The Misadventures of Daria Pigwidgeon

The Misadventures of Daria Pigwidgeon

Daria Pigwidgeon Book One

Copyright 2012 By Amy Lunderman

Kindle Edition

To my Family—

You give me strength in everything you do, and I am so blessed to have each and every one of you in my life.

It’s cold, hard, and damp this slab I lay on that somehow passes itself off as a mattress. Not that I’m complaining, after all this is much better than the floor I’m normally accustomed too. You’d think I’d be pleased to finally have something of my own to rest on at night, but for reasons that constantly give me the chills, I don’t trust it.

Not unlike the witch feeding Hansel and Gretel before she plans to eat them. I just know my mother has her own reasons for finally gracing me with a mattress. Granted, it’s barely an inch off the ground and is so worn I can still feel the concrete below me, but still. Something is not right. Which is why, as the rest of my family lay sleeping a deep slumber courtesy of one sleeping draft cleverly planted by yours truly in this evening’s soup, I’m planning my escape.

I’m sure you’re wondering why a girl would drug her family members and plan on creeping out like a bad dream in the middle of the night. Well, let me tell you. The people I call family (and I use that term loosely by the way) aren’t the Walton’s by any means. For starters the all of them are demons.

Myself included.

Who knew right? It’s so bizarre I don’t even believe it. Or want to believe it. I don’t have a choice. And I haven’t since the day I was plucked from my mother’s loins. I remember everything as if it was yesterday, and I wish I didn’t. Let’s call it a gift of sorts, my memory, because it’s the only that has kept me alive all this time. Why you ask?

I have a soul.

That’s right, yours truly, Daria Pigwidgeon (a name I gave myself at an early age from a show on MTV my brothers used to watch. And it’s much preferred over scum, which was used often by my parents. Scum Pigwidgeon, not very catchy) is a proud member of her very own soul. And with that came many years of taking care of myself. Unlike the filthy bottom feeders that are my family, I’m the first one born with a clean viable human soul, the first in generations. You’d think it’d be a good thing, something to treasure even. Only it’s something that has left me cursed.

And very far from treasured.

It’s a good thing my family is gifted with their demon heritage though, each one possessing their very own unique ability. That alone has kept me alive all these years. Before the very first time opening my eyes, I’ve been more than conscious of my surroundings. Alert, if you will. So much so, that I could feel the distain in my mother’s body as she took me in her arms. It was the only time she held me.

Not that I mind, because really, she’s rather frost bitten. I don’t just mean a cold person. I mean she can suck the heat out of the room at will. I’ve suffered my fair share of summer nights feeling like I might actually get frost bite. That was the first time she ever really threatened my life. Not the last unfortunately, but it was the last time I let anyone get close enough to try.

Besides being the smartest toddler, I had a knack of making people forget about me. And not from my winning attitude either. I’m not sure of the exact name for such a thing, mostly because my family never shared personal information. But I’ve been calling it a memory block for some time now. In short, I can cause a person (or demon) to forget they just saw me at will. Which is pretty dang handy, what with my own mother trying to off me.

And that isn’t even the best part. What’s more you ask? Well, courtesy of my beautiful soul ( I think anyways, again I can’t really ask about these things) if I’m threatened in any way I send of a sort of electrical surge. I guess you can say if someone touches me without permission, I zap them. Only if my memory block doesn’t work that is. Which isn’t very often, not that I’m boasting, I’m just that confidant.

Although, lately I’ve noticed that it’s getting harder to use my gift on my family. Maybe they are getting a resistance to it since I use it on them all the time, kind of like people who pop Tylenol all the time for a headache and it stops working eventually.

Just one more reason for me to get the heck out of dodge.

Finally pulling myself up into a sitting position, I gaze around the place that has been an impromptu bedroom the last sixteen years of my life. Technically, my mother was hoping for it to be more of a dungeon when she tossed my down the basement stairs. I’m sure she hoped to lock me in and throw away the key, but then I made her forget. See what I mean, my gift (curse) totally rocks.

As basements go, this one isn’t so bad. A little moldy and damp sure, but it’s better than sleeping outside. Plus, I’ve kept it relatively clean and looked after. I spy the magazine cutouts that grace the walls and pride myself that I managed to swipe my sister’s teen mags. Not that she would remember me taking them. For such a simple thing, I’m glad I made the best of my room. In a strange way, I know I’ll kind of miss this. Not the having to hide and praying no one remembers where I dwell, but a space that is mine.

See, I do have a soul, it makes me attached.

Hopefully I’ll have that wherever I go and maybe that’ll be enough to help with the guilt over leaving. Hastily, I rise to my feet. I don’t bother stretching my back to work out the kinks from lying on the mattress on the floor for so long. I got over that years ago, thick skinned that is me. Not wanting to waste anymore time, I quickly pull up my waste length pitch black hair into a knot atop my head. After jerking it tight enough to bring tears to my eyes, I’m satisfied it won’t fall out. Then with a sense of urgency I rush out from behind the stairs, which are on the other side of my little cubby. Not bothering to stop I reach for my backpack that carries the essentials at the base of the stairs.

