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withscythe
Jan. 1st, 2013 03:33 pmcharcoalfingersSpring break usually saw Sylvia off somewhere with her dad. Some slightly more inhabited place like NYC or somewhere in California. But dad had the new wife and Syl though it best the newlyweds spend time without the grown step-daughter to bother them. And it wasn't that she didn't like dad's new wife. Sylvia adored Marianne. She just wanted them to bond more.
Plus, it meant she had the cabin to herself for a while and she had projects to finish.
So she was praying for a quiet two weeks.
What she got was far from it.
It was one evening while she was curled up on the couch to fall asleep watching some ridiculous b-horror film, half asleep under a thick quilt, when her quiet was interrupted.
It was the crashing of plates in her kitchen that woke her, the shaking of furniture and the violent flickering of lights that alerted her to something else being in her house.
"Son of a..." Those plates weren't cheap. Kicking off her quilt, Sylvia marched barefoot from the living room to the dining room, far from an intimidating figure in her blue short pajama shorts and black long-sleeve pajama shirt, but she was mad.
When she spotted the Ghost in her kitchen, all anger and rage, cut up and scratched from either a fall or an accident, Syl did the first thing that came to mind.
"Are you done throwing a tantrum?" she asked, half shouting to get the screaming figures attention.
Plus, it meant she had the cabin to herself for a while and she had projects to finish.
So she was praying for a quiet two weeks.
What she got was far from it.
It was one evening while she was curled up on the couch to fall asleep watching some ridiculous b-horror film, half asleep under a thick quilt, when her quiet was interrupted.
It was the crashing of plates in her kitchen that woke her, the shaking of furniture and the violent flickering of lights that alerted her to something else being in her house.
"Son of a..." Those plates weren't cheap. Kicking off her quilt, Sylvia marched barefoot from the living room to the dining room, far from an intimidating figure in her blue short pajama shorts and black long-sleeve pajama shirt, but she was mad.
When she spotted the Ghost in her kitchen, all anger and rage, cut up and scratched from either a fall or an accident, Syl did the first thing that came to mind.
"Are you done throwing a tantrum?" she asked, half shouting to get the screaming figures attention.
