The House

Alberta

2011



         Looking back, she could never quite recall just when exactly she first had any idea of it, his existence. That is to say, she didn’t know the precise date; the day itself was forever ingrained in her mind. She had narrowed it down to the last week of April of that year, that special year…



         There was something about the country that had always appealed to Taylor. Perhaps it was the vacant stillness, which, upon further examination revealed certainly, always, that there was never a place of complete nothingness. Not like the city. She imagined it the last time he had seen it, just a great spot of frantic pulsing light, which really was empty. And now she was driving away from it, relaxed and non-regretful, for a week. She pulled the lever up on her seat and leaned back, keeping one hand on the wheel. Signs flashed by as she passed town after town; Toefield, Riley, Holden, Bruce, Viking, Irma… the list went on. The car radio tuned to static and she knew she was getting far from the city. She turned it to AM, fiddling absent-mindedly with the search button until she came to what seemed to be the only radio station available besides country: Oldies. Too bad this old van doesn’t even have a CD player, she thought, humming to “I’m a Believer.” The driver in the window of a semi passing by gave her an odd glance as the tune floated through the open window. Taylor just grinned and sped up.



         She was too curious about the old house at the moment to give attention to the passing cars, not that there were many to speak of.  She remembered the exact minute when she had found out about it, sitting in that lawyer’s office three weeks ago. It was just after her eighteenth birthday, almost two years after her mom’s death. She had walked into that firm not knowing what to expect. Her mom had told her that there might have been a little something coming to her, but he surely had not anticipated a whole house. But the strangest part of all was that it had come from some obscure great-aunt that she didn’t even remember. Well, technically, it had belonged to her mother ever since Aunt Rose had died, about ten years ago, but she had never mentioned it to her while she was alive. She had only bequeathed it to her in her will. It seemed strange; yet no one else seemed to make anything of it, as if occurrences of this type were standard of the day. And Taylor was not one to question the art of finances and legality. Not she, who had barely passed politics in Social 30-1 last year. “Taylor Alyssa Blythe”, the will had said, and abruptly the deed to the house was in her hands. She caught a sudden glance at herself in the rear-view mirror of the old Astro and, as always, it seemed astonishing to her the changes that had taken place during the past two years. She remembered the sad, frightened girl of sixteen after her moms’ death who had, by some power unknown to her, started life as an adult years before her companions. Too old for a foster home and too young to be a legal adult, she had silently thanked her mom for opening her bank account just sixth months prior, and also for the gift of the old van when she had gotten her licence. She had started off on her own, still going to school and working during the hours not thus occupied. Thank goodness for that government grant for teens living on their own and going to school; it had covered rent for her tiny apartment.

         She shoved her sunglasses onto her dark, reddish-brown hair and let the sun filter through to her brown eyes. She took a deep breath and smiled, for reasons wholly unknown to her. When was the last time she’d done that? She watched the mirage-like horizon, wavering in the warmth and fumes, and she could smell the heat of the oncoming summer through the vent. It was hot for the end of April. She did not want to open the window, for fear a hornet would choose that very crack in which to fly, the results of which, knowing her and any insects in the bee category, would be just short of disastrous. There were fewer and fewer vehicles on the road now; mainly trucks and the odd semi passed by, and the speed limit had dropped as she drove onto the old gravel road. She could hear the rocks grating beneath the tires and slowed down to fifty, but she was nearly crazy with anticipation as the old cliché proved itself true: So close, and yet so far. Two and a half miles to go, the ancient map told her, two and a half miles once you turn off the highway. The scenery crawled by. She was continually surprised by the uneven, hilly landscape of the supposed prairie province, which she had been surrounded by during the past few hours. The heat was intense, but the occasional breeze drifting through the vent in the van, which had no AC, made it bearable. Taylor had expected to spot lots of horses and farm animals on her drive, but so far hadn’t really seen much of anything, save the herds of buffalo at Elk Island and a few cows. Mostly, it was fields and fields of brownish-yellow or green: what would be canola and hay. Here and there, a melting patch of dirty grey snow marked the land. Up she went over a hill and had to slam on the breaks suddenly as a deer leaped out onto the road and another followed in pursuit, followed by three more little ones. She watched them flit away into the fields, just five white puffs bobbing into the bush, then looked away for just a second. When she looked back, they were gone, blended into the scenery. She smiled- Okay; there was her wildlife. She revved up the engine once more and started on her way, gravel spewing in every direction. The sun had begun to set, a brilliant glowing ball to her left, as she caught her first sight of the property, or rather, the edge of the acre surrounding the house. The whole of the property actually spanned all the way back to the oil rig she had passed, dry now, just a solitary pole marking the end of a driveway. Taylor passed by the edge of the fence, where old barrels and wire dotted the tiny wood, a wood so small she could almost see through. There was a pond next, surrounded by grasses and plants that indicated a former expansiveness. An old, pea-green boat rotted on the opposite shore. And then she turned into what must have been “the driveway” a rough uphill strip that was now as grown over with moss and short grasses as a putting green. She made a sharp turn and pulled up to the north side of the house, stopping in front of some small, dilapidated buildings she would have to visit later. She could see the dark outline of the house silhouetted against the sky. Barn-shaped, with that newer add-on on the east side that Mr. Peters had mentioned.

