Uakly

It was one long day in Uakly, reports say that a twister touched down, downtown near Yank street. Officials state this is nothing like before… The news boomed obnoxiously in front of my slumbering father as he continued snoring. To my dismay his TV sits on the same wall, that my bed is positioned in my bedroom. I get the news crammed down my throat as if I want to hear it, (which I do not). The rooster crowed at 6:30 A.M, inverabely waking me 30 minutes early from a rather nice slumber. Which I was rather salty over becuase I have finals today and I want to pass into honors (doubtful but you never know), heading downstairs from my bedroom. A spiral staircase designed like a carasel, spitting you down on the second floor landing, where my father keeps two extra rooms, a small parlor and a wash room. Designed akin to old victorian style dingy with A-typical olive green walls.

One large diverging staircase leads you to the first floor kitchen, dining room and living room. Decorated in the same style just burgendy colored. Behind the old spice rack in the kitchen, you will find this houses very secret floor. The basement. My father said it was not a place for kids, a monster lies inside, dormant waiting for the next unsuspecting passer-byer to fall into its trap… The joke hardly stonched curiosity, as I opened the false panel removing it from the wall setting it adjacent. Thumping on my flashlight I peered down to see about 4 feet to the floor, I can easily make that. Inside the room was shelving containing centry old mason jars and dust, they’re far too dusty to even try looking through them, nor do I have the urge to exite my alergies time’s a thousand. There was another room through a low doorway, upon entering. It looked and smelled like a torture chamber out of Hollywood. The far back wall held a Armour cabinet, chucked full of deadly tools, upon opening. Strangely this room does not show any signs of dust, as if to say it was not empty. I whipped around to flea back, maybe he was right… suddenly blitzed with a vase and out like a light, (Yes you would be correct if you thought I ran into it as it was swinging at me). I was back home, the next day I went downstairs to find my father making pancakes. With chocolate chips and syrup, with a side of banana oat meal. “Come on down Colander, I have breakfast!” He called out echoing throughout the victorian two story home, “Ooo, pancakes and oatmeal my favorite!” Colander cheered.

“Well this is not all cheers this morning, your grandfather told me you were snooping around the basement, of the house yesterday afternoon.”

Spitting pancakes and orange juice, I couldn’t even speak as my face became a dead give away.

“I am disappointed but know I still care, I’ll let your grandpa know you apologize for your misbehaving. After your finished eating go upstairs and finish your weekend homework.”But I..”

That finger pointed upstairs, Colander knew not to mouth again. Upstairs he could not focus on his school work, so he continued building his 3D replica of the Big Ben. Hearing the front door he peered out his bedroom window, while his father got into his old station wagon, exiting the driveway with haste. Judging by the direction of travel he is heading down to grandads house on the farm just 20 miles out from the city edge. He did this everyday for one month this summer, the last day of summer I decided to follow him, beneath the back seat. Where I found something.. They were working on a ritual in some kind of temple below the farm, they were talking about resurrection in specific. I heard some kind of whisping suction, “after all these years we have managed it son!” The old man stated, I heard unrecognizable words from my dad until I heard the rift seal.

I then unmistakably heard moms voice clear as day, I rushed out of the backdoor of the car to see the rift re-open engulfing them both. Shocked grandad scrambled to reopen the gate, but it was sealed as she was happy now. “You have done this, you bafoon what we’re you thinking we almost had her out!” He ranted, two policeman with flashlights came to investigate a disturbance. Only to find an empty husk of a underground temple and dad’s old station wagon, in the dark grandpa sat alone. I was at the phone booth just hanging up from the police, then made way back to the house 18 miles up the country road.

In Summary:

Colander is a native of Uakly, a city in Uzbekistan. He shares his father’s two story victorian home with a secret basement. He describes the basement as a “torture chamber” and a “monster lies inside dormant waiting for the next unsuspecting passer-byer to fall into its trap” “I turned to flea back maybe he was right… blitzed with a vase, (Yes you would be correct if you thought I ran into it as it was swinging at me). I was back home, the next day I went downstairs to find my father making pancakes with chocolate chips and syrup, with a side of banana oat meal”