The Hunt

Chapter 1

I was perfectly fine in Washington. I had normal teenage life full of lots of friends, a nice apartment, and a good (yet quite boring) school. I saw no real reason to move to California. All my parents would tell me was "It will be such a great opportunity, Ash!" and "You'll meet so many new people!" I didn't want to meet new people. I didn't want new opportunities. I wanted my people and opportunities back in Washington.

So currently I was sitting in our family mini-van, trying to block out the changing scenery outside my window. My mom and dad kept chatting excitedly about ALL THE WONDERFUL THINGS ABOUT OUR NEW HOUSE. I thought our old apartment with the cruddy wifi was perfectly fine. But what do I know?

I rubbed my temples. My dad was playing some song from when he was my age or whatever that kept talking about "turning on that old time rock and roll" and "soothing souls". Ugh. I had lost count of how many times I'd listened to that song on our long car trip to our new house, but I think we were somewhere between 55 and 60. I could be wrong, but again, what do I know?

When we were coming up on our 77th repeat of the song and I was considering jumping out the open window because I was so tired of that stupid song, a beacon of light opened up from the heavens. Well, more of a weak glow, but it was still there. Our mini-van pulled to a slow stop, and the melodious noise of gravel crunching underneath tires ceased.

I groaned quietly in the back seat, and slowly unbuckled my seat belt. I did not want to get out of that car. Twenty minutes ago, I wanted nothing more than to get out of it, but now I wanted to stay.

The creaky car door slid open with a screech, and I stepped out into the sun. I tucked my chocolatey-brown hair behind my ears and gazed up at my new home.

It was old and creaky and wooden. I know all houses are wooden, but it like wasn't painted or anything. The shutters (which were vaguely painted a shade of white) hung off the windows, barely clinging to the house by their rusted hinges.

The house was surrounded by these massive trees that looked like old women, all hunched over and just skin and bones. If I was supposed to find new opportunities in this wasteland, I was gonna have a hard time.

I was still in a bit of a shock upon viewing our "home", when my mom decided that it would be a great freaking idea to go explore the house. To be honest, I was a little scared to go in there, because the house looked like it might cave in on itself at any moment. But I followed my parents inside despite my fears.

Everything inside the house was covered in sheets and covered in a thick layer of dust and a few mouse droppings. Gross. The paint on the walls was what I think used to be a gray-blue, but what now looked like some kind of mold and was chipping off.

See, the thing was I was promised a new house, not a dump. It is an understatement to say I was disappointed.

Not too long after, the moving truck pulled into our driveway with a bunch of boxes full of clothes and soccer trophies and painful reminders of where I wished I was. Dad told us to all pick up a box, and begin bringing them inside.

As I picked up my first box, I looked over to the left of our house. About a football field away was another house. It looked exactly like ours, except it was painted and the shutters weren't about to fall off their hinges. There were a pair of rocking chairs sitting on the front porch, a quaint little table between them, with a little vase with a flower sitting on top if it.

"Probably just some old couple," I thought to myself, and carried my box inside.