Chapter Text
I sit alone in m y locke d room, dr e aming of wh a t the worl d outside the door looked like. Was i t really as m agical as all of my books say? The only things that I coul d s e e from outside were the things th a t Kir brought me; several flowers, stones, various kin d s of food, and of course all of my 27 books and textbooks. I’ve poured over all of them loads of times but they never get old. She also left a box of journals and letters that I’m not allowed to touch.
I glance over at the clock, wondering how long it is until Kir co m es back. 3:02, 2 minutes late. Kir tries to come every 4 hours but she occasionally arrives to open the d oor lat e but this week she hasn’t come at all. I sense someone outside a nd d ecide to knock on the door.
“Who’s in there?” A muffled voice says, grabbing the doorknob.
The door opens and I see a boy standing there. Not Kir.
“Where’s Kir?” I ask, “Who are you?”
The boy looks similar to Kir but a bit younger. Same dark hair and eyes and closer to my age. 14 maybe?
“Kir? You mean the woman who died here 5 years ago?” the boy says, looking at me weirdly, “Who are you?”
Five years?! I’ve been locked in this room for years .
“I-” I start, thinking back to when Kir was here last, “I don’t have a name.”
Kir has never called me by name, not even when we- wait, when did we meet?
I just stand there for a minute, wondering what to do.
“Who are you?” I ask again
“Jer’s nephew Tay.”
I resume trying to remember anything that happened when K i r was here last but all I can re m ember is a sh. S omething about cremation and a locket. My locket. I peer down at it and see the small, rose shaped container of as h es. I don’t r e member Kir ever mentioning a “Jer” let alone Tay.
“Ash.” I mumble, “It’s all I can remember.”
Tay subtly steps b ack, reaching into his pocket. I wonder why.
For the first time I can see what o u tside looks like. An old wooden stai r case to the left of the doorway and old floral wallpaper all the way dow n th e hall. I look back into the room an d realise how small i t really is; it fits a b o okshelf and small be d but not much e lse. For quite some time, me and T a y jus t stand in t h e doorway and stare at each other, both of us wondering why the other is there. My stomach growling silences the quiet surrounding us and I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. Five years.
“How do you have an appetite? This room smells like ashes and death.” Tay says, clearly confused “How long have you been in there?”
“It does?” I ask, “I haven’t eaten in a really long time and I don’t smell anything.”
“Follow me,” he mutters, “I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”
I do as told and follow Tay, running my hand along the wallpaper. It’s very dusty so my fingers leave little trails on the wall. It’s amazing to be outside. As Tay guides me, I notice how many of these floorboards are cracked. That must be normal for the outside I guess. How long was I in that room? The brass railing on the staircase is not as dusty as the wallpaper and has a word etched into it. Rose. Name or flower?
Tay sees me still at the top of the stairs and asks what I’m doing.
“The railing, it says Rose.” I start, pointing to the word, “Why?”
He thinks for a moment before saying, “It’s probably just a brand name or something.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about so I just get quiet. I walk down the stairs quickly and see the doorway into the kitchen. It looks a bit bigger than my room’s door and made from a different type of wood as well. Birch. My favourite tree- wood rather. Great for fires in winter.
Tay opens the door to the kitchen and gently grabs my wr i st, carefully pu ll ing me out of the way of the opening d oor. His touch is hot and I f e el l i ghtheaded. My hands are f reezing and I begin g etting dizzy, n e arly blacking ou t . I remember for a brief moment, the fire. It spread across my bookshelf so quickly and I barely had time to escape. T ay l o oks over at me and sees that I’m getting paler. He q u i c kly lets go of my wrist and I see some greyis h dust on th e palm of his han d where he was holding my wrist. I slowly feel the dizziness fade and Tay looks at me, a confused and concerned look on his face.
“What happened?”
“I- don’t know,” I say, still recovering, “Maybe it’s the dust?”
I think a b out it for a moment and then walk into the kitchen, looking around to see what it looks like. The kitchen is ver y big and looks about a s dusty as the rest of the h ouse. Tay opens a door which I ass u me to be a refrigerator and pulls out two yellow squares. What kind of food is that?
“Why was there a box in your room?” Tay asks, handing me one of the yellow squares.
“I’m not supposed to open it. I think it has letters in it.”
I take a bite of the square. It’s flavourless and bland but I eat it anyway. Why is Tay here?
“Why are you here?” I inquire, “Do you live here?”
“Yeah,” he answers awkwardly, “My father inherited the mansion when Kir died.”
I stare blankly for a moment, pondering whether to ask another question or just sit there.
“Why am I in the mansion?”
Tay starts thinking for a while so I look around at the kitchen I’ve never been in. Parts of the wallpaper are scorched and ripped and a few of the floorboards are burned. I start to remember it again. A fire that morning. And a scream -perhaps my own- piercing the dawn. I can almost feel the scorching heat against my skin and I let out a small yelp, startling Tay. He raises an eyebrow at me and takes a bite of his yellow square.
After he finishes eating, Tay asks, “How long have you been living here?”
“Alive? 14 years I think,” I respond, “But I’ve been here for about 19 years if what you say about Kir’s death is true.”
I wonder if there are other people living here. Most likely Tay’s father and mother and potentially a few other relatives.
Tay stares at me in shock. “How?”
I’m unsure how to answer his question so I don’t. Kir marked on the wall in my room with chalk for every year I had been there and the marks added up to 14 for my birthday; plus the 5 years she had been dead.
“What is today’s date?” he asks, thinking of something
“January 2nd, 1887” I reply, thinking of the last date I remember.
“But it’s 2009, and the middle of August.” Tay states, extremely perplexed.
“136 years then,” I mumble.