Come Find Me

He sat at his desk and stared at the papers, but none of it made sense. The letters appeared to swirl together, creating jumbled hieroglyphs. He slammed his hands on the counter, and released an exasperated grunt. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he muttered to himself. He was losing hope. Only a single thread remained, and it was all in the cryptic pages before him.

The chair squealed as he pushed away from the desk. His feet shuffled to the humming fridge only a few steps away. The yellow glow from the opened door lit its pitiful contents: mustard, mayo, a single apple, and Buds Light. He snagged a bottle.

Just outside the window, the night was alive. Chirping insects rid the silence. The dark of night was also free of clouds, and the moon provided white luminescence that seeped into the tiny shack. On the outside, it was falling apart. A gust of wind could blow it over; how it remained in tact, was truly a mystery. He had inherited the cursed bones. Couldn't ever sell it, not like anyone wanted it. Why hadn't he let nature reclaim it? He wished he had. Maybe then he would still have her.

The emptied bottle was placed on the countertop. He sighed. Shook his head. He couldn't give up, not now. He was too close to quit.

Behind him, the papers whispered to him. "Come find me, come find me, come find me." The tantalizing voice was chilling. It sounded so familiar; sounded just like her...

He slowly turned around. The floorboards beneath him rattled, the walls groaned. "Find me, find me, find me." The several voices overlapped in a repetitive chant. A clamor of deafening moans, shrills, and shouts. He covered his ears at its peak.

Suddenly, silence.

Slowly he removed his hands. His eyes scanned the area as he stood trembling beside the kitchen sink.

As much as he wanted to leave, he couldn't without her. Whatever he angered—awakened—it had been his fault.

His feet led him back to the chair, back before the archaic writing on the antiquated papers. The slippery black strands of hair fell into his face, and exhaustingly he grabbed a fist full. His elbows stamping the several yellow pages. A single tear leaked down his porcelain cheek. "Grey," he moaned.

Just a few days ago, he had brought his long-time girlfriend there. A decision he soon regretted. Following his father's funeral, in his quaint town, she wanted to know him better. What was it like growing up there? What brought him to the city? What his family was like? Most of Talco's memories were encapsulated. Vaulted for reasons he hadn't known. However, returning might've gave him answers; and suddenly, he was curious.

"Home sweet home," he had muttered when their van stopped before the dilapidated, worn-down, cabin

She took in her surroundings. Large trees loomed overhead. Their long limbs looked over the couple, swaying in the soft breeze. They pointed in the direction they came, as if to say "turn back."

He led her inside. It smelt of must and mildew.

"It's been a minute," he awkwardly laughed. "And pop wasn't much of a housekeeper."

"It was just the two of you?" Her eyes traced the room. Dirt piled and caked into corners. The floor groaned with each step. A single cot was in the back. Wrapped in stained sheets. It didn't look like much of a home, surely not for a little boy

He nodded, "just the two."

Grey tucked her hair behind her ear. "You don't talk much about him."

"Not really much to say." He shrugged. "Memory is a little foggy."

"I'd imagine it would be hard to forget a place like this," she smirked. "Homey."

He chuckled at her sarcasm. He stood behind her, watching her observe knickknacks, the journals strewn on the counter, photographs resting on the floor. What did he expect coming back here? It was in worse condition than he recalled.