“Sara, what happened to your head?”
Mom asked, seeing the deep cut on the
side of my head.
“It’s a very long story.”
I muttered dully.
“I’ll tell you whenever dad gets
Dad had left for the DIY store before
mom had sent me up to the attic to see how big it was, and whether or not it
was too disorganised to put some of our stuff in, until we had time to get the
“Sara, your dad got home an hour ago,
you were up in the attic for a long time. I assumed you were exploring or got
distracted. Were you unconscious? That cut looks very deep. You might need
“Call dad. I’ll explain everything
then. And the cut’s not as bad as it looks, it’s just bleeding a bit.”
I told her wearily.
Mom walked off, looking worried, to
find dad so that I’d tell her the whole horrible story. They both returned,
looking curious. It was only our third day in our new house, and already I was
injured, attacked by thirteen unholy angels, no less. What a lovely place to live this is going to be, I thought