The Cider House Rules Novels & Stories

“These are the rules, Rule one: You are subjected to me whether you like it or not because you owe me. Rule 2: You should be awake very early to serve breakfast. Rule 3: You are not permitted to leave this house under any circumstances. Rule 4: You address me properly as Sir Marcello. Rule 5: Henceforth, you are to attend to me; serve my meals, answer even if it's not convenient. My eyes narrowed, my ears were getting full from the rules, yet he still went on. Rule 6: You will not talk back or question my orders Rule7: Disobedience will have consequences and I will decide what those are. “Do you understand?” He asked, authoritatively. I sniffled back the anger that was growing in my chest. H

“Classic Mom.” “You’re twenty, Ivy,” she said tightly. “You’re not cute. You’re not interesting. You’re a liability.” “Wow,” I said. “Touching.” “If you want to stay in this house, there will be rules.” “Oh, I can’t wait.” Her eyes sharpened. “Don’t bring boys here. Don’t sneak out. No parties. No mess. No drama.” “So I should probably stop talking to you?” “I swear to God—” “I’m joking,” I said, tossing my keys into the glass bowl on the console. “Mostly.”

No more rules. Just us.

Her hands left the kind of neatness that felt like attendance, an evidence of ownership. I learned the rules without instruction. Some were obvious, shoes removed at the gate, praise reserved for elders, but others were smaller, and their weight surprised me. Dishes were to be rinsed the moment a plate left a mouth; towels never dried on the bed; visitors who came after dusk must be greeted in the living room, never the courtyard. Each tiny decree looked harmless until I layered one upon the other until I could feel pressure building in the seams of my day.

Ready to be defiant. “Rules? How cute. What is this? Mafia boarding school” A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. “Rule one” he said, ignoring my sarcasm. “You will not leave this house without permission” I snorted. “and if I do?” “Then I will come looking” His eyes darkening. “And trust me, you’d much rather I didn’t” “Rule number two” he continued “You cannot speak to the staff about me. About this house or about anything that doesn’t concern you”

“How about apple cider instead?” I might be the first person to drink apple cider at a bar. It was so sour that it felt like it was burning my insides. The music was loud, and the colorful lights made everyone look like they were in a weird dream. Sophie shouted over the noise, “Cassia, I’m throwing you a huge party! I’ll invite all our friends and make it even bigger than your wedding!” I relaxed on the couch and sipped on my apple cider. I allowed her to do whatever she wanted.

As long as she focused and listened to my thoughts, she would get the exact score. Then she would crush me in public and secure the Foster inheritance. She slowly closed her eyes and gathered her attention. In the dead silence that followed, Sophie began to hum again, completely out of control. "Darling, hold my hand... "Jet 2 holiday... save 50 pounds per person..." For one instant, the entire venue froze. The crowd before the Harborfront screens froze too. Then the live-stream detonated. [Help! She's doing it again! Classic jet 2 holiday returns!]

Willow I got that godforsaken video taken down. Bullshit IT guys pretend they know how to do something, then they can’t figure out a password reset to get into THEIR WEBSITE? It’s fine. I’m going to murder Devereux when I see him, though. Fair warning. We’re setting some hard rules next time we get drunk in public. Number one: no Jack. No boys. NO DICKS. I chuckle. Those are good rules. Willow Number two: No boys. Wait, I said that already. But I really mean it.

He ordered. I don’t know who died and made him the boss of me? What gave him the right to order me around? It made me furious, but again, I shouldn’t be surprised. Cain Cadell was known to treat witches like servants, and when they didn’t do his beddings, he killed them. Usually, in the most gruesome ways ever. I just want this night to be over with. I thought to myself, then said, “Just bring a shovel.” He gave me a Cheshire grin and nodded his head. The car ride was engulfed in a tense silence. He gave me a side glance, as we neared the cemetery, “How long have you lived in Midwick?” He asked out of the blue.