The Box in the Spare Room Blurb
Kevin, a sixth grader, has move to a new house with his mother. He hates it, he really hates moving here. When his mother calls him to move a box upstairs and unpack his belongings in his new room, Kevin grudgingly agree to do it. Seeing that his room needs amble amount of work, Kevin escapes to a spare room in the house. He locks himself inside, thinking he would escape into a place of relaxation. However, a lone cardboard box would change Kevin's idyllic plans...
Genre: YA Supernatural horror/ Psychological horror
Kevin hates his new home. He hates it with a passion. His eyes peer at the house as his heavy heart pumps with pure hatred of it. Outside, specifically in the backyard, Kevin sits on a swing plank with thick foliage that shades his entire body. On the plank, he rocks leisurely. The undersides of his basketball shoes scuff against the tips of the freshly-trimmed lawn. The tame sunrays rub on Kevin’s black skin without making him break a sweat. His eyes return to the left page of his beloved graphic novel; the brawny superhero is drowning in a black quicksand whereas his arch nemesis stands at a safe distance, laughing. Kevin’s mind, however, doesn’t register the image because he is still thinking, thinking of how much he hates being here.
He already misses his old neighborhood (specifically Mrs. Tillman’s bizarre whirligigs that rule her front yard), his friends, and even Mimi, Mr. Marley’s noisy pit-bull terrier. He would miss his middle school as well and his favorite sixth grade teacher Mr. Armstrong.
He looks away from his graphic novel and scans farther down the yard. Fences surround the nice backyard. Kevin knows his mother likes such a space. She probably had a vegetable garden in mind when she’d decided to purchase this house. Kevin sighs. He wonders if anyone around his age lives in this neighborhood. He wonders if they would accept him immediately or if fitting in would require some effort. He already feels out of place here.
“Kevin!” a distant voice calls from inside the house, evidently his mother. Kevin looks up at the sound’s direction and sees that he left the back door partly open.
He refuses to answer his mother as he keeps reading.
He rolls his eyes with irritation, not answering.
“Kevin!” the voice, this time, sounds so commanding that Kevin has no choice but to answer.
“You bring your scrawny behind right into this house!” his mother shouts with such intensity. It sounds like she means business. Kevin shuts his graphic novel and lazily gets up from the swing. He plods his way toward the house, his unwelcome dwelling.
In the kitchen, his mother is busy unloading boxes of canned goods from the countertop. Besides the items are a coffee carafe, cutting board, a set of canister, and a pie tin. A feather duster teeters at the corner of the counter. Various shaped boxes are scattered in the kitchen from the white-tiled floor to the table, and finally the countertops. Looking at one of the top glass-fronted cabinets, Kevin could see that his mother had already put the flute glasses amongst the various other wine glasses, flowery-rimmed plates, and matching saucers and cups inside.
His footsteps alert her as she turns to face him.
“I need you to put that box in the study room upstairs.” His mother points at it while searching for something in the box in front of her. With an annoyed face, Kevin heads toward the box that is near the refrigerator. He notices that his mother had already placed her praise dancer magnets that held his perfect score on his essay paper. Rather than smiling at this in remembrance, Kevin thinks now that he is new in town, having to deal with making friends may affect his current good grade. It did in the past when he first moved into their former neighborhood three years ago. Kevin’s eyes avoid the paper and spot three keys that are bond to a ring on the counter nearby.
He senses that his mother would probably give him more tasks today, so he knows what to do. Kevin rushes over and grabs the ring of keys. Swiftly, he stuffs it in his back pocket. He then goes back to the box, and put his graphic novel on top of it. He then lowers his body and hoists the box labeled books with his might. It is not as heavy as he thought. He wraps his arms around the box.
“Oh don’t forget to unpack the boxes in your room as well,” Kevin’s mother says without facing him.
“Don’t forget to unpack the boxes in your room,” Kevin’s voice whispery mimics his mother in a comical fashion.
“Excuse me?” Kevin’s mother turns to face him.
“Nothing,” Kevin replies aloud. His mother flashes a stern look, but she returns to her task. Kevin quickly jets out before his mother changes her mind. He crosses the foyer that has more scattered boxes. Just before he takes the first step on the staircase, he glances at the foyer’s clock on the wall. The piano man decorative clock reads 5:22 p.m.
“…I forgot to write that Galatians verse down.” Kevin overhears his mother’s voice from the kitchen. Ignoring it, he climbs up the stairs with the box. At the head of the stairs, he strolls toward the hallway and arrives at the study room, the second room to his left. He enters inside and drops the box with a hard thud. He then picks up his graphic novel and exits the room. His mind lingers over the infinite amount of boxes left in his bedroom as he heads there. When he arrives, he stops short of the doorway. His eyes wander at the piles upon piles of boxes that suffocate his room.
Mission: impossible, Kevin mutters to himself. He did not feel like unloading them, definitely not now. He decides to avoid this task by any means necessary, and that is when he recalls the ring of keys in his pocket. Smirking, he dashes away, zooms through the hallway until he pauses at the last room to his right. He twists and pushes the doorknob and then steps right into the spare room.
Closing the door quietly, he brings out the keys and tries to lock it. The first key did not work. By chance the second key locks the door. He smiles mischievously. He is not going to open the door, even if his mother screams her head off for him to do so. He mentally crowns himself the king of this room, and it feels good.
He then surveys the room, his quiet oasis. At the right wall is a lone window, midway open as it let in the lukewarm sunrays and gentle breeze inside. The walls are bare, nothing hangs on them. Somewhat at the floor’s center were big plastic containers stacked up in twos. Kevin counts six in total. A solitude box, however, stood a bit away from the pack of the plastic containers. The only furnishing in the otherwise somewhat empty room is an ancient-looking, ladder-back chair, which stands at the left corner. It appears out of place, or at least in Kevin’s opinion.
With his graphic novel beneath his armpit, Kevin goes to the chair and drags it near to the window. He sits on it, leaves through the page he was on and begins reading it. His eyes indulge the visual already, escaping into the realm of comic hero and villain. After finishing reading his sixth page, he decides to take a break. Kevin sits up and places the graphic novel on the seat. He scans around the room, wondering what he could do, and in a few seconds, he decides to explore inside the plastic containers.
Thank you for taking your time to read the excerpt of THE BOX IN THE SPARE ROOM. I hope you get your copy to continue your reading experience.