Lucy's Sketches

Before we start, I would like to thank Maggie O'Highley for all her help with the editing. I am the Baker, but she puts the icing on top.❤

Juniper Hill Estate

Isabelle

Standing on the cracked and pitted driveway, I look up at the massive creepy house, and the house is glaring back at me with its two menacing stained glass window eyes flanking the front door. It is telling me to get back in the car with my daughter, Lucy, and get the hell out of here.

Do not enter.

Go home!

But I can't do that.

I have to finish what Sam started. For some reason, only he understood, my husband invested a small fortune in this place. Where I could only see an old, dilapidated house, Sam could see a beautiful opportunity.

He understood houses; I understand psychology... most of the time. However, I sometimes didn't understand Sam, and I made a promise to my family and myself never to be that psychologist, the one who psychoanalyzes her husband and children instead of being the supporting and comforting mother and wife they need.

It's a hard balancing act but an important one.

I glance at Lucy, silently standing by my side, her grey eyes taking in the details, her expression, as has become her habit, not giving anything away. " So, what do you think, Luce?" I prompt, hoping for a response but not expecting a meaningful one, letting me into her closed-off heart.

As I expected, my ten-year-old daughter shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know," she mutters with little interest on her sweet little face. "It's okay, I guess. Kinda creepy," she scowls; she does that a lot lately. "Do we have to live here?"

I know I should be pleased since this is the most elaborate answer I've gotten from her in a long time, but I'm not pleased. My daughter is obviously as apprehensive about this adventure as I am. I would love nothing more than to bring her comfort and warmth and shower her life with new joy, but I have none of that to give. My heart is a pit of despair. All I can do is not let her drown in my darkness.

"Well, not if you don't want to," I offer her a branch to cling to. Hell, I don't want to stay here, but it is the better option, the most affordable, the least stressful. "There are rentals available in town. I checked before-"

"It's fine, Mom."

My heart lurches because I know that despite her young age, Lucy is well aware of our dire situation, and unlike many other kids of her age, she is trying hard to be mature about it. This tiny little girl with her long, light-brown braids and impossibly large eyes, clad in green and pink tartan short dungarees and Spongebob sneakers, is my rock. She picks up her backpack and starts to walk towards the door before I can say anything else.

"This is how horror movies..." I hear her mumble as she walks out of earshot.

"Start," I finish the thought. Yeah, great! It looks like the kind of house that's probably haunted too. I watch Lucy take a seat on the steps leading up to the front porch and pull her sketchpad from her backpack. She is soon deeply engrossed in what has become her favourite activity; drawing and frowning with her sketchpad on her lap, the tip of her tongue protruding from her pink lips as she concentrates. Watching her, my heart lurches again, this time with overwhelming love.

It's become normal to see my once happy child always frowning and scowling, quickly wiping away tears whenever she catches me looking at her. I've tried to comfort her, assuring her that it's normal and okay to feel and to react. I would do nearly anything to see my baby's sunshine smile again, but I won't push. It's only been three months.

She needs time. We both need time.

I honestly did not want to spend that time here, though. As I've said, I don't know anything about renovations, house flipping and all that jazz. Sam's partner and best friend, Josh, begged me to finish this project with him. I don't know why I agreed, but I did... I guess I needed something to divert my attention from the pain and heartache, something to help me feel closer to the love of my life... and so, here I am.

Josh, on the other hand, is late as usual. I glance at my watch. Twelve o'clock. Okay, so he's not late; I'm just starting to feel hungry and annoyed. I run my eyes over Lucy again, envying her ability to calmly sketch her emotions into the sketchbook her father gave her on her birthday. I'm not calm... far from it.

Irritated, I transfer my weight from one leg to the other and impatiently tap my foot as I look up at the house again, desperately wanting it to look more alluring, happier and more like a home. It doesn't. It is still a huge stone-and-mortar monstrosity standing in a dead garden, gazing down at me with many empty eyes. My foot stills and my breath catches sharply in my throat, goosebumps crawling over my scalp like bugs while my brain hums with shock.

There is a dark figure standing in one of the upstairs windows!

I gasp, and it's gone, the window as empty and uninviting as all the others on that floor. All I can see are ivy-covered stone walls and dark window frames filled with emotionless glass panes looking back at me with no empathy, no sense of self. There is no dark figure to be found anywhere.

You are just tired and stressed, Isabelle!

Not entirely convinced, I narrow my eyes, intensifying my focus on the specific window that almost gave me a heart attack, but all I can make out is a curtain behind the glass... I think... Still staring at said window, I jump and curse like a sailor in a thunderstorm when a car suddenly hoots behind me, and Josh's yellow smart car pulls up. I did not know that little eyesore of a car could make such a loud noise. It finally comes to a stop, and Josh gets out wearing an outfit nearly as loud as his car, causing a half-hearted smile to pluck at the corner of my mouth.

