The Livingstone Estate

Epilogue

On the Livingstone estate, flies were sometimes the first indication that someone had died.

The Estate was on the most western shore of Bridge Borne, on a sloping hill. The shore no one ever dared step foot on, not even take a glance at from the distance. The townspeople never explained their antics, whether it was a tradition, part of their culture, or if there was any explanation at all. They just simply lived through the rest of their days, herding their sheep and baking their stale bread. No one knew if Bridge Borne had actually one been a metropolis, or even a city or town at all, and frankly, no one really seemed to care all that much. When children asked their parents why they had no one to play with, they were never given an exact answer. It always fluctuated.

"Well there's too many rocks down at the eastern end to build any houses." The occasional,

"Well, it's none of your concern."

                Sometimes, they did not respond at all. Just glared at their children like one would stare at a criminal. Naturally, everyone was just taught that curiosity was a sin, and that all they should ever care about was them, their families and their work. Not the castle on top of the large hill with decaying stonewalls and a worn green tinted glass roof that suffered from to many rainy days. No, they were never to look at it. They were never to wander towards it. They were never allowed to go inside it. Trina could not for the life of her figure out why the old, decrepit ominous castle was called, "it". It was just an old abandoned castle. The glass shards from all the windows were scattered in every direction, the broken down door had a large crack going from the bottom all the way to the top. The painted walls had been chipped away, and if Trina got close enough, she could see silvery spider webs shimmering through the window frames. Trina, in her ten years of life, had never seen a single person, enter or leave that very house. But  Trina could have swore that she's seen things move in the house. She told her mother, to which her mother replied, "What have I told you about looking at that estate?"

             "But...Mom, you don't understand, if I see something, I can't help but want to-" "SHUSH!" Her mother turned around at the speed of light, and her face shone beet red. Trina could pretty much feel her anger and disappointment radiating off her mother, though after a moment her mother's eyes softened, though her anger remained bottled inside her. Her mother took an obvious breath, tensing all of her sharp features. Trina fled the scene, running on the creaky oak floors and taking a sharp right turn, ran down the stairs and flunked down on the floor of the basement, and started folding layer upon layer of frayed, handmade clothes. The muscles in her hands had become familiar with the sequence you went through to fold a shirt. She probably could have done it with her eyes clothes. Sometimes, she could feel her hands doing the motion in her sleep. Not that anything would feel right until she found out what the big deal was with the estate. Why was everyone paranoid? What was a life if you lived it scared, and afraid of an old, warn house? It was insane! Trina sat bolt up right, hands curled into tight fists, brows furrowed. "I'm going to get in that castle, one way or another." Trina finished the remaining pile of clothes in front of her, and began doing something bridge Borne residents were never taught to do: Thinking out side the box. Therefore, Trina's hands became twitching as she messily wrote with dry ink on empty cardstock.

And so, our story begins.