where ghosts wander || ONC 2022

chapter four; a flower crown and a curse, or something like that

It's not that I don't like my childhood home — the house is nice enough, even if it hasn't really been home in a long time.

It's the memories that it holds that haunt me.

The scratch in the wall where nine-year-old me tried to make a lasting impact on something for once and only managed to get sent to her room for a week for her trouble, the creaking floorboard that I avoided with vengeance, the kitchen itself.

The kitchen with the pleasantly baby-blue cabinets, the heavy drawers that sometimes close on your fingers without a warning, the stove top with its burning hot pans and pots, the water tap that like to open and close on its own volition, making a mess of things when it's the last thing you need.

Yeah, the kitchen didn't particularly like me.

It was more than mutual.

I don't even try to make tea or coffee, or even get a glass of water.

I don't think it's worth the bother. And also, as soon as I stepped foot into the house I knew that waiting around in the kitchen for my aunt to finish up was not why I was here.

And neither is becoming friends with said kitchen, not after all these years.

Although it probably wouldn't hurt, not being on such bad terms with the kitchen.

But alas, that's not what I'm here for.

So, instead I'm wandering around the house, stumbling upon more memories with almost every step I take, and getting preeetty close to saying just fuck it all and leaving.

I seriously doubt this torment is necessary for whatever I'm supposed to do. Surely these memories won't make any difference one way or another.

The memories do chase me up the stairs and towards my childhood bedroom though, the closest thing to a sanctuary I ever got in this house.

On the way there my eyes land on the door to the second sitting room at the end of the hallway.

I hadn't been allowed in there even before all that unpleasant business with the Other.

I only recall one or two very vague memories of ever having been in there — they must be from when I had still been the youngest daughter of the esteemed Unwinter family, instead of the only one.

Before.

I've often wondered what it is that makes it so important for me to stay out of it — but I've learned early enough that my parents' rules are to be followed, or else.

This was the one thing I've never tested them on.

Until now, I suppose, because the Whatever is pretty insistent that what I'm here for is hidden behind that door.

Gulp.

The heavy wooden door doesn't creak when I push it open, and I don't know why I'm surprised by that. My parents would never allow a room to become anything less than immaculate, even if it's just the unused second sitting room.

So I definitely am surprised when my gaze immediately falls upon the chimney that has a prominent place in the center of the room. The chimney that has a layer of dust on its pretty bricks, even though the grate is stocked with fresh wood, and the long bookcases along the walls of the room don't seem to have a single book out of place, let alone be touched by a single grain of dust.