Heart Themed Canvas [UsUk]

His Clockwork Heart [Ch.2 END]

A/N:sry 4 the wait,i got some bitching lag over here-a lo

"I don't like this, Mattie. How could they do this?! It's been in the family for ages!"

"I know, Al," sighed his cousin. "But... Can your parents really afford to keep this place?"

With a grumble, Alfred folded his arms. "They could sell it to Aunt Maddie and Uncle Gil."

Once again, his cousin sighed. They had already been over this multiple times and Alfred was well aware that the Canadian branches of his family hardly ever spent time in America, except for when they were visiting Alfred and his parents. There was no way to save his grandfather's home.

"Come on. We're wasting time," said Matthew. Without waiting for an answer, he fished his hand into one of Alfred's pockets and hurried out of reach with the key in hand. The Canadian walked away, secure in the knowledge that Alfred would follow.

"Hey!" said Alfred, though he wasn't really bothered. With a sigh, he raised his eyes to the massive Virginian house. The huge brick monstrosity sprawled across the street, its garden hidden by walls. The front yard was overgrown and ivy had started to creep across its face. Windows dark with dust and grime stared down. Once Matthew had wrestled the door open, its gaping maw beckoned Alfred inside.

In the darkened building, the two young men gazed around at the shell which remained of their adored relative. Old chairs were ragged and piles of books with thick layers of dust lay in their lonely vigil. Pictures still stood, fighting off the neglect but failing. Paintings and rotting flowers remained in the hallways. The wardrobes still contained old clothes and the mothballs rolled out when they opened them. A lot of the cloth and clothing lying around had holes from insects. Instead of a gleaming kitchen, the surfaces were dull, something both cousins knew the old man had hated.

They met up again at the top of the house, both empty handed. "Didn't find anything worth keeping, huh?" said Alfred, sullenly.

"I think the only real sentimental things are the family pictures," answered Matthew with a shrug. He was looking rather grim. Although both of them had loved the man, Alfred had always been able to visit him regularly. Matthew had less visits and the death he who he had barely begun to get to know was hitting him rather had.

The American nodded. "Yeah."

"There might be things in the attic," added Matthew, pointing upwards.

"Yeah," said Alfred, tilting his head back. "There might even be stuff from our great-grandfather."

"Mmhmm..."

Glancing at Matthew, Alfred could see him shifting uncomfortably. As far as he could remember, Matthew had never liked the attic. Sometimes he had claimed to hear ticking and whispering. Alfred, of course, had laughed him off – even if the total darkness in the room at night terrified. Then he could hear ticking and laughter and giggling and scraping and someone breathing down his neck-!

Cutting off that train of thought, he tilted his head with a small smile. "D'ya wanna wait outside, dude? I can do this on my own, y'know."

Matthew scrutinised him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. If I find anything too big to carry down myself, I'll give you a call."

"I won't hear y-" began Matthew but Alfred pulled out his cell and waved it. With a sigh, Matthew nodded. "Okay, fine. I'll be in the garden."

With that, they parted ways, Alfred grabbing the pole from its place on the wall to pull open the hatch and bring down the ladder. Once up, he tugged on the rope to light the single swaying bulb. It created a pitiful light source and he sighed. Not for the first time he wished that there was a skylight.