Haven: A Stranger Magic (BOOK 1)

Haven: A Stranger Magic - Chapter 3 - Episode 7

Chapter 3 - Episode 7

Outside, the vivid bands of sunlight fractured the white, billowing clouds and greeted Sam like a warm embrace. Giddyup Lane, a quiet, middle-class neighborhood tucked away in the center of town, had been his home all his life. His house was a charming Cape Cod-style home nestled in the middle of the street that curved like a horseshoe.

The outside of the house was a dingy light gray trimmed in white, with a brown steeply pitched roof and three white gables. It had a white front door and two windows on each side. The house had plenty of charm.

The sweeping front porch had settled over time, and now leaned to the left. His father had built a swing for his mother years ago to enjoy the summer evenings together. The swing still hung from rafters with ropes instead of chains for a more natural look. Originally it had been painted white, but the color had now turned to a pale yellow. Sam thought it looked like a rotten banana with the chipping paint and dark patches of wood. But Barron the cat didn’t seem to mind, as he had deemed it his favorite spot in town.

The front lawn had definitely been neglected, but it was nothing a little water and a lawn mower wouldn’t fix. The flower beds needed attention too. Right now they were empty and waiting for the seasonal planting.

Even though it was still early in the morning, it was extremely hot and humid outside. Sam was used to this; Texas weather was unpredictable. It could be hot and sunny in the morning and cold with a chance of snow in the evening. To be honest, Sam liked the unpredictable. For him, unpredictable meant change, perhaps for the better.

Sitting on the front steps waiting for Sam, was Travis. This was a daily routine for the two of them. Travis waited for Sam each morning as Sam dragged himself out of bed and out of the house. Which was strange, because Travis was never early for anything. Compared to Travis, Sam had his game together, at least to the untrained eye.

Travis sat on the edge of the wooden steps jabbing a soda straw at an innocent spider. It was an unusual-looking spider, mostly black except for the three green stripes on its abdomen. Travis continued to prod as the spider tried desperately to scurry across the steps.

Sam watched for a moment as Travis entertained himself. It was like watching a small child play with dirt on a playground. Sam laughed to himself; Travis may be a teenager, but in his heart he was still a great big kid.

Sam and Travis had known each other for years, but they weren’t always close. At first, Sam had felt sorry for Travis when they met five years ago. Back then no one liked Travis, although sometimes it was understandable. He could be a giant pain in the rear, but you got use to him after a while. If you could get past his ADD he was actually fun to have around.

Back then the kids at school had picked on Travis and called him names. There were a few times Sam had stood up for Travis. Like the time Brent Holland thought he caught Travis staring at his girlfriend Tina. In reality, Travis was staring at Sarah, who had a locker next to Tina. Sam had intervened, telling Brent that Travis suffered from neck spasms. Travis played along knowing if he didn’t, Brent would beat them both up. They both turned and slowly walked away. Sam looked straight ahead hoping the plan would work. Travis inched along at his side with his neck still turned to the left. Over the years things had changed; people made less fun of Travis. As fate would have it, newer kids moved in who seemed to have much bigger problems. Like Missy Baker, who ate her hair when she got nervous.

Travis, for all intents and purposes, was a slob—a big ball of mess, walking around bumping into life. He had light brown hair that was never combed and stuck out in every direction. He was Sam’s height, but heavier. Travis also had an unusual sense of fashion; he wore clothes that looked like they belonged back in the seventies, lots of brown and orange. His shoes were torn, ragged, and sometimes did not match. He was not poor; he just didn’t care.