PJO/HOO Oneshots

The House by the Beach

The young woman stalks up the driveway, looking weary and beaten from yet another day. Her car remains unlocked as she didn't have the strength to slam the door shut. It's okay, it's a friendly place out here. At least she assumes so, she hasn't left the house to discover it herself.

Everyday is the same, she leaves her house at seven and comes home at nine. The lawn is untouched and in need of a cut. Every once in awhile a man will show up, taking a rusty mower out of the garage, but then he'll leave, without a word to the homeowner inside.

Mrs. Beverly Ross will take cookies over or lasagna, just to try to get a few words in with the person inside. She gives up everytime after five rings of the doorbell.

The kids on the street whisper their theories to one another. "She's a ghost!" one will exclaim. "Or a vampire!" says another. Everyday as they walk past the house, coming home from school, they scan the yard, searching for any clues as to who, or what lives inside.

She enters the house and doesn't bother with turning on the lights. Stretching her arms above her head she pulls a hair tie out of her mess of blond curls, letting them fall to her shoulders. She steps around the still tightly packed boxes to her answering machine. Pressing play she listens a moment to a message. A female voice comes out, begging her to come out of the house to do something with her. Asking her to continue on with life. She lets it run until the end, when she deletes it.

She walks through the big empty house to the kitchen table. It's perhaps the only thing unpacked, with two chairs pulled up to it. She sits down in one, staring for a moment at the other. It's more dust than chair with a jacket, too large to be hers, hanging haphazardly off the back.

She looks down quickly and pulls papers from her bag, setting to work.

Marlene Thompson, with whom was never one for containing her curiosity, had set out to walk one morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious girl everyone was fussing about. It was unfortunately a chill and windy morning and she tugged her jacket closer around her, wondering if she should just head back. She bit the bullet though and kept trudging.

Then she saw her. She was always dressed in nice clothes, office clothes. Some thought she may be a lawyer, she certainly had the look of one, but there was no evidence to support that. She carried a brief case with her always, but that could be for anything.

As Mrs. Thompson gawked a burst of wind gusted through. On this particular morning the young woman, who the neighbourhood supposed to be about twenty eight, had lots of papers with her. Enough so that her brief case was full and she had a stack neatly pressed on top. And whilst attempting to slip into her car her grip became loose, letting a large piece, folded crisply, flit away, flying down the drive before she could react.

But Mrs. Thompson did and she reached up to pluck the paper out of the air as it floated towards her. Though it was folded she could see the etching across it. It was a design for a building.

She walked forward and handed her the paper. "You might need this," she said. The women barely even looked at her, sending a distracted "thank you," before getting into her car. Mrs. Marlene Thompson recognized that this was her chance, perhaps her only chance and burst to ask a question.

"So you're an architect?" She looked at her now, her grey eyes intense, Mrs. Marlene figured without her even meaning it.

"I am," she responded curtly and with that she closed the door and backed out of the driveway. Her first, and likely last, conversation with the woman over with.