Crys Partridge

United States

I've lived in three countries so far and hope to further travel the world in order to gain the depth I need for the stories I really want to write someday - the stories I'm practicing for now.

Message to Readers

Any feedback is appreciated.

Griffin's House

August 17, 2015

    I'll never forget the first time I walked into the shack he called his house. My family was returning from the port after our summer trip to the Nation. It took us a week to travel across the island with all of our things and people, even with the hired horses.
    One morning, before we packed up to move on, I wenr out by myself to explore. One would think my parents were horrible to let a child wander about in the woods by himself; in truth there were so many of us children and students that I doubt they noticed I was missing.
    Iknew about an old rundown school that used to be in the area and for fun I found the trail that led to it. Every old building is full of leftover secrets and treasures to wonder about, and I intended to find some.
    The dry, skinny trees were sparsely spaced, so the shack was clearly visible from the trail, complete with a trodden path to it from where I stoof. Naturally, I forgot about the school and decided to stop by.
    Most of the house was termite-infested wood, but there was a metal rood, window sill, and door. I was sure the house had been empty for a long time because of all the rust and because the blanket of dry brown leaves that covered everything else was spread just as evenly around the yard and porch. There were even leaves on the window sill.
    When I tugged on the excuse for a door handle, the door jerked open with a discouraging scrape. I was instantly in awe.The single room was lit by glowing bars around the edges of the ceiling, causing dozens of various sized, complex devices scattered across the floor to cast multiple shadows on the wall's cupboards, shelves and drawers.
    Before I could inspect a spherical object near my feet, a bird cage dropped from the ceiling, swinging back and forth on a chain. I and the scrawny green bird inside it screamed for several seconds. Then the bird calmed down and started biting one of its toes. Right behind it was a particularly large cupboard that caught my attention bacause of the diagrams stuck to its surface. There were charts and diagrams all over the room, but these were colorful depictions of the human brain, eye, and nervous system while the others were machinery diagrams.
    The pictures aroused my curiosity, so I opened the cupboard hoping to find more. Instead, real black eyes stared coldly at me. The boy to whom they belonged looked dead. Yellowish skin was stretched over bruised muscles and he sat in a way that looked as if he had been propped up rather than sitting down. His black hair was wildly filthy and his slight sneer reminded me of a man who had been put in an asylum after trying to kill his frail, old mother. As if that wasn't disturbing enough, his leather clothing had enough dried blood on it that it seemed it had been roughly cut from still living animals. I initially assessed him as a bag of bones, but no bag of bones moves as fast as he did when he leaped out of the cupboard to stand imposingly over me. His facial expressions alone made me feel like I was being rudely shoved into a mud puddle. Therefore, when he started moving his mouth, I initially thought it was coincidence that the quiet, not-yet-gone-through-puberty voice began speaking at the same time. I had expected a rough growl, not the soft, inquisitive, "What are you doing in my house?" that I heard.
    My breaths were coming so heavily and fast that I barely managed to falter through some excuse about being an ornithologist fascinated with the particular species of green birds. Unimpressed, he started fidgeting with a tear in his sleeve and told me I was the worst liar he had ever met. I nodded apologetically and mumbled that I was just passing through with my family and decided to explore. When I said that his house had seemed to be long abandoned, I watched him nervously in case he got angry. Instead he picked up a cloth and started polishing a spoon that had been lying on the floor.
    I continued talking about myself because I thought he seemed interested, or because I was interested in him and his messy house. He only looked up when I mentioned my parents ran a school that was constantly bringing in more stufents despite the decreased popularity of island schooling among families in the Nation. (More schools were opening in the Nation at that time, so boarders in island schools became fewer and fewer until most of the students were locals.)
    I had been talking for quite some time when suddenly he harshly kicked another cupboard door and addressed to it the statement "Get up, Father should be back soon".
    Did everyone in his family sleep in cupboards, I wondered, looking around the room. When I turned back, a girl with longer wild black hair and the same startling visage as her brother was smiling maliciously at me. When she smiled at her brother, though, it was a genuinely loving smile accompanied by a kiss on the cheek that he barely acknowledged.
    "Can you ask him to leave, Griffin?" she asked in the same soft voice as his. Griffin nodded and waved me towards the door. I stepped backwards awkwardly, confused about the proper etiquette for saying goodbye under the circumstances I was in. I settled with a hasty "Have a good day, it was lovely meeting you" and stumbled out the door and back to the trail, glancing back once at the rusty shack my future companion called home.


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  • August 17, 2015 - 12:22pm (Now Viewing)

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