It was a cold and stormy night, an average beginning for a good scary story, right? The thing is, I never cared much for the horror genre, so let’s change this at the beginning.
It was a quiet night, peaceful, not counting the soft sound of rain pattering against glass. I had already gotten a nice fire going in the fireplace. The old house I’d inherited from my grandparents was picturesque with the current weather. They had passed the house down for a while now, and I was technically supposed to pass it on to my kids as well, mind you, I didn’t have any plans of having any.
I had managed to fix up the old house quite a bit in my time up here, even after my mum had advised me to just sell it, as she didn’t think it could be worth much anyway. I think it’s a rather cute house, and my appropriately named cat, Stormy, seems to think so as well.
Mind you, he probably just likes it because he can finally be more than just an indoor cat. I had to keep him as an indoor-only cat at our last place, mainly because it was in the middle of nowhere, and he would’ve gotten lost; he’s not the brightest bulb in the batch, to say the least. I never minded much. He’s sweet and always tries to help out, even if he only ends up in the way or knocking something over. I find it endearing. I plan on getting him another cat to hang out with. I feel bad about leaving him alone in the house while I am in town, and another cat would fix that.
Well, that’s just another thing to do in town tomorrow, along with trying to find some decent tasting sourdough, but I doubt I’ll manage to do the second of the two. Maybe I could find a recipe for it? Surely there has to be one somewhere.
Oh, that reminds me, I plan on finally planting the garden with some nice flowers, so I can get some color to add to the place. It’s a bit dreary still, but the new paint job helped a lot. I think the place was originally pretty gothic, with the tall roofs, black trim, and dark green outside paint, so I’ve kept with that, for the sake of preserving the original beauty of the house.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Even if I can’t fully keep the legacy alive like I’m supposed to for the family, I can definitely keep some of it here, with the beautiful black and green color scheme, and antique and slightly haunted-looking furniture, along with an attic with just enough random sounds in the night to feel unsettling. It’s perfect.
My mum keeps on hounding me to find someone to settle down with, mainly because she firmly believes in the traditional obligations of a man and a woman having kids and keeping the family line alive. I found it a bit depressing to think that such things have to be true. I mean, just by looking at my parents, it’s obvious neither one is happy with their marriage. And my poor sister, Emily, hates the man she’s married to, and last time I talked to her, she kept on mentioning this one girl she works with being really pretty and fun to talk to.
Of course, there is this one guy, who lives in town, running the little flower shop; it fits him well, and it’s an adorable shop. He’s rather nice to talk to, and his sense of humor is great. As far as I am aware, he is living alone, with his mother passing a few years ago and his father never being a part of his life. What am I saying? He probably has a pretty girl he has plans with; he isn’t thinking about the new vampiric-looking neighbor on the hill, sitting alone on the outskirts of town.
I do look a bit odd compared to most, that is for sure. I hardly get out, leading to me being unsurprisingly pale, and combined with my dark brown eyes, I don’t look fully human, especially in any decent lighting. I guess it matches the rest of the house. I could definitely see a vampire couple living here in the 1800s.
Tomorrow, that’s gonna be the day I finally try to socialize. Good Goddess, why does being an adult have to be so hard? I swear, when I was a kid, I could have the same favorite color as someone, and we’d be best friends. I miss those days. I wonder if I’ll get the invite to our reunion next year. Probably not, I was pretty forgettable in high school. Much like most other thoughts of mine, it ends with a distant crash.
