I have never enjoyed going on trips to unknown places. The last time we traveled was last year for my 11th birthday. We went to the Grand Canyon, a place not too far from home. We stayed in a seemingly abandoned RV park located just outside of the actual Grand Canyon. The whole trip wasn't so fun though because my parents were on the phone the whole time, doing work or something. I like to be somewhere where I can feel comfortable and don't have to keep an eye on what goes on around me. It rarely happens that I actually have fun on the trips my parents drag me along to, so I try to resist them as much as possible. However, it was my parents' 25 anniversary and they were determined to make it their best anniversary so far. One day when I overheard them talking about ticket and hotel prices, I knew I was in for it. Unfortunately, their destination of choice was the Provence in the South of France. While others would have been ecstatic to have the opportunity to go here, I already knew it was going to suck, especially because with my parents, everything is unexpected and our trips always get sabotaged one way or the other.
My parents insisted we come here. They've always looked for the alternative traveling arrangements. We always are the ones taking a community driven bus rather than renting a car or staying in an authentic group hut in South Africa instead of in a hotel. This time we're staying at an old French farmhouse, run by an old couple just trying to make ends meet. The house is made of cold grey stones in desperate need of reparations. The front yard is a jungle, the grass seems although it has never been cut and an army of weeds has hidden the flowers. We walk towards the tremendous wooden door, heavier than any door I have ever felt before. When we first arrive, we check in, my parents sign a bunch of papers and the old woman who owns the house shows us to our room. We walk through the narrowing hallway, the floor boards creaking with our every step. When we finally reach our rooms at the end of the hall, the woman forces open the thin wooden door. "Here's your room," she tells us in her thick, French accent. Her voice is monotone, lacking any sort of emotion or warmth. Her cracked skin and aged blue eyes depict a life of hardships and struggle. It is clear that she is not wealthy, for her colorless dress has loose threads and missing buttons. The room is simple and the furniture seems as though it belongs in a time several decades ago. Three narrow metal beds painted with a now faded pink are lined up, occupying the whole back wall. Thin woven blankets accompanied by frumpy white pillows lay on the bed. On the wooden desk, which is pushed against the chipping wall, sits a ceramic water jug and bowl embroidered with flowers, the rim lined with gold. The rooms conditions are no surprise to me. While others may have been discontent or some even appalled, my parents were beyond pleased with the arrangement. Typical.
After we settle in, the sound of a cowbell fills the air, notifying us that dinner is being served. We sit outside under the still blazing sun, despite the fact that it is already 8pm, and eat the overcooked meal family style with everyone staying at the house. After finishing my meal mom gives me my daily pill and water. She's always worried that I'm going to get sick or something so she gives me all these pills. I look around the table, and something tells me these people are not to be trusted. I have a feeling they are plotting against me. I can see them exchanging looks, trying to figure out how they will do it. There is one girl in particular who is up to something. I can feel her glaring eyes judging my every move. She seems to be the grand daughter of the couple who own the house judging by the way they interact. I don't know what her deal is but I know that I don't want anything to do with her. I'm stilling look at her when she looks up, making awkward eye contact. When she smiles at me, goosebumps run down my spine, making my whole body tremble. She is planning something. I've only been in this place for an hour and already they are trying to kill me. I knew this would happen, I had expected it. I am always the target. Maybe its because I have a petite stature and people think it's okay to mess with me, or maybe its my personality. I think they feel threatened by me and therefore everyone is out to get me.
