Sanctity by S. M. Bowles

you must promise me to come back if you’re not feeling
strong.”
    “I promise.”

Chapter
7
     
    A couple of weeks before my 9th birthday we
moved to a new house.  It was bright and sunny the day I found
myself sitting in the backseat of our car while we followed the
moving van to our new home.  During the ride I thought about
our old apartment and my friend Erica who lived in the building
next door and how much I would miss my life there.  It was
really exciting, though, to know I would be living in a
house. 
    Michael and my father had been working
together for a few months by then; mostly via phone and
internet.  He had gone away shortly after Christmas.  My
father told me and my mother that it was because his father had
passed away and that he had gone to be with his mother to help her
until she felt comfortable enough to be on her own.  I felt
very badly for him even though I only thought of him as Mr.
Donovan, a client of my dad’s and only vaguely remembered him as
someone I had met once or twice. 
    Our new home was in subdivision just a few
miles from the highway.  Each of the houses was set back from
the main road and seemed to have been placed in little alcoves that
were cut into the surrounding forest.  Though Michael was out
of town at the time he had recommended the area to my father over
the phone one night when my dad told him that we were thinking
about moving.  My parents fell in love with the neighborhood
and ended up buying the very first house they viewed there.
    As we pulled into the driveway I could see
that the movers were wasting no time and were getting ready to
unload our furniture.  Most of our old belongings came with us
to the new house and some had been replaced.  Since we had
extra rooms my parents bought a number of new furnishings as
well.  The new rooms were already filled up since the
furniture store had made their delivery earlier in the week. 
Those were the first I looked over before running upstairs to see
my own room. 
    It was much bigger than my old room and
painted a light, buttery yellow.  It had a small balcony just
like my old bedroom but instead of a slider there were two French
doors that led onto it.  There was also a small walk-in
closet, not as big as my parent’s old one but even with all my
clothes and other belongings there would still be plenty of room
leftover.  I also had my own bathroom attached to my bedroom
with a small vanity, a shower and tub as well.  It all seemed
very spacious and a little overwhelming to me.  I was used to
the close, coziness of my old room so my new room
felt empty by comparison.
    After giving it a thorough inspection I
wandered back downstairs.  I watched as my parents directed
the moving men as to where they wanted certain things placed. 
I didn’t want to get in the way but I wasn’t sure what I should be
doing while everyone else was busy.  My dad saw me milling
about and suggested that I do a little exploring and take a walk in
the woods around our new home.  “Just don’t go too far, you
should be alright as long as you can see the house.”
    I took his advice and made an exploratory
circuit from the front yard to the back.  I stepped a few feet
into the woods that bordered the lawn and made my way the length of
the backyard before I moved a few more feet in and looped
back.  I did this several times - moved a little further into
the trees, looped, a little further.  It was nice in the
woods; cool and fresh.  There were quite a few fallen trees
and broken limbs lying on the ground as well as a heavy covering of
old leaves.  It smelled very earthy there and as I got further
in it got a little darker as the trees and their leaves blocked out
the sun.  I thought I might be able to see some of our
neighbor’s houses if I went far enough but the woods were a lot
bigger than I imagined they would be.
    I could still see our house but I knew I
should probably make my way back just to be safe.  I