Prologue

There I was, sitting on the chair outside the office, hearing the wails and screams of Sabrina Brown, as they tried to stop the blood flow coming out of her nose. I had injuries myself, a busted lip, a scratched eye, ruffled up hair, and my favorite shirt torn and ripped from Sabrina pulling on it so much. Since she was the one with the most injuries, I have to be the one suspended and they are busy writing me up. I looked at the sobbing yet angry eyes of Sabrina's mother as she was rocking back and forth, cursing me for even getting involved with her daughter. I know, I know, you're confused and wondering, 'what the hell's going on? What happened?' Well, let me tell you, so you could understand a lot more. Grab a chair, a bag of chips, and let the film roll as I tell you the whole story. It began when I first moved here...

Chapter One

October 14, 1994

I rode in the backseat of the car, drumming my fingers angrily. Mom has found us this new house in this town called Rosalina Hills (No kidding.), rumored to be 'The best place in California'. Mom didn't want us to remain in Oakland (Maybe the excessive body count and crime rate up the charts was a good hint.), so we had to head for the Hills. Literally.

"Remember, we're not stopping for another 5 hours, so we're gonna go to a pit stop for a bathroom break. Anybody gotta go?"

"Nope." Jordan, Cherise, and I all chorused.

"Last chance," Mom warned, before we pulled up to the Shell gas station.

To cut the trip short, let's fast forward to where we're back on the road, driving.

I couldn't help but look at all of the dead vegetation, angry drivers, and the chilly winds blowing so hard I could feel it freezing my eyelids damn near shut! Cherise was busy reading some magazine, Jordan was busy staring out the window, naming all of the plants, trees, and the clouds.

Is this the part where I give you this hour long background story about my family, so you could get a clue on who they are and how they make an important part in the story? Forget it, if you have any brains, you'll figure out who they are and how they look like. Moving on.

Okay then, so where were we? Oh yeah, the house.

We pulled up to Rosalina Hills. It was a gated community, adding more to the prestige and snootiness that came its way. The houses were perfect, the lawns were manicured, and since it was sunset, it gave the place a golden-orangish tint to it. But there was one house that caught my eye.

It was a 2-story houses with a cucumber-green paint job, rose bushes in the middle of the bloom, and the most beautiful plants you've ever seen. Chrysanthemums, Morning Glories all around the poles of the front porch, the lemon tree sprouted up accompanied by a swing hanging off of it. It looked beautiful, I felt like I was at home. I unbuckled my seat belt and was headed for the front steps, until Mom stopped me.

"Wrong way, Sweetie. The house across the street is our new home."

I turned around. There before me was the real definition of the Amityville Horror house. Peeling off mustard-yellow paint, a cracked roof, one of the windows were busted, and there was this giant, thick tree that was scraping at the window 2 stories high. I swear to you you could hear the thunder cackling and the horror music playing.

I'm in Hell.

"C'mon! The sooner we get there the sooner we can unpack! It's freezing out here!" Mom shivered. I glumly walked with her to the Hell house, leaving my Dream Home behind.

When I walked in, I inspected the house. It wasn't half-bad. Cozy paint-job, roomy space. Mom even managed to put up some of the furniture to make it look like home. It wasn't too big, not too small, just right, like Goldilocks And The Three Bears. I was disappointed to tell you the truth. I wanted it to be utter crap so I can remember my old home, the one filled with so many memories and great history. The one where I had met Tiffany and where people were used to me because they've known me since I was a baby. The home that filled me with so much content and happiness. The home that was irreplaceable.

This home shot down my hopes.

It was perfect, and it was twice as much better than our apartment in Oakland. It made me wish I have lived here sooner! The thought practically made me feel guilty, for liking this home better than our old one. I went back into the car and got my things, old memories of the old apartment clouding my eyes with tears.