At work...
Staring blankly at the door he shuffled his papers. His next client was due to arrive any minute.
knock...knock knock
“Is anyone here?”
“Come in Cressida.” He replied wearily. A young woman poked her head in, her luscious, dark raven curls swaying in front of her lean, youthful face. Her matching obsidian eyes flashed, a merry smile already plastered to her face as she stepped in.
“So you would like you to sell the house for $598,680?”
Her face turned solemn, she nodded.
“I must, you know how dire my situation is.”
He nodded.
“Alright, I will prepare the waivers for you to sign, come back tomorrow, have a good day, Cressida.”
“You too, Alistor.” Slipping off the battered grey chair she headed out the door.
Walking home...
After the interview, he walked home along the sidewalk, peering into the shop windows. He was just coming up to his favourite store along his route, but as he rounded the corner, an older woman called.
“Alistor come check out this new sculpture!”
“Not today, Sarah.” Pausing he turned to look through the window and froze. There it was again. What was wrong with him? Should he see a doctor?
He was walking toward the double doors of his grandparents’ house, the air dismal and abandoned but intriguing, he took another step, hand on the doorknob. With a small click the doors swung open to reveal the maze of dusty staircases and winding hallways,
The invisible ropes now hauling him from room to room fast enough that it seemed like he was flying.
Then he stopped.
In front of the attic door.
His hand trembling, he reached for the doorknob, the fist wrapping tighter around his heart, then he was running between boxes and shelves until he was standing in front of the worn ivory table. Panting hard, he approached, hands held defensively in front of his face. White light exploded from the smooth small table.
Gasping, he realized he was facedown on the cement path, Sarah screaming at him to wake up. Groaning he turned over to see her tearstained face mere inches away from his. Standing up, he walked home, feeling more ghost than human.
That night…
The table was before him once again. This time he would see what was on its worn surface, he was going to see what his grandparents had left him. Invisible claws were prying at his closed eyelids, daring him to look. A cold clamped down onto his body, and he felt more like a corpse than a human, but he had to look. Just look! His eyes flew open and sitting on the table was …. No! The light swarmed him once again, shoving him away and enveloping his form. Blinding, burning, death itself.
He awoke, coughing and spluttering, his head pounding and his eyes dry and scratchy. He had dreamt once again. What was wrong with him? He didn’t even want to go to his grandparents’ house to see what they had left him. He wanted to forget about them and leave the pain behind, so he could move on with his life. Without daring to look in the mirror for fear of what he’d see, Alistor threw on a jacket and jogged to work.