         The note from Aunt Rose, still stapled to the map, stated where the key was to be found. Sure enough, as Taylor scooted her hand into hood over the raised fire pit in the gazebo, the key was right where it was supposed to be. She felt an overwhelming desire just then to explore the rest of the gazebo, but it was getting late and she was just a little bit afraid in the dark. She exited swiftly and walked the short distance back to the house.  Suddenly, Taylor had the intense urge to delay her entrance; fear-or hopefully just nerves- set heavily upon her chest without warning. She trod carefully on the grate in front of the steps, a metal crisscross like lace across the stone slab. Then she slowly proceeded up the stairs. They’re made of that same funny metal as the grate, she thought as she went. The screen door, to her immediate left, wasn’t even locked she noted, but the wood door inside proved more tricky; she had to joggle the key several times before it creaked open...

         It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the semi dark but when they did, Taylor was quite surprised. The lawyer (Mr. Peters, he wanted to be called) had warned her that the house had would probably be in poor condition; no one had lived there since her aunt’s death, so it would likely have had about ten years of decay. Not only that, but it had been lived in for decades beforehand. Taylor had just been grateful that the weather was fairly warm as the house would not have electricity either. She had brought one of those industrial battery-operated heaters with her, along with a gallon of water.  Mr. Peters had mentioned a new well had been dug shortly before her aunt’s passing, so there may have been water but Taylor didn’t want to risk it. But what she saw now was more of a shock then she could have imagined- everything seemed in good condition. Sure there were a few things here and there that would need some fixing up, but basically everything was okay. But Mr. Peters said a house vacant for ten years would be practically falling apart.

         Well, there were some chips in the wooden kitchen cupboards, one or two dead flies on the floor...perhaps this was the sort of decay Mr. Peters was talking about? Maybe he had just been exaggerating. But why would he do that? After all, she was a city girl to the core and had no way of knowing what in what shape such a house could be. Maybe he just didn’t know what he was talking about? Taylor sincerely doubted that, seeing his prominently displayed certificate revealing just how many years he’d been in the business. Okay...so had someone been maintaining it then? If so, who? And why? She didn’t really want to think about that, knowing that surely someone, a stranger, had keys to the place. She shivered a little and instinctively reached for the light switch before realizing the fruitlessness of her action. Then Oh,          what the hey? She thought and flicked the switch anyway. Suddenly, the entryway was flooded with light. She startled and blinked in the light. It was wonderful after all that dim peering yet somewhat unsettling. Who was paying the bill?

