The Treehouse Series : Book One

Chapter 1

With a yawn, Avalon sluggishly propped herself up against a decaying stop sign and gently massaged a kink out of her neck. Her half-lidded eyes watched tiredly as several cars passed her in a blur, a few pebbles from the road stubbornly kicking themselves up and tumbling back down again. A heavy blanket of terrible clouds had begun to roll over the horizon and painted the sky a threatening shade of gray. Within a short matter of time, the clouds would engulf Heron's Landing— a gorgeous though surprisingly unknown southern town— and drench it with literal gallons of rain.

Avalon silently prayed that her moment of formidable condemnation would end before the rainfall began, but she was far from such a delicacy. As soon as the first drop bit her skin, it seemed only moments before the young girl was soaked, shivering, and utterly miserable.

She tightly hugged her knees to her chest. The many memories of her as a child dancing and playing in the rain had suddenly vanished, all of them replaced by uncertain hopes of sanctuary or warmth. Even the birds seemed to think the same— a peculiarly small one flocking to the knothole of a tree.

"Good heavens, child!" a feminine voice inadvertently shrieked, instantaneously plucking the girl from her absentminded state. "Have you ever been taught manners?"

"I... I... Excuse me, Ma'am?" Avalon— who was visibly perplexed— squeaked through her audibly chattering teeth.

The woman repeated her question once more, and though it had been only a few mere seconds, they had been greeted an utterly cumbersome silence. Avalon forcefully nodded in a desperate attempt to break it. "Yes ma'am. M-my mother did her best to try and—"

"A-and who might your mother be?" the woman anxiously interrupted, cocking one of her nearly invisible eyebrows.

"Bethany Winters," she gulped. "She sent me away to go with Missus Mordale."

"That's Madame Mordale to you, girl," the woman snapped abruptly, her already stern gaze spontaneously hardening toward the child. Seemingly untouched gears began to turn in her head, somehow triggering a few important thoughts in order to 'connect a few dots.' "That must make you Avalon."

"Yeah— I-I mean, yes Ma'am,"Avalon admitted, still visibly baffled. The way the elder woman spoke with such a profound distaste for the girl her want to burst into tears, yet for some unbeknownst reason she felt forbidden from the action. She began to wonder if it had been the amount of time in the cold that made her teeth clatter or if it were the woman's intimidation striking her very core.

"Well, to my misfortune, I suppose that means you are coming home with me," the woman scowled, grudgingly beckoning the girl to a rubicund car with an abrupt gesture of her hand. "Your grandfather is waiting."

***

A majority of the car trip home was painstakingly long. Each wretched turn only led to another, and the proportionate landscape seemed to repeat itself in a way that could drive anyone mad. The constant bumpiness in the ride kept everyone on edge; and Avalon, being the young child she was, felt the urge to create some sort of small talk in order to diminish the discomfort.

"So, erm..." Avalon coughed gawkily, loudly clearing her throat and glancing at the now mud-caked ground. "W-where exactly does Grandfather live?"

Despite her plausible attempts, the car was once again greeted by a lingering silence. The gravel crunching beneath the wheels became the only sound to keep them company.

"Erm... In Whitlow Manner," the driver, whom Avalon had recently learned was called Anthony, awkwardly answered. He narrowed his pitch black eyes and kept them cemented to the gravel road. His eyebrows were permanently furrowed, and pigmented blotches spotted his aging skin. The poor man was clasping the wheel tightly enough that his knuckles turned white, a nervous habit of his when handling stressful or extremely long situations.