Fableland

The wind shifted under a starry sky like a breath of air released by an unaware, (not necessarily innocent), passerby opening a long, best forgotten door. The bare boughs clattered ominously above my head like a wind chime left hanging for years, bleached bone-white by years of weather. This post-late shift night tasted like long kept secrets, and it thinking about it sent shivers down my spine.

I tried to adjust my blood-red scarf to protect more of my neck from the nippy, late-autumn wind, only succeeding in exposing my bare, already chapped and cracked hands to more of this bone-chilling night. I regretted taking the holiday temp job; I’d much rather spend the time with Nana than work and trudge through the seemingly unending side streets that seemed to be the only thing that our little, insignificant town was made of. But before I knew it, the seemingly unending side streets melted away into Nana’s sidestreet, set apart by minute details only those intimately familiar with this particular street would know and recognize instantly.

I scampered up the steps, eager to step into our warm, cozy home and cover myself in a knotted fleece blanket. As I (was trying to) unlock the front door quietly, I spied Nana snoring softly on a favorite arm chair. I smiled to myself; she always tried to stay up and wait for me after late shifts like this, but she rarely managed to stay awake that long. I tucked her blanket around her gently, then grabbed her now-cold, half-empty mug of mint and chamomile tea from the granite side table that was almost always moved somewhere else. (Chamomile always did her in…) As I went to rinse the mug out, a shadow flickered at the edge of my vision. I blinked rapidly; I must have been more tired than I thought, otherwise I wouldn’t be so paranoid.

Still, I ripped off a piece of paper and scribbled a quick note assuring Nana that I had in fact made it home, and placed it on the side table before walking up the stairs to my old room. I didn’t have any time to linger; I changed and crashed into my warm sheets, suppressing a shiver.

****

Nana woke me up with a quick bangbang! on my door. “Breakfast! Get dressed, too; we have shit to do today.”

I groaned into my pillow, hiding my eyes from the bright sunlight that flooded my room, chasing away last night’s shadows. “This isn’t the Marines, Nana!”

The only response I got were her footsteps, thump-thump-thumping down the rickety old stairs. After another moment of laying in a self-pitying, blanket-strewn heap, I dragged myself out of bed like a puppet being dragged out of a toy bin by its strings. After narrowly avoiding a bruise or two while dressing myself with all the grace of a toddler, I ambled to the narrow staircase through the slightly wider, (still narrow), hallway that connected my room, Nana’s room, and a shared bathroom. The morning light came through the end of the hall, warming my back and illuminating the barely-peeling yellow paisley wallpaper, the sight bringing a smile to my lips as I trudged down the stairs; Nana kept saying that she would renovate her little house, but she never seemed to get around to it. The floors were creaky and squeaky and made most visitors slightly nervous, but their off-pitch squeals were a comforting melody to Nana and me. Each path had its own tune- from the kitchen (where I almost was), to the front door, the library- and we were both intimately familiar with each one.

I paused to watch Nana make our breakfast with a practised ease, leaning against the lavender door frame. A homesick smile spread across my face making Nana laugh when she finally noticed me. “Took you long enough! College life must be spoiling you,” she said as she neatly served two omelettes on their own plates and carrying them to our all-purpose table. Messy school projects? Check. Paper Mache lamp shades? Check. Various culinary disasters? Check. You name it, the table had been used for it.

Did I love my house I shared with four of my friends at college? Absolutely. But by no means was it this, Saturday mornings with thyme and veggie omelettes, pastel walls, Nana’s wicked smile… It wasn’t really home, not like this was. I took the first bite; yes, this was definitely home.

“What’re we doing today? I’m assuming you got me out of bed for a reason.”

Nana didn’t respond immediately. “Well, I want to make sure you get what you need, and don’t tell me you don’t need anything because we both know that’s a lie… anyways, I have to take care of particularly nasty family business that I’d rather you not be involved in.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with me having no filter, does it?” I asked sarcastically.

She laughed. “No, it’s just that I’d rather they not be a part of your world in any way. Besides, it needs to be taken care of before anything...” she stopped for a moment, considering, “bad happens.”

I raised my eyebrows, my mouth stuffed with food. “Bad.”

She nodded. “Bad.”

“Nana, why now? You’ve ignored them for god knows how long, I’m sure they could wait a little longer. I’ve never remembered you even mentioning seeing them, now you have to go before something ‘bad’ happens? Again, i’m sire that whatever it is can wait…”

Nana folded her napkin and sighed heavily. “I wish, but this is very, very urgent. As much as I hate wasting our time together dealing with them,” she spat the word out contemptuously, “but I need to care of it before something happens that can never be taken back.”

I frowned. “You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you? I know, I know, it’s ridiculous to even ask, but…” Yes, Nana was a former Marine, but I couldn’t help but worry.

She smiled, crinkling her whole face. “I appreciate the offer, but I need to be the one that handles this.” She gave me a hard look. “I’ll be fine, Ophelia; I’ve made trips like this before, you just weren’t aware.”

“Then why mention it now?” I asked before I could stop the question popping out of my mouth.

She sighed heavily. “Because I thought you would be mature enough to handle it, but apparently, I was mistaken.” She looked at her watch. “I might as well get going if your attitude will ruin our day.” She got up suddenly, leaving her half-finished omelette.

Neither of us said anything as she walked upstairs calmly, presumably to pack. I cleaned in silence, taking more time than I really needed to. The plates were scrubbed clean as a whistle, the pan completely dried and put away, the table spotless; even the silverware was cleaned by hand, rather than being thrown into the dishwasher haphazardly.

I didn’t hear her leave; when I walked upstairs to apologize, she was gone.

I spent the next few hours in silence; music seemed too loud for the void someone with such a large presence as her left the room. I tried to read, bounce my ages-old soccer ball around, draw… but Nana’s behavior bothered me too much to really focus on anything.

After wasting hours trying to distract myself from her, I gave in and just paced the house restlessly; I could go somewhere, but there was nothing in this stupid little town. I know that she kept everything, like most people that lived here; photographs, journals, decor, old clothes, toys… anything she thought might come in handy one day or another in the future, just stashed in the attic, waiting for that day to come.

But what if she kept something that could tell me where her family was? Where she was going?

I zipped to the attic as fast as possible, energy whizzing through me like electricity through a steel rod. The attic was accessible through a pull-down ladder located in the up-stairs hallway; I grabbed a pair of shoes, (I believed there were nails in the floor and other such nasties that I would rather not have touching my feet, thanks), and came to a stop underneath the string that was dangling. I frowned; Nana always kept the string tucked in, and leaving it out was extremely unlike her.

I felt a little thrill go through me as I pulled on said string; the attic was a generally taboo area of the house to me, even as an adult. However, I hesitated; I could easily call the police and be done with the whole matter. And was invading her privacy worth whatever this was? I shook my head, and trooped up the stairs; better safe than sorry, especially on a matter where the police were sure to ignore me.I perched precariously on my tip-toes, pulling down on the string. The attic stairs came down in a whoosh!, filling the air with dust. I coughed a little, waving the air in front of my face. How long had it been since Nana had been up here?

I looked up, into what seemed like impenetrable dark. I shook my head and clambered up the faded, not-yet-splintery wood; yes, this was giving me the creeps, but Nana was more important.