Confused, yet unable to think of a reasonable conclusion, Taylor locked the door behind her and proceeded from the entryway further into the long, narrow kitchen. A beautiful table with what appeared to be slices of tree trunk inside some sort of resin on top sat at the end of the kitchen. Taylor passed it and stood in the middle of the sparse living room. The walls were all made out of wood- all over the house, in fact, as she would soon learn- there were some shelves with hand-painted animal ornaments at the back, along with a large deep floral couch. It looks like just like the one on Corner Gas, she noted with a grin. A small coffee table with two porcelain figures, a boy and a girl, was flanked against the south window. Looking out at the black outside, Taylor was realized she was exhausted. She glanced at the little gold clock- 10:00. It was earlier than she usually went to bed, but somehow she felt she could sleep tonight. The past year she had turned into quite the insomniac. She carefully walked up the carpeted stairs at the back of the living room- for surely the bedroom would be upstairs-and took her first left. She was mildly surprised by the bed, but after everything else, it wasn’t too much of a shock. She hadn’t even expected there to be any furniture at all, in the first place. She threw her sleeping bag on the (clean?!) floor and went in search of a bathroom. She brought her hand sanitizer and a bottle of water with her but now somehow had the feeling she wouldn’t need them. And sure enough, the water ran smoothly out of the tap. It was obviously hard though, and smelled slightly metallic. Taylor opted to use the bottle. Luckily, she had brought her own toilet paper. She went back to the bedroom and tiredly walked over to the bed. Did she really want to...? She touched the blankets. Soft. Pillows, sheets, soft. She bent down and inhaled...lilac? A sudden horrifying thought went through her- was somebody actually living here? But no... there would have to be toilet paper then...wouldn’t there? Okay, she didn’t want to sleep in the bed. This was her Aunt’s bedroom right? It was so large and spacious, it must be the master. Still, the house was fairly big. Maybe there were other bedrooms. She grabbed her stuff and pushed her weary body into the hallway, opening the adjacent door. She flicked on the light and nearly shrieked as a thousand moths flew out at her. The carpet was royal blue shag and there was no furniture to speak of save a wooden stepping stool and a couple of shelves. Fine, I can sleep in here, Taylor thought with a sigh. She unfurled her sleeping bag and twisted the doorknob twice, locking herself in. She lay down and stared at the roof, which was slanted severely downward from the other and of the room and was asleep quicker than she knew.

         Sometime later, Taylor awoke with a start. But what had woken her up? Thankful she had remembered to bring her cell phone with her, she rolled over and glanced at the time: 3:29 AM. She glanced furtively at her surroundings, but nothing seemed out of place. The house was as quiet as an old house could be; there were some soft moanings and groanings, but even her apartment did that. She was about to go back to sleep when she noticed the light coming in from the window. Taylor assumed it was just moonlight, but she decided to close the curtains. Maybe the brightness had woken her. However, it was not moonlight at all, she realized, but rather pale yellow and green waves of color dancing in the distance. Northern lights? She wondered. But wasn’t that only supposed to happen in the winter? Well, what did she know, anyway? They sure were lovely to look at. Taylor continued to stare at the flickers of light until they had all but faded away, then crawled back to her sleeping bag.

         Many hours later, streaks of gold bathed her face in warmth and Taylor opened her eyes and smiled before she sat up, promptly bumping her head on the slanted roof. It is amazing, really, she thought as she got dressed, I didn’t even need to rent a hotel room for one night! She had only brought her sleeping bag on the off chance she’d be able to clean up an area well enough for her to sleep there by the end of her visit. She quickly ate her breakfast before exploring the rest of the house, comforted some by the fact that the fridge was empty and the dishes in need of a thorough cleaning. But why would someone be paying to heat the house, making the bed, dusting the knickknacks and yet not live there? Because, surely, if someone lived there, the house would have food? For that matter, as further exploration of the house would reveal, why were some items, like the bedroom, so meticulously maintained and some, such as the dishes, left alone? She discovered a little hallway which led from the living room back to the kitchen in a loop. There were three wooden doors exactly alike in that hall; one, a second bathroom; the next, what appeared to be some sort of office with a desk, various papers and a wall full of shelves; and the third led down to what must be the basement. She decided to visit that area later. At the back of the living room, yet another door opened the way to the addition to the house, a single long room full of live plants and a piano. Someone has been watering the plants, she noted as she saw the green plastic watering can perched near the second outside door. Taylor pushed it open with some difficulty- perhaps this door hadn’t been used in quite some time- and stepped into the blinding sunlight. 

