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Henry’s greatest mistake was leaving when he should have stayed.
The past few weeks had been a blur of stress. Expectations had been coming at him from all angles and Henry just wanted a moment to breathe. Their son, Arthur, hadn’t eaten anything besides milk and cereal in the past three days despite being presented his favourite meals. His boss was pushing for a major project to be completed weeks before the deadline. The house was the aftermath of a battlefield; his wife’s return to full-time work had meant that the redivided chores were eating away at their family time. Then as his mother called - nagging him about a visit - his wife appeared, an exasperated look on her face, with the forgotten, balled-up socks in her hand.
Suddenly it had been too much.
Just - too much.
He needed to breathe.
"I’ll go to the shop to grab some more milk." He said, not waiting for an answer, before deliberately leaving his phone on the counter right next to the six fresh bottles she’d brought back earlier that day. He pulled his coat from the hanger in the hallway, ignoring the ripping sound as he yanked it on.
He hadn't yet made it two steps out the door when the realisation hit him. This wasn't how you handled things. He had just abandoned his wife - who must be drowning in household tasks just as much as he was - while she now had to watch their kid alone. That was the first mistake.
He proceeded immediately with the second mistake: he kept walking anyway, taking deep breaths of the chilly autumn air. He decided he would try and clear his head by walking to the shop and back. He knew they didn't need more milk, but perhaps he could return with a calmer mind and his wife's favourite sweets before taking over the task of bathing Arthur and putting him to bed, giving her a moment to herself.
The final mistake was taking the shortcut bordering the forest. Halfway through, his attention was caught by a peculiar-looking manor. Had this house always been here?
His feet made the decision before he could think twice about it. He walked up the ivy-covered path and rang the doorbell.
There was no coming back from that because once inside, he couldn't leave.
Three years of absolute powerlessness had passed since then.
Henry had initially put up a fight. He insulted and demanded his release, clinging desperately to his defiance. At first, the being found him an amusing challenge, but Henry's continued anger soon made the novelty wear off. Once he fully refused to play its game, he’d lost.
The true terror began the moment he realised his voice no longer worked. Dread seized his mind like an ice-cold vice as he lost all command over his own body. His consciousness was still achingly free - but he was now trapped, forced to stare out of his own eyes as if they were windows to a world he could no longer touch. He raged internally, screaming soundlessly against the invisible cage, but his resistance was utterly futile.
Whatever it wanted, Henry's body now performed. The commands manifested as an unspoken, unbearable pressure, forcing every muscle and limb into sickening action.
The hope for freedom had evaporated entirely after that.
Over those three years, his own body had changed, carefully moulded to fit a vision the being must have desired. Day by day, he became unrecognisable in the mirror, until one night a glance at his reflection in the window showed him a complete stranger.
Perhaps it was for the best. If he no longer looked like himself, then maybe he could just pretend that whatever was happening was happening to someone else entirely.
Yet, he still lost himself somewhere along the way. He was mentally fading, shedding a piece of his identity every single day. He dejectedly wondered how long it would be until he was nothing but an empty shell, eternally cursed to serve something other-worldly.
He never should have walked out that door.
Then, one day, Henry had to watch with a heavy heart as his wife and son entered the house. A wave of longing choked his throat as he watched them settle down on the second couch, happy smiles on their faces. Only a coffee table separated him from his family, and he ached to reach out, to do something, to say anything.
If he could still weep, he would have burst into tears. Having them both so close yet so painfully far was a cruel kind of torture. He watched as the creature glanced between his two visitors and himself before a cold smirk curled at its lips. To a stranger, it might have looked like a happy expression, but Henry had learned better. This was a look of pure, satisfied cruelty.
He wanted to scream at them to run, to hide, to get as far away from this place as possible. But he couldn't. Words were forbidden. Movement was restricted. He would beg on his knees just to get them both out of there; he would do anything to spare them this torment.
But he couldn't.
He wasn’t allowed.
And so, he was forced to watch, already knowing the tragedy that would unfold. Henry felt an extra weight settle on his limbs, as if the being could sense his mental struggle and was pressing down, ensuring his stillness.
