Spirits

Chapter Two

Farrell walked through the old forest path that connected his family's home to the church. The familiar trees comforted him, although the thorns and brambles that now covered the once well beaten track grabbed at his clothes as he forged his way through. As the trees thinned he caught sight of his house. It sat isolated from the town of Ardea, surrounded by an estate so large that Farrell didn't quite know the extent of the land they owned. The open and overgrown grass just sort of disappeared into the forest, blurring the property's boundaries. The estate had been neglected for so long that weeds and thistles grew unchecked in the driveway and creeping vines had grown up and around the wrought iron fence to the extent that it was barely distinguishable from the overgrown thicket of the forest. Knee high brown grass consumed the yard and a thick layer of algae had turned the duckpond into a carpet of green velvet. Although all this was nothing new to Farrell. For as long as he could remember the Crater estate had been neglected, the time and money required for the upkeep were two things that his father just didn't have.

The house itself had fared no better than the grounds. It was as old as the church, or parts of it at least, and moss had turned the once grey masonry a sickly shade of green. Vines grew up the side of splintered and sun-bleached timber, threatening to consume the house. A blue plastic tarp flapped idly on top of the east wing, it was his father's cursory attempt to fix part of the roof that had collapsed years ago in a storm. Eventually he'd just boarded up that side of the house, the rooms were never used anyway.

Farrell stopped in the driveway, looking at the house he'd once called home. It wasn't only that it looked old, but it felt old, a sense of long forgotten history permeated the building. It was in stark contrast to the change the rest of the town was undergoing, clinging to a long forgotten past while the rest of the town embracing the modern age.

As he approached the house the ripple of an upper window curtain caught his attention. He knew no matter how much he wanted to just get into his car and drive away he had to go inside.

A wall of stale air made Farrel's eyes water as he walked into the large and gloomy entry hall. Thin streaks of light squeezed their way through narrow gaps in curtains that hadn't been opened in years, but they did almost nothing to light the cavernous hall. In the dim light Farrell heard the shuffling of someone trying to make their way down the wide staircase that led to the upper floor. He rushed up to help.

"Nanna! What are you doing out of bed?" he said with concern. She clutched the railing with two hands, struggling down the steps.

"Oh Lewis!" said Nanna. "It's so good to see you again. I saw you coming down the driveway from my window and I had to come down to welcome my grandson."

Farrell sighed, "No Nanna, it's not Lewis. I'm Farrell." Nanna didn't seem to register what Farrell was saying.

"Lewis, go find your father, he was out in the yard earlier. I'll make us all some tea." He looked at her kind but tremendously wrinkled face and smiled, gently taking her hand. He didn't feel much like telling her about his father's death, it would only cause her pain that would be soon forgotten. If he was honest he felt a little envious of her.

He looked back at Nanna. He might wait until one of her clearer moments to tell her about his father, when he was sure she would understand what he was saying. Although even before he left those moments were becoming few and far between. She smiled back, her eyes still as blue and sharp as ever, although Farrell knew they only saw what they wanted to see.

"Why don't you go and lie down," said Farrell, "I'll make the tea."

"Thank you dear, that'd be lovely. I'm ever so tired."