Tossing it over one shoulder I hunch over and creep up the stairs. Taking this route more often than not, I know every creak and wobble. Being careful with them now is incredibly important. I ease upward like its second nature, only stopping when I finally reach the door. Everyone is out like a light upstairs, but that doesn’t make me rush out. If anything, it makes me overly cautious. A habit, that has kept me alive.

Grasping the brass handle I make sure to hold it tight enough so it doesn’t rattle, then brace myself as I slowly turn it to the left. The knob shifts and jerks itself to release the door and I hold my breath the entire time. When the door finally bounces free in my grasp, my breath comes out in a rush, grateful that I know the doors habits to keep it quiet. Easing the door outward, I keep my eyes alert for any movement and sound around me.

The hallway is still and silent.

Rather than feeling relieved, I force myself to be more alert and slowly step out of the door clutching the backpack to my side as I do. Once I’m safely out in the open space of the hall, I turn back to the door and again grasp the handle tight enough to keep it quiet as I turn it to the right. Easing it back, I push it closed and start the agonizing process of spinning the knob back into place. I have to remember to keep the door pulled outward to me, otherwise the knob will snap in place and alert anyone. So I spin the knob more than I should, and give it a couple yanks before releasing it.

Stepping back, I eye the door like it’s about to give me away at any moment. When it doesn’t, I shift my pack so that it’s over my other shoulder and nestled against my back and not my side. Straitening, I turn to the left and gaze down the hallway to the bright hope that’s at the end of it.

The front door.

Wanting nothing more than to dash for it and yank it open so I can run through the barrier and never stop, I allow myself a quick pace as I move towards it. The house that has been my home is dark and silent of the early hours of morning (or maybe late night, not quite sure) and I’m afraid if I listen close enough I can hear my family sleeping on the floor above me. It doesn’t make me pause to change my mind though. If anything, it makes me walk into a fast tip toeing jog to the door.

Reaching the end of the hall I come to a stop and like I’m at a four way road stop. I look both ways before crossing. In the open space between the hall and door it’s too vulnerable. Now I allow myself to dash for the door, my legs jerk at the conflicting movement. Knowing there aren’t any particulars to this door, I don’t pause in testing the knob before yanking it open. A hot rush of air hits me right away and even though I’m covered in an instant sweat, it still feels like freedom to me.

Not looking back, I step over the threshold.

I’m free.

Standing in the bustling airport of Bakersfield, California I overestimated my freedom. I mean yeah, I’m free from my evil family and home. But I’m far from being in the clear. Heck, I’m only a few short miles away from my house. And yes, I do see the irony that a family of demons lives so closely to a place with the name of Death Valley. It’s never been lost on me unfortunately. Neither are the odd glances that keep getting tossed my way. I’m sure the sight of a short skinny girl in dirt covered clothes and a rat’s nest of hair is something indeed.

Did I mention that I walked here? No? Well I did. Through the side roads that resemble that of a dessert no less. Not fun, not fun at all.

I could use my memory block on them, the gawkers, but what is the point? I’m trying to start over after all. And that means not using my demon gifted abilities, no matter how bad I feel under their scrutiny. So I do my best to ignore them and focus up at the flickering board that tells what flight goes where and when. In my attempt to get away I never really thought about
where
I was going. Just that I got away.

Now, I’m not sure where to go next.

Of course, no matter where I go, I just know it has to be far from here. Like on the other side of the continent would be nice. I doubt my thin wallet will accommodate that though. So it looks like I’m stuck within the confines of the US. If that is the case then, I think being on the other side would stand to reason. Looking over the immediate flights, one name sticks out. Rochester, New York. And
now boarding
is blinking in tiny red letters at me.

I don’t even hesitate.

My legs force me forward and side step the jostling bodies that seem to be trying to go the opposite way as me. My dusty frame makes the crowd part like the Red Sea as I make my way to the ticket counter praying I still have time to purchase a ticket. Literally crashing into the counter, I’m thankful that the line dispersed. How embarrassing would it be to run into someone?

Out of breath I dig into the pockets of my jeans for my tattered wallet. The woman behind the counter gives me a funny look, but then forms a wary grin when I slam my wallet on the counter.

“One for Rochester New York please.” I say in a rush.

The woman looks over my dirty body, to my wallet, and then shrugs before turning to her computer. It takes all my self-control to not yell at her to hurry. As it is, I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet. After a few clicks of a mouse, she looks back at me.

“We have a couple flights. There
is
one that is currently boarding-”

I cut her off before she can give me the whole sale’s person spiel. “I’ll take the one that is boarding.”

She gives me a dirty look, the smile slipping from her face as she clicks again on the mouse. I got to say, it takes talent to glare at a teenager while typing information at a computer when not looking. I’m impressed.

Not enough to completely hide my own version of a glare.

“That’ll be seven ninety four.” She tells me with a raised eye brow, in a way that makes me think she doesn’t believe I can afford it.

With a smile on my face (priding myself to shove this in her face) I whip out eight hundred dollar bills and slap them on the counter. When surprise flitters over her pointed features, my grin widens as I slide the cash in her direction. Having no reason not to take it, she reaches for my cash. I try to play it cool like I didn’t just fork over half of my savings. But it’s worth it. Or at least it will be once I get on the plane.