A/N: Here I am, with a new story! My tenth! WOOHOO!

P.S. I didn't invent the Borrowers, just the Borrower and Bean OCs. (Haha, Chick-Fil-A joke!)

A Small New Dig

Chapter 1

Perhaps you've noticed by now that sometimes things go missing. I'm not talking about your keys or your phone or other things like that, I'm talking about less noticeable things. Such examples would be like a paper clip you were going to hold some files with, a cracker that just fell under the couch, a pushpin from a bulletin board, a small cube of sugar from the sugar bowl, or even the remnants of a soap bar. Some of these things you never end up finding, but others do turn up in the places you would least expect, or sometimes exactly where you left them last.

Strange as it may sound, these items do not disappear. Rather, they are borrowed by someone else; a kind of person you never knew could exist. They live in your home, right under your nose, but you don't even know it. They are all around, and yet, they are never found. But that is how they want it to be. That is the way of the Borrowers: never let yourself be seen at all costs. If they were seen by us humans, then their lives would be in great danger. Think that this sounds completely outlandish? Then listen to my tale of the day that I met one of these people. That was a day that has changed my life forever.

[===]

I sighed heavily as I took out the last box from my station wagon and laid it next to the door of my new home. My grandmother had recently gone to her new heavenly home, and she had no more use of her simple yet spacious house in the suburbs of my home city. My parents had chipped in a little so that I could have some new appliances and furniture in my new home, which was conveniently located close to my university, from which I would soon be graduating with a degree in business education as well as a major in English.

"Just keep up my grades and I'm good for keeping my scholarship," I sighed to myself. "No pressure."

My family wasn't especially rich, but we weren't completely poor either. Thanks to my grades in high school, which my father and mother were both very proud of, I was able to apply for a high paying scholarship and get into a good college. This house, however, was of more sentimental value to me and to my family. This was not only my grandmother's house; it was also the home that my older brother and I grew up in.

My name is Scarlett Penn, and I've recently turned 18. My family consists of my mother, Audrey, my father, Robert, and my 23 year old brother, William. Before you say anything, he is in fact a history nut because he shares the name of the famous Quaker William Penn. None of us is sure if we're descended from him or not, but it would explain our deeply rooted English background, and the fact that we speak with an English accent even though our family has all been born in America since my great-grandfather.

Family matters aside, I unlocked and opened the door to the house, took a few boxes from the pile, and took them inside. I placed them in my new bedroom and went outside for the rest. As I did, I noticed a large blue moving truck drive up to the house and park on the curb. Smiling, I went up to the truck as men came from the truck and opened the rear door. More men emerged, and they all began taking large boxes out from the inside of the truck, placing them on dollies, and wheeling them towards the house. Two of the boxes were kind of large, one was very tall, and another was very wide.

"Be extremely careful with those wares, boys," the man in charge said to the workers. "They are very, very expensive, and it may come out of your check if any of it is damaged."

"I don't think you don't need to go that far, sir," I said as I approached him.

"True, but I was only making a point," he replied. "It's part of our policy to replace damaged wares, if they were damaged in the moving or in the handling."

"Well, thank you anyway," I said.

"My pleasure, ma'am," he smiled back, giving a two fingered salute.

I went back to my pile of boxes, picked up two more large ones, and took them inside. By the time I had finished with my boxes, the movers had finished loading, and had set up my new dishwasher, washing machine, clothes dryer, couch, and refrigerator. I signed their company's delivery contract, thanked the men deeply, and shut myself inside of my home to unpack my belongings.

I kept most of the furniture that was already in the house because they were very well made and they held a lot of sentimental value to me since they belonged to my grandmother. In a moment, I had set up everything in my bedroom, including my new sheets, and my book collection. Fantasy, mystery, horror, romance, science fiction, I had it all on my shelf. I took another look at my bookshelf, and noticed that there was something that I had not noticed before. On the side of the bookcase, there were tiny, almost undetectable indents. The part about that which was exceptionally bizarre was that they were arranged in a pattern which was almost like almost like they were made for climbing a rock wall.

"That's strange," I said to myself, but I shook it off as I took out my iPod from my purse and plugged my earbuds into it, cycling to a classical playlist as I dozed off on my new bed for a moment.

[===]

The loud sounds above my head did little to break my concentration as I read the words of a book that were displayed on an electronic device, which was as tall as me. It was one of those machines that the beans called it an iPod, but it was different from others, since it had a screen which reacted to touch. Thankfully, it was sensitive enough to react to my touch, though I had to be rather firm when using it. My Aunt Josephina borrowed it from a trash can nearby his house, which was on the other side of the city. It surprised me on why the beans would throw away a perfectly good piece of technology like this, until I realized that the battery was broken. My uncle was able to fix it for my birthday, however, and I was very thankful to him for it. I had always wanted to read, and I found the device to be full of books from classic human literature.

