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The Black Forest Asylum
I can’t believe that today I turn thirteen. I have very low expectations for my thirteenth year, everyone knows that this is the year a girl become a total slave to her hormones and her inner teenage nasty. I would love to say that I, Adele Mills, am different than most other thirteen year old girls, but I’m afraid I can already feel the rebellious nature inside of my heart and mind coming out. Fortunately, my parents are smart people because they raised they’re child in a rural country home, sheltering me from a more dramatic world.
I live in a large old country home that is an exact replica, but on a considerably smaller scale, of an insane asylum. The insane asylum is my neighbor. It is a menacing and expansive structure that was built in 1895, so not only is it menacing but it actually has the history to be un-doubtfully a fearful place to behold. It doesn’t scare me, though, not at all, probably because my parents, my brilliant parents, are the head psychiatrists of the Black Forest Asylum.
On another note, this old house is the only home that I’ve ever known, it is where I learn, socialize, and continue to grow up. Sometimes when I ponder my childhood and look into my future, I wonder if I am not just another one of my parents patients, or maybe I am something more, maybe I am they’re most important experiment.
2. “Dale, grab your coat we’re going on our picnic now,” Mother called from the winding staircase, I could hear impatience in her voice, and for some reason it made me grin.
“Me too,” My dad walked out of his October office which is right across from my bedroom and smiled, he was wearing a giant orange sweater over his favorite corduroy pants along with hiking boots. I knew instantly that this picnic was going to be an adventure.
“What?” My dad looked down at his feet, noticing that I was staring at them suspiciously.
“Oh, nothing, I just didn’t know you needed such heavy duty shoes for a picnic,” I said.
“Dale, it is your birthday. You think you mother and I would just throw a picnic for you, and do nothing else?” said father. My heart seemed to be filled with excitement and a little fear. My parents sometimes seemed just as crazy as one of their patients.
I grabbed my backpack and my very necessary journal and followed my parents out to our collection of mountain bikes. As far as I knew we were going to bike to our favorite look-out rock and have one of many exhilarating family picnics at the top.
We biked through part of the Tioga forest, my mom, me, then my father, but my mother road past our usual stopping point, taking me on a totally expected adventure, but adventure none-the-less. Finally, after about twenty minutes of non-stop biking through the tall variety of trees and up over rocks and small streams, my mom stops. I halted my bike and jumped off, looked around trying to figure out my surroundings and noticed that we were only a few yards from a kind of cave made out of two giant boulders that seemed to have collapsed upon each other.
“Ah, ha, we’ve made it to the Creatures Cave,” Father spoke in a low menacing tone, and nudged me in the shoulder.
“Creatures Cave. It is at least what your dad has named it,” My mother answered and waved me to follow her into the mysterious cave. When I entered, I noticed that one by one my mother was lighting torches that were all around the inside. It was definitely evidence that someone had used this cave before.
“So do you guys frequent this place, or did these torches just grow here?” I asked, my voice echoed.
“Shhh, this cave is not used to people,” Father walked past me, he had a torch in his hand and seemed to be scouting out the place. I watched as my parents walked about it, my mother preparing the picnic and my father looking for anything that might make us into dinner.
“Dale, we will tell you all about this cave, if you sit down. This is your special thirteenth birthday story,” Mother motioned for me to sit beside her. Cautiously and like a teenager, I rolled my eyes at my parents, but willfully obeyed.
“Mom and Dad, this better be an amazing story,” I threatened. My dad sat down across from me, and laughed.
“Dear, this story is going to scare the heck out of you,” said my father, then he added, “And I know how much you love scary stories.”
He wasn’t being sarcastic; I actually do love scary stories. So I got incredibly excited and waited for my mother to begin telling the story.