The Frog and The Beast

The Beast Chapter 9

The following month, I moved back to my first home—the old Victorian mansion nestled in the woods that I had shared with my parents. This house, once belonging to my great-grandmother, had been passed down to my mother after her death. Mom had always cherished it, spending summers here with my uncle during their childhood.

Located in the Magnolia Forest, the air was thick with the scent of pine and earth. Towering trees reached toward the sky, their branches adorned with the vibrant colors of autumn leaves. The forest was so dense that few ventured here; those who did often found themselves lost in its depths.

The mansion stood five stories tall, each floor nearly as spacious as an entire apartment, filled with secrets and memories. As I stepped through the creaking front door, the familiar scent of aged wood and lavender enveloped me—a scent that had always reminded me of my mother. Sunlight filtered through the tall stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the polished wooden floors.

I wandered through the rooms, each telling its own story. The first floor featured three extra bedrooms, and the parlor, with its heavy drapes and antique furniture, felt like a time capsule. I could almost hear my parents' laughter echoing off the walls, their voices mingling with whispers of the past. The kitchen, with its large farmhouse table, was where my mother used to bake cookies, filling the house with warmth and sweetness.

As I climbed the staircase, I noticed faded photographs lining the walls—my mother as a child, her and my father on their wedding day, pictures of me as a baby, and even a photo of my great-grandmother. She seemed like a kind lady. I wondered if she would have treated me differently than my uncle did.

"This place is even more beautiful than I remember," Ur said, stepping in with my luggage. "I can still hear the sounds of my laughter and Mika's as we ran around, playing hide-and-seek."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, puzzled.

"Oh, I guess no one ever told you. I used to live next door to this house. When your mother and I were children, we played together every summer she came here."

"I didn't know that. I thought you didn't meet my parents until they hired you."

Ur chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with nostalgia. "That's the thing about memories—they can be tricky. Sometimes they slip away, and other times they come rushing back when you least expect it." She paused, glancing around the grand foyer. "This house holds so many stories, doesn't it?"

"I guess."

The second floor was mine, where my old bedroom awaited. It contained a study, a bathroom, a plasma screen, and several bookshelves—some empty, others filled with my old toys and storybooks. I ran my hand over the shelf and picked up two items.

One was a white teddy bear my mother had made for me when I was a baby. She said it was because I loved the snow so much, like a little polar bear. I used to adore those Coca-Cola commercials with the polar bears and penguins. I wondered if anyone my age still remembered them.

The other item was a copy of *Oliver Twist* by Charles Dickens, a gift from my dad on my eighth birthday. It had been my favorite book, and he would read chapters to me almost every night before bed. After my parents passed, I imagined myself as Oliver—a lost orphan boy crying out for a family.

The third floor held another large bedroom, my mother's childhood room, decorated like a living room but empty, along with a study devoid of books and another plasma screen.

The fourth floor housed the master bedroom and suite where my parents used to sleep, while the fifth was cluttered with old furniture and boxes of books and records, all covered in a thick layer of dust.

After exploring, I returned downstairs to find Ur unpacking.

"Where's my uncle?" I asked.

She glanced at her watch. "He's at work."

"No," I said, frustration creeping in. "I mean, where's he staying? Is he upstairs?"

"No, he's not staying upstairs. I'm staying down here."

"I mean when he comes back."

"I'm staying with you, Mr. Glen."

"No, I mean..."

Then it hit me. My uncle had no room because he wasn't living here. He was leaving me here, with Ur—my new guardian, my warden. Just the two of us, while my uncle lived a carefree life, free from the burden of his troubled nephew.

"So where's the phone?" I demanded.

Ur paused, her expression shifting.

"No phone?"

"Mr. Glen, I—"

"I need to talk to him! Is he planning on dumping me here forever without even saying goodbye?"

"Mr. Glen—"

"Stop calling me that!" I snapped, frustration boiling over as I overturned a shelf. "You sound ridiculous. What's he paying you to stay with me? Did he triple your salary to babysit his freak son? Your job goes bye-bye if I run away. You know that, right?"

Ur's expression changed from nostalgia to concern as she stepped closer. "Listen, I understand this is a lot to take in. But I'm not here to be your jailer. I'm here to help you, to make this transition easier. Your uncle cares about you and wants what's best for you."

I crossed my arms defiantly, feeling the weight of the house's history pressing down on me. "What does he know about what's best for me? He's never been around. He just sends you to babysit me like I'm some kind of problem to be solved."

"I'm sorry, Glen, but I—"

"Just leave me alone!"

I stormed upstairs to the second floor and slammed the door to my bedroom. In a fit of rage, I roared, throwing things and breaking them. Anger coursed through me—anger at my uncle, at Ur, at the witch, at myself, at the world. I wanted to tear everything apart like the savage beast I felt I had become.

Only my old toys and books were spared from my wrath. Everything else, though? No mercy.