A Legacy for Katherine

Chapter 2 - Home Sweet Home

The sun is sinking fast over the horizon as I hurry through the woods. It's a relief when I finally spot some familiar sights.

My mind keeps taking me back to my interaction with those insufferable jerks. I wish I'd never encountered them.

I don't know how I ended up in their property. How could have I strayed so far from my normal path? There is no trail to follow but I know this land like the back of my hand. I grew up here.

Eerie cries of the crows pierce through the evening sky as I step out of the woods into the clearing. It's walking uphill all the way home from here.

A gust of chilly autumn wind causes me to shiver when I stop to look back. I almost reach the top of the hill. From my vantage point, I can see past the woods, the stream that cuts through the property to the valley beyond.

My grandmother's estate goes on past the stream- 240 acres of land to be exact. It used to be bigger and a good portion of it used to be a working farm. My great grandfather, Thomas Blackwell used to hire Dutch immigrants as farmhands. Agriculture used to be one of our sources of income, apart from other lucrative businesses. Most of the land was sold to the Gauthier family after my grandfather's passing. The remaining acres are now left to grow wild- like a private conservation area.

Reluctantly, I slowly turn back around. The silhouette of moss-covered tombstones becomes visible against the purple sky as I slowly make my way home.

The rusted metal gate creaks on its old hinges when I push it open. There are only a few tombstones behind the black metal fence- twelve to be exact. Several generations of Blackwells lie here. A few of these tombstones are more than two hundred years old and crumbling. I step around them and let my finger idly trace the wing of the praying angel's statue as I walk past. At the end of the front row are the newest ones- those of my parents. They died when I was just a toddler. I have no memories of them but every time I walk past their headstones, I pause just for a second or two. Frankly, I don't know why. It's just a habit, somehow it feels like a disrespect not to do so.

A few yards away is a small guest house that stands empty, dust clings to its glass windows. The water fountain in front of it has been standing dry for years. I thought I saw a figure disappearing behind the guest house. Probably our groundskeeper, Norman. He's getting on in years but he keeps everything outside in shape...mostly.

Have you ever imagined that the windows are the eyes of a house? Well, that's how I feel when I approach the imposing Blackwell Estate- a three-story monstrosity of a grey stone structure that rises from the ground and looms over the sky with its five turrets.

The mansion is over two hundred years old, inherited from one generation of Blackwell to another. Not unlike those tombstones, some parts of the mansion are crumbling. Ivy grows through the crevices of the uneven stones to cover some parts of the wall.

A ghostly touch of chill skitters down my spine when I bring my gaze up to the pitch-black windows. There's a big part of me that screams for me to stay away- like what I was doing earlier today. But I swallow those feelings down as I climb the stone steps that lead up to the heavy front doors.

"Katherine, is that you?" Aunt Agatha's voice echos through the massive foyer as soon as I slam the door shut.

"Yes, it's me, auntie!" I call back. Who else could it be?

Aunt Agatha's face appears from the top of the stairs. Strands of her graying brown hair escape the bun that sits at the nape of her neck. "You stayed out longer today."

I toe my shoes off in the foyer. Grandmother hates muddy footprints on the floor.

"It's getting dark, I was getting worried," she adds, coming down the curving, wooden staircase. She stops at the landing. Her back is straight. Her tall, slim figure is sheathed in a long-sleeved black dress. The pearl buttons are done up to her neck. The lines around her blue-grey eyes deepen with weariness and concern.