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William Lancer gets out of his car, looking up the long steep steps to his Aunt’s house.
Or.
Well.
His house now.
Since she died, and left him the deed to the house.
And property.
And everything therein.
The house, an old Edwardian two-storey, sat quaintly under a mass of flowering vines. A low stone wall wrapped along the front of the property with a carved wooden gate at the base of the steps.
William considered having railing put in, along the steps, as he walked through said gate.
Maybe if he kept it, it would probably lower the value of the property if he tried to sell it. He should consult a realtor.
Well.
One thing at a time.
He pauses, halfway up the steps, wheezing for air.
How in the world did his 104 year old aunt make it up and down these steps everyday?
Screw property values, he was having a railing installed. This was just ridiculous.
Longer than he would care to admit, William finally made it up the steps to the front door.
And realizes he left the key for the front door in his car.
Crime and Punishment , he has to do this all over again?!
If he bangs his head on the door, there's no one to see it.
With a sigh of the aggrieved, he treks back down, gets the keys and water bottle, and begins the long climb.
Thankfully, the key works smoothly and the door opens silently.
Inside, the space has a cool but oppressive presence. Heavy drapes covered the windows, casting the space into darkness. Even still, it was positively filled with furniture covered in doshings and tchotchkes. Highly ornamental designs on the walls were covered by an impressive amount of portraits and paintings.
Maneuvering carefully, William begins the arduous task of opening the drapes and cataloging the rooms.
A large foyer, a very busy front room, a sophisticated dining room, an absolutely stunning kitchen, and a sun room filled with plants and painting supplies.
He stands and admires the half finished painting of a bird taking flight on the large canvas.
It's.
Breathtaking.
Something about it unlocks something of a memory of visiting when he was much younger.
A child in his youth.
Of hiding in this very sunroom, to watch the sunlight turn into rainbows as it passed through the hanging crystals.
Surprisingly, they were no longer strung along the windows.
His chest clenches at the missing element of his childhood.
Building in the back of his throat.
Swallowing down the sob, William turns out of the room and trips over the door still.
He falls, hard, landing on his shoulder.
"Death of Heart," he mutters, easing off the shoulder to sit up. Glaring at the small raise that is the threshold, he tenderly rubs his aching shoulder.
Groaning, he pushes himself to his feet. It takes a bit to work his way back to the kitchen, but thankfully the power was never shut off and that the fridge has ice. Using a far too colorful tea towel, he makes a bundle of ice.
Settling at the kitchen island, William presses the ice against his shoulder. He winces as it hurts from the pressure.
Well, the door frames will need to be adjusted.
Something falls in the room over making him jump. The tea towel slips, opening up enough for the ice to fall and splatter across the floor.
"Wuthering Heights!" William exclaims, getting to his feet, "Is anyone there?"
Predictably, no one answers.
It takes a moment to get his heart rate back under control. And then he begins the painful task of cleaning up the spilled ice. The hardwood looks too nice to risk water damage.
Besides, it's just good habits to keep.
Satisfied, William heads to the next room and looks around.
Nothing stands out.
Not that he knew enough of the space to know what's different.
Carefully, he maneuvers past the open secretary and the oversized embroidered chair towards the couch on the opposite end.
How in the world did she get around everything?
It was immaculately clean, if over cluttered.
She couldn't have kept up with this on her own.
Ah, a frame had fallen off the side table.
He picks up the frame, turning it over in his hands. The glass shift, cracked from the fall.
A photo of a man in overalls holding a little girl smiles up at him.
Something about him looks familiar.
William takes a seat to gently open up the frame to remove the photo. No sense in leaving it to get further damaged in the broken frame.
On the back of the faded photo, a single date scrawled in age faded ink. Free of the broken glass, the image of the man felt more familiar but he couldn't put a finger on why.
With a sigh, he stands and maneuvers back into the kitchen to throw out the glass and frame. He leaves the photo on the island and makes his way up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs is a small round table.
With a lamp.
The body of which was a sculpted leg wearing fishnets and a black pump.
William blinks at it.
He rubs his eyes.
No.
The scantily dressed leg lamp continues to sit there.
"Great Expectations, Aunt Bridgie, why do you have that?" He asks the empty house.
"Mrraow."
William jumps at the sound, stumbling sideways into a wall, knocking several things down.
The lamp wobbles precariously as a particularly heavy frame falls into the table.
