The Fallen Silk

shiver

Her fingers on the pearl, Effie left the bedroom and went for the stairs, seeing, for the first time, the paintings that lined the wall down to the living room. Theola had painted most of them, though there were a few of her that had been painted by a friend in town, and a few landscapes by other local painters. As a child, Effie had enjoyed staring at the pieces of art while her mother explained the different techniques, colours, and brushes that had been used.

The paintings brought up a mixture of emotions in the pit of her stomach – pain, fear, grief, longing; Effie felt the wetness of tears on her cheeks before she knew she was crying, but she reached a hand out to touch one of the paintings.

'Mum, I miss you.' She whispered, choking on her tears. Effie looked into the eyes of the portrait, remembering the way they sparkled and how her smile, though often sad, was always bright and infectious. No one could resist her laugh, it brought out the happiness in every situation. Why then, she constantly wondered, had her mother continued farther down the dark path of depression? She would tell her friends that Theola was ill, but in reality it was not an illness anyone could see – and even though there was an abundance of medication to mask the illness, there was no cure, and Effie had watched her mother wither away into a husk of what she had once been.

She remembered the day her mother had died, and it caused her to crumple into a heap on the stairs, her fingers still clasped around the pearl.

She had been at work, dodging calls from Henry, and trying her hardest to maintain a professional attitude with her customers. Her manager appeared and pulled her away from her register.

'You have a call in the office.' His face was reserved, but she could see fear and sympathy in his eyes. Effie knew it was her mother, that something had happened, but she had never thought the call would carry such painful information.

Theola had taken her own life. Effie had been gone no longer than an hour, and when she had left for work that morning, her mother had seemed in proper spirits and was planning their dinner for that evening. Everything had seemed so normal, for the first time, that Effie hadn't assumed anything was amiss. But that call made her question everything she had experienced since moving back in with her mother.

As she bawled into her hands, she felt Nimbus rubbing against her leg, and she laughed through her tears.

'I'm fine, Nimbus, I'm just grieving.' The feline trilled in response and nipped her pant leg. 'What, are you out of food?' Another trill, another nip, and Nimbus padded down a few steps, turning back to make sure she was following. 'All right, all right, I'm coming.'

Effie wiped the tears from her face and inhaled deeply as she walked into the kitchen and refilled the kittens bowl. Feeling the need for a cup of tea, she began preparing the fire and filled the kettle with water, watching as the flames came back to life.

***

She took a sip of her tea, turning the page of the book she was reading, a flannel blanket wrapped over her shoulders to keep the chill away. It was peaceful, and she was grateful for the silence, except for the soft purrs coming from Nimbus, who was curled in her lap. Smiling, Effie looked down from the book at the kitten, wishing she could have as little concern as a cat.

The soft sound of footsteps on the second floor alerted the kitten, and a soft growl escaped her mouth. Effie looked at Nimbus, at first confused as to her reaction – had she had a dream? – but once she heard the steps, she understood. There was someone in the house, someone moving around in her bedroom. How did they get into the house? What did they want? She didn't have much money, not in cash at least, and though there were a few antiques throughout the house, Effie was sure they weren't worth much to a thief.

She remained on the couch, listening to movement – it seemed to be isolated, one single path, pacing back and forth in front of the door, as if unsure if they wanted to leave the bedroom or remain there. Effie hadn't thought to bring a weapon with her, and though there were knives, they were all in the kitchen – she would have to pass by the stairs in order to get to them, and there was a high chance that the intruder had a stronger weapon that a simple kitchen knife.

As she continued to listen without moving from the couch, she realised that she could clearly see every breath she exhaled. The temperature in the cottage had dropped considerably, and a chill bit at her skin through the blanket; Nimbus vibrated in her lap, both from the cold and from the growls she was emitting. Effie followed the kitten's gaze to the stairs, and heard the bedroom door open and close, the footsteps moving down the hall to the top of the stairs. They were still soft, a woman's steps, and they were familiar to her – she had heard those footsteps before. She went to stand from the couch, but as the intruder descended the stairs, there was nothing there. No one accompanied the soft gait, no one appeared as the sound reached the last step.

She was alone, except for Nimbus, but she swore there was something standing at the stairs, looking at her, watching her with curiosity. She knew it was her mother, though she couldn't explain how she knew that.

Effie closed the book in her hand, placed her cup on the table, and moved Nimbus to the cushion as she stood from the couch. The cottage was still chilled, her breath still visible as she moved to the stairs and stood in the exact spot where the steps had stopped.

The feeling was gone, she no longer felt that someone was watching her, that someone was standing at the stairs. It was gone, and the temperature in the cottage returned to normal. Nimbus left the couched and trotted into the kitchen, mewling for another dish of milk.