Henry sat down on his side of the couch after pouring the first cup of tea, right next to the immortal being. The being that warped reality and held his chain. The one who had lured him in at his lowest and took full advantage of his vulnerability.
"A game of truth and tea," it said slowly, weighing the words on its tongue.
Arthur smiled happily, always eager to play games, even those he didn't know yet. A sharp pang went through Henry as he wondered how many of the boy’s games he had missed by now. Sports games, board games, even the silly word-games they used to play while travelling somewhere. The absence of those memories settled as a black hole in his heart. A gaping wound he wasn’t sure would ever heal.
“The way this works, we will take a sip of tea.” It continued.
“Oh, have I started too early?” his wife asked with a nervous chuckle, having already sipped her tea. Henry had missed the sound of her laugh and the way her cheeks reddened slightly when she got flustered. He loved how the blush enhanced the sparkle in her eyes.
“If we say something that you believe to be true, you will also take a sip of tea.” It ignored her words completely. It looked towards Henry, who nodded obediently, a cold dread settling in his stomach. “Does this make sense?”
His wife still looked a bit confused. “Can I just say,” she said hesitantly, as if she was waiting to be interrupted yet again. “It’s so nice to be welcomed into the neighbourhood.”
Henry realised that the manor had moved to a different location again. His family must have left the house they’d bought together behind. Too many painful memories, perhaps?
The memories from inside that house had been his lifeline over the past few years. He pictured the way their laughter had filled the space, the marks on the door where they’d tracked Arthur’s growth, that one loose floorboard Henry had promised to fix but never had. So many tiny things he’d always taken for granted. He felt the cold shock of missing the warmth of a home he could never return to.
His wife’s hand rested on Arthur’s knee, who nodded along, smiling widely and chuckling a soft, "Yeah. Where we came from before, like, no one likes me. So…."
Oh Arthur. Henry would have pulled his son in for a hug if he could, but not even his fingers twitched around the cup he was holding.
“Arthur?” his wife turned her full attention to their son.
“Yeah?”
“Remember what we spoke about?”
“Yes, Mum. Don’t speak.” He said with the certainty that all was right in the world, blissfully unaware of the tragedy he had just implied.
“No-” She turned towards them again, holding up a hand in defence. “No, no.” Then she quickly returned her attention to their child. “No, Arthur, I didn’t say that. I said you don’t need to trauma dump.”
What had he done by leaving? That this was the sort of conversation she was having with their son? The boy would be eight by now; he wasn’t supposed to know what trauma was yet, let alone have to manage his own. The shame felt like a physical blow.
He got up to fetch more tea as Arthur turned towards his mother and giggled, “You said ‘dump’.”
His wife laughed along, clearly relieved that Arthur was smiling again. “Yes, I did,” she admitted brightly.
Henry re-entered the room with a fresh pot of tea - the being hated tea that had been sitting for more than a few minutes. His eyes were trained solely on his wife's face. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her smiling lips tempted him into kissing her, but all he could do was strain to remember the feel of them. The ghost of human warmth his only comfort.
Henry made it back towards the sitting area, topping off their cups. He received a sincere "thank you" from his wife and a sudden, loud “I’ve never had tea befo- No, that’s a trauma dump!” from Arthur.
He didn't want to move away; he longed to sweep Arthur into his arms. But there was no stopping his body as it retreated instantly to the kitchen to set everything up to brew another fresh pot.
“I’m excited to begin my tea journey,” he heard his son exclaim, correcting himself once more. God, he’s so precious.
Returning to the room, Henry caught the end of a thumb’s up aimed at his wife. Her answering look was filled with so much love that - for a moment - Henry felt like an intruder in his own family.
“Are you ready for your first statement?” The being said, unmoved by the emotional exchange its two guests had just shared.
“Yes, so we make a statement, and if you think it’s true, you drink a sip of tea?” His wife tried to grasp the rules of the game.
“No-no-no,” it denied.
“Oh?”
“Anyone can make a statement-”
“Right,” She nodded her understanding, but he could see the confusion lingering in her furrowed brows.
“-And if you believe it to be true, you drink your tea.”
Henry felt his hand gently tap against the being’s leg - a silent plea for attention. “Yes?” It turned towards him just as Henry felt his own lips move in a mock imitation of speech.
