Not My Home Anymore

Chapter One

Only seven days had passed since the three of us started to replace some of my grandparents mature touch, with the light air of new paint and soft furniture. My room was always kept the same, because I loved the view of the garden I had from my window. But now looking out at it all I saw was rough dirt where vegetables used to grow tall from the dirt my Grandmother nurtured into something soft and welcoming.

I heard the stairs creak as my Aunt tried to creep up the stairs towards my bed room. “Aunt Cassie! I can hear you!” Speaking loudly over my book as the door handle slowly turned.

“Oh darn.” Aunt Cassie came into my room wearing a flowing dress of pinks and blues looking at me expectantly. “Victoria, I think you should have the attic.” She tapped her foot raising an eyebrow.

I stared at her in horror, not understanding for a moment, “You.. You want me to sleep there?” I raised both my eyebrows in disbelief.

A gruff voice chuckled from the hall and my Uncle Greg stepped into my room, “No Vic we want you to clean it! Your Aunt and I are taking care of the first floor, and we wanted you to do a bit of dusting in the attic.”

“You looked horrified!” My Aunt laughed and waved her hand at me in a sign of sarcasm.

Sighing in relief, I nodded at them and they left chattering down the stairs at each other. As I started to tie up my unruly brown hair, I sat at the small vanity and stared in the mirror. I had taken the blue eyes from both my grandparents, but my unruly hair was my mother’s alone. I found that my face was somehow a memory of all three of them, which made me sad and somewhat grateful.

Walking outside to the shed was almost a routine for me. My grandfather would also ask me to clean the attic when I was a child. Everyone knew I kept small little trinkets up there that I didn’t wish for anyone to see.

The little shed was just on the side of the house, with a little door handle I used to knock when I was a child. “Knock knock,” I whispered, opening the door to inhale the scent of old wood shavings and the musk of evergreen trees covering the walls.

I rummaged through to the back and slowly pulled out an old ladder walking out of the shed with it in tow. The garden beside the shed looked worse on the ground than from my window, now I could see the wilted stalks of corn and the nibbled on bits of carrot and beet. It was like my childhood work being taken away in just a puff of smoke.

I hurried back to the porch and began to open the door when I felt two eyes knawing into the back of my head. I turned quickly staring out past the driveway to the trees blowing in the wind. They ushered me in, the long branches making pulling motions as the wind howled at me.

Shaking my head I swiftly took my place in the house, carrying the ladder carefully up the staircase. “Nonsense Victoria, trees talking to you!” I talked to myself quietly as I set up the ladder below the attic opening. “Don’t be silly.”

Stepping up the ladder I pushed the attic door up moving it aside to take in a new smell. It smelled of rustic wood panelling and the dusty smell of old lamps and couches. Hiking myself up I finally looked around, ducking under the low wood beams.

Looking to the right I gasped, nothing was there. Someone had pushed every single thing out of the way, just to lay a small little box in the middle. It sat there, almost aware of it’s importance as it reflected the last bit of dying sunlight through the window behind it. Kneeling in front of it I unhooked the clasp and opened the box.

Gasping I breathed out, “Gran…”

There, in her writing lay a small folded note with my name handwritten on the front. I cautiously picked it up and unfolded the delicate paper.

Victoria,

You must leave. Since you found this, we are gone. But you, you must leave. The trees have been talking to me and it isn’t safe. I knew, since you were a child you could hear their voices so now you must listen to them.

Goodbye my sweet.

I read it over and over, until it sunk it. My grandmother could hear the trees as well! But what could be happening and why wouldn’t she tell me before? I let the note fall back into the box, clasping it back up and picking it off the floor. There was dust surrounding the shape of where the box used to be, but it didn’t matter. I turned back abruptly feeling people staring at me but when I turned there was nothing, only the small movement of the dust as I shifted my feet.

Something had happened that Gran couldn’t tell me about before she passed. I need to find out what, and perhaps it is in this attic.