The Rabid Karuirels Aren't What You Should Worry About...

Carmen doesn't care. She has been destroying and moving from carehome to carehome, up and down the UK. Now she is in London, to meet her dad's uncle - a lamp-post of a man that is the richest in the country. How could the trip be a bad one? Apart from the infestation of rabid Karuirels in the loft...

"So... you've moved through 4 different children homes this year," he said in a heavily accented voice "And it's only the beginning of February." 

"Yep" I said, trying to hide my fear of my newly discovered great-uncle.

"My, my..." he mumbled as he flicked back through my folder - all 40 pages of records.

I smiled meekly as my last family member read over the past 14 years of my life - both my parents had been killed when I was 2 and I've been in care homes across the country ever since. None of them could keep me for long - all the kids, whether they were older or younger, were terrified at even the whisper of my name - Carmen.

He sharply looked up then. A little puzzled - he definitely hadn't said anything - I looked around the room. The wooden paneling reminded me of something out of a turn of the century novel that had been turned into a film! I wondered what the wood could possible be. It was too dark for maple and too light for oak...

The End

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