         There was a circular garden in the yard, enclosed almost all the way around by a line of rocks. Some of the plants- baby’s breath, pansies, Maltese cross- she recognised; others she did not. At any rate, nothing was flowering yet. A large tree (she wasn’t sure what kind) towered in the middle. Taylor then went south past another row of lilac bushes and came upon what appeared to be another garden; vegetables, this time, with budding potato plants, carrot greens and who knows what else. Who knew anything could flower this early on the year? Again, both gardens had been taken care of, but there was no one around. Why didn’t they just show themselves? She was struck again by the image of some psycho lurking in the bushes and pulled her sweater around her. She started to hum loudly as she walked-whether to comfort herself or warn someone of her approach, she wasn’t quite sure.

         She wandered through rest of the property surrounding the house, spotting a large, white satellite dish on her way. So there had been a connection to television at one time, for sure. An old gate stood with a loop of wire holding it shut just in front of a flowerbed filled with the beginnings of California poppies and yarrow. She yanked it open as well as she could, then went exploring...several dugouts, including the one she’d spotted from the road, were dotted across the land. She found the giant unused barn, several cars bound for the scrap heap and lot of metal junk she could not identify. A small, swaying tepee frame was situated amongst the tiny wood. And suddenly, Taylor was at a fence- one she could not find away to get through. She stood for a minute thinking, and her stomach growled abruptly. All that walking and she’d let time slip away from her. Taylor glanced at her ever-present cell phone: searching for service...she pressed “okay” and checked the time. 3:20. Had it really taken her that long? And she wasn’t even close to being done exploring. Still, she thought, I suppose this all this walking must be good for me. Taylor instinctively sucked in her stomach, even though no one was around to see, then made her way back to the house, making a loop through the thick pine on the east side of the house. Now that it was day, she could see the funny orange spray-paint on the railings, the splitting boards and shoddy shingles atop the house. I guess whoever’s been taking care of this place doesn’t bother much with the outside.



         After her snack, Taylor went to the basement. There was nothing much to speak of; an old washer/dryer set, dust... Taylor opened the attached door and found herself face to face with every cleaning product, soap and detergent imaginable. Well, at least now I know how whoever it is can keep up with the place. She walked back to the other room in the basement. This one was sparse as well, holding only a child’s crib filled with what appeared to be mostly garbage. An old doll with marker on its face, a baby’s mobile, several amateur paintings with the initials R.K. or J.K. on the corner...but what was this? It looked like an old photograph. Taylor carefully slipped it out from under an overturned lamp and blew off the dust. A young, smiling woman with dark hair and a baby in her arms. An older woman in the background, grimmer than the other, but smiling nonetheless. Taylor started- it was Aunt Rose. She had seen a photo of her but once. It was around her eighth birthday and she remembered it because it seemed odd. She had watched her mother snip out one of the obituaries from the vermilion Standard- a paper Taylor had never seen before nor had since then. Rose Eloise King. 1920-2001. It was a short piece, stating simply that she was a wonderful woman. There was no mention of relatives or a service. The woman looked to be in her eighties, proud but happy. Taylor had asked her mother who the lady was but got no more than “You’re much too young to understand about such things, Sweetheart.” And Taylor had forgotten about the incident. Until now. She studied the picture carefully for a few moments before putting it in her pocket and making her way back upstairs. She felt sure if she could just find out whomever it was that was taking care of the house, they would know about the photograph too. There was a vibration in her other pocket- a text from her friend Caley. Taylor was standing in one of the few places of the house that actually had service: the left side of the table. “Soo... what’s it like??” Caley had been the only other person besides Mr. Peters that Taylor had told about the house.

         “Big, wooden, amazing,” Taylor wrote back. She wasn’t sure whether to mention her suspicions about another person. After all, maybe they had just been keeping up with the house until her arrival. Relief rushed through her at the thought.

         “That’s it? There’s gotta be more!!” Taylor wondered if she really cared.

“Well it’s weird but it seems like someone else might have been livin here or sumthin -idk.”

         “What do u mean?”

         “Just stuff. I’ll call u later k?”