He lunges forward to grab the lamp from falling, catching it in a hug.
"Mrro?"
He looks down.
At the top of the steps is a gray and black striped cat.
"Ah, hello."
The cat stares at him.
"Ah," he stands a little and feels the chord of the lamp tug.
"Right."
He sets the leg lamp carefully back in its place.
The cat blinks at him and wanders down the hall.
He watches for a moment before turning to the fallen frames. Most of which are paintings of people he vaguely recalls being related to. There are some black and white photographs as well. He takes care to right them and set them carefully to the side.
Continuing his journey through the floor, he finds his Aunt’s room, a room of dresses and costumes, a small side room with varying sewing machines and a veritable wall of fabric, the guest room, and a study.
In the study, he finds a bookshelf of photo albums, several cardboard boxes, and cloth covering something on the desk.
He walks over to the desk to see what’s under the cloth first.
Hand touching it as he kicks the corner of one box.
“Beware! I am the-”
William grabs the thing, the cloth falling, as he spins around, whacking the Box Ghost in the face.
The thing in his hand starts wiggling, and in the most horrifying mechanical voice begins to sing.
Are ya ready, kids?
Aye, aye, Captain!
“Aw, why did you do that?” Boxy whines, rubbing his cheek.
I can’t hear you!
“ Age of Innocence! You scared me!” William puts a hand to his chest as the, apparent, fish in his hand continues to sing and wiggle.
Aye, Aye Captain!
“But you hit me! With a strange singing replica of a fish!” he glares at the thing still wiggling in William’s hand.
Ooooooh!
Who lives in a-
“Now hold on, let me turn this off,” William holds a hand up, brandishing the fish to look at it properly.
“EEP!” Boxy squeaks, darting across the room.
William doesn’t resist rolling his eyes as he smashes the button on the plaque under the wiggling fish.
Absorbent and yellow and pou-
…
“Oh thank-”
Baby Shark, doo-doo, doo-doo
“Oh no.”
Baby Shark, doo-doo, doo-doo
“Make it stop!” Boxy wails, somewhat too close for William’s comfort. The cold chill of the ghost’s presence running up his spine.
He spins, swinging his arm again, whacking Boxy in the face again.
“Owwww! Why do you continue to torment me, so?” Boxy wails.
Cat!
I’m a kitty cat!
And I dance dance dance
“Why did you sneak up on me?” William half shouts, exasperated.
And I dance dance dance
Cat!
I’m a kitty cat!
“I thought you had bested the horrid fish!”
And I dance dance dance
And I dance dance dance
“Obviously I didn’t!”
Cat!
“Make it stop!”
I’m a kitty cat!
“I’m trying!” He continues smashing the buttons to no avail.
And I dance dance dance
And I dance dance dance
“Mraow!”
“Midnight’s Children!” William startles again, tripping over a box.
Boxy attempts to catch him but ends up with a face full of singing fish.
Ring ding ding daa baa
William lands ass over kettle, feet straight up in the air.
Baa aramba baa bom baa barooumba
“Evil mechanical fish!” Boxy screams, flailing and knocking the fish into the air.
Wh-wha-what's going on-on?
William pushes himself somewhat upright, rubbing the back of his head. The singing bass embeds itself into the box between his legs. The voice of the fish cuts out with a mechanical grating noise of a dying battery.
William blinks at it.
The dead plastic eye stares back.
“Did it stop?” Boxy asks in a small voice, floating near the floor to be eye level with William.
“Boxy, I swear, if you do not give me some space, I will purposefully hit you with it.”
“Aww,” Boxy pouts, drifting away and scooping up the cat. “Isn’t it, like, the opposite of what teachers do?”
“I will have you know, my teachers used wooden rulers to hit disobedient children,” he says, easing to his feet.
“I don’t like that.”
“Hm,” he doesn’t say anything more as he walks away from the fish and box.
It takes him a moment, studying where the Box Ghost floats holding the cat carefully in his arms.
“Why are you here, Boxy?”
“Wuh?”
“Why are you here, in my Aunt’s home?”
“Oh, this was my house, I think?” Boxy glances around the room.
William blinks.
No.
“Wait…” Boxy turns around slowly. “You said Aunt…”
“This cannot be happening,” he unfortunately recognizes the face now.
Matches the overalls.
The way he holds the small cat.
“Are you…my grandson?”