So here’s the deal, if you are reading this, don’t tell anyone about it if you value your life. If you tell anyone about this, I will probably murder you in your sleep no matter who or where you are.
Okay. I should probably explain who I am. My name is Ebony Black. I live in Ireland with Minion, my servant, and my two cats Tornado and Whirlwind. I am 16 years old with dark eyes, long black hair, pale complexion, and I dress in all black, including shoes and socks.
My story starts six months ago, on June 13, the day my parents died. The day started out pretty normal. I was walking to the bakery to pick up my cupcakes. I guess I should explain about the cupcake thing. I love cupcakes. I love them more than anything in the whole entire world, and the cupcakes I was picking up were my favorite kind. They were vanilla cupcakes with swirled pink raspberry frosting and little dots of white lemon icing. So, okay, back to the story: As I was walking, I heard a loud bang, like an explosion, behind me. As I turned I saw the bank, now rubble, where my parents and everyone else inside was killed.
I can’t say I was sad, but I can’t say I was happy either. I was just mildly annoyed that the shock wave had ruffled my hair. I kept walking as if nothing had happened. I got my cupcakes from Noelle, the baker’s 10-year-old daughter, then hailed a taxi to take me back to my parent’s estate that was now mine.
Minion greeted me coldly at the door asking, “What was that noise? It sounded like an explosion.”
“It was the bank exploding. They’re dead. My plan worked,” I replied, and with that I turned and entered the house. Of course, house isn’t really the best word to describe it because it is a five story stone castle with turrets and moat, and it’s situated on 10 acres.
I walked up the stone steps past marble busts of my long forgotten ancestors and vowed to take them down the first chance I got. I walked into my study/lab. It was a round room about the size of a small house. It was dimly lit by Tiffany lamps and across from the door stood a sturdy mahogany desk with a running computer on top of it. I walked over to the desk and sat down in the cushioned armchair, sorted through my files, and then checked my computer.
Sure enough, someone was waiting for me on Skype. I had been expecting a Skype from the police department explaining what had happened at the bank, but this Skype was from Tony and Miranda Jackenson, the two people in the world that I hated most. Tony and Miranda lived in Pasadena under a wine bar and were wanted in seven countries and public enemies #1 in two other countries. They killed my baby brother five years ago. I opened my web cam, and I saw them both grinning stupidly at me.
“How’s it going, Ebony?” cackled Tony.
“Have you thought about our offer yet?” said Miranda, her voice was filled with hate, probably because the last time they’d seen me I’d set my cat Whirlwind on her. She still had the claw marks marring her pretty face.
“No,” I told her. “But I can tell you this: I will never join you. I will never ever work with you on anything, and if you ever come back to Ireland, I will give you a horribly painful death after I set my cats on you and bury you both up to your necks in cockroaches for two weeks.”
Miranda scowled and turned off the web cam.
Two weeks later, I was sitting in the garden eating cupcakes, checking my blog and petting Tornado and Whirlwind when a piece of paper floated down to me from the branch of a nearby apple tree. The paper was wet from the morning dew so the words on it were smudged, but I could make out what it said:
At midnight tonight
See you there, Ebony.
Yours truly t and m
I know you’re thinking I must be really stupid if I was actually going to meet them at the pier, but I have a cat that would claw your eyes out so I suggest that you stay quiet. Let me tell you, I am not the kind of person who backs out of things.
That night, I walked to the pier with both of my cats for extra protection and so they could claw off Miranda’s ugly face. When I got to the pier, it was deserted. They weren’t there yet. I told my cats to stand guard, and then I walked to the edge of the pier and stared down at the black swirling water. I heard a high-pitched scream behind me and saw my cats chasing two people about my age.
The girl, however, was not Miranda. She looked nothing like her. While Miranda had waist length white blond hair, this girl had shoulder length curly red hair and bangs that covered her bright green eyes. The boy was tall and stocky, also with curly red hair, but his eyes were a dark blue, almost black.
The girl walked up to me looking very annoyed. “That cat could’ve killed me. What’s the matter with you? Why didn’t you call it off?”
“I thought you were someone else. What’s your name, anyway?” I replied.
“My name is Timothy and that’s my twin sister Margaret, and I assume that you’re Ebony,” said the boy. “We want to make you a deal.”
He leaned forward and whispered something in my ear, and, after a few moments, I replied, “Yes. I’ll do it.”
© Copyright 2011 Mary Finnegan. All rights reserved
Mary Finnegan attends seventh grade in Pasadena. She has never been to Ireland, but would like to go. This is her first published story.