Haven: A Stranger Magic (BOOK 1)

Haven: A Stranger Magic - Chapter 3 - Episode 6

Chapter 3 - Episode 6

The grandfather clock chimed eight times as Sam made it down the stairs and into the kitchen. He would be late again. Dressed in a black vintage KISS t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and black tennis shoes he felt ready to take on the day. The once enormous mound of bed head had been transformed into a more socially acceptable hair style. His black hair was short with textured layers and was styled forward in a sweeping manner that framed his face.

Sam had found the five candy wrappers from last night. They were now in his pants pocket for safekeeping. He needed to figure out a way to ask Travis about them without mentioning the vanishing stranger.

Sam’s mother had already left for work, no doubt working another double shift at the diner. She had been doing this for months on end, anything to keep them afloat. Her busy schedule had taken its toll on her now. She was tired and distant most of the time. Sam hated the fact that she had to work so hard, and he wished he could help out. Sam needed a job now, not in three years. Sixteen seemed so far off, but what choice did he have? It was hard being the only man in the house when you were still too young to get a job.

The morning sun filled the small kitchen. Earthy neutral colors bathed the walls, counter tops and floor. Cabinets stained in a deep chocolate lined the perimeter, rendering the room as cozy and inviting. The kitchen color pallet had been his mom’s idea, but his father had done all the work, according to his mother.

Sam’s stomach growled; he felt like he had not eaten in years, and as usual Barry had left him nothing to eat. Barry Rogers, Sarah’s boyfriend, graced the Daclomes with his presence every morning to walk with Sarah and Sam to school, and to eat what he considered to be any leftover breakfast.

Barry stood at the kitchen counter inhaling a piece of buttered toast. A cup of orange juice sat next to him. He had short brown hair, and dark brown eyes which looked like giant brown beetles. He was a big jock, and was not particularly smart, which was perfect for Sarah, Sam surmised.

As always Barry wore his typical jock attire. It consisted of a blue football jersey with the number seven, designer jeans, and Nike sneakers.

Sarah was busy behind the counter putting together her lunch and chastising Barry for smacking his food while he chewed it. Sam couldn’t agree with Sarah more. Barry resembled a cow chewing grass, with a slow, agonizing gnawing that let out a loud SMACK as his jaw came full circle.

Sam stood motionless for a moment, transfixed at the lip-smacking football player Sarah called her boyfriend.

Talk about your lack of options. I hope she doesn’t marry Mr. Knucklehead and taint the gene pool, he thought.

Sam’s staring came to an abrupt halt when Sarah caught him gawking at her boyfriend.

“You know, Barry,” she said loud enough to break Sam’s concentration. “I’m a huge fan of Garfield, I mean HUGE!” Sarah met Sam’s gaze and the corners of her mouth curled up into a devilish smirk.

Barry didn’t say a word, because talking and drinking orange juice at the same time can be quite challenging.

Sam remained quiet; getting into a heated debate as to whether or not he had on Garfield boxers might not be the best idea. Without saying a word, Sam moved Barry’s backpack off his school books that lay on the table and placed the bag on the floor next to Barry.

“Hey, morning, dude,” Barry finally mumbled with half a piece of toast hanging from his mouth.

“Morning, Barry, how’s my breakfast? Good, I hope?” Sam laid the sarcasm on a little thick, but Barry’s head was pretty thick, too. There was absolutely no chance Mr. Football noticed his tone. It’s not like all the lights were on. It was like using a Jedi mind trick—it only works on the weak-minded.

“Um, yeah, not bad,” he replied smacking his lips and pouring himself another cup of orange juice.

“Good, glad to hear it. Hey Sarah, why don’t you get Barry here some more toast? He’s getting a little low.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. Sam liked to refer to this face as the Look of Death.

“You know, a guy like you with such a low IQ should have a low voice, too.” she countered.

Sam returned her glare with a kind smile and a wink for extra measure. He grabbed his books and headed for the front door yelling, “Come on Sarah, you’re going to make me late again!”