Blog Novelette- Chapter One

Dead and Buried

“She’s going with you and that’s final!”

“She doesn’t even want to go. But, you know… whatever.” Vance Brody’s voice sounded muffled through the door, unlike his father’s, which always seemed calm, clear, authoritative.

It was true, though, she didn’t want to go. Not that it mattered now. Victor Brody had spoken. She was going to Horrorville with Vance Brody and his stupid friends, and that was final.

Paley groaned as she scraped herself off the hardwood floor and moved away from the door where she’d been listening to her new foster family argue for the past ten minutes. She’d only lived with the Brodys for two days, and already she was screwing things up. Story of her life. Paley Conrad, problem child. She’d been to four foster homes in the past nine months. A personal record- not that she was proud of it or anything.

In fact, she hated it. Hated the look Mrs. Fletcher, her case worker, gave her every time another family sent her back like she was defective or something. What’s wrong with you? That was the kind of look Mrs. Fletcher gave her. The revolting blob of a woman never said it, but Paley could see it in the odious glint of her beady, brown eyes.

“Don’t you want to get adopted?” is what the social worker actually had said when she’d had to pick Paley up from the last family in the middle of a tornado warning.

Yeah, like that was ever going to happen. Paley hadn’t bothered to say it. They both knew it was true. She’d given up on that pipedream a long time ago. No one wanted a teenager with a troubled past. But it wasn’t like she was trying to beat the system, either. She just wanted to bide her time, keep her head down and her nose clean until her eighteenth birthday. Then, she could start fresh. A new life. A new town. Anywhere she wanted. But for now, that didn’t matter. She had to make this situation work, despite how much she hated it.

“You got lucky this time, kid,” Mrs. Fletcher had said as they drove off into the sheeting rain. “I found a family who’s willing to take you. A good family in New Orleans. A wealthy family. Why they’re offering to take you in, I have no earthly idea. Just be thankful that they are. Lord knows I am. You’re all out of options.”

As much as Paley hated to admit it, Mrs. Fletcher was right. She’d foisted herself into a raw deal. A three strikes and you’re out kind of deal, and the State was pitching a no-hitter. This was her last chance. If she couldn’t make it work here, who knew where she’d end up? Maybe juvie or something. Living with the Brodys was certainly better than that, and better than the last home she’d been at. At least she had her own room. She didn’t have to worry about anyone barging in on…

Vance Brody opened her bedroom door without knocking. So much for privacy. “Dad said you have to go,” Brody told her, not bothering to feign excitement.

“Yeah, I heard,” Paley said, just as unenthusiastically. “I’ll get ready.”

“Ten minutes and I’m out. Got that?”

“Yeah,” Paley said, walking over to her closet. She frowned as she stared into the gigantic walk-in. The closet was probably twice the size of her last bedroom. Her clothes didn’t even take up a tenth of the space.

“I’m not kidding,” he said, following her into the closet. He flipped the light switch she’d been searching for. She still hadn’t learned her way around the house yet. “I don’t care what Dad said. Brighton’s already downstairs waiting.”

She stopped rummaging through the pitiful selection of garments and turned to look at him. “Okay. I said I’ll be ready, Brody.” That’s what everyone called him, Brody. Not Vance, never Vance. Like he was too avant-garde for a first name or something. Whatever.

He plucked a black lace top from its hanger, one of the nicer things she owned. “Here. Wear this. It’ll make you look less,” his gaze moved down her body and stopped at the grubby pair of Doc Martins on her feet, “homeless.”

She pushed a wayward curl from her face and sighed. “Fine,” she said, and snatched the shirt from him. “I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

It took her more like seven by the time she changed clothes, pulled her hair back, and applied some lip gloss. Brody and his friend were waiting for her in the foyer. Paley eyed Brighton as she descended the stairs. Witless green eyes, flame red hair, and matching freckles. Ouch! For the first time ever, Paley was thankful for her own auburn locks, and as much as she disliked her pale skin, at least it wasn’t paper-white and covered with liver spots. Next to Brody, with his midnight eyes, square jaw, and black-as-night hair, Brighton looked like a troll.

