Short story and title photo by Wanda Sonnemann

The House is a Mess. I don’t understand half of it. I wish I had asked while I still had the chance. But I didn’t.  Now I never will.

She had been Old. Nobody in my Family knew how old exactly. She had lived for a century, someone had said at the Funeral. I remember being afraid of her wild, wrinkled face when I was younger.

I open a closet. It is filled with Books, and Boxes and Jars full of Things I don’t have words for. I choose a random book and open it. It’s written in an Alphabet I have never seen before. Sighing, I move on to the next cupboard. I start to regret ever coming here.

Inside the cupboard there is an ancient suit of armour. It’s well cared for, but worn. Dents and scratches cover it’s shimmering surface. I shake my head and move on to the next room.

Light shines through the yellowing curtains onto tables buried under books and oddities without an end. A Raven sits on the brick mantle. I pass it by, and then turn around to look at it again. It tilts it’s head and stares back.

“Finally” It says: “There you are. We have much to do.”


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