“Mummy, I’ve gone deaf!” Arthur complained loudly, his timing tragically perfect, as Henry stood up again. He had to make sure the being had fresh tea. With Arthur’s earlier interruption, its tea would have been sitting too long, and it would have instantly vanished the contents of its cup.
“No, they’re-”
“I will start.” The being interrupted, its voice cutting across the conversation. Henry continued pouring for both the being and himself.
He desperately hoped he didn’t have to keep getting up for fresh tea. All he wanted was to sit there and watch his family. He’d missed them so much that just seeing them alive and well was a blessing, however cursed the circumstances.
“They were just whispering,” his wife explained to their son, her voice kind.
“They’re whispering?” Arthur asked, as if bewildered by the whole idea.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“I can do that.” Arthur leaned towards his mother and continued in an overly loud, breathy tone: “Hello. No one can hear me – which is for the best.” His voice was almost louder than if he’d been talking normally.
“Your whispering bit is very funny,” his wife said, trying to make Arthur feel better, and carefully avoiding calling attention to how the boy had put himself down again.
“Ah, yes.” Henry’s wife turned her attention back to the rest of the room. “I’ll go first. Um-”
“Suffering-” It interrupted, cutting off her hesitant words, “-is the universal human condition.”
“Oh, um-” She stammered, momentarily stunned by the sudden seriousness of such a statement.
“Mummy, he’s trauma dumping,” Arthur whispered loudly to her, the unintended humour slicing through the tension.
The being took a long, deliberate sip of tea.
“Uh-I-I think he’s being philosophical, Arthur.” She turned back towards them, her composure returning. “Uh-No, I won’t be sipping. I-Actually I disagree with that. Yes.”
Arthur followed her lead and didn't drink either.
“Do you agree, Winthorpe?” The being turned towards Henry, who obediently sipped his tea. The small action of drinking was the only moment he ever regained any freedom of movement, though there was still a push when the being wanted him to drink as he did right then.
“He does,” The being exclaimed. “Winthorpe and Winthrop, is our names.” Henry once more nodded obediently but didn’t drink from his cup this time. The being didn’t get to erase his name.
“I thought your name was O’Sophical,” Arthur looked confused. “Phil O’Sophical. Mummy just said that’s-”
His wife was laughing as Henry felt himself get onto his feet and move towards their son. The being absolutely did not like being challenged on who, or what, it was. He stepped forward, raising his hand. God, let someone stop him.
“No, no, no,” the being cut in, stopping him with a mock theatrical display of being the good guy. “Winthorpe.” It said sternly, pulling Henry back onto the couch with crushing force.
“He was waving at me, Mummy,” Arthur said in wonder. His wife looked at Henry, stupefied that he would pull that kind of move. She shifted a little closer to their son as she refocused on the conversation.
“I’m sorry if this seems very intense, but if you wish to live in this neighbourhood, we believe in truth.” Henry sat still, hands on his knees, nodding in agreement to whatever the being was saying. He barely heard the words; relief still flooded him that he hadn’t hurt Arthur. The casual cruelty of the being was not lost on him, and he prayed to whatever god might be listening that he wouldn’t be forced to hurt his own family.
“We believe that everyone here must reach the pinnacle of their minds. And there will be no small minds. Here, where we live. Now, your statement.”
“Uhm-” His wife cleared her throat, looking rather off-balanced by the conversation so far. “Uh - I think we’re going to have a very lovely time in this neighbourhood,” she said, looking down at Arthur.
They both picked up their cups and drank. Arthur took a little too much of the hot liquid.
“Arthur, careful!” His wife was immediately concerned with their son. “It’s very hot!”
“Ah - Ngggya,” Arthur bit back the pain of his burned mouth. “Don’t trauma dump.”
His wife was momentarily unsure how to answer that, when Arthur continued more happily, “It’s tasty!”
At the sound of Arthur’s pain, Henry had gotten up to fetch some cold milk from the fridge. He brought it over to help soothe the boy’s mouth, his body lifting the bottle up to Arthur’s lips, almost pouring the liquid in. It was yet another mock movement of care.
“Oh, what?” His wife sounded confused as Henry pulled the bottle back and bowed slightly before leaving the room.
