Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Kids
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Adventure
- Published: 01/07/2021
PROLOGUE
Salt Lake City, Utah
December 1979
Mancos was a mystery. Everyone from Salt Lake City said so. It was said to be a dangerous place, full of poverty, and desperate farmers, willing to do anything to get a single coin. Rumours spread that those who went there, never returned, though none who claimed so, had ever visited.
When the Lupo family had sold their house, packed up all their belongings, and left the bustling city to move to Mancos, their neighbours had called them crazy. One Mrs Braun had trailed behind their car for a full five minutes as they left, sending off repetitive Catholic prayers that she believed would protect them from ghosts on the way. Another neighbour from across the street, had tied strings of garlic all over the car, the last night before they left, ‘To prevent ghosts from attacking’ as she had said. Mancos was a ghost town. Children were taught in school that ghosts from the past ruled the place and attacked any outsiders that tried to enter their lair. Fortunately, the Lupos did not believe in all the foolish myths and superstition. They looked at their neighbours helplessly but continued their journey anyway. Mr Ross, the old, grumpy man that lived just down the road, shouted out in the middle of the street, that Mrs Lupo was putting her children in danger, and should not have custody over them if she dared to be so careless. He was so intent on getting legal authorities on the case, that Mrs Lupo left a week earlier than she had planned. She gathered up her three sons and left early one morning, ridding of the garlic strings tied all up in the car. The journey stretched ahead of them, but they never turned back. Even years later, no one from Salt Lake City ended up seeing her or her children again and decided their whereabouts lay in the hands of the ‘ghosts’.
CHAPTER ONE
Mancos, Colorado
July 2018
It was a little past midnight, but the sound of muffled voices from downstairs, and the warm, stuffy air made it difficult to sleep. Sorin turned over in his bed, experimenting with different ways to get comfortable on his stiff mattress. On his side first - the way he always slept – but it made him feel fidgety. He tried lying on his stomach. But he felt even hotter like that. Then he lay on his back. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and he muttered angrily and spread his arms out over the bed. That felt okay for a few minutes, but then he grew restless. His head was pounding. He snatched up his pillow and dropped it on top of his head. There was no way he would sleep tonight. The heat was tormenting him. With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed the pillow from his face, and threw it against the wall. He attempted to sleep on his side one more time, but that proving indifferent, he gave up. Sorin sat upright, and pushed back his bed covers, letting them drop onto the ground. Without picking them back up, he walked over to his slight open door. A bright line of light seeped through the cracks, making him blink. With his eyes mostly closed, he pushed it open a little more. The voices were somewhat clearer now. Sorin was surprised. The voices were those of his parents, and they were speaking almost… friendly? That was a rare thing in the Voclain household. Most often, Sorin’s parents were arguing or complaining. The only times they would speak nicely to one another was if they --- oh no… Sorin froze for a moment, recalling the time when his parents had mentioned moving to a new house. It was the only thing on which they could ever agree. Moving out of the small, double story farmhouse, where Sorin had spent his whole childhood. Whenever they spoke about it, they would speak so friendly, just like they did when they first met. That was exactly how they were speaking now. It was easy to assume that they were talking about the move again. That would be a problem. Sorin did not want to move. He liked the farmhouse. He loved the little pond behind the house, and the old-fashioned white picket fence running for miles down their land. It was an old place, but cosy and comfortable nonetheless. He thought his parents had stopped thinking about moving months ago. They hadn’t brought it up for ages, but maybe the idea hadn’t escaped their minds after all. Sorin crept out of his room and tiptoed down the hallway, where he was met with a long rustic staircase. He lingered at the top for a few minutes, leaning against the wall, trying to hear his parent’s conversation.
“It would make much more room for our annual Christmas parties” His Mother was saying. Her voice sounded oddly bubbly and young. Sorin was so used to hearing her other voice. Stiff, commanding, strict.
“And I would have a lot more office space.” His Father’s hollow voice added. “I doubt Sorin wouldn’t mind sleeping in one of the smaller rooms.”
“I could turn one of the big bedrooms into my makeup studio.” Mrs Voclain sighed, her voice seeming far away. “Sorin is so used to having small room space. Besides, a makeup studio, office, or whatever else you needed, is a lot more important that Sorin having a spacious room.”
Mr Voclain replied with a grunt. His nice way of agreeing.
