Hey guys. This is a story I'm writing. This is what I have so far.
Book Cover: Picture of a notebook on a table, drawing of apple on it
I was lumbering down my sullen lane, over to Hold's house. It was a torn up, weathered piece of shelter, also known as the Cadaver house. My "friends" from school always said it was haunted. Really, it was just a home for a kid of 13 years. He didn't go to school. He didn't want to find somewhere else to live, let alone be with foster parents. But, as the years went on, many things, infamous to our neighborhood, occured at that house. Many things people don't like to talk about, or don't even know about. Hold, his full name Holdenius (he hates that name) was just an everyday-looking boy. He had short black hair, but his bangs went over his left eye, and his right ear was covered. He had a barren face, clear of blemishes and freckles, and had a thin, pointy nose. His eyes were as black as the shadows of the neighborhood in the bleak midnight. He rarely talked. Whenever he did, it was short. He usually only spoke either for a request, or to give me something to think about.
I was lulling over at Hold's house one day, both of us up in the dusty attic. There were archaic things like teddy bears and notebooks up there. Hold's family had once resided there, but he lost everything. Every single one of them, gone with the wind. He had no memory of this, so he was unperturbed. If anyone ever mentioned it, he'd say "Dunno". While we were sitting up there, I asked Hold if I could look through the notebooks. He just said "Dunno" and went on thinking. I took that as a yes, since that's the word he usually says. I took a notebook labled "Susanne". I thought to myself, is this his mother? I opened the notebook, and there were drawings. No words, just drawings. The drawings were of things like apples, oranges, dogs, cats. She was a great artist, no doubt.
"Hey, Hold" I said quietly.
"Hey, Mill" He replied.
"Do you know who this is? Does the name ring a bell?"
"Ring ring, ring ding ding" he said, mocking the sound of bells.
"It says Susanne."
Hold sat there, looking quite anxious. He started breathing loudly. That's what he normally does when he's trying to remember something.
"Sus... Susan... Susanne" He said, sounding it out.
I waited for a minute. He just sat there thinking. I said something about his mother, and he just said
"Dunno."
I walked home eager that day. I wanted to help Hold find his way. I wanted to help him get his way out of that Cadaver house, that labrynth of concentration and thought. Hold seemed so lost in there. Of course he didn't even consider being offended by the schoolgoers, always shouting names at him. When he walked down the coffin-like street with me, I yelled back at them, but Hold just seemed like he was deaf to it. He wasn't even acknowledging that the people were there. I was wondering if it still hurt him though. His sorrowful eyes looked regretful, as if he was the one shouting the disgraceful words.
As I lie in bed that night, I was still thinking. Was it worth it, yelling back? Was Hold even slightly taken aback? Maybe he was subtly gesturing for me to stop. Maybe I was making him feel like he wasn't capable. Those thoughts were quickly jotted down on my journal, hoping I wouldn't forget what I was saying so I try to stop myself degrading him.
I was walking down the hollow road once again, drained of spirit and joy. My not-so-favorite person – Frank Guilford – was walking my way, on the other side of the street. He was probably the head bully at our school, always making fun of me for hanging out with Hold.
Again, Hold was unperturbed by this behavior. Frank had a knack for making people feel less than themselves. He had an uncanny sense of fear and emotion. People followed him around, afraid to get knocked out of their own bodies.
