There was a wild man in my house, sitting casually at the table, subjecting my mother to his whims. Well, maybe not so extreme as that. But who the heck was he, acting so relaxed in our home? One of daddy's friends? Nah, he looked too young. Not new staff, he wasn't in uniform and he didn't act like a servant fresh off interview. Mom seemed to like him, she was practically doting on him, but who was he?
Maybe it had something to do with yesterday? I wouldn't know, I'd slept in the morning, and when I'd gotten up, I had to stitch up Don Penguini's flipper, Queequeg had gotten to him again. I hate Queequeg. He's a yappy little spaniel who was always picking fights with my pets and destroying my toys, peeing on my bed, and ruining my clothes. A few weeks before I had resolved to hunt down the pest and dissect him, but he was a slippery bastard. He always seems to outrun me. I guess that's cause he knows my traps and tactics better than anyone else. I'll get him one of these days, you just wait.
Anyways, after I'd stitched up Don Penguini's flipper (It took a while, I had to keep re-doing the stitches because I'd make them too big and too thick), I' gotten dressed. I felt a little happier than usual today, so I picked out my strawberry underwear today, grandma says that when you're feeling your worst, you should look your best. After that I just put on an over sized sweat-shirt my dad brought back from his trip to Ireland. He always brings back cheesy and tasteless company shirts and hoodies for me to wear whenever he goes abroad, and since I don't wanna wear the clothes my mom gets me, which are just too nice for someone like me, I wear his. I pulled on shorts too, I was definetly gonna catch Queequeg today. I didn't bother with my hair, it wasn't like I was going off the estate, not like I ever did aside from going to school.
When I leave my room, I'm usually very cautious. I hate people seeing me, because then they talk to me, and I don't know how to talk back. Besides, they never hear me when I do anyways. However, I'm not as sneaky as I'd like to be. On my trip from my room to the kitchen, I fell down a flight of stairs, tripped on my own feet three times, ran into a wall twice, and even set off a few of my own booby traps. I didn't get hurt though. My incredible clumsiness has made me pretty resilient. I also got lost too. I have a pretty lousy sense of direction, even in my own house.
Well, back to the present, when I got into the kitchen and saw this monster sitting at the table, in my seat nonetheless, I quickly hid behind the pantry door. I don't think he's seen me yet. Jeez, now what am I supposed to do? I'm really hungry, I haven't eaten for a while because I got all excited over killing Queequeg, but I can't go in, or that big brute will see me. He's way bigger than me! I mean, I've always been shrimpy, I haven't grown since eighth grade, but this guy is really tall! He looks like he could snap me in half if he tried hard enough!
"Sam! Stop glaring at our guest, you'll burn a hole through his head!" my mother scolded me, shooing me out from behind the pantry door and into the open. Oh yeah, that's another thing. I don't have very good eyesight, so I tend to squint a lot, which puts my face in a constant glare. It also doesn't help that I'm too scared to smile and my hair is always covering my face, making me look scary. Ya know what kids call me at school? They call me Samara, after that evil girl from the Ring. I hate being called that. I can't stand horror movies or monsters or things like that. Don't even mention them to me. First horror movie I saw made me wet my pants out of fear.
So when my traitor of a mother revealed my presence to the strange gorilla, probably some sort of deal she had with him, sacrificing me to escape herself, I looked at the ground, waiting for him to get up and roar, or use a death blow, or one of those kung-fu moves Bruce Lee uses. When he didn't I guessed he must be like some sort of dinosaur, don't move or make noise and he won't notice you. So I stood real still, clenching my fists and even holding my breath. My tactic seemed to be working, until my treacherous mother chided me for standing like a statue in the middle of the kitchen and made me sit down across from Goliath. I didn't touch the sandwiches she offered me, still staring down at the table. My new line of reasoning was that he must be a Enderman, and if I looked at his face he'd teleport behind me and knock me silly. Oh mother, why would you do this to me?