Sorin stopped listening. He wanted to shrink back into his room, but something made him stay rooted in his spot. He couldn’t let his parents move house against his will! He attacked one of his fingernails for a moment, and then he marched down the stairs, each footstep making him want to turn and run back into his bed. His Parents heard him, and watched him silently as he at last, made it down the stairs. He stood awkwardly against the iron baluster; his arms folded. “Mum, Dad, you’ll never guess what, but I have a mind of my own.” He announced. “I would really appreciate it if you’d check with me, who, in case you’ve forgotten, is another member of this family, before you make any dramatic changes in our lives.” He opened his mouth to say more, but then he felt very stupid. His Parents were staring at him like he’d gone cuckoo. True, it was easy enough to think that. Sorin never spoke up for himself, never dared face his Parents with his feelings, or even ever spoke very often. He looked back at his parents blinking rapidly, and then with a leap, he raced back up the stairs, and jumped into his bed, hiding his face with his quilt. He heard nothing for a few moments, but then he heard the old floorboards squeaking under his Mother’s heels. She was walking across to his bedroom, which probably meant trouble. She never went into his room unless she was going to tell him off.
Sorin shuddered as his door squeaked open slowly, and his Mum crept up to him.
“I’m not sleeping Mum.” Sorin whispered from under his covers. He barely moved, but he jumped when he felt his Mum pat his head. “Sorin, I can’t believe that you aren’t asleep.” She scolded. “You went to bed hours ago. Remember that an early night means a bright morning mind!” Sorin mumbled a ‘Yes.’ But still didn’t move. Mrs Voclain sighed. “Sorin…” She said uncomfortably. She sat down on the red moon chair beside his bed and shifted nervously. “We, your Father and I, have been dreaming of moving from this old house for so long. We don’t have as much money as the Gladwin’s, but we have a considerable amount saved up in the bank.” She stopped uncertainly, glancing over at Sorin, but he was still hiding his face under the cover. “We got a surprisingly good offer on this huge house a few weeks ago, and… well… your Father and I spoke about it, and we’ve decided to buy it.” At this, Sorin popped out from under his blankets, and sat up alert. “Buy it?” He shrieked. “You planned this without me?” Mrs Voclain turned red but stared ignorantly at her shoes. “You’ll like the house. It’s big, much bigger than this one, and it’s not too far from here.” She said, trying to sound positive. “In fact, it’s the biggest house in Mancos, aside from the Gladwin’s.” Sorin suddenly felt an attack of terror. He knew what house his Mother was talking about. “You mean the old, abandoned house on Shephard Street? The one that has been on the markets for years?” He fought to keep his voice low, or else his father would come charging into his room like a rhino, but he was inwardly screaming. “You can’t! You can’t just do that.”
His Mother pressed her lips together and stared at the open doorway. “We already bought it.” She said a little more confidently. “You can be so selfish, Sorin, but understand that this will bring much change, good change, and I won’t have to be embarrassed every time someone comes over.” She got up ready to walk out, her high heels clicking again. She never took her heels off unless she went to bed. She was short, very embarrassed by it, but then, she was embarrassed of everything. The only thing she was proud of was her good looks, that nearly completely shielded her height. She had blonde hair, always kept short up to her shoulders in a curl. She had curled her hair every day for twenty years, and everyone thought that it was natural. She liked people thinking that. Never bothered correcting people on the subject. And that subject was brought up every day. Her luscious hair and her perfect skin were the favoured talk of the ladies in Mancos. Even with Mrs Voclain herself.
Sorin’s eyes followed his Mother as she slowly made her way out of his room. With a final glance at her son’s horrified face, Mrs Voclain walked out. Then she was gone. Sorin cried into his bedsheets for a while, but then rubbed the hot tears away. He hated his family. He was always alone. His Mother was a pretender, his Father a mystery. And he, the goose. Always was a thinker though, the one with the much heart, though he never let it show. People thought that he was a bit odd. He was nothing but a stick of a child, rangy and bony. He stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the other fifteen-year old’s in his town. Nothing about him was attractive. Maybe his eyes, if he smiled, but nothing more. He had hair so blonde it looked like it was tipped with snow, something the other children laughed about. It made him look paler than he already was. His eyes were always troubled and sad. They were green and might have been handsome if he only got them to shine. But instead, they were dry and sombre. He wondered about mostly on his own, his pale face almost lifeless. No wonder Mrs Voclain was embarrassed by him. She was the life and soul of the party, an extreme extrovert, and her son, the one she imagined to be the most wonderful in town, was the most introverted loner. Mrs Voclain showed her disappointment in Sorin any opportunity she would get. She barely spoke about him, like the other Mothers spoke about their sons. She tried to shoo him out of the house whenever visitors came. She hardly went out with him, and if she did, it was reluctant and hurried. It was clear. Very clear. Sorin was not wanted. He never was. Not even when he was a scrawny newborn.
