At twenty-seven, people immediately assume I should have my own apartment, and I did, but after Dad’s stroke a few years back that left him numb on one side of his body and made to heavily rely on a wheelchair, I hate the idea of leaving him alone when Mom goes to work. He says I’m being silly, but I’d rather be overcautious than get that call again.
Plus, with Dad out of work and Mom working around the clock trying to afford the bills, I want to help. Two paychecks make things easier for everyone.
Leaving behind the grandfather clock, I slip into the living room. I inventory the weird little knickknacks. The tiny demon figurines. A shriveled monkey paw. The random collection of animal skulls. Human skulls — fake ... I think. The jars of brittle herbs, flowers, and ... teeth? Not all human shaped. Some are long and curved. Sharp and yellow. Some are tiny. Like baby teeth.
What the hell was Aunt Laura into?
I dust off the hand that touched a tiny, doll shaped thing made of human hair on my pants before hurrying to the bookcase.
“Gah, so gross,” I groan.
The case built directly into the wall is stuffed with the same type of books I’ve been finding all across the house.
Anatomy. Plants I’ve never heard of. Rituals and occult histories and ... even spell books that should be in a museum. There are a few journals with neat, looping ink — dark brown — and pressed flowers, herbs. A few pages contain bits of hair.
A baggie of nail clippings and something that could be a patch of dried skin.
I touch nothing.
I’ve seen that movie where the idiot opens the book he shouldn’t and gets everyone killed. I’m not going to be the one who unleashes unimaginable horror into the world.
Instead, I move to what I think is a safer spot. A set of drawers built into the TV unit.
“Please don’t be anything weird.” I close my eyes and pray.
My prayers are answered when I find papers. Bills and old letters. Nothing crazy.
I blow out a breath and turn.
And freeze.
On the end table next to the sofa is a framed photo. It’s so normal compared to everything I’ve seen so far that I can only stare for a long moment before I find my feet and walk over.
My fingers brush the cold, metal edges of the frame. Carefully, I pull it out and study the photo pressed behind the glass.
I remember this picture.
I remember the afternoon it was taken. I remember because I have the same picture on my dresser in a frame very similar to the one in my hands. Not surprising. Mom took this photo. She made several copies, including one for me and one for her own albums. Most likely, she thought Aunt Laura might like one and sent it to her. What surprises me is that it’s displayed. The only photo in the entire house.
I want to feel touched by the gesture, maybe a little smug that I was the chosen one, but given what I know about Aunt Laura and what I’ve seen so far, this had to be a mistake. She probably meant to toss it and forgot. That makes more sense.
Photo in hand, I move to the sofa. My gaze wanders over and along the faces I haven’t seen in ... God, how long has it been?
Long enough that Aunt Laura remarried for a third time and I never saw them again. Without that connection, it was like our time together ceased to exist.
To be fair, they moved with their dad to the opposite end of the country. Also, I was barely eighteen ... nineteen, maybe, when the picture was taken. Kellen had nearly been thirty.Lukan twenty-seven, and Roan twenty-five. Give or take. Old enough that they had no reason to want a doe-eyed teenager around.
Not that anyone would believe that when looking at the photo of us standing beneath a shady oak. Squished together even though there was plenty of space.
Aunt Laura was still married to Dan — her second husband — when we all met up for our annual family gathering inSugarloaf Park.Her three children from her first marriage and I had never been close. They have always been too much like their mother.
Rude. Entitled. Obnoxious.
But Dan’s sons...
They did things to my insides I have never told a soul. Even though our time together was brief, they were family. We became friends. Nothing more. Their affections were always strictly plutonic where I wanted more. Secretly. Alone in my room at night. But even I knew that kind of relationship was impossible and highly frowned upon. Still if I had known this would be the last time we’d be together, I probably would have done things a whole lot differently.
Not exactly sure how, but...