“What kind of milk is that?” Arthur asked.
Henry paused in the doorway and just shrugged at the question. The angle he held the bottle made it impossible to read the label, and even if he could, he wouldn’t have been able to answer anyway.
“Probably semi-skimmed,” his wife soothed Arthur, casting a curious glance at Henry’s non-reaction.
“Winthorpe has taken the vow of silence,” the being explained, observing the subtle disapproval they gave Henry for not bothering to answer such a simple question. “He does not speak.”
“Well, uh - If you don’t think you’re going to have a-” his wife began, before she was cut off by Henry. He swiftly passed by them, moving swiftly as he stepped in front of the window, his hands clutching the curtains.
“What is - What is it, Winthorpe?” The being asked, its confused tone barely masking the fact that it already knew exactly what was going on. Henry hated the forced performance. He hated how this was just a crude trap for his family.
He pulled the window open to get a clear view of the outside. The mansion had indeed moved again; the street below was now completely unfamiliar to him.
As he felt a small presence at his side, Henry realised that Arthur had joined him at the window, peering out of curiosity. He pushed the boy down harshly, immediately apologising mentally for hurting him, praying he hadn’t caused any actual harm.
“Ah, excuse me!” his wife protested sharply. “Don’t handle my child like that!” She rushed forward to pull Arthur away.
“Winthorpe, what is it?” the being demanded.
“What is it?” Henry’s wife repeated, her tone now filled with confusion and alarm.
Henry turned back towards the room and stepped closer to the being.
“Arthur, get your coat on.”
“Death is coming,” the being said calmly, as if it were an everyday occurrence. Henry shrugged in agreement as he pulled the window down again and closed the curtains. There had been nothing visible outside.
Arthur had left the room, and Henry could hear him running around nearby. He just hoped the boy could find his way back to them.
“Look, I suppose the two of you think this is very funny,” his wife said sharply, her face twisting in displeasure. “A single hard-working mother moves into the neighbourhood with-”
The being pointed in confusion at the open doorway.
“He’s getting his coat. We’re leaving.” Henry’s wife announced decisively, turning away to step through the doorway herself.
Henry could still hear the pitter-patter of small feet in a nearby room. “It was out in the hallway, darling,” she yelled out, realising she couldn’t see Arthur.
“Darling?” she repeated, her voice tightening when there was no answer.
“Which hallway, Mummy?”
“The main one that we came in through.”
“This is a maze,” the being said calmly, its lack of reaction adding to her panic.
Henry lifted the cup of tea to his lips to take a sip.
“What?” his wife asked, her confusion instantly fading into something more akin to pure fear. “No, I - I’m sorry. This is not okay.”
“Like the mind, it is a maze,” the being continued cryptically, forcing Henry to take another sip of tea. “And every thousand years, death comes into the maze.” Henry sipped again, his eyes locked on his wife, desperately hoping she understood the sheer trouble they were all in now.
“Welcome to our neighbourhood.” The being finally stood up. “I hope you enjoy your time here,” it said before walking away. “Come on, Winthorpe.” It mentally tugged his leash as it was leaving the room.
Henry stood up, facing his wife. Her face twisted through several turbulent emotions, and none of them were good. He yearned to take her into his arms, to shield her from the evil within this mansion, but all he could do was stand there, frozen.
“Well, I guess I’ll just be leaving then.” His wife looked uncertainly between Henry and the open doorway the being had just left through.
Using the small, precious window of free movement he had, Henry bowed deeply. He would have fallen to his knees and begged for forgiveness if he could, but for now, he had to take what he could get.
“Goodbye.” Her farewell sounded as hesitant as her movements.
Henry mouthed a silent 'sorry'.
“What?” She blinked at him.
Henry mouthed 'I'm sorry' again.
“You-” Henry stepped closer, raising his hands towards her face.
“Could have sworn it was around here somewhere,” Arthur’s voice echoed from a nearby hallway.
“Get off!” She slapped his hands away, her voice sharp. “Don’t just gr-”
Henry pulled a hand over his mouth and bowed his head in immediate shame. For a moment, he had completely forgotten that he was a stranger to her. Of course, she wouldn’t want an unknown man reaching for her face.
“I don’t have time for your games. I’m leaving.”