Ghost Town(Izzi)
PROLOGUE
Salt Lake City, Utah
December 1979
Mancos was a mystery. Everyone from Salt Lake City said so. It was said to be a dangerous place, full of poverty, and desperate farmers, willing to do anything to get a single coin. Rumours spread that those who went there, never returned, though none who claimed so, had ever visited.
When the Lupo family had sold their house, packed up all their belongings, and left the bustling city to move to Mancos, their neighbours had called them crazy. One Mrs Braun had trailed behind their car for a full five minutes as they left, sending off repetitive Catholic prayers that she believed would protect them from ghosts on the way. Another neighbour from across the street, had tied strings of garlic all over the car, the last night before they left, ‘To prevent ghosts from attacking’ as she had said. Mancos was a ghost town. Children were taught in school that ghosts from the past ruled the place and attacked any outsiders that tried to enter their lair. Fortunately, the Lupos did not believe in all the foolish myths and superstition. They looked at their neighbours helplessly but continued their journey anyway. Mr Ross, the old, grumpy man that lived just down the road, shouted out in the middle of the street, that Mrs Lupo was putting her children in danger, and should not have custody over them if she dared to be so careless. He was so intent on getting legal authorities on the case, that Mrs Lupo left a week earlier than she had planned. She gathered up her three sons and left early one morning, ridding of the garlic strings tied all up in the car. The journey stretched ahead of them, but they never turned back. Even years later, no one from Salt Lake City ended up seeing her or her children again and decided their whereabouts lay in the hands of the ‘ghosts’.
CHAPTER ONE
Mancos, Colorado
July 2018
It was a little past midnight, but the sound of muffled voices from downstairs, and the warm, stuffy air made it difficult to sleep. Sorin turned over in his bed, experimenting with different ways to get comfortable on his stiff mattress. On his side first - the way he always slept – but it made him feel fidgety. He tried lying on his stomach. But he felt even hotter like that. Then he lay on his back. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and he muttered angrily and spread his arms out over the bed. That felt okay for a few minutes, but then he grew restless. His head was pounding. He snatched up his pillow and dropped it on top of his head. There was no way he would sleep tonight. The heat was tormenting him. With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed the pillow from his face, and threw it against the wall. He attempted to sleep on his side one more time, but that proving indifferent, he gave up. Sorin sat upright, and pushed back his bed covers, letting them drop onto the ground. Without picking them back up, he walked over to his slight open door. A bright line of light seeped through the cracks, making him blink. With his eyes mostly closed, he pushed it open a little more. The voices were somewhat clearer now. Sorin was surprised. The voices were those of his parents, and they were speaking almost… friendly? That was a rare thing in the Voclain household. Most often, Sorin’s parents were arguing or complaining. The only times they would speak nicely to one another was if they --- oh no… Sorin froze for a moment, recalling the time when his parents had mentioned moving to a new house. It was the only thing on which they could ever agree. Moving out of the small, double story farmhouse, where Sorin had spent his whole childhood. Whenever they spoke about it, they would speak so friendly, just like they did when they first met. That was exactly how they were speaking now. It was easy to assume that they were talking about the move again. That would be a problem. Sorin did not want to move. He liked the farmhouse. He loved the little pond behind the house, and the old-fashioned white picket fence running for miles down their land. It was an old place, but cosy and comfortable nonetheless. He thought his parents had stopped thinking about moving months ago. They hadn’t brought it up for ages, but maybe the idea hadn’t escaped their minds after all. Sorin crept out of his room and tiptoed down the hallway, where he was met with a long rustic staircase. He lingered at the top for a few minutes, leaning against the wall, trying to hear his parent’s conversation.
“It would make much more room for our annual Christmas parties” His Mother was saying. Her voice sounded oddly bubbly and young. Sorin was so used to hearing her other voice. Stiff, commanding, strict.
“And I would have a lot more office space.” His Father’s hollow voice added. “I doubt Sorin wouldn’t mind sleeping in one of the smaller rooms.”
“I could turn one of the big bedrooms into my makeup studio.” Mrs Voclain sighed, her voice seeming far away. “Sorin is so used to having small room space. Besides, a makeup studio, office, or whatever else you needed, is a lot more important that Sorin having a spacious room.”
Mr Voclain replied with a grunt. His nice way of agreeing.