“Finally,” Brody mumbled, as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Paley, this is Brighton Wilcox. Brighton, Paley Conrad, my dad’s latest charity case.”

Brighton snickered. “Man, your parents take in foster kids like stray dogs.”

Brody lifted one lazy shoulder, too cool to comment, as Paley struggled to bite back a retort. So what if Troll Boy equated her to a stray dog? She didn’t care what he or Brody thought. Jerks.

Brody watched her for a long moment, like he expected her to say something. When she didn’t, he finally said, “Let’s get going. I’ve gotta pick up Hannah.”

Paley slid into the backseat of Brody’s BMW and tried to force back the uneasy feeling of being set up.

Fifteen minutes later Hannah Fontenette, Brody’s bimbo of a girlfriend, took the seat beside her. Tan, petite, blonde. Typical cheerleader type. How pathetic. Didn’t these girls have any originality?

“You have no idea how glad I am to see another girl!” Hannah said, staring at herself in a compact mirror. She dabbed a layer of powder on her pert, slightly upturned nose.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Paley said, turning to look out the window. She watched the last lavender streaks of twilight dip below the horizon and the cloudless, black night take over.

“Last year,” Hannah said, grabbing Paley’s arm in an attempt to wrestle back her attention, “I was the only girl in our group. Talk about painful.”

“Last year sucked. I don’t even know why we go anymore. I swear, Horrorville gets lamer every year,” Brighton said, turning in his seat to face them. Paley considered kicking the back of his seat so he’d turn around and she wouldn’t have to look at his big, dumb face. An image of metal bars and handcuffs flashed through her mind, and she thought better of it. Third strike.

“It’s tradition,” Brody replied, keeping his eyes on the black ribbon of asphalt that stretched out before them. He pulled a pack of Pall Malls from the glove box, wiggled one out and lit it. “Can’t break tradition,” he said, slowly exhaling a puff of gray smoke. No one challenged that. It was obvious Brody was the voice of authority among the group. He turned down a dirt road that lead to an open field full of cars and parked.

Paley turned back to her window and squinted, trying to make out the place called Horrorville in the moonless night. A corn maze, pumpkin patch, and rickety old shed. That’s what she saw. More like Snoozeville. She really should have stayed at the Brodys.

“Dude, it’s not even scary. This place is for kids,” Brighton said. He was right. The only people around were kids dressed as ghosts, witches, or cheesy superheroes, and their parents.

Brody took a long pull on his dwindling cigarette, and watched as one poor woman chased a knee-high Spiderman through the parking lot. “I didn’t come here to be scared. Did you?”

“Naw, man,” Brighton said, trying to sound macho, like he’d never been afraid in his entire life. “I’m just sayin’.”

“Are we going in or what?” Paley finally asked. She was tired of being trapped in the backseat of a gas chamber. Even if the place was lame, she wanted fresh air.

“No!” Hannah squealed, and bounced in her seat excitedly. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we show Paley what New Orleans is all about? You know, something really haunted.”

Brody eyed her through the rearview mirror, his expression bored. “We’re supposed to meet Quinn and his girlfriend inside.”

“So call him. Tell him we’ll meet up later. Or, better yet, ask them to join us.” Hannah smiled, still bouncing. “You know, the more the merrier.”

Paley rolled her eyes. Probably not the first time she’s said that.

Brody shrugged. “Okay, where were you thinking, Hannah?”

“Jackson Hill.”

Paley laughed. “The high school? That’s the most haunted place in New Orleans?” Paley hadn’t been there yet, but it seemed the least likely place to be haunted.

Hannah gave her a sly smile. “You’ll see.”

Ok, so I hope you enjoyed the begining of my story. Now, here's where the fun comes in. Remember those Chose Your Own Adventure books that were big in the 90s? Well, that's kind of the idea here. That's right; I want you to chose the fate of the characters. Use the voter poll below to decide what Paley does next.