         “Ok ttyl”

         “Bye”. There. She’d done it now. And when it all turned out to be nothing, she’d look like the lunatic. Oh well, she’d been through plenty of that before (lunacy, that is) and Caley had never completely deserted her... yet. The girls had known each other since elementary school. They still called themselves “friends”, but had grown apart after Taylor’s mom died.  Taylor knew that she had created that chasm and that she was a bad person for that twist of angry jealousy in her stomach whenever Caley talked or even complained about her parents. By now, Caley knew better than to invite Taylor over when they were home, but luckily that was almost never. Taylor knew she shouldn’t feel this way, but it was just too painful to see them together, even if George was married to his job and Nina spent her days drinking and socializing. It was such a cliché, like a movie where the mom eventually cheats and the dad already is, but nonetheless- there they were: a family. In the time they’d known each other, before Taylor’s mom’s accident, Caley had stayed at Taylor’s apartment overnight more times than either girl could count. It’s funny, Taylor thought, how much I can envy, pity and love her all at once. For a long time now, the girls had thought of each other like sisters, though neither had any siblings to compare with that definition. But the closeness between the two had been dissolving for quite some time now. Taylor loved Caley to bits, somewhere deep inside, but sometimes she just couldn’t stop the envy. She supposed real sisters experienced this “sibling rivalry”, but in her, it was always something more. It was an insatiable need for competition- and victory. Taylor took a secret, shameful sense of satisfaction in reminding Caley what a baby she was, still living with her parents, in their frequent fights. Taylor supposed that was mostly what drove her away. Sometimes she minded; other times she didn’t.

         The next day started much the same as the first except, being that there was but one unopened door in the house, Taylor began with that. Directly beside the room she slept in, now forever dubbed in her mind as the “Blue Room”, was what appeared to be another small bedroom, this one with bright pink carpeting. This room too was almost bare. A wooden board on the wall with nails driven into it was draped with pearl necklaces of all lengths and sizes. Tiny corner shelves held thimbles, bobby pins, scraps of paper... and another photo- a miniature in a tiny frame. It was Taylor’s aunt again- this time she looked about thirty. A man’s arm (her husband’s?) was draped across her shoulder and two children of about ten stood in front. Twins, perhaps, the boy and girl each wore an expression of carefree happiness so often seen on children. Taylor guessed that, from her aunt’s age, the picture was taken in the late 40s. So if her guess was correct, then wouldn’t one of these children have inherited everything, not her mother? Where were they now, anyway? The house came with so many questions, and so few answers. She stepped back into the hall and almost tripped over a scale. Taylor hadn’t noticed it before. She blew off the dust and peered down- it was one of those old-fashioned kinds, with the little needle. A slim silhouette of a woman covered the zero pounds symbol. Did she dare to step on? The needle finally came to rest. 165 pounds. Either she’d lost a bunch of weight since her last doctor’s visit or the thing was busted. Somehow, just at that moment, she didn’t care.

         Taylor decided she would go for a walk up the old gravel road leading north from the intersection at the front of the property. The dried-out grass in the ditch was dotted here and there with patches of green and one or two tiny flowers. The wind sshhhhhhed softly through the thistles and Taylor pulled her sweater tighter around her waist. To her left, she could see scraggly bushes surrounding a tiny, marshy, pond. And all around her were rolling hills and fields of brownish green. She walked on, her grey sweater boots crunching and twisting the tiny rocks. It was a lovely sound, one she’d never heard before, but satisfying in the way popping bubble wrap was. She saw a few short grain silos on the next property, sheds and shacks, old parts and cars and unrecognisable metal creatures of the same inclination as the ones on her own property. Her property. Taylor could hardly believe it. She wondered if most farms looked like this- like the gravel, it was foreign but oddly comforting to see the untamed uniformity. The sun fell in splinters around her, highlighting the still shiny scar on her wrist, but Taylor paid it no mind. There was a small house, barely visible from where she stood on the road. She stared for a moment before realizing someone was coming out- an older woman, dressed in faded coveralls. Taylor turned to go, but to her surprise the woman waved. Taylor waved back and gave a half smile. The woman called out then, but Taylor couldn’t quite hear her. She gulped. Had she done something wrong? Why was this woman talking to her? “Pardon?” The woman was now grinning and jogging up the path as she waved.

