Blood Isn't Always Thicker Than Water

I almost cried when I stepped onto the overgrown lawn. Who would’ve guessed I’d have a reaction like this? A flood along with a tsunami of memories assaulted me with no mercy, and I dropped to my hands and knees while I tried to bear the unrelenting force. An alarmed rabbit took off into the tangle of weeds. I barely noticed it. After a couple seconds, I took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up.

So this was what it was like when you walk right back into your past. I could almost see Logan creeping out the front door, Kaitlin humming as she used a gross rag to clean the window, Troy sitting behind the curtained window, watching a movie marathon, and myself staring out any window I could get to, studying the wind’s ripples in the grass, the clouds moving across the sky, the swaying trees, the wildlife running hither and thither. I was so different from who I had been last time I had laid eyes on this haunting piece of work.

It was Logan’s manor.

The place was up for sale. Again. But at least no one was in here, telling me how to live. The electric lighting still worked in most rooms—hallelujah—and everything was in relatively good order. Whoever had bought the manor from me—or from whoever bought it from me—hadn’t bothered taking out any of the furniture, except for the pool table, which had been Logan’s pride and joy. So whenever I sat at the Main Table (we hadn’t known what else to call it) I could run my fingers over all the graffiti every one of us had put at our allotted places. Yes, Logan had carved something in, too. That happened to be his name in perfectly neat cursive and the year, month and day he had gotten the table. He had done that to everything—including the house—except for my bed which had already been in her for God knows how long.

My room was the only place I hadn’t been so far on my return trip. My ventures into the four bathrooms had let me know that I would be going outside from now on. The old furnace down in the cellar probably still worked, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

Logan’s manor had six floors, if you counted the attic and the basement. One of us had occupied every floor, except the first, the main one. The furnace had the basement. It was very territorial. Logan had the second floor. He hadn’t liked being too far away from the refrigerator, when it had worked. Currently, it was inhabited by a thriving growth of mold that I had no intention of disturbing. Troy had claimed the third, for that was where the TV resided. When I had confronted it, I had chickened out when I attempted to turn it on. The wires leading into the wall hadn’t looked friendly, and the power button looked a deadly shade of red. Kaitlin’s roost in the fourth floor had only been used when Kaitlin decided to sleep there or I was passing through. She had enjoyed cleaning everyone else’s rooms, and all that had been in her room at the height of its use was a bed and a bureau.

My room had been the attic. No one else had ever been up there, except maybe for Logan before any of us moved in. Kaitlin had never bothered cleaning way up there. She never had to, either. I didn’t really like living in a pigsty, so I kept my room relatively clean. Troy, however, had given Kaitlin quite a job to do. Living with him had been quite trying when just us two had moved intomy Jeremy’s house.

I gulped as I eyed the rickety spiral staircase leading up to my attic. I didn’t really want to go up there incase I had another breakdown like when I had stepped into the manor’s lawn. But I didn’t like standing in Kaitlin’s space. I felt like I was intruding in on her peace or something. And ever since I was little, I had always had a sneaking suspicion that ghosts existed.

“Caspian Ross, you are a baby. What do you think, some sort of…werewolf will be up there?” Oh no. I talking to myself, and making Twilight references. Both are sure signs of insanity.

I shook my head quickly and repositioned the strap of the bag I had always carried on my long treks. Like a lot of things I owned, it was black.

Here goes nothin’.

I started up the stairs. I began with a slow, cautious pace, but I soon became sort of fed up. I hadn’t seen this place in years. I then bolted, using my “vampire” speed. As soon as I reached the top step, I stopped, surveying what lay out before me. This front part of the attic had stored whatever wasn’t wanted in the lower levels. That included two broken TV’s and Furnace Jr. I smiled as I looked over all the junk. A lot of the trash that was supposed to be here was actually farther back in the attic. I had always scavenged through what people hadn’t wanted and found something I did. I fondly remembered how I had set up a clubhouse for myself in one of the mini-rooms up here out of a bunch of pipes and wood. Good times, good times… And all Troy had done was watch TV. He was so lucky “vampires” naturally retained their physically fit shape, or he would have made an excellent Fat Albert.

I ducked through the dwarf-sized door and entered the actual attic. The place was huge. If Troy had known what he was missing out on, he would have thrown the Fit of the Century. The house that he and I bought could have fit in this attic, no problem. Don’t get me wrong, the house in Vegas was okay sized. It’s just that the attic was bigger.

This huge part of the attic was divided in two by a roughly sewn divider made of tarps, carpets and blanket. Put together by me, of course. I was surprised the thing hadn’t fallen down by now.

The side of it I was on right now had been my play area, with lots of little other play rooms to the sides. There were twenty-three rooms up here. The Junk Room, the Play Room, my Bedroom (behind the divider) and then twenty along the sides—ten on the left, ten on the right. Anyway, the play room had fractured pieces of construction all over that were made from the trash I had just left behind in the Junk Room. And there were ropes and things hanging from the impossibly high rafters. I had loved to play up there and pretend I was a superhero. I had switched from Spider-Man to Cat-Man to Sparrow-Man from time to time while I played up there. Spider-Man had been thrown away when I found out there was someone famous already named that. Cat-Man was abandoned when I realized I didn’t like cats. Sparrow-Man had been chosen by Kaitlin. I had asked her one day what she thought a cool name for a superhero would be. She told me Sparrow-Man because sparrows are quick and flighty. They can fit and squeeze through tight spaces. So Sparrow-Man I had become.

Frowning, I tried to recall exactly what Kaitlin looked like. She had been unique among every single “vampire” I had ever met. Her skin had had a beautiful, rich, dark brown color to it. Her smile had always been comforting, gentle and genuine. I couldn’t quite recall what her eyes had looked like, but they had definitely been hazel. And her long brown hair had always been worn in a braid, either over her left shoulder or straight down her back.

Dropping my bag, I ran and jumped onto the closest outcropping of wood I could find. From there, I nimbly climbed up to what had been my favorite rafter. There was no reason. I just liked this rafter.

Steadying myself, I stood up and peered down at the floor. Then I prepared myself to do something I hadn’t done in years. There was probably an eighty percent chance of me getting severely injured. I didn’t want to even consider the changes the floor had.

I was ready.

Before my nerve ran out, I crouched, then launched myself downward, flipping over and over as the floor grew closer and closer. In all my years in the outside world, I had never run into something as fun and exhilarating as this. Well, I didn’t trust bungee cords, let alone the people that ran the bungee jumping places, and cliff diving had never really taken my interest. But this…I’ll put it as simply as I can. It rocked.

Then came the tricky part: landing. I may not like cats, but I used to be able to land like one. I fervently hoped I still could. If I couldn’t, I hoped my landing would be quick and hard. And that God wouldn’t consider it suicide.

But my luck held, and I landed harmlessly on my feet. I barely even felt the shock of landing so hard. And the floor was intact!

See, this is what I don’t get. I have ridiculously efficient luck, but everyone around me gets luck black than the Devil’s heart itself. I probably leech any good luck right out of their systems.

Sighing, I started walking over to where I had deserted my bag. But after two steps, I froze. I hadn’t been quite as alone as I had thought. As I stared right into the eyes that looked at mine, I felt that feeling I really hated creeping into my heart again. I…strongly disliked being afraid, or just knowing something animate and with a brain could cause me danger.

The eyes I was staring at just stayed right at the top of the stairs, not blinking, not moving.

And one word was running through my head, scaring me more than Wentz ever had.

Werewolf.