The Art of Being Emily - Katie MacAlister Page 0,1
yesterday we arrived here at Chez Williams AKA the Haunted Mansion.
“What's wrong, Brother?” I asked when he pulled up before a creepy, old, creepy, dirty, and did I say creepy? house that looked like it should have been condemned.“Are we lost? Out of gas? Did the engine fall out?”
“Nope,” that horrible man who spawned me answered in a cheerful I can't wait to see this antiquity sort of way that for the last two days had made the flesh on my back crawl. “This is our home away from home for the next year. Isn't it charming?”
Charming? The Amityville Horror looked more welcoming than the monstrosity that slouched at the end of the drive. Honest to Pete, Dru, it positively reeked of old!
“I am so not doing this,” I said, taking a stand.
“It certainly is different than anything we have at home,” Mom said, ignoring my stand-taking in that mom sort of way older women have. [The score so far—Emily: 0, Parental Units: 2.] “When did Professor Carlston say it was built?”
“In 1588, by Dracula, no doubt,” I answered, gripping my purse firmly. If anything creepy even thought about grabbing me, I'd nail it upside the head with twenty-two pounds of makeup.
“Now, Emily, you know that Vlad the Impaler was born in 1421. It would have been impossible for him to build this house in 1588,” Brother said. “Ten points if you can tell me during what empire Vlad ruled Wallacia.”
I am warning you right here and now, Dru—if your father gives you even the slightest reason to think he'll ever become a scholar, kill him. I know that seems harsh, but honestly, the historical pop quizzes alone are grounds for divorcing him as a parent. “Can we skip the pop quizzes and get right down to the exorcism?” I asked as The Parents hustled me toward the house. It's huge, I mean really huge, and old, and black and moldy-looking, with all sorts of windows that poke out and glare down on you. “Do either of you have any holy water?”
“It certainly does have atmosphere,” Mom said.
“How about a spare crucifix or two?”
“Emily...” Brother said warningly. He did something to the front door and it squeaked open. Inside was a whole lot of black. I swear you could hear the bats rubbing their little batty paws together and cackling at the fresh dinner walking in.
“A Bible? A What Would Jesus Do sticker?”
“Not now, Em,” Mom said, pulling me in to the abyss. The door slammed shut behind us.
“Abandon hope, all ye who enter here`.”
Brother eyed me. “She didn’t get that smart mouth from my side of the family.”
Mom smiled and patted him on the arm. “It’s a defense mechanism, dear. Girls Emily’s age feel it’s vital to appear flip on the outside even though they’re riddled with insecurities on the inside.”
Gah! Mothers!
“Are you sure she's mine?” Brother asked Mom in what passes for Old-People humor. “Is it too late for a paternity test?”
I'll save you from the horrors of the grand tour, as the Sperm Donor called it. Let me just say that the house is one big creepfest. If there aren't hockey-mask-wearing, homicidal, deranged ax murderers living in the basement, you can paint my toenails and call me Sally. And you know I hate the name Sally.
Must go. Brother just bellowed upstairs that dinner is on, and it'll probably take me at least a week to find my way down to the ground floor (that's first floor to you and the rest of the world). I'll tell you about the underwear ghost later. Oh, yeah, note my English e-mail addy. Oh! Oh! Oh! I picked up a magazine at the airport that said Liam Hemsworth was in England filming a new movie—can you believe that Brother had no idea who he was?
“He's only the hottest thing that ever came out of Australia!” I told him, then made him look at some Liam fan websites. Brother pretended to stagger away after he sat through the video by the girl who did the Liam interpretive dance, which was just so funny I forgot to laugh. Sheesh! He makes me look at old books for two whole days, then squawks about a little Liam -viewing?
Oh, get this, you're going to die—the studio that Liam will be working at is only ten miles away! Eat your heart out, you poor Hemsworth-less thing, you.
Hugs and kisses,
~Em
P.S. How's the leg? What happened to your Sim Zombie family? Did Morticia Zombie marry Ted Townie? YOU