Arthur’s loud cry of “My coat!” pulled her instantly out of her daze. With a final, concerned glance over her shoulder in his direction, she stepped out into the hallway in search of their son.
Henry turned away in the other direction, no longer able to resist the pull to follow the being that played them all. The words echoing behind him broke his heart as he kept walking.
“Arthur?”
“I’m over here, Mummy.”
“Where’s here?”
“Mummy, I’m behind you.”
“Are you? Arthur?”
“You’re walking away from me, Mummy.”
“Arthur, you’re not behind. Where are you?”
“Wait, it’s a mirror.”
“Death comes,” the being’s voice echoed, “if you do not escape the maze.”
“This is not funny! I want to leave, NOW! Where is the door?”
“The door?” It asked, before chuckling darkly. “Let me ask you one question. Do you remember ever entering this house through a door?”
“Mummy!” Arthur’s voice was filled with sudden panic. “I’ve just remembered that I think I woke up here in that chair. Why did we sleep in that chair? And why don’t I remember going to sleep in that chair?”
“No, ugh-”
“Also, I thought I found my coat, but it’s disappeared,” Arthur’s voice called out.
“No, no, no. We - We definitely - We came in, but there was a path and then there was ivy.” Henry’s wife frantically tried to recall the mundane facts of their entry.
The being’s dark laugh echoed through the room. “Find your way out the maze. In this maze, there are terrifying things.”
“Arthur?”
“I’m looking for you, Mummy.”
“Arthur, where are you?”
“Horrible creatures,” Its voice kept echoing.
“I hope I find you soon, Mummy.”
“Creatures-” the being was abruptly interrupted by Arthur’s screams.
“Arthur!” his wife’s panicked voice rang clearly.
“Mirrors, crevices, keys, and just random people.”
It was already too late to save him.
Time faded away at that point. Arthur had been fully taken by the maze.
---
15 years later life regained its weary focus as Henry took an obedient seat next to the being. His wife sat alone on the other couch. Her displeased, defiant stare was a balm to his soul. She hadn't given up yet.
“How’s the tea?” It asked her politely, as if that hadn't been the opening line of every single conversation in the past decade and a half.
“Earl Grey, as always,” she sighed.
The being turned to Henry with a questioning glance. But for once, Henry didn't feel the familiar push to move. He didn't feel his limbs take him somewhere. All he could do was turn his head and stare back in utter confusion.
“I believe he’d like you to pour it,” his wife clarified. Her voice cleared the confusion, and Henry stood up to retrieve the teapot. He returned, standing at their side, unsure whose cup he was supposed to be filling.
“Yes, I know he said: ‘How’s the tea?’ as if I'd already had some,” she continued. Henry raised his shoulders, trying to mime “exactly”. “And I answered, ‘Earl Grey, as always,’ which was sarcastic!”
“But in the maze of the mind, what has not happened has already happened.”
“And I believe I’ve shown my understanding of that, so now let me free.”
Henry was just standing still now, looking between the two of them. She clearly hadn’t given in yet to whatever mind games the being was playing. And somehow, it was almost like she was gaining the upper hand. He didn’t think he could ever find a smug look that attractive, but here she was, glowing in her defiance.
The being huffed as Henry sat back down, taking up his nearby knitting project. He didn’t know how to knit.
“You can only be free once your son reaches the end of the maze. You know this.”
Their son. Henry realised that must be what was going on. Arthur must still be alive and nearing the end of the maze. The maze was everything. Henry reflected on his own gradual changes: he still felt the push to move when the being wanted something, but he could refuse to drink. He could clench his fist when his wife was disrespected again; he could—
“It’s only been - what? - a thous-”
“Fifteen years,” she interrupted. Her voice was so matter-of-factly that the being actually looked confused at the truth.
“But for you, time is immaterial. It could be a second, it could be millennia.” She continued with a smirk, knowing she had managed to one-up it.
“Very good.” It said after a long moment of silence. “For me, it’s been a thousand years, and I’d like it to be a thousand years for you too. Maybe even longer. Maybe even eternity.”
Please, no.
“Let me say a statement!” It continued, having regained some of its confidence.
