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0:33 AMChapter 4[part 1]: Dealing with Spirits 101
Chapter 4: Dealing with Spirits 101
We stayed up until maybe two that day working on the list. I ended up lying on Steven’s bed with him since we were trying to share the notebook and write at the same time. It resulted in us spontaneously falling asleep, me missing the text me friends sent me asking if I wanted to go out with them that day, and us both sleeping in late and half lying on top of each other in an attempt to spread out with another person on the bed.
Apparently, Jake was home and he was waiting to hang out with our brother (since when did Jake get social?), but he got worried when it was around eleven and neither of us had been heard from, so he looked in the room to see us half on each other/half off the bed. He laughed and woke us up, getting groggy a "Huh?” from each of us.
We stared at Jake, who was smiling – all kinds of shocks this week – then we stared at each other, looked at the notebook Steven was lying on, and flopped back down. See, the thing is about our family is that we generally get up early (old habit) and go do something. Work, school, hanging out with friends, a walk, cleaning, making food – something, so we wouldn’t be bored and have our anxiousness act up.
When we finally dragged ourselves out of bed, got dressed, tidied up a bit (we got bored and threw paper airplanes and paper balls around at around one in the morning), then walked out to the living room, watching Jake sitting on the couch, glaring at the TV like he wanted it to just go die somewhere. There’s old Jake.
He turned his head when we walked out of the doorway and flopped down on either side of him. "Tired much?” he said with some dry sarcasm but a smile in his eyes, the response being a groan from each of us. He just laughed at us. "C’mon, you two rarely stay up late, so since this happened something must have happened. Or you just felt like it. You two rarely do that much together anymore, so I wanna know what’s up. I mean, it’s not like the world is ending,” he said, obviously stressing from how much he said. His face looked sterner and slightly scarier than normal, but his eyes showed he was worried about us. 2 pairs of dark brown eyes skipped over the green ones in between us, and did some silent communication.
"Nothing important,” I started, not exactly knowing what the excuse should be.
"Just thinkin’ about how our latest project is going,” Steven chimed, finishing the thought I had begun but didn’t know how to end. I gave my ‘twin’ a sidelong glance – we hadn’t worked on any projects of any kind together since we were maybe 11 – why did he mention this now?
Jake looked at each of us careful, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a few long moments, he nodded slowly, said "Okay,” and walked back to the couch. Steven and I looked at each other and let out an equal inaudible sigh of relief.
We told Jake we were going to go on a shopping trip (apparently we needed supplies for our project, thanks Steven) and we walked out the door. Since it was still pretty warm out, even thought it was breezy, I ended up wearing an old pair of shorts I had made from a pair of cut up jeans and a paint-splattered t-shirt.
"Steven, I have an important question for you.” He hummed in response and tilted his head, probably wondering what came up suddenly. "How is it possible for people – like you – to wear jeans, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes in this weather?”
He stared at me as he kept walking towards the house, which was just barely in view in the distance, and laughed. I shot him an angry look and he cracked a small smile instead of his full blown one from moments before. "I started laughing,” he began with laughter still evident in his voice. "Because I just think it’s more comfortable and none of my shorts are good for walking around because of all the holes. That’s why I use them for pajamas or rags.”
I blinked. So that’s where all his old clothes go. I was lost in my thoughts about things I never realized about my brother when suddenly he snapped in my face, causing me to stop walking and blink out of my wandering thoughts. I was about to look at him when I realized right in front of me was the steps, and I was about to trip over them.
I tried to overcome looking embarrassed, and mentally blamed the heat for the warmth covering my face. I was polite, however, and mumbled a thanks to him as he snickered, and walked up to the door.
I wasn’t nearly as comfortable with the house as Steven was, since he just grabbed the key, starting to warp and thin from use and the summer heat wave, from above the door. I was about to ask how he knew where it was or why he chose above the door, but I couldn’t say much after he opened the door.
From the outside, the house looked well-kept and normal, sometimes a little wild looking with the vines trying to climb the building, but the inside seemed like it should have been stuck in a painting with the amount of difference between the exterior and interior.
The interior had air that was dusty-looking, tasted and smelled slightly musty, but there were drapes of webs, new and old, strewn all over the furniture, doorways, and corners, though none of the invaders were in sight. The dust was in a layer thick enough that only the area I supposed Steven regularly used was near the right shade instead of a dull grayish color. The furniture was a cross between Gothic, modern, and Victorian from what I could tell. The carpet was a plush formerly red material that had a Victorian style couch whose high back was to us, and I could see the matching red material on it as well. The coffee table was a sleek looking and a dark gray color, though it might have been a light black as well. No entertainment center was in the living room, and all the upstairs doors were closed, but I felt like there was a lot to do here.
My brother acted like this was normal, and I’m not sure he realized its condition fully. Through the high windows that took up almost the entire wall no matter where it was placed, light streamed in, and I could see the dust particles floating through the air. My gaze was brought back to the staircase that had wrought iron rails in pointed peaks at certain intervals, as though it belonged guarding a cemetery.
I was led into a large library which seemed to replace both the kitchen and dining room, and was told to sit down in one of the dust covered, Gothic looking chairs. I hesitated but sat anyway; what else did I have to do anyway?
He walked over to a glass display case – the only object that looks like it has been touched in a few millennia – and pulled out a yellowing notebook with slight traces of red tingeing it and the few ink blots here and there. When Steven pulled out an old fashioned pen and ink well, I noticed the small indent by the candle holder that would soon be holding the ink well.
When he walked over, he sat opposite me and set his things up like he was going to write. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and I could almost feel the room shift with the movement and could hear a slight swish on the edge of my consciousness. When he reopened his eyes and they weren’t the right color – an almost hazel color – I knew something dramatic involving that notebook was about to happen.
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