My name is Connor Westinghouse, and I am a Borrower. My father, Henry, and I have lived in this house for as long as I can remember. According to my parents, I was born in this house's very walls. I've been here for all of the twenty years of my life, and I couldn't imagine any life beyond it. My mother's relatives occasionally visited, and I was always happy when they did. Aunt Josephina would always show off her new and exquisite borrowings, but not as flashily or as flamboyantly as Aunt Helga would. Uncle Seth was always tinkering with human devices, and was always quick to fix our broken devices that we had built or borrowed.

Suddenly, as I was reminiscing on these thoughts, my father burst through the front door of our home. I quickly switched off the device and ran from my room. When I got to the living room, I looked at my father. He looked like he was doubled over in exhaustion, probably from running too much, which did not suit him in his old age. However, he was not panting heavily. In fact, he looked like he had just seen a ghost. He regained his composure and sat down on my bed.

"What's wrong, dad?" I asked him, sitting down in a chair to face him.

"There's a new human bean in the house," he said gravely. "To be fair, it's an old new bean."

"What do you mean, Dad?" I asked, curiously. I was very well aware of the threat these gigantic beings posed to us Borrowers, but I couldn't help but be confused by his words.

"The old woman's granddaughter had grown up," he replied, "and since her grandmother has passed away, she now owns this house."

"Is that good or bad?" I asked. Even though I was grown up and well versed in our ways, I was still unsure of the ways of these human beans.

"It is neither good nor bad for now," he answered. "It just means that we need to be more careful. Also, I don't want you going borrowing until after nightfall."

"Back to the old grind, then," I grinned, flexing my arms.

"I'll also be out of the house for a week starting early tomorrow morning, before sunrise," he said.

"What?" I gasped. "Why?"

"Your grandmother is sick," he replied. "I've acquired the medicine that she needs, but I need to deliver it quickly. I'll also have to be by her side for a while, so you're going to be on your own for a while. You'll need to stay in the house while I'm gone and do not go out on borrowing until I've returned."

"Why not?" I protested. "I'm old enough to do my own borrowing!"

"You're still young and inexperienced," he said sternly, "especially when it comes to dealing with human beans. I know much more about dealing with those… creatures than you do."

"But I'm stealthy enough!" I insisted. "I'm more than prepared for dealing with those human beans!"

"But you're not experienced enough with this kind of risky borrowing," he retorted.

"It's just one bean!" I shouted. "It's been just that one old bean in this house for ten years! Even though she's gone, it's still just that one girl! And I bet she's younger than me!"

"Just barely!" he replied, his own tone rising in anger. "Did I dare to venture out too much when she and her brother lived here?"

"Uh," I started, not liking where this was going.

"NO!" he yelled. "And I will not have you endangering our home for the sake of your nonsensical ideas and your misplaced curiosity! As the beans often say, 'curiosity killed the cat', or in this case, killed the Borrower. You know that those… monsters will not hesitate to do harm to any Borrower that they see."

I had a fearful look in my eye as he said this, and my father, upon noticing it, softened his tone.

"I'm sorry for the outburst, son," he said. "I'm only concerned for your safety. And… I don't want what happened to your mother to happen to you."

"I know, dad," I said, grimacing at the memory. "I'm sorry for being so stupid myself."

"It's all right," he said. "You be good and take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will, dad," I said, hugging him as I spoke. He wrapped his strong arms around me, and held me tight.

"You are all that I've got left here, son," he said with a quivering voice. "I love you with all my heart and I want the very best for you."

"I love you too, dad," I said.

After a while, we broke away from our embrace and I went into the kitchen. "How about I fix us up some dinner, just like Mom taught me?"

"That sounds great," he said, smiling. "That will suit me well physically and mentally before I start out on the road."

I smiled and headed to the cupboards to get our cooking utensils. Mom had borrowed them from a dollhouse before I was born, and they were very well kept. She said that the house was not used, and was sold a few days after she had borrowed the utensils, along with most of the furniture. Dad said that he initially protested, but when no beans were aware of this, he was okay with it. He now treasures the furniture as some of his most prized possessions.

When I was ten, my mother had been seen by the son of the old woman who had lived here. The day after she broke the news to me and my father, she had utterly vanished from her bed. Not a trace of her was found throughout our house or in the outside world. My father feared the worst, but I held to a feeble hope that she was somewhere out there, still alive, but I feared that she was all alone. I miss her every day, and so does my dad.

That day is half of the reason he hates beans so much. The other reason is more tragic on his behalf. His father was seen by a young man of a bean. He said to me and my mom that the day he learned of that was the worst day of his life, because when they moved away, they were attacked by the family's new cat. While he managed to save Dad and Grandma Westinghouse, he was eaten alive by the large ginger beast. That's the main reason why I hate cats. I lost my grandfather before I even met him. But that is the dangers that every Borrower must face every day.