"Isabelle!" he bellows a greeting, hugging me as if he didn't have supper with us only two nights ago. Josh has always been in love with big gestures and lots of drama. He is Sam's opposite in every possible way, which is probably why they got along so well, enhancing and supplementing each other's personalities.

"Hello, Josh," I laugh, stepping out of his arms when he finally decides to leave at least some of my ribs intact and lets me go. "Love the shirt!" I don't; it looks like a rainbow vomited on it.

Josh, who knows me too well, is grinning like the idiot he is. "I know, right? It brings out the colour of my pretty green eyes," and to enhance the already disturbing effect, he bats his eyelashes at me. Rainbows are not the only things inspired to puke on his shirt right now.

"Yeah, it brings out something, alright," I grunt.

"How's Lucy holding up?" he wants to know, his grin disappearing as the unfamiliar seriousness I've recently met and loath creeps back into his eyes, darkening the irises, getting rid of the "pretty green".

"I don't know," I admit, feeling even more defeated in the aftermath of the small moment of good-natured humour. "She's quiet. It's like a part of her..." I don't finish the sentence because I don't feel like crying right this minute, standing in front of this leering house next to Josh and his loud shirt. He pats my shoulder, knowing that nothing he says or does could make me feel any better.

"Is she still seeing that therapist? Your colleague? Whatshername?"

"Yup, she still goes to Allison for therapy." It's a horrible feeling being a psychologist but unable to help your own child with her pain... or yourself, for that matter; a feeling of inadequacy and helplessness. "I'm also seeing a therapist," I tell Josh.

"Geez, that's twisted," he smirks, once again bringing light into my darkening mood. "Do you agree with him or her all the time or...?"

Laughing, I gently punch him in the stomach. "Shut up, you butthead."

"You scar me with your words, Lady," he huffs, feigning injury, "and your punches hurt too."

"It's just for talking, and we get along just fine," I explain, but Josh just gives me a skeptical look spurting me to heave an impatient sigh. "Are we going in at some point, or are we going to stand here talking nonsense until Lucy is old enough to go to college?"

"Nonsense?!" Josh exclaims in mock indignation, full-on flaming Mr. Dramatic now. The guy should've made a career in theatre; he was born to be on stage. "My words are as beautiful as my shirt! Pfffft. Yeah, I totally bought the shirt to cheer you up. Did it work?" he adds with a shrug when I just continue to glare at him.

"I'm sure you did... and, no." I scoff, taking the house keys dangling from his fingers and walking away.

"Not even a little bit?" he shouts while he takes his suitcases from the boot of his car, and I shake my head, giggling a little.

"What's Uncle Josh wearing?" Lucy asks as I walk up to her.

"I don't know. I guess he stole some little girl's curtains."

Lucy looks up at me, and there's a small, beautiful second of a smile crossing her lips, sparking some hope in my heart.

"Hey, Luce, what do you think of the house?" Josh greets her when he joins us on the steps, and dropping his bags, he helps her to her feet and pulls her into a tight hug. If it's anything like the hug he'd given me, she might shatter like glass.

"It's creepy," she replies solemnly, looking up into his face when he finally lets her go, leaving her unshattered, to my great relief.

"Yeah, that's why I bugged your mom to come out here and help me," Josh agrees in the kind of serious voice that warns me of imminent garbage spewing, and I am not disappointed. "I'm sure it's terribly haunted, but she'll protect us."

At that, Lucy and I both show the moron what we think of his off-balance sense of humour by rolling our eyes as if we've synchronized the action. Sam used to say that his women have the best eye-roll technique, very intimidating, cutting right to the core of fools. Sam used to spew a lot of garbage too; it was one of the few traits he had in common with his best friend.

"Yup. You're right," Josh sighs, looking so miserable that I almost believe his sudden onset of depression; he does, after all, have an entire well of grief to draw inspiration from right now.

"She can't protect us. We are totally screwed," he states, making ghost noises as he snatches the keys back from me and uses them to unlock the door.

"Language, Josh!" I scold, knowing it is falling on deaf ears, but I don't care right now; I'm consumed by watching Josh push open the creaking door, revealing too many shadows inside to give me even a hint of what is waiting for us.

He is clearly not sharing my apprehension, decisively picking up his bags and walking across the threshold into the - to me - unknown. Much braver than me, Lucy follows Josh into the house, and taking a deep breath, willing myself to display the same courage as my daughter, I walk inside after them.