Henry picked up his cup of tea as his wife sighed deeply. “Can I have some milk first, please?” she asked. She had never asked for milk before, and Henry could only assume that she was as sick of drinking the same tea over and over again as he was. If only he could offer her something else, anything else, even if it was just tap water.
“You may,” It said, just as Henry had already stepped away to the kitchen. He returned with a glass jar filled with white liquid. The pressure had forced him to pull it from a lower shelf on the fridge.
“Not that milk!” she yelled at him, and Henry only turned in confusion and walked back into the kitchen. What had he even been holding?
“Tell me, how old must your son be now?” It asked her as Henry pulled the correct bottle of milk out of the fridge and returned to the living room.
“Twenty-three.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?” She was asked just as Henry stepped close to her, holding the bottle of milk up for inspection.
“Yes,” she said decisively. “To both of you,” she added when neither the being nor Henry reacted.
Henry held the bottle up higher, questioning. “Yes!” she agreed to his choice in exasperation. He added some milk to her tea, fogging it up exactly like he remembered her liking it once.
“Was he always strong, powerful, budding, yearning for life?” The being questioned. “Was that always him?”
“You don’t know what he went through,” Henry heard her dismissive tone from the kitchen.
“You mean before he entered the maze? Or after?”
“These are not his first trials.” She picked up her cup of tea and drank deeply.
“What?”
“These are not his first trials.”
“How could he have had trials, if it were not for the maze? The maze is the only place where the real trials of life occur.” Henry clenched his jaw at the absurd statement.
“Well, that simply isn’t true.” her voice certain. “After all, you said yourself, suffering is the human condition.”
“... I did.” It agreed slowly.
Henry stepped up behind his wife, holding onto his own cup of tea. His presence a silent support.
“Therefore, it applies within the maze and outside of it.” She continued. Henry drank his tea only moments after she had.
“You are a worthy intellectual sparring partner.” Henry sipped his cup behind her back. She looked back at him in confusion and he nodded in encouragement. He could only admire her spirit for holding on so long. Her strength to keep going even after all these years.
She rolled her eyes and sipped her own cup of tea with an attitude. She did it with such a strong, defiant air that, for a single moment, he wished their marriage had been annulled just so he could ask her to marry him again. He might just ask her anyway, if he could ever be free and hold her. Her conviction that Arthur was doing well, her fierce love for their boy, was so strong that Henry’s heart melted a little each time she revealed the depth of those feelings.
“But unfortunately, I must increase the difficulty of the maze.”
Henry looked up sharply, stepping closer to it. His wife’s simple “What?” fell at the same moment Henry’s hand landed heavily on the being’s shoulder.
Henry mimed at it: Please, it needs to end.
“What?” It didn’t understand him; it looked genuinely confused as to why Henry was moving in the first place.
“He wants to be set free!” His wife instantly stood up for him, translating his desperate mime.
Henry made a wide motion, his hands encompassing everyone: his wife, Arthur (somewhere in the maze), and himself.
“All of you?” It asked. “Not until you know the true suffering of this life.”
We already know.
Life faded away again.
---
25 years later had his wife sitting in her usual spot on the couch, the being opposite her.
“So glad you could join us.” It said as an older Arthur stepped into the room, through a door that had manifested itself only moments before.
She was glued to the couch; her words silent, her presence hidden. Henry sat next to the being. The chains on his body hadn’t completely fallen away yet, and it was putting pressure on him.
“Take a seat,” It indicated the empty seat.
“Where’s my Mummy? Where is she? Show her to me now!” Arthur demanded.
“Take a seat.” Arthur sat down where he’d once been sitting next to his mother.
“I want my Mummy.” He said. Henry could see his wife desperately reaching out to him, utterly unable to touch. Her eyes teared up, overwhelmed by having their son back with her, even like this. “And I don’t want any tea, or any secrets, or any lies. I want my mummy, it’s been 40 years.”
“I will say a statement,” It started its usual spiel again. Henry raised his cup obediently, more a habit now than anything else. “And we will drink if it is true.”
“I don’t—”
Henry could see the encouraging words on his wife’s lips, but no sound escaped her.
“Your mother is closer than she has ever been.” Henry didn’t drink. He looked at the being, remembering his son’s birth well enough to know that that couldn't be true.