As the suns begins to hide behind the hills, conversation dies and we begin to leave the table and return back to our rooms. The crickets wont stop making sounds, making it even harder to sleep. The heat of the night is making my whole body sweat and I'm constantly tossing and turning, just hoping that I will be able to fall into a deep slumber. But no. I lay awake, looking at the cracked ceiling, afraid that it is going to sink into the room and kill me and my parents. Wait. What was that noise? I can hear footsteps trying to walk through the hall, trying to be sneaky but because of the old floors is creating a symphony of crackling. Who the hell is out at this time of night? I decide to go look and investigate, and see a short shadow with long hair. It's her. The girl from the dinner table. I knew she was after me. I think I should go check on what she’s doing and try to stop her from what she’s planning on doing. I creep out of my bed, careful not to make a sound to avoid waking up my over protective parents. The door leading out to the dimly lit hallway squeaks but luckily no one awakens. I step one foot out of the door and start to hear whispering from all around the house. It gets louder as I tip toe down the hallway, nearing towards the kitchen. There must be more people there. With each step I take, my heart begins to race faster and faster, giving me the false impression that I am at the verge of having a heart attack. I hear a woman’s voice scolding in a hushed tone, “No no, don’t do that. Go and keep guard of the door and make sure he doesn’t come until we are ready.” Thoughts about what they could be talking about start to race through my head. I’m almost certain they are talking about me. They must be setting up a death trap. I take a step from the hallway into the kitchen and there they are. The little girl whose shadow I saw is standing by the door across the kitchen. Next to her stands her grandmother, clearly caught by surprise, holding a huge, shiny butcher knife covered in blood. “ What are you doing here, young man? You shouldn’t be seeing this yet.” says the old woman. She makes her way over to me. I try to speak but no sound comes out of my voice. I cannot believe that this is happening to me again. When I finally build up the courage to reply, I whimper back “ Don’t kill me. I didn’t do anything wrong! ” She is trying to cover up her true motives and fool me into thinking that she is kind, and gentile. The old woman takes a step closer to me, the knife still in her hand. Unable to think straight because of the overwhelming reality that I am only seconds away from being killed, I begin to yell uncontrollably. This is the only way I know how to defend myself. I hear the slamming of doors, and a stampede of footsteps coming our way. I stand frozen, staring at the hallway, when I see the familiar faces of my parents sprinting towards us. They have come to save me from my death. My mother runs up to me and pulls me into her loving arms. My father, however, is talking to the old woman. He seems to be apologizing. I am perplexed. Why in the world is he apologizing to the woman who just tried to murder me. She looks at him with her cold eyes as her grey head bobbles up and down in understanding. I begin to get angry. “ Why are you apologizing to her?? Don’t you believe me when I tell you she was trying to kill me? We need to get out of here!!” I yell. “ Sweety,” my mom says “ She had no intention of killing you. There is no danger here. It is a safe place. You can feel comfortable here. She is just preparing a surprise meal for your birthday tomorrow. See, she’s making your favorite turkey!” I look at the bloody knife and then to the turkey. But it's all just a set up. It isn’t fair that no one believes me. I know what I am talking about. No one here is to be trusted but they never understand when I tell them that. They think I am making it up. I stomp off to the room, not wanting to hear one more second of their bullshit. Sometime I think that they are a part of it too. That they are also plotting with everyone else to get me. It would make sense. But then I remember how they are my parents and it wouldn’t make sense.
I try to fall asleep again once I climb back into my bed. I want to get out of here, but my eye lids are heavy and my body is screaming at me, telling me to just sleep. So the next morning when I wake up, I start to pack my suitcase. My parents have also returned to bed and have started to clean up the room. We have only been here one night and already are leaving. I don’t understand why they still try to go on vacation because this happens every single time. We walk down the long hallway, back to the front of the house. When we reach the front door, my father slips off somewhere very quickly and returns with some papers. He denies permission for me to see them, saying they are private papers. As we get into our car and drive away, I lay down across the backseat in attempt to take a nap. My dad’s papers are on the seat next to me. They sit there, practically asking to be looked at. He is busy driving and talking to my mom so now is the perfect moment to sneak a glance. I lift up the first paper and see the words ‘ Psychiatric Mental Health Facility- Specialized in Schizophrenia’. I decide to look further. The rest of the page says describes multiple different locations that the mental hospital resides in. One in South Africa, one in the Grand Canyon, and one in the Provence. This tells me nothing. So much for private, exciting papers. I decide to put the papers back in their place and sleep the rest of the way to the airport, trying to forget the terrors of this ridiculous trip.
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