Home, Sweet Home | Teen Ink

Home, Sweet Home

February 15, 2014
By BraveGirl BRONZE, Manalapan, New Jersey
BraveGirl BRONZE, Manalapan, New Jersey
3 articles 0 photos 1 comment

"Well, this is your new home, Elizabeth," said Mr. Baker. "I know it can be a tough transition, moving to a new place, but this is your home now. We want to make you feel like family." They entered a quaint little home in Fall River, Massachusetts.
"Thanks, Mr. Baker. I'm so glad I finally found nice parents like you and Mrs. Baker. Not many people want to adopt a kid that's my age."
"Nonsense. I'm sure you will adjust here just fine. School begins on Monday, and I'm sure you'll make lots of friends. Jack will show you around school. So, Mrs. Baker won't be back from grocery shopping for dinner in a while. Why don't you guys walk around town a bit?" Mr. Baker looked at his son. "Jack, show Elizabeth around."
"Sure. Let's head for the town's center. There's lots of cool stuff there,” offered Jack. They stepped outside and headed down the sidewalk, aiming for the center of town. Elizabeth took in the sight of the small, colonial homes, the freshly cut green grass of the neighbor's lawns, and the drone of cars as they drove along the road. "So, how are you liking the town?" inquired Jack.
"It's nice. Just like the town I grew up in. Reminds me of living with my first family. My biological family."
"What happened to them?"
"My parents...they were murdered. My other family members kind of isolated me out after they died. No one would...um...take me in. I've been in the adoption system ever since."
"Wow...I'm sorry." Jack looked down at his feet.

"It's ok." Suddenly, Elizabeth's face became hard and stony, her eyes turned to ice. "They deserved what they got. They were crazy." Jack went silent, not having the faintest idea how to respond. Elizabeth realized that Jack was uncomfortable. "So, are the ninth graders here nice? I'm nervous about starting high school. I've never really had many friends."
Jack was relieved about the change of subject. "I'm nervous too. Don't worry; the kids in this town are pretty nice."
"That's good. So how's..." Something made Elizabeth stop in her tracks. It was a house. It had an ominous, creepy feel to it. "Whose house is that?" asked Elizabeth.

"That...that is the Lizzie Borden house. No one lives there,” Jack replied.

"Why not? Who's Lizzie Borden?"

"You don't know the story? You know, Lizzie Borden took an ax, gave her mother forty whacks, and when she saw what she had done she gave her father forty-one?" Elizabeth shook her head. "Well, Lizzie Borden was this crazy girl who killed her parents with an ax in the late 1800s. I'm surprised you never heard of it. Legend around town is that her spirit will one day return from the dead and kill again." Jack let out a laugh, thinking about how crazy that sounded. A look of fear swept across Elizabeth's face. "Don't worry; it's just an urban legend. Want to keep walking? This place is giving me the creeps."

"Why don't you keep walking?" Elizabeth suggested. "I'll catch up. I want to hang around here for a minute."
Jack was astonished. Why would anyone want to hang around here? "Why?" He asked.

"It's...interesting. I like history. Go, I'll catch up in a few."
"Ummm, ok then." Jack started walking. Finally, when Jack was out of earshot, Elizabeth let out a distorted, high-pitched laugh.
"It's good to be back,” she whispered at the house. Thunk! Something knocked Elizabeth down, bringing her tumbling to the ground. "OWW!" she screeched.
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't see you there,” pleaded a boy who looked about her age. "Are you ok?" He stuck out his hand and helped her up.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I'm ok,” Elizabeth assured him.

"Hey, I've never seen you around here before."

"I'm new in town. I was adopted by a family down the street, the Bakers."
"Really? I live next door to you! Looks like we're going to be neighbors. I'm Ryan, by the way."

Elizabeth smiled. "Elizabeth-but you can call me Lizzie."



Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 0 comments.