The dewy lawn was flawlessly trimmed in the break of day, assuming, by the fresh cut-grass scent. The gardeners do an outstanding job maintaining the garden. Scenery of the cabin was breathtaking and serene. You could barely taste the freshness of the crisp night. Back home in their crowded, polluted city they could only smell fog and smoke, but out here in the woods it was fresh and invigorating.
Around their terrain were the white iron gates which protected and entranced the acres of land, and guarded with strong tall trees grouped closely, arms holding each other, never letting go. From afar the gray pristine mountain stood on the horizon with the moonlight casting light on each stone and irradiating shadows. Honey turned to the cabin, trees surrounding it, featuring great armies defending their citadel, their armored branches extending out protectively in the open.
The white log cabin itself stood proudly in the heart of the lush emerald green estate, although it was four stories, it appeared to be at least six. Handpicked stoney gravels led the way from the central open air courtyard to three steps of marble stone staircases, and beautiful red roses which were continually in bloom throughout the seasons, forming a concave above the massive oak wood door to the entrance making it an artists’ haven. Weigla bushes and bitter orange trees, or Narenj as Persians called it, cascaded throughout the gardens. From afar it seemed like rubies and corals on an emerald jewel.
“Hello cute little cherub.” Honey whispered to an off-white marble stone fountain, with a chubby boy casting its wings out, pouring droplets of a waterfall flowing out of its raised hands rested on top of three other marble bowls filled with water and dried leaves that fell in, floating aimlessly in the bowls was centered in front of the main entrance, surrounded by the special red roses that were conclusively planted around, resembling droplets of blood. The rose was from Iran which sweetened the air with its hypnotic aroma.
The statue of the male child was an almost eerie figure by daylight, frozen in a moment of grief and terrible agony. At nightfall, the figure was unbelievably creepy; the shroud around his bottom half, obscuring his body, was a winding sheet until you were up close to it. There was a living air concerning the grieving angel as if its arms could reach out and tear out your soul if you weren’t careful.
This, among other collections of the cabin was written in the deed that it couldn’t be touched, nor renovated. Honey obliged naturally as her parents and their progenitors did, but didn’t visit it as often as she longed for. The cabin reminded her of her parents and the horrific car crash they had coming back to the city.
Honey had the fondest memories at the cabin while growing up. Each holiday and summers she came up to the cabin with her parents when they were alive.
She could still hear her father’s voice telling Iranian folktales, sitting around the fire mother made by the branches and woods Honey gathered from around the garden, paying attention to father’s exclusive stories he told, word by word reverberating through her consciousness. She could also sniff the woods burning in the fire, making rustling noises, as they bursted with flickering light dancing around them, and the rising smoke as they made shapes and images. Honey tried to make out the figures, effortlessly as she made out figures from the clouds till this day.
Sometimes she gazed up and there would be a dragon, and now and then, a complete storyboard with characters and animals passing her sight. Honey remembered the golden tray that her mom held while she served them Persian tea which father taught his companion in the early days of their relationship; how to brew the ideal and impeccable black dried tea leaves, so they could sip as Honey listened to the tales. She could sense the warmth of the Persian teacup with its silver handle in her hands and even smell its strong mesmerizing fragrance.
“Wish you were here mom and dad.” Honey whispered as the trees swayed as if sending a message from above.
Nicholas, Honey’s father, was an American born Iranian, inheriting this cabin after his parents passed away and was the only place he let loose. Being the handsome, strict and powerful businessman who essentially put work before other affairs, except his pride and joy and only child; Honey. But at the cabin he was more cheerful and less rigid than back home and Honey remembered being on her father’s shoulder till her age and weight allowed, as he pointed out to various flowers and herbs, teaching his daughter their terms and what they were used for, thanks to him Honey knows about every poisonous and not poisonous plant to humankind. Everyone would say Honey was a mini-me of Nicholas, but she thought he was stronger and braver than her and simply wished she had his survival instincts in life, business or even out in the wild.
Evangeline, her American socialite mother, was a famous antique dealer whom was continually in the articles of Sotheby’s and longed for her daughter to be precisely like her, though Honey stayed away from the fame and avoided the limelight and was ideally happy being behind the scenes. She wasn’t extroverted and an entertainer as mother, matter of fact, was the total antithesis, shy and not a mingler as mother wanted her to be. Evangeline would step into a room and all sights turned to her. Her beauty wasn’t the particularly striking attribute she had, however her confidence like she owned the room, stood out in a humble way. Her icy-silver eyes seemed frozen but her dazzling smiles never vanished from her face, Honey thought if she smiled constantly as mother did, her jaw would fall off.
The cabin was the only location Honey’s parents could put their work aside, and bond more as father told tales of Iran which she never saw, and unfortunately never had the chance to visit the divine country Nicholas described.