“-for a long time,” It added. Henry drank, using the motion to try and send a message to Arthur.
Arthur drank too. “It’s hot, but it’s true.”
“How could you possibly know that?” It challenged.
“I can feel her nearby. I can smell her perfume. She was here, she was right here,” he pointed insistently at the seemingly empty seat next to him. “And this is where I left her. So I just went looking for my coat.”
“Your turn.”
“Okay,” Arthur agreed. “That man next to you isn’t your friend. He’s my family, isn’t he?”
Henry drank deeply, his eyes wide with hope. The being followed, drinking slowly.
“’Cause I went through trials before I came here, and that’s why it was just me and Mummy moving. Cause Daddy went missing. And you won’t let him speak, will you? Whatever you are.”
Henry mouthed an “I’m sorry.” The words were still silenced, but he could feel the sadness settling over his face.
“It’s okay, Daddy. I learned your absolutely unique sign language whilst I was here.” Arthur’s hands signed words of comfort, forgiveness, and love.
“I am sorry, but faith and the winds blew you to this house. This house takes in the wandering - wandering souls of life, and it doesn’t pick, it doesn’t choose. It is just some people who come,” It said while looking directly at Henry. Henry looked down in shame, the true cause of them being there still very present in his mind. “Unfortunately, it was you and your family this time.”
“I’ve got another statement,” Arthur cut it off. Henry lifted his cup, hopeful for an ending.
“Please, I love an intellectual challenge.”
Arthur stood up. “This hot tea,” he said while stepping closer, “It’s not for drinking, it’s for spilling.”
Henry took a sip of tea, and Arthur poured his cup all over the being. A terrible sizzling sound made itself known as, with a snapping sound, the chains fell away.
His wife instantly jumped up, sweeping their son into her arms. “Arthur!” “Mummy!”
Henry fell to his knees, coughing, and finally heard the sound of his own voice after so very long.
Arthur already looked younger as he asked, “Where’s my coat?”
“Henry!” his wife rushed to his side as he was still grasping at his own throat, the beard beneath his fingers finally feeling familiar again.
“Where’s my coat gone, I lost it.”
“My voice! My voice is back!” Henry sobbed as he turned towards his wife, burrowing into her loving arms.
“Daddy!” Arthur happily exclaimed, his earlier battles already forgotten like a faded dream.
“You think, you can simply destroy me?” the being stood up, its gait stiff and uneven. “You only make me stronger!”
Arthur held up his hand, revealing a brass object. “Mummy, I’ve got the house key.”
“My boy, my forty-eight-year-old boy!” Henry cupped his son’s face between his two hands.
“No, I’m eight, Daddy. Don't be silly!”
They both turned towards the being. “You need to use the key. Close the door!” Henry urged.
“Close?” Arthur stepped closer to their captor for the past 40 years.
“Close the door!” Henry yelled, desperate not to let the opportunity slip through their fingers.
“I don’t need to close it, Daddy. I need to open it. We need to go home!”
And the key found a home for itself in the chest of the being, opening a portal to the outside of the house.
Henry pulled his wife closer. “I’m so sorry I came here. I’m sorry you and the boy had to follow me and - we’ve been here for so long.”
His wife cupped his cheek, “Let’s go home,” she smiled.
“I feel like I could explain it all to you, but I don’t think we have time.”
“It’s snowing!” Arthur yelled excitedly from the open portal. “It’s snowing!”
“Come on!” his wife rushed over towards their son, taking his hand and leading everyone out.
“I’m glad we moved here,” the boy said to no one in particular as they breathed in the cold winter air.
As they returned home, Henry found himself happily welcomed back by his family. The very first thing he did was open up the kitchen cabinets and rummage until he found the boxes of tea. “You don't mind if I throw out the tea, do you? I don't think I'll ever be able to drink another cup of this.”
“Please,” his wife replied, a knowing smile in her voice. “I think we’ve steeped in it long enough.”
Henry laughed a touch hysterical as he opened the door and tossed the boxes out into the cold snow. Next, he pulled out a bag of coffee beans, drawing his wife close to his side. She carried over two cups, almost dropping them as she melted into his embrace, and Henry pressed a quiet laugh into her hair.