The Farmhouse

Part Two

As the years passed, Aubrey began to grow. As Beth had hoped for, Aubrey developed friendships and relationships from school, just as her mother told her. Aubrey had moved bedrooms at the start of middle school and left her childhood bedroom door closed. All the memories of her childhood days began to fade and became a distant memory.

Although Aubrey had forgotten, Beth still remembered the fall day when she heard voices. After that day, she could not erase the quavering, hollow voices of the two children. They constantly echoed through her ears, giving her many sleepless nights. The voices had stopped when her daughter moved rooms and the door shut to her old bedroom. With the voices gone, she felt calmer and concluded this memory to be strange.

Twelve years had passed, and her daughter was a senior. Hearing the sound of tires on gravel and the roaring of an engine, Aubrey had returned home from her first day. With summer turning into fall, Beth began preserving her garden vegetables again. Aubrey stepped in with the creak of the screen door.

"How was your first day?" Beth asked while dicing a big red tomato.

"Quite busy," Aubrey sighed, leaning her elbows on the counter. "And I learned some interesting history about our farmhouse."

"Really? What did you learn?" Beth asked, setting her knife down and turning to face her daughter.

"Well," Aubrey started, tapping her fingers on the counter, "The man that built this house was named Carl Hackett. He lived here with his wife, Emma, and two sons, Richard and Edgar, for about eight years. Unfortunately, the two little boys contracted scarlet fever and passed. So, after all the work they put into the house, they put it up for sale because they claimed they could still hear their children even after they passed. Pretty crazy, right?"

Richard and Edgar. Beth had heard these names before, and they were Aubrey's imaginary friends. "Wait, the little boy's names were Richard and Edgar?" Beth asked with a slight shake in her voice. She wanted her daughter's answer to deny it and say she had misheard the names.

"Yes, why?" Aubrey asked, giving her mother a suspicious glance.

"Don't those names sound familiar to you?" Beth replied, grabbing a towel to wipe her hands.

"No. Am I supposed to know them?" Aubrey replied, crossing her arms. Beth suddenly realized her daughter had forgotten all about them. Something that was a key part of her childhood was gone to her.

"No, it's just that... when you were younger... you had imaginary friends of the same name." Beth managed to say, tapping her fingers nervously together.

"Hmmm... I don't remember that, but I'll take your word for it," Aubrey said while reminiscing her childhood memories.

Beth could not believe her daughter could forget them. The imaginary friends gave her joy when she was alone and provided her with a sense of comfort. The friends that relieved Beth of her thoughts of her daughter being sad.

"You learn something new every day, I guess, "Aubrey said with a slight chuckle. "Well, I am heading to a friend's house tonight, so I won't be home for dinner. Love you!" Aubrey said, kissing her mother on the cheek and heading out the door once again.

Beth sat alone in the farmhouse, collecting her thoughts. The bird chirps and rustling leaves echoed through the empty house. She never realized how empty the place was. For the longest time, she used to listen to her daughter's laughter and chatter fill the house as she did her chores. Now, there was only silence and the light sounds of nature.

After a moment of silence, Beth walked upstairs to her daughter's old room. Opening the creaky wooden door, she saw the room where her daughter spent hours playing and laughing. In sight of it, Beth felt a bit melancholy seeing the dust-covered floor and cobwebs form in a room that used to be so lively.

As a mother, she was proud of the fine young woman Aubrey grew to be, but she could not help but miss her earlier years. After a long stare into the room, she sighed and smiled, "Thank you for providing my daughter your presence and comfort."

Before shutting and locking the door, she paused. For years, she feared the room due to the whispering voices of two children that would give her long sleepless nights. She grew a new perspective of this room and accepted their existence. Instead of the feeling of fear, she now felt comfort. Leaving the door cracked open, she returned to the kitchen. In the brief moment of silence, she could hear the echoing sounds of giggling and chatter from upstairs before picking up her kitchen knife to chop tomatoes. She smiled.