Page 5 of The Sea Witch's Son

The ancient stairs groan as we clamber towards the front door, the ancient door knocker so rusty I can’t make out what the shape is supposed to be.

Quiet grunts fill the air as Erik tries to pry the lock open. I shift the box in my arms, suddenly anxious as to what we might find inside.

The lock clicks and the door swings open.

Dust coats my throat when I finally make it inside, the musty air making my nose itch painfully. I look around the front hall that breaks off into a living room, the drapes drawn across the arched windows casting the room in complete darkness.

The high-vaulted ceilings make the shadows seem endless, a vast pit of darkness just waiting to unfold.

Running my hand along the wall, I find the light switch and turn it on.

The shadows are instantly replaced by vintage furniture. The floral pattern of the matching couches long since faded from the grime that has built up over the last thirty years. A simple coffeetable stands on top of a hideous rug, it’s surface dull and dusty under the dim lighting.

The floorboards groan beneath my feet as I walk down the hall and peek into the decent-sized kitchen.

“Did you see the grand piano?”

I jump at the sound of Erik’s voice. Wandering back into the living room, I find him setting the last box down on the ground. He catches my eye and nods to where the beautiful instrument sits tucked away in a corner.

My heart flutters at the sight of it, but I quickly push those unwanted feelings aside.

“Are the bedrooms upstairs?” I ask pointedly, ignoring the flash of disappointment that crosses his face.

“Yes. Take your pick and I’ll take whatever’s left.” He gives the piano another glance before turning and walking back outside. I know he’s upset, but I don’t follow him.

Music was my mother’s greatest love until I came along. Then it became a love we shared.

When I was a little girl, Arielle would play the piano and I would sit beside her and watch the mesmerizing movements of her fingertips. She was brilliant beyond compare, a woman blessed with the voice of a siren and the musical inclination of a conductor. Every night we would sing together, testing out new harmonies as though we were destined for the stage.

It was a passion that tied us together, our vocal cords bleeding into each other’s hearts until the day she died.

I lost the ability to sing the day I lost my mother. The cancer stole her health the same way her death stole my voice.

Lifting the box that contains my clothes, I start the uneven trek up the staircase. My footprints smear the dust settled on the wooden slants, the stagnant air making my nose itch again.

At the top of the stairs, I’m met with a narrow hallway. A darkened bathroom stands aloof, its door wide open between the two closed bedroom doors. The harsh separation makes me feel like I’m at a crossroad, forced to choose between two identical doors.

One will hold my new bedroom.

One will hold the memories of my mother’s childhood.

The sound of Erik re-entering the house has me quickly picking the door on the left. Nudging the handle with my elbow, I push my way inside and blink against the darkness.

The hair on the back of my neck rises as I take in the shadows around me.

This was her room. I can feel it.

I find the light switch and flick it on, half hoping I’m wrong. A queen-sized bed sits in the middle of the room, its frilly white bedsheets almost completely grey, but that’s not what catches my attention.

Arielle’s Chambers

The stencilled letters stand tall and proud, seemingly untouched by the years which have passed. A dry laugh escapes my throat as I soak in the familiar font.

Some things don’t change.

Setting the box down on the bed, I take a look around. A large reading nook takes up a good chunk of the room while a cluttered dresser and nightstand take what’s left.

A reluctant smile hits my face when I spot the ancient silverware set hung up on the wall.

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