Wilt

Chapter 3: Occult Tea

When Gen locked the front door behind her she checked and double checked to make sure it was secure– something she couldn't remember ever doing before.

"Mom!" she called loudly, expecting to see her mother's youthful face emerging from her office to wave a brief hello before returning to her writing. Instead her little brother, Danny, came loping down the stairs and threw himself unceremoniously onto the quilted sofa in their sitting room.

"She went out," he yawned. "You're supposed to make dinner."

"Oh?" Gen said as she hung her coat up. "And why not you, ungrateful child."

He draped an arm over his eyes as though the light pained him. "Because I am twelve and cannot be trusted near a stove or sharp knives."

She fluttered a hand delicately. "Details." Gen paused beside the couch. "Do you know where she went?" It wasn't characteristic of their mother to take unplanned field trips during the day. Usually she left her computer only to make pots of strange smelling tea or to tell Gen to feed the bird.

Danny shrugged. "Dad will be back for dinner too."

She flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes and entered their little kitchen. After placing the kettle on the stove, she placed herself on one of the stools and pulled her knees up to her chest. It was gloomy inside, and a soft chill had made its way through the walls. Still, outside the woods swayed peacefully. Her eyes drooped from fatigue and she was woken a few moments later by the jarring screech of the kettle. She poured herself a cup of tea and shouted for Danny.

Her voice echoed through the house, quite a feat in such a small space, and she thought that she had never heard their home so quiet. There was always the persistent tapping of her mother's fingers in the study, or the buzzing of the television as her father snoozed on the sofa. Even Danny, who was attached to the telescope he'd gotten for his eleventh birthday could usually be identified by the thumping of his eager feet on the upstairs floorboards. But it wasn't the absence of her family's noise that caught Gen's attention, it was the silence from the corner of the living room. She padded out of the kitchen, tea in hand and twisted the light on from one of the many eclectic lamps that adorned the room.

Their pet house sparrow twitched in its cage. When they had gotten it, Gen had complained about the boring silver cage, and so they had painted it a vibrant yellow that provoked many guests to comment on interesting taste. There were even little daisies dotted along the corners that sometimes the little bird would peck at. It that moment, however, the sparrow was silent and completely still. The words "as the grave" came to mind and Gen had the awful realization that she would have to tell Danny their pet had died. But as she ventured closer, she saw that's its wings still fluttered slightly and its fuzzy chest rose delicately with slow breaths. Not dead, sleeping. The image of the fox sleeping by the fire came to mind and she fought back a shiver.

"Yeah?" Danny called back belatedly, and Gen had to pause for a moment to remember what she had been shouting at him for.

"Do you want tea?"

There was a pause. "What kind?"

Gen turned purposefully away from the cage. "Whatever kind you choose."

She heard his door open and the steps as her brother jogged down the stairs. "I want one of those rose things," he replied as he emerged. "You know, the flowers that bloom."

He noticed where she was standing and grimaced.

"Oh yeah, Bear's been sleeping since I got home. He didn't even wake up when I fed him."