For as long as she could remember her family had been moving around—the tail being pinned on a stubborn mule. Clara glanced at a fallen sign; its wording hidden under overgrowth by the side of the road. She huffed under her breath. No one bothered to fix it. That spoke volumes as to how pathetic her new home was. At least it had trees and lots of them, not that she’d see them anytime soon. Cautious—protective—vigilant—for the following few weeks her family was bound to be ever watchful. History repeated itself time and again. It wasn’t until they became complacent that things tended to go awry, resetting the cycle.
It was Saturday already. That left two days to unpack as much as possible before starting at a new high school. Being home-schooled would have been much easier. No matter how determined she was, avoiding making connections with other teens always proved to be impossible. At some point or another her guard always fell, leaving her in tears, packed, and heading cross-country again.
This time they’d really done it, moving to a small place like Chance. The town—what there was of it—was made up of a maze of winding streets. Every single property seemed to back onto the edge of a large forest. The homes themselves were all varied, having been built in an era that had been all but forgotten. Vines of dark green ivy hid the fading colour of their bricks, but couldn’t mask their age entirely. Chance was, by all means, the definition of quaint and boring at the same time. A place people went to retire, quietly fading away with the sunset. A spot where no one would notice when they were gone.
“Wow.” Clara’s jaw dropped, as the car rounded the circular drive in front of their new home. “Unbelievable.”
Despite having the funds to live elaborately, the Fawn family, for the most part, chose to mainly reside in housing styles which were considered moderately expensive: nothing flashy, nothing extravagant, nothing that drew too much attention. Someone dropped the ball on that plan. The country house in front of them was twice the size they were accustomed to, with a yard as far as the eye could see, save for the outline of trees well off in the distance.
“Wow is right!” Mrs. Fawn exclaimed. “George, are you sure this is the right address? How much grass do we have to cut? Do we even own a lawn mower?”
“This is it,” Mr. Fawn replied, taking a deep breath right after. “In the pictures the place seemed much smaller. I can’t believe a property this size sold for so little.” He tossed the keys in the air. “Try the locks, Jenny. I’ll call the real estate agent, if they don’t fit.”
Clara’s mother, Jenny Fawn, was the strong one in the family—the pants wearer. She was out of the car and up the porch, waving at them, before her father finished asking. “Ah! They fit. I guess this place is ours, after all.” Her hand waved wildly back and forth above her head.
“Way to be discreet,” Clara huffed. “I guess we won’t be staying here long. This place is bound to start talk. I bet there isn’t a bigger house in the entire county. Is there any point to unpacking?”
“The house comes with the job,” her father answered nonchalantly. “The people who completed the real estate transaction for us know what they are doing. Trust your pops, this will all work out in the end. You never know, this could turn out to be our forever home.”
“You say that every time.” Clara rolled her eyes, slamming the car door. The neck of a pink stuffed animal tightened in a hug. It was the same ritual she had done for years, although she had no clue why. Mr. Flufunny, the bunny, needed to approve of any place before she entered it. If nothing happened it was safe. If, however, she ended up with a headache, something bad was bound to happen.
Clara let out the breath she was holding, the exhale coming swift through her nostrils. Five minutes had passed without the need for a single pain pill. As far as new homes went, this was as secure as they came, at least according to Mr. Flufunny.
The cobblestone drive and path matched, leading from drive to porch. Clara took the stone stairs slowly, following in her mother’s exact footsteps. One finger extended from her bunny hug, pushing the already slightly ajar door fully opened. She sneezed, dust meeting her sinuses head on, accompanied by a side order of stale air.
“It’s going to take some cleaning,” Mrs. Fawn said, completely ignoring her daughter’s wheezing. Even if the symptoms were overplayed, a mother needed to have a bit more concern for her child’s health.
“What’s with the furniture?” Clara asked, still standing in the foyer. “Where are we going to put all our things?”
“Good question,” her father answered, squeezing past with his arms full of luggage. The bags banged on the floor. “The place was supposed to be completely empty.” George scratched his head. “The movers will be here tomorrow.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Jenny Fawn replied. “We always do. Right now, let’s make sure everything works.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “I’ll take the upstairs.” She pulled a plastic bag from her backpack after flicking the light switch several times. Having an emergency kit for moving day shouldn’t have been a teen’s responsibility. She’d been through enough to know packing one was essential, though. A flashlight in one hand and her stuffed bunny in the other made climbing to the unknown much easier. Everyone needed a security blanket or two.
Chapter 2
Laboured breath and a fast heartbeat mingled with the sound of her own pounding feet. Somehow they moved swifter than usual
