PRYING PEEPER 466Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFMks2iZA6c
- Urban Gothic - 1000 words -
"I had always considered my Aunt a strange and conservative woman..."
A nephew gets a bit more than he bargained for when he unlocks his aunt's old book case
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I had always considered my Aunt a strange and conservative woman. She wore strange long-limbed garments and mostly kept to herself. Despite her introverted tendencies, she held herself in a way that would make you think she owned more than just our little torn down house in the outskirts of town. I remember on petrichor heavy days similar to this, she used to stare out the window across to the fenced off cemetery and tell me everything that was wrong with the world. She used to tell me of times when things were simpler, before the information at our fingertips caused us to grow impatient. Then she’d sit in her arm chair and not move a muscle for hours at a time. I’d wonder what or who she was thinking about; I’d even once planned exactly what way I would pry the answers out of her. I wonder if those tactics could still work on someone two hours buried. 466Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTfdOSPcKjP
466Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNIdvwFz75V
My Aunt’s funeral was as sad and secluded an event as she had been in life. Only ten people, including myself, showed up. I was surprised to see that some must have been friends or colleagues, for I had never seen them before. As I trudge through the manicured grass, I can’t help but feel slightly guilty that I’m not consumed by sadness at her passing. But something stronger stops me, a feeling of excitement and curiosity that nips at my heels and causes me to quicken my pace as I near our house. Myhouse. Without anyone left to guard them, my Aunt’s secrets are up for grabs and I’ve had my eye on a particular set for quite some time.
As I approach the crumbling abode something feels different, the house feels different. It isn’t just my Aunt who is gone, it’s all of the sombre musk that trailed behind her too. The door to the house creaks and I no longer hear it as a bitter warning but as a sigh of relief. I brush past the hat stand and quickly get to work. Luckily for me, the particular secrets I seek are in plain sight. They lay behind the dusty chains that have been staring me down since I first stood in front of them, barely tall enough to reach the second shelf. I stand here now, and I’m able to reach to the very top, right to where the key lays dormant. My hand shakes as I fumble with the old-fashioned padlock and the question I’ve been asking myself for decades crosses my mind; what could my Aunt possibly be hiding in books. I’ve always been taught that books contain knowledge, things we should know, that wemust know. Yet for as long as I’ve lived here, my Aunt forbid me to even lay eyes on the things. She used to say;
“Remember nephew, curiosity killed the cat. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”
I didn’t listen to her then and I definitely wasn’t listening to her now as I prised one of the books from where it’d been cemented in the dust. The cover mesmerizes me, a swirl of gold seems to weave in and out of the front. The longer I look at it the more I feel myself being sucked into the flow of the golden river.
I rip my eyes from the cover only to realize that at some point night fell and the storm had begun again. I let the weight of the book carry me into my Aunt’s old chair. I feel my heartbeat directly under my skin. As I open the book, I can’t help but start to fantasize about what wonderful things could be within its contents. The spine creaks and suddenly everything is silent. There’s nothing on the page. There’s nothing on any of the pages. I feel my heart sink. This – this can’t be right.
Throwing it to the floor I stride back to the shelf and furiously grab at the books. They’re all the same. Blank. Empty. I stop, the last of the books in my hand. As I thumb through the pages, I feel any remaining hope dwindle. A new wave of disappointed fury takes its place. I’ve always had knowledge handed to me on a silver plate, these devious books have no right to deprive me. I tear out the page. I tear out every single page. My knees hit the floor as the last page floats to the ground.
It takes less than a second for me to realize there’s something beneath me. Something wet and dark. Something that’s whispering, filling the silence with a voice that sounds eerily like my Aunt’s. Before I have time to rationalize the voice – before I have time to rationalize the black ink seeping into my fingertips – the front door is flung open. But this time there is no creak, for it’s been flung off its hinges and she’sin its place. Her eyes scan the debris around me, and I swear I can see a scowl creep its way onto her creviced face.
I can feel my heart beat again and I think she can feel it too.
The flash of lightning that suddenly illuminates her ink blotted silhouette shocks me onto my feet. As the ink continues up my arms, I hear her voice reverberate from everywhere.
“Curiosity killed the cat. It killed your mother too. My sister was impatient, she wanted to know everything. You’ve grown up just like her.”
The same ink that is crawling up my neck is leaking from what remains of her eyes. They are steady on my face as the house speaks for her once more.
“I’ll see you soon.”
And in the last seconds of my life, I saw the twisted form of a smile grace my Aunt’s lips.
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