Chapter 1: The Day a House Fell on My Head 1 The Day a House Fell on My Head The first time it happened, it happened like this. I sat on a chair in the middle of the woods, and a house fell on my head. In case you were wondering, the house did not actually hit me on the head. I'm pretty sure I'd be dead if that happened. It was more like when my mom tossed a sheet fresh from the dryer over me while I was reading, and all of a sudden I was sitting inside a warm, white tent. When the house fell on me, it was kind of like that. One second I was sitting on a chair in the middle of the woods, and the next second I was inside a room with dingy white walls and dinged-up hardwood floors. I looked up and saw the sky, but a second later a crumbly plaster ceiling took the sky's place. After that, two other rooms popped up: first a kitchen to the left of me with a sink and a stove and a refrigerator, and then a big room in front of me with a wood stove and a window. The rooms had an old-timey musty, dusty feel to them. A rusty streak ran like a dried-up river down the white sink, and the stove only had a few knobs, like maybe you could use it to boil water or bake some cookies, but that was it. The front room had a creaky-looking floor with spaces between the boards. Splotchy wallpaper with tiny pink roses covered the walls. Each room made a small whoosh when it appeared, like those little tents that pop into shape as soon as you pull them out of their bags. My head was whooshing too, my eyes going here and there, darting up and down, left to right, my brain going, What the heck? What in the heckity heck? Looking through the window, I could see exactly the same thing I'd seen a few seconds before. I was still in the woods, only now I was inside a small house. I'd been obsessed with fairy tales as a little kid, and I'd always liked the idea of finding an old house in the woods. But finding a house is different than having one fall on your head. For one thing a house falling on your head is much, much scarier. Your heart turns into a frog trying to leap out of your chest, and you want to scream, but there's a stop sign in your throat that won't let any noise out. At least that's how it was for me. My first thought when the house fell on my head: What if I can never get out again? My second thought: What if a dead person lives here? My third thought: Get the heck out of here! A nanosecond later I was through the front room and out the door, heading for the trees. Every single one of my cells, from my hair follicles to my toenails, was moving fast. Who knew what was behind me! It could be zombies! Monsters! Bears! It was the stupid idea that a bear was behind me that made me stop. I could believe there were zombies and monsters in these woods, maybe even coming out of the house behind me. But bears? I slowed down, then stopped and put my hands on my knees, my breaths coming out huuh, huuh, huuh. There were no bears here. There were no bears for two hundred miles in any direction. I was almost 100 percent positive this was true. Still, I peeked behind me just to make sure. Nope. No zombies, no monsters, no bears. The house was still there, though. And then two seconds later? It disappeared. Excerpted from Then a House Fell on Her Head ... by Frances O'Roark Dowell All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