I was brooding on these thoughts as I brewed some soup, but I shook them off as I stirred the vegetable bits into the broth, adding a few cracker crumbs every few seconds.

"How early are you leaving tomorrow," I asked from the kitchen.

"Before about 5:00 AM, by human timing," he replied.

"When do you think that you will be back?" I asked, unsure if I was going to like the answer.

"It may be a week or more," he said, "depending on her condition."

"I'll wait for you no matter how long," I said, "but I'll miss you terribly."

"So will I, son," he said softly and sadly. "So will I."

I then took two large plastic bowls from a cabinet, scooped some soup into each one, and sat down at the table across from my dad. We smiled, bowed our heads, and then began eating the soup.

"Just how Audrey used to do it," Dad smiled. "You've learned well, my boy."

"I had the best cooking teacher a guy could have," I smiled back, and continued eating.

[===]

After what seemed like a few minutes of listening to my music, when it was actually two hours, I opened my eyes and looked out of the window to find that the sun was setting.

"Huh," I said. "It's a lot later than I thought it was." I then looked to my desk. "I'd better get my gear set up before it gets too late."

I got out of my bed, picked one of my boxes off of the floor, and then set it on my bed. I opened it, took out my desktop computer, and then took out all of the other things that I had to work with it: wireless speakers, a wireless keyboard, a wireless mouse, my wireless internet router, and a widescreen LCD monitor with a built in webcam in the top bar. After fumbling around with peeling the statically charged packing materials from the components, undoing the rubber bands, and untangling the electric cords, I cleared off my desk so that I had enough room to set up the whole system on there. Once I did so, I turned on my computer and started writing.

Writing is and has always been a hobby of mine, ever since I was just a little girl. My father's mother was a retired English teacher, and she had taught me all that I knew about English growing up. My family didn't have a lot of money back then, so my parents schooled me until I was able to get a high school scholarship when I won the city spelling bee when I was thirteen. I had always loved reading books, and I wanted to become a writer myself one day. I won't say that I want to be famous, but I'd like to have some people read my books, if I ever made anything worth publishing.

This brings me to a problem with me and these kinds of long term projects. I'd always start out feeling good and ready to tackle anything, but as the road got longer and harder, I'd almost always give up or come close to it. But when I won the spelling bee, that's when I vowed to always persevere and keep on aiming for higher goals.

As I pondered these thoughts and memories, I looked at my computer screen and had realized that I had just written a full thousand words in under a half hour.

"That should show the power of a creative and determined mind," I said to myself.

As I said this, my stomach growled loudly. I then looked at the clock, noticed the time, and realized the reason for this.

"Good grief, it's already 8 PM? No wonder my stomach's restless now." I then went into the kitchen, and looked at the cabinets. "I don't feel like doing anything major, so I guess I'll just have the usual." I pulled out a cup of instant ramen noodles, turned on my electric kettle, and waited about a few minutes before the steel machine started rumbling and hissing. I then peeled back the wrapper for the noodles cup, opened the lid, and poured some of the hot water into the cup, closing the lid. I waited another two minutes, stirred the ramen, and dug into the chicken flavored goodness with my plastic chopsticks.

After I finished my dinner, I threw away the cup, washed the chopsticks, and washed myself in the new bathroom. I then went into my bedroom, put on my pajamas, and crawled into my comfy new bed, sighing contentedly. Today was a good day, and I couldn't wait until tomorrow. I had no idea why, but I felt that something really important was going to happen, and it was going to change my life forever.

[===]

That night, I lay in my bed, but nowhere close to falling asleep. I had been tossing and turning for about thirty minutes, trying to process all of what was happening. On one hand, I had the house all to myself, along with all of the borrowings I could find in it. On the other hand, my dad was going to be gone for a long, undetermined amount of time, leaving me with a bean that I had to avoid every day in my early childhood. I was very confused, and though I wouldn't admit it to my father, I was very scared.

I then looked at my mirror, and I saw a picture of my mother. It was one that I had taken with a human's digital camera, and Uncle Seth was kind enough to have it printed out. I smiled at it, and the memories of my mother putting me to sleep came back to me as vivid as if it had happened last night. She would always tell me stories and sing to me, and I imagined she was doing that now. After a while, I smiled and sighed contentedly, and fell fast asleep.

A/N: I posted this, along with all of my stories, on deviantART, if you prefer to read them there while browsing my art collection.

This is a sweet and sour start, no? I hope you enjoy it until the end!

UPDATE: 6/18/2013 - I made this a little longer since I started Chapter 2 with something that I thought should have been in this, and here it is. I kept it within the switching POVs, and I'm working hard on Chapter 2 as I type this.

-JeremyX signing off!