“Hi!” she said, “just wanted to warn you there’s been a bear sighting recently- right near here at the Henzie’s.” A bear? Who were the Henzies?

“          Oh, um, thank-you. I’ll keep a lookout.” She started to walk.

         “Make noise.” Huh? What is she talking about? thought Taylor. She turned around.

“Sorry, what?”

“Make some noise as you walk- scares the bears away.”

         “Oh I see.” The woman was still looking at her, not unkindly, though.

         “I’m Hazel, by the way. Hazel Nelson. My husband- Nick.” She said, gesturing at a man who was doing something near the house.

         “Nice to meet you,” Taylor replied, then hesitated a few seconds before remembering- “Oh, I’m Taylor.”

         “You’re not from around here, are you?” Hazel said warmly and gave her a mildly quizzical look.

         “Uh no, actually I’m just here for the week.”

         “You out at that place at the end of the road?”

         “Yes,” she replied, wondering how she knew.

         “So you’re Rose King’s great-niece then.”

         “Yes...did you know her?”

         “Not too well; she hired my husband to keep things up for her, let us rent the land for the cows, plough the yard in the winter... that kind of thing. After she was gone, He-we just kept it up-seemed like the right thing to do, I guess.” It was them, Taylor thought with relief. They’ve been taking care of the house, then. She returned to the conversation at hand.

         “Well that’s nice.” She smiled again, unsure of what to say. Did Hazel know something? She looked about twenty-five years younger than her aunt would’ve been. Perhaps she- or her husband- knew the story behind the photographs. But...this was the first time meeting this woman- she was certainly not about to engage in deep conversation, much less ask a bunch of awkward questions about her aunt’s past.

         “She sure was an interesting lady,” Hazel was saying. She was looking right at Taylor, eyes curious, but smiling.  Once more, Taylor was unsure how to respond.

“I guess so. That is, I never knew her,” Taylor hastily corrected herself.

         “Right, right,” Hazel seemed to be talking more to herself than to Taylor. She definitely knows more than she’s letting on, Taylor thought. But then again, it seemed lately her paranoid mind was jumping to conclusions and perhaps there was nothing. Suddenly, a burst of water droplets hit her face, reminding Taylor vaguely of the unpleasant feeling of someone else’s sneeze and she looked up.  “Anyway, weather report says we could be in for a storm- better go home,” said Hazel. Her wrinkle- lined face was turned up toward the dark grey sky. “Nothing serious, though.”

         Taylor nodded. “It was nice meeting you,” she said. Hazel too nodded and Taylor turned to go once more.

         “Taylor?” She turned back.

         “If you need anything, come on over.”

         “Thanks.”  Taylor pulled her wet hood over her face as she hurried back. If she needed anything, Hazel had said. Like what? she wondered as she ran back on the slippery gravel driveway. It was no longer a working farm. What would she need from them? Taylor glanced up at the sky. It was even darker now, long rolling clouds spitting nails in the form of water. It was a different kind of rain than the steamy drizzle they often had in the city. Even the smell was changed. At home, the rain brought the tough aroma of asphalt, garbage and other people. Here, it smelled fresh and clean, salty and outdoorsy. Still she was glad to get under the roof that sheltered the deck. She jiggled the key in the lock and the wind slammed the door shut behind her. Unaware that she`d been holding her breath, she let it all out in a rush. She peeled off her damp boots and set them over the vent to dry. She supposed she would now have to take over the gas bill for the place or else tell Hazel and her husband to stop and no one would pay it. She knew it would be the latter, as there was no way she could afford to pay for both her place and the farm. Had the Nelsons been paying all those ten years since her aunt had died, or had her mother?  Well, they’d been paying at least the two years since her mom had died. And it was almost the 1st. Now that she knew about the place, the Nelsons would probably expect her to look after it. But still, why did it need to be kept a secret all these years? She guessed her mother knew the mystery behind those people in the photographs as well-if they were indeed her family and what had happened to them. Anyways, it wasn’t like she could keep the place heated and she could certainly not ask them to keep doing so; therefore this would likely be the only time she came here, unless she only came during the summer. Still, she remembered Mr. Peters’ advice about unheated homes’ deterioration. So perhaps this would be her only visit. She wondered if she should sell the place. After all, she was not partial to the house’s secrets, had no emotional, sentimental connection to it really, though there was something alluring, almost intoxicating about the vey air out there. But she had had her fill of lawyers and business people and the like these past couple of years. She would keep it, Taylor decided suddenly, if only to save herself the hassle. For the time being, she decided not to ask Hazel about the bills; it would only seem rude and they would probably stop paying them now that she was there, anyways. After all, she couldn’t just walk up and say, “Hey, you can stop paying now.” It would be too ungrateful. She would check back next month and see if it was still heated. Yes. That’s what she would do. She could drive up on the weekend and spend one more night. 

