It was not until Brooklynn cracked open that window a second time that we realized that darkness plagued our town. The sky was dark blue like always. The blackness hid the ground and the tall trees. The deep woods were quiet. This would not have bothered me again if not for the queasy feeling in my stomach.

After Brooklynn and I waved goodbye, I relaxed on the living room couch. I needed to do something to get my mind off the craziness that occurred. Brooklynn's plan. The slime. The lightning that did not descend from the sky and nearly killed us. I had a splitting headache just from thinking of all this. My heart was beating rapidly. I was so hot that I was sticky. I do not think that it was because it was hot in the house. But why was it hot?

I was slouching with my legs outstretched. "Mom!"

I waited for her response, but it never came. She might not have heard me.

"Dad!"

No response from him either.

I yelled even louder. "Mom! Dad! Where are you?"

Since that I began creating the new slime, it had grown awfully quiet in here. I scooted to the end of said couch and draped both arms over the couch's. When I leaned over, I let my eyes wander. I do not know why I did not look for my folks. You cannot see much from here. The back of the couch faces the doorway. I saw just the hall that stopped right at the stairs and a bit of the kitchen. No Mom or Dad. I was too hot and too tired to stand, I guess. I gave them one last chance.

Hope that they are fine. Hope that they were not killed by the strange lightning.

"Mom! Dad! What are you doing?"

I pressed my lips together and listened for either voice. Surely, they must have heard me. They might not have understood what I was exclaiming, but they must have heard my voice. It echoed through the house.

I turned my body back to the living room and slammed my feet on the carpet. I was going to force myself to get up when I heard a sound that would have melted me if humans could melt.

"Serenity."

I leaned back over. Dad was coming down the hall with a big wrench in his hand. He had begun a latest project or was fixing a sink for a thousandth time. Those pipes under all our sinks have more trouble than the average pipe. Every other day, one or more pipes are clogged to the point that they will explode or have a tiny hole that forces Dad to make a trip to the local hardware store to purchase new pipes. Thankfully, the small holes do not appear often. But when they do, Dad gets ticked.

Mom tries convincing him to contact a plumber. There could be a root cause to why the pipes do not last. Does Dad listen? No. He would rather fix them than have an expert check them. You can probably say that he might be pretty stubborn sometimes. But Mom is correct. We must get a plumber out here.

"Dad," I said. "Do not tell me that the pesky pipes were acting up. You fixed one yesterday. You have today off. If you would just call—"

Dad slammed his wrench on the small table next to the television. His face was bright red. "Stupid pipes!"

I had never seen him this angry about them. "So...what was wrong with them this time?"

"I will be right back, Serenity. I have to grab something to drink. I am parched."

My throat became dry when he stated that. "As am I." I forced myself to my feet. "I will join you in the kitchen. You can tell me about the pipes."

As I followed him, I saw something on his left hand. At first, I thought that it was gunk from the pipes. Mud. It dripped off his fingers and splattered to the floor. But I realized that it was not mud when I looked closely at it. It was a mix of red and purple.

Where have I seen this red-and-purple gunk before? It then hit me. My slime. My red-and-purple slime!

"How did you get that gunk on your hand?"

We entered the kitchen.

Dad stood in front of the counter and brought his hand to his face, letting the ooze fall to the clean counter. He then teared off a paper towel and wiped off the gunk. It clung to the towel.

Was it growing on the towel?

He crumpled the paper towel into a ball and threw it in the trash. "Where do you think that it came from?"

"Uh...my room?"

"Your room?" He teared off another towel and rested it by the kitchen sink. "There is no sink in there."

"Huh?"

He moved to the sink and washed his hands. "That was what was in the pipes in your bathroom sink."

My heart skipped a beat. I was more confused and a bit concerned. "Purple-and-red ooze clogged the pipes?"

"Mmm-hmm." He switched off the faucet and dried his hands with the paper towel. Like he did with the other, he crumpled it in a ball and chucked it. "It was absurd. Worse than all the other times that I unclogged them." He opened a cabinet door and grabbed two glasses. "It is a mess in your bathroom, so use the other tonight."

I was playing with my fingers. My worry instantly grew to fear. I had to see the bathroom for myself. "I want to see it, Dad. Please."

He did not ponder my question. "Sure, but do not go in or touch the gunk."

"I will not."

I walked out of the kitchen and scrambled upstairs. My bathroom door was shut. I pushed it open - and almost fainted.