NaNo Experiment Chapter One

 

Chapter One

 

It was, at the risk of sounding cliché, a dark and stormy night.

 

At least, outside it was. Tucson’s winter monsoons, such an utter disappointment last year, seemed determined to make up for the lack this time around. Lightning cracked every few seconds, the resulting thunder shaking the timbers of the apartment complex. Power flickered out several times an hour. It was, in short, exactly the sort of beginning you’d expect to a novel.

 

Actually, I’ve never considered myself to be much of a writer. I’m much more interested in painting and in watching cheesy horror flicks, the kind with ponderous plots and fake gore. The only reason I’m writing this is because I’m told that people deserve to know from first-hand accounts what exactly happened—especially since I’m one of the few people who knew about the Uprising before it actually happened.

 

Just wanted to make that clear. Anyway, like I was saying, it was a dark and stormy night, one I was happily waiting out inside my Quail Ridge apartment, heater churning away, every light on in cheerful defiance of the elements. Every fifteen minutes or so, the lights would go out, but they’d always flare back to life within a few seconds. I had a pot of cocoa heating on the stove, the creamy smell of which had permeated to every corner of the apartment and was slowly driving me mad as I lurked, waiting for the first telltale plumes of steam to break from the surface.

 

Does this look like the picture of normalcy to you? It did to me, but that happy illusion was about to be messily shattered, and by a sound that was also perfectly normal—a quiet knock on the door.

 

I had been reading, but I slapped the novel down onto the kitchen counter as I went to get the door. I peered out of the peephole before opening, but all I could see was a drenched, vaguely-recognizable-as-human mass on the doorstep, getting wetter. I shrugged to myself, then opened the door. A dark form immediately stumbled in, and I jumped back, shocked, as I recognized Layli Thompson, one of my classmates and closest friends.

 

“Jennie?” she asked, almost as if she didn’t believe that I was really there. She was white-faced, and shaking badly. I hurriedly shut the door behind her, flipping the deadbolt into place. She leaned against the wall, shudders running through her.

 

“What’s going on?” I asked, staring. She tried to speak, then shook her head. I took her hand and led her over to the red corduroy armchair in the corner. What on earth was she doing out on a night like this? She had always struck me as a reasonable sort of individual (well…as reasonable as a high-school senior can be expected to be, anyway), so this was way out of character for her. Wandering around at night in the middle of December, I ask you. I decided to hold off on the questions, however, and tossed her a blanket from off the couch. Her dark hair hung in limp ropes over her face, and she looked about ready to faint, despite now being seated. I bit my lip, then busied myself with the hot chocolate in the next room, giving her a minute to collect her thoughts. When I got back, her breathing was still quick and uneven, but she wasn’t shaking as badly when I passed a steaming mug to her.

 

“Thanks,” she murmured. She took a long drink, then abruptly sat up straight, the chocolate sloshing against the inside of the cup. She looked around. “Are your parents home?”

 

I laughed. “Sure, Li.” My parents lived in Marana, about half an hour away, but they had wanted me to enroll at Catalina Foothills, due to its high performance on state tests, ridiculously high budget, etc. They were also tired of driving that distance every morning, so the instant I had turned eighteen, they’d rented me an apartment in the Quail Ridge complex. It bordered the high school so closely that if you were quick, you could leave the complex at the sound of the first bell, be on campus by the time the warning bell rang, and cruise neatly into your seat in your first class just as the late bell was ringing, six minutes after the first. Unless you were like me and kept forgetting the gate code, anyway. I frowned.

 

“How did you get in?” I asked. She glanced up in surprise.

 “Sorry?”

 “The gate,” I clarified. “I didn’t think I ever told you the entry code.”

 “Oh.” She hesitated for a second. “I just waited for a car, and then slipped in behind.”

 

Something in the way she glanced to one side told me she wasn’t being entirely honest, but this was a small enough matter that I let it pass. If she didn’t want to admit that she’d jumped the fence, that was her business. I bit my lip, then decided I couldn’t wait any longer.  “Li, what’s going on? You looked like you’d seen a ghost when you walked in. What’s the matter?”

 

Whatever composure she’d gained, she lost it. “I—Jenny, can I please stay the night? Something’s gone wrong, and—” She broke off, shivering, and I gently took the mug from her and set it on the coffee table. I pulled another blanket from the couch and handed it to her.

 

“Of course you can, but what’s wrong? And how long did you need to stay for?”

 

“I—I don’t really know yet. How long I need to stay, I mean. As for what happened—about an hour ago, my house…caught fire.” Her voice strengthened slightly, though my jaw had dropped. “A news crew had just showed up when I left.” She snorted. “They got there almost before the fire department did. See if they’re covering, would you?”

 

I was staring at her in disbelief. “You—what?” Li lived about two miles away, in the Shadow Hills area—one of the nicest residential areas in town. A fire? On a night like this? “Li, that’s awful!” I was struck by a sudden horrible thought. “What about the rest of your family? Your parents and your sister, I mean.”

 

She shrugged, though more than a flicker of concern passed over her face. “We had to split up, though I think Shira stayed with Mom.”

 

“I should think so!” Shira, though admittedly one of the most resourceful ten-year-olds that I’d ever met, was definitely not up for taking care of herself in high-stress situations. I sat down on the overstuffed couch in front of the TV and began flipping channels, images surging across the dusty screen, until I found the local news station. The anchor’s voice filled the room.

 

“—unable to find any trace of the family. Clues indicate that the blaze began with an explosion in the front room, and speculation has already occurred that this may have been arson, as opposed to an accidental blaze—”

 

Li jumped up and hit the power button, but the damage was done.

 

“Arson?” I asked, my voice rising to a squeak. “What enemies have you made lately?”

 

She gave the barest ghost of a smile. “Well, someone’s got it in for us. Me and Shira, anyway. I think…” She stared into space for a moment, then, with a little shake, said, “It’s complicated. Can I explain in the morning? Please?”

 

“Sure.” I hesitated. “But no later. If Quail Ridge burns down around my ears, I’d at least like a good idea why.”

 “You are in no danger.” She suddenly looked stricken. “Honestly, if I’d thought there was any chance at all—”

 “Li, relax.” I stood and crossed to the closet and shoved the door open, wincing at the sound of the wheels squealing in the metal tracks, then hauled a box out from the bottom. I opened it, then pulled out what looked like a lump of green plastic. “I’m not worried—just tell me what’s going on in the morning, ‘kay?”

              She nodded gratefully, and I unfolded the plastic air mattress and twisted hard on the pump’s dial. Miraculously, the batteries weren’t dead, even after over a year of neglect, and a quiet mechanical whirring filled the apartment. I then excavated a set of sheets from the closet. Li helped me make up the bed, then crashed, asleep in an instant.

Author's Note

Well...like I said, it's different from most of my other work. What do you think? Are the characters believable? How's the effect of the overall writing style? As always, all comments appreciated.

Reviews

[Jhaniel]

I like it (especially the opening paragraphs) and am interested. And here's some extra applause for attempting a NaNo novel! *claps*
The only thing which struck me as odd was the fact that the narrator didn't bother to identify the dark, dripping stranger /before/ opening the door. Other than that, good. I hope you're continuing this?

[Jenthura]

And how long did you need to stay for?
Do instead of did, otherwise it sounds like she already stayed.
Anyways, very nicely done, you introduce the story nicely and the hook was absolutely wonderful. I must say, this is an exceptional piece of work; keep writing!