         Her phone buzzed on the table. Caley. “Hello?” Was she bored, or did she want someone to listen to her problems? It seemed lately those were the only times Caley phoned, usually under the pretence of some other concern.

         “Finally! I called you like three times and you never answered! You okay? I was worried after what you told me last night.” Caley’s voice sounded strained. Taylor wondered if she could feel the strings of their friendship slowly loosening.

         “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a little wet in the rain. Plus, the phone service out here is terrible.”

         “Tell me about it. You sound so far away and crackly.”

         “Yeah, you too.” Taylor breathed into the phone. “Oh I found out who’s been taking care of the house. It’s this old couple who live the one the next farm, the Nelsons.”

         “Well, that’s good.” Silence. “Right?”

         “Um, yah.” 

         “You’ll have to let me come with you next time. It’s not like anyone’s gonna miss me.”

         “Yeah, sure.” Taylor didn’t want to get on the pity train again. 

         “They’re fighting again.” The crackling phone line snapped in Taylor’s ear.

         “Mm-hmm.” Taylor shrugged into the phone. She really didn’t want to hear about this again. She was being a bad friend, she knew, but who wanted to hear Caley complain about her parents again? A wave of guilt washed over Taylor when that little voice reminded her of all the times in the past Caley had been with her when she was going crazy. “I’m sorry, Caley.” There. She was trying to be more sympathetic. Suddenly the window was illuminated with a boom. “Hey, I better go; looks like there’s a thunderstorm starting.” Somewhere in the back of Taylor’s mind she remembered that it wasn’t safe to use a phone during a thunderstorm. She wasn’t sure if it was a landline or cell phone, but she thought she better turn it off just in case.

         “Okay.” Caley sounded reluctant.

         “Goodnight. I’ll be home soon.”

         “Bye.” Taylor switched off her phone and grabbed her cheap cannon snapshot A410. Hey, they never said anything about cameras! All her life, Taylor had been trying to get a picture of lightning. It was weird, she knew, but she just really wanted at least one good shot. Another one of her neuroses that wouldn’t let go until it was finally fulfilled. She stepped back outside, staying well under the protective roof and peered out at the horizon. Electricity hummed in the air and even the grass stood at attention. She remained there for the better part of an hour until her camera battery was about to run out. Almost, she thought inside later as she was scrolling through her photos, I almost got a perfect shot. There were half a dozen “almosts” mixed in with a whole lot of “not even close”. Taylor sighed and set the camera back onto the table. Something about her inability to get a good shot made her inexplicably sad. Time for bed. I guess I can sleep in the bed then, she thought. Taylor was mostly reassured, but still something niggled at her. Does it really seem likely that Nelsons- well, Hazel, probably- do the laundry and dusting and everything else and ignore the outside of the house? It’s possible, I suppose. But would she do that every day, especially when she doesn’t live here? She must’ve known somehow that I was coming and done it. But how would she have known? That weighty feeling was settling on her again- confusion? Depression? She wasn’t quite sure which. Why, Mom? Why would you go and leave me alone with all this? she thought. You promised to be here for me! There it was- one of her unexplainable mood changes again. But she just couldn’t help herself. Hot tears blinded her as she locked the door and collapsed onto the bed. She knew she shouldn’t cry-it was stupid and babyish, and often about unimportant things, but every so often she couldn’t hold it in. She lay face down until her throat stopped burning. The headache came as always, strong, heavy, sleep-inducing.