An old diary is given to the new owners of a house in Cambria, California. Designed by famous architect Julia Morgan, it has some oddities - including a spiral staircase in the backyard, leading to nowhere. What they discover involves old Welsh magi...
"They sound like a delightful couple," said Anne, who shamelessly had begun eating the 3rd muffin, smeared with Olallieberry jam. The rule in our living arrangements had begun in our early days as a couple: One cooks, the other cleans. Her crockpot 4-alarm Vegan chili was safely tupperwared and stored in the fridge, and I was busy cleaning the 'non-stick' bowl. Have you ever noticed how some foods manage to stick to anything regardless of that adjective?
"They were. I don't think I encountered anyone who seemed even the slightest bit grumpy or small-minded. I'm going to take Frankie up on his offer to talk to his dad."
Anne chuckled. "Even if it means getting your butt whooped at Welsh chess?"
"Let's both hope he's not the type of old cis-het man who likes to point out men's intellectual superiority over women!"
Anne turned the brass doorknob around and fiddled with it. "This is really exquisite. And the crow..."
"Eddie. He has a name, you know," I said, lifting my nose up in the air.
"Of course, he does. I'm certain Mr. Poe made a point of introducing himself." We both giggled. "Eddie showed you where it was. Like the key. You must feel flattered, to be the recipient of a second corvid cadeau."
"Hon, I don't think these are gifts," I replied after a moment.
"What are they then?" Anne rose from the table, holding a plate that once held six muffins (but now only played hostess to three) and laid it on the "drawing room" coffee table. Last night, I'd jokingly called it that as opposed to the 'living room' and Anne felt it was appropriately charming. She put on a pot of half-caff coffee: her homemade 'not exactly' decaf and then joined me, already nestled in my manly lounge chair.
"They're pieces of this place. Lost pieces of the house's past, perhaps," I mused.
"Ooh, I like that. How about we continue reading that diary? It's your turn to read!" Anne clapped her hands together and gave me her doe-eyed look. That's the look I can't say no to. For the record, I suck at reading.
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