However, one fact which her father, and his father and their fathers did was to make this cabin a home away from home.
They named it Shalamrood, as he customarily told stories of Hasani, his favorite, and a famous Iranian childhood story to his one and only daughter, a tale that educated children etiquettes which Nicholas strongly advised his daughter to have and would say; you must pass on this story to your children.
Honey sighed and snapped back to reality. She was thirty-six years old, the clock was ticking fast, yet as the seconds turned into minutes, and minutes faded into years, secretly there was no desire for offsprings.
She had a mild case of depression, Dysthymia, as Mrs. Milani the psychiatrist classed her, the torment of having all, yet having nothing. No one could understand the truth that it was a lonely world, especially after her parents passed away when she was twenty-six. The sudden loss of her parents were too soon, she had so much to say to them, so much to do and learn. Mrs. Milani led her through the emotional stages of loss, but she was furious at God. Honey was more spiritual than religious and had weak faith in the God Almighty, yet she had to blame someone for her anguish.
Honey had her friends and distant relatives, but that wasn’t enough. She lost her roots, the particular real people she could rely on and lean on to, died. Most friends were around because of the wealth and fame. If the lavish parties and events ended, fake friends would disappear also, and it later became evident who her true allies were. Most of father’s relatives resided in Iran, and mother’s family lived in other states scattered around America. Both grandparents from both sides died before Honey was created, so she never had a family. Only Daniel now, even though he wasn’t around often in vicinity. It was an empty world indeed.
Honey tried therapists, Prozac, natural remedies, you name it but, at the end of the day she slept with the weight on heavy shoulders, faking a smile in the morning hoping for a better day, waking up from a tear dried pillow from the night before, and spent another day searching for a miracle. Most times she’d be overwhelmed with emotions at once, other times nothing. Not knowing which was worse; drowning beneath the waves or dying from the thirst.
I can’t be a mother, how could I bear a child into this cruel world? That was Honey’s constant concerns. She despised responsibilities, waking up in the middle of the night and changing dirty diapers was for an accountable mother, in the end of the day she’s better off alone with Daniel, even if he gave the vague impression of remaining a ghost.
Daniel didn’t want children either; he had his own demons to deal with, having more demons than the exorcist. Hell, even the monsters in his head made Stephen King’s It clown run for cover! He certainly didn’t desire to let go of the freedom and be a responsible father.
Daniel being bipolar, once in a while thought of suicide which he never attempted on, it was only a scene made up in his mind. Life was an overwhelming roller coaster, exhausted of not reaching his value of success. The thoughts were a game. How’d others react to his death? Be inclined to show up to the funeral? Would they be sad or forget he ever existed in a day? Life was easier when he was a youngster. He used to venture out, searching for buried treasures and dug neighbors’ lawns, once in a while his mother accompanied his treasure searching adventures and she’d take him to empty and evacuated locations and dug holes with the blue plastic shovels she purchased from a toy store, ultimately finding what Daniel perceived as treasure; bones, lost jewelry, broken house items and artifacts, always making up stories attached to the prizes and hoard them in his bedroom. He had no siblings. The kids in the neighborhood were considered family as they made an oath to be there forever, however the hide and seeks, being cops and chasing robbers and playing soccer ended with the oath when they grew older. When children grow out of their fantasies and wake up in the real world of adulthood a few like Daniel needed games and escapes, suicide was one of them.
Possibly that was why Daniel and Honey were so magnetically drawn to each other, feeding off of their own despair. Darkness attracted the dark. They weren’t a cold, bitter, and gloomy couple at the least, they giggled at each other’s jokes and were playmates, in the end, life was impeccable, was it not?
“Let’s go baby. You remember this place don’t you?” Honey, carried out Aleister’s crate from the back end of the car and again glanced around the breathtaking expanse of land she owned that was strictly forbidden to sell.
It was immaculate except a sensation, as if a mysterious fog was constantly around the cabin, a spirit of loneliness and despair. No virtue could ever produce the perception to go away.
She wandered closer to the gates and ran her fingers on the dew descended, metal and a wave of energy coursed through her body giving her a shock, and promptly snapped a delicate hand back.
“Spoiled little rich girl doesn’t wanna get her hands dirty?”
Honey spun around to see her best friend Serena, and they imitated shrieking teenagers running and embrace each other, acting foolish hence their thirty-something years of age.
“I’ve missed you so much!” Honey’s face gleamed holding Serena’s hand, nails painted black, long and pointed.
“It’s for scratching people’s eyes out.” Serena clawed her fingers showing off the sharp nails as she winked at Honey. “Oh, wait I have something for you!” Serena reached into her pocket and took out a deep colored Gothic Victorian pendant, a dark garnet being its centerpiece. “Turn around.” Honey placed Aleister’s crate on the ground and flipped her hair to the side as Serena clasped the necklace around her neck.
