Whispering Willows

Whispering Willows
Evy Velez

Chapter One:

         It was a very detailed and aged home, with the architecture holding its shape with such pride, despite the crawl of vines rising up from the garden grounds to the highest rooftopped observatory room. The windows were suitably stained an aged yellow, some more so than others. This house had seen a multitude of sunsets and sunrises, given that its paint cracked and peeled accordingly with the sun damage.

         The front porch wrapped around this mansion-like house, with a few areas having steps to the more modern addition patio. There were about three rocking chairs loosely decorating the porch walkway leading to the garden, with blue and white azalea flowers bunching more and more as it led closer to the more famous part of the home. The garden was most immaculate. As soon as the stairs ended below, a trail of flat rock steps curved around the most eye-catching decorations among the vegetation. There was a small waterfall, with marshlike plants blooming it's evening flowers, and the sounds of the native frogs singing from dusk until the flickers of dawn. Sitting tall amongst the rock peaks, multiple varieties of succulents and cacti dazzle their thorns and oblong shapes against the pale gravel. Multiple areas where grass would have been more expected instead harbored soft moss, which gave these areas a more unique forest feel. Yet, in the center of the garden was where many people have expressed it's beauty most. A centerpiece of white, glossy marble in the shape of a crying angel towered elegantly over the multitudes of bundles of varied azaleas, which protrude and crowd together, creating a dense flower bed of petals which attract a complimenting array of butterflies. Eden, they would call it. Exiting the taxi cab, a young lady unloads her two luggage bags. Her hair was short, much like a bob-cut. Her eyes shone a dark roasted bold brown which directed the majority of attention away from the few scattered freckles atop the bridge of her nose. As her driver heads off, she grips her luggage and gives a bright smile. Looking off into the current sunset, the frogs begin to sing their lullabies.

         A light flicks