Sorin stopped listening. He wanted to shrink back into his room, but something made him stay rooted in his spot. He couldn’t let his parents move house against his will! He attacked one of his fingernails for a moment, and then he marched down the stairs, each footstep making him want to turn and run back into his bed. His Parents heard him, and watched him silently as he at last, made it down the stairs. He stood awkwardly against the iron baluster; his arms folded. “Mum, Dad, you’ll never guess what, but I have a mind of my own.” He announced. “I would really appreciate it if you’d check with me, who, in case you’ve forgotten, is another member of this family, before you make any dramatic changes in our lives.” He opened his mouth to say more, but then he felt very stupid. His Parents were staring at him like he’d gone cuckoo. True, it was easy enough to think that. Sorin never spoke up for himself, never dared face his Parents with his feelings, or even ever spoke very often. He looked back at his parents blinking rapidly, and then with a leap, he raced back up the stairs, and jumped into his bed, hiding his face with his quilt. He heard nothing for a few moments, but then he heard the old floorboards squeaking under his Mother’s heels. She was walking across to his bedroom, which probably meant trouble. She never went into his room unless she was going to tell him off.
Sorin shuddered as his door squeaked open slowly, and his Mum crept up to him.
“I’m not sleeping Mum.” Sorin whispered from under his covers. He barely moved, but he jumped when he felt his Mum pat his head. “Sorin, I can’t believe that you aren’t asleep.” She scolded. “You went to bed hours ago. Remember that an early night means a bright morning mind!” Sorin mumbled a ‘Yes.’ But still didn’t move. Mrs Voclain sighed. “Sorin…” She said uncomfortably. She sat down on the red moon chair beside his bed and shifted nervously. “We, your Father and I, have been dreaming of moving from this old house for so long. We don’t have as much money as the Gladwin’s, but we have a considerable amount saved up in the bank.” She stopped uncertainly, glancing over at Sorin, but he was still hiding his face under the cover. “We got a surprisingly good offer on this huge house a few weeks ago, and… well… your Father and I spoke about it, and we’ve decided to buy it.” At this, Sorin popped out from under his blankets, and sat up alert. “Buy it?” He shrieked. “You planned this without me?” Mrs Voclain turned red but stared ignorantly at her shoes. “You’ll like the house. It’s big, much bigger than this one, and it’s not too far from here.” She said, trying to sound positive. “In fact, it’s the biggest house in Mancos, aside from the Gladwin’s.” Sorin suddenly felt an attack of terror. He knew what house his Mother was talking about. “You mean the old, abandoned house on Shephard Street? The one that has been on the markets for years?” He fought to keep his voice low, or else his father would come charging into his room like a rhino, but he was inwardly screaming. “You can’t! You can’t just do that.”
His Mother pressed her lips together and stared at the open doorway. “We already bought it.” She said a little more confidently. “You can be so selfish, Sorin, but understand that this will bring much change, good change, and I won’t have to be embarrassed every time someone comes over.” She got up ready to walk out, her high heels clicking again. She never took her heels off unless she went to bed. She was short, very embarrassed by it, but then, she was embarrassed of everything. The only thing she was proud of was her good looks, that nearly completely shielded her height. She had blonde hair, always kept short up to her shoulders in a curl. She had curled her hair every day for twenty years, and everyone thought that it was natural. She liked people thinking that. Never bothered correcting people on the subject. And that subject was brought up every day. Her luscious hair and her perfect skin were the favoured talk of the ladies in Mancos. Even with Mrs Voclain herself.
Sorin’s eyes followed his Mother as she slowly made her way out of his room. With a final glance at her son’s horrified face, Mrs Voclain walked out. Then she was gone. Sorin cried into his bedsheets for a while, but then rubbed the hot tears away. He hated his family. He was always alone. His Mother was a pretender, his Father a mystery. And he, the goose. Always was a thinker though, the one with the much heart, though he never let it show. People thought that he was a bit odd. He was nothing but a stick of a child, rangy and bony. He stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the other fifteen-year old’s in his town. Nothing about him was attractive. Maybe his eyes, if he smiled, but nothing more. He had hair so blonde it looked like it was tipped with snow, something the other children laughed about. It made him look paler than he already was. His eyes were always troubled and sad. They were green and might have been handsome if he only got them to shine. But instead, they were dry and sombre. He wondered about mostly on his own, his pale face almost lifeless. No wonder Mrs Voclain was embarrassed by him. She was the life and soul of the party, an extreme extrovert, and her son, the one she imagined to be the most wonderful in town, was the most introverted loner. Mrs Voclain showed her disappointment in Sorin any opportunity she would get. She barely spoke about him, like the other Mothers spoke about their sons. She tried to shoo him out of the house whenever visitors came. She hardly went out with him, and if she did, it was reluctant and hurried. It was clear. Very clear. Sorin was not wanted. He never was. Not even when he was a scrawny newborn.
- Share this story on
- 2
COMMENTS (0)