“This is marvelous!” Honey’s eyes shined, looking at the jewelry as she clung to it. “Thank you.”
“Is goth girl back?” Daniel glanced at Honey’s necklace, walking towards the main entrance, luggage in hand, and Serena gave him a smug smile.
“Classy goth I should add!” Honey laughed admiring Serena’s good taste in the finest brands in fashion, even if her outfits were mostly black; Serena was a fashionista at first hand. Fascinating to most views, her tanned flawless skin, long straight raven hair, big ebony cat eyes which were hypnotic and revealed her true essence of having a catty nature, long inky eyelashes resembling butterfly wings as it fluttered framing the eyes, with her signature red lipstick that caused her sensual full lips poutier. Her tall, seductive and slender physique was covered in tattoos. “Where’s my room?” She walked proudly carrying her black Chanel travel bag.
“This way, but beware,” Honey turned to Serena picking up the crate and whispered, “I’m not accountable for the spiders which lurk in the shadows, and the webs you will find tangled in your hair!”
They laughed as they walked up to the main entrance.
“This is not like you.” Serena raised a flawless sculpted eyebrow. “Where’s your maid?”
“Her time off, and Dan suggested we can clean it ourselves.”
“Can you?” Serena narrowed her eyes as a grin curled up.
“Hell no!” Honey laughed once more, untying her mane as it swirled around her shoulders similar to strands of silk, recently highlights were added which matched her caramel soft skin and brushed it off. “And ruin my manicure?” Waving her quintessential, French manicured nails through the air and her Rolex watched shined in the moonlight.
They both laughed, as Honey fished a heavy set of keys from her Hermes red porosus crocodile birkin bag with eighteen karat gold and encrusted diamonds on its strap, one key for each room in the house. Honey knew from her parents’ in house maid, most of the accesses were locked. It was the way father demanded. Aleister was placed on the floor once more as Honey proceeded unlocking the entrance, while holding her cell phone, used as a flashlight with her left hand.
They both detected footsteps inside the house; Honey raised her light to the glass windowpane on the door, peering closer, leaving a fog on the window by her breath. She couldn’t see what caused the rumbles, it was extremely dark inside.
“Don’t tell me you have rats or I’m out of here!” Serena clutched her black mink coat around her body.
“No worries, it’s an old shack, but not infested.” Honey looked around and turned the key when suddenly the carved iron handle turned on its own. Honey startled, jerked her hand aside, as Daniel jumped out.
“Shit!” Honey gasped.
Serena had an intense expression as if nothing could phase her.
“What?” Daniel asked smiling like a child, acting more identical to a thirteen-year-old than his thirty-nine years of age, glad he scared his spouse. “I have keys to the back door.” Sarcastically laughing, jangling the keys in front of Honey’s face. “Get it? The backdoor?”
Honey snatched the keys out of his hands, and gave him a smart look, picking Aleister and proceeded walking through the entryway. It smelled strongly of dust, and beneath it was a subtle odor she recognized at once. Each house has a peculiar fragrance, one which you can detect on any of its residents which defines the family. This was Honey’s scent, her family’s. It smelled like her memories.
“It’s cold.” Honey shivered, placing an arm around her body.
“I’ll get the powers running in a second.” Daniel walked over to the power room outside the yard, with his cell phone flashlight in hand. Daniel dreaded doing these manly duties most times. He wasn’t rich and spoiled as his wife, however he didn’t enjoy tasks which were required from him. Laziness was a special lifestyle.
Honey led the way to the lounge and carefully ran up to the third floor to her bedroom, placing Aleister’s crate in the corner beside the canopy, refilling his water bottle, being spoiled, it was the exclusive way he drank, and took out his crystal bowl from her handbag, topping it with cat food and placed it beside the crate. Aleister didn’t like change in his environment, he’d spend most of his time in the room until comfortable coming out.
Honey picked her phone and reached back downstairs into the lounge, as she yanked the white sheets from the furniture, dusts dancingly rising from the light source she held, and a wistful scent of moth balls filled the area.
“White sheets, old creepy cabin in the woods, no lights…” Serena made a clean line with her index finger from the dust on the frame of the dead fireplace and briskly rubbed her fingers clean. “Like an eighties horror movie!”
“At least they had better light sources!” Honey laughed shedding light to the corners.
Outside, Daniel proceeded turning on the power and gas, attempting to burn up a match to light the pilot on the gas heater. He sensed Honey behind him in the darkness.
“Honey bee?”
“Uhum…”
“Can you give me some light please?”
“Uhum.”
Daniel waited patiently, but Honey didn’t turn on the flashlight. Annoyed, Daniel looked behind, he saw no one. That’s very rude of her, he thought, as he scanned through the window he saw Honey in the livingroom tidying up nonchalantly.
He swung back once more, skin crawling with an uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. How could Honey be so fast? She was behind me a second ago.

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