Clunk! clunk! clunk!
Hailstones started to batter against the car roof in an irregular rhythm. Storm clouds rose from up ahead, almost rippling as they shot out crackling bolts. This was a rather daunting display of lightening. The sound of thunder grumbled like a beast in the sky awakening from its slumber. All that was missing were the devastating earthquakes that violently shook the ground and split the earth to create bottomless chasms.
"Sounds worse than your rock music," my mother teased, her smile strained at the corners.
I reached out to switch on the radio, but the reception was so bad that no matter which station I tuned in to all I got was static.
"Well this sucks," I said, flopping back into the seat. "Next time we move, can it be somewhere sunny?"
My mother chuckled. It was a pleasant, alleviating sound. She opened her mouth wider to laugh a little harder until I reminded her that she was still driving and was starting to stray from the road.
She nodded, still choking back giggles. I looked out into the wing mirror and realised that I was beaming too. It was because I never thought she would truly smile after the divorce - yet here she was, crying with laughter.
From my the corner of my sight I saw my mother dab at her face, which was not as sallow as it was at the beginning of the journey. The worries she had been carrying, which took the form of an extra ten years on her face, had vanished and was replaced with anticipation as she flicked the indicator.
As the car turned up a narrow street she announced, "we're almost there."
"Finally," I groaned, resorting back to my usual teenager manner. "I'm hungry!"
We pulled down a steep driveway, paved with cracked slabs of concrete. Number 23, I read the rusted iron figures nailed to the front of the house when the car jigged to a halt.
"Right then," my mother said. "Lets get inside as quickly and as dryly as possible. "We'll worry about carrying in the boxes when this awful storm is over."
We exited the car and hurried over to the front door, rain and hail plastering our hair to our faces. I could feel the puddles splash into my shoes and my socks begin to soak up the dirty rainwater. My mother fumbled about with her coat pocket, desperately seeking out the house keys. There was an short delay as she tried to turn the stiff lock, but within a matter of seconds we clambered inside, drenched to the bone.
"Well, so much for staying dry," my mother muttered to herself. "Anyway, Ida. What do you think?"
I peeled soaked hair off of my skin and glanced down a cramped, opaque corridor. I shivered for the second time that day. This time it crept down my spine. I fought the urge to flee back out into the storm. The thought of the blackness being able to swallow me whole drifted into my mind.
"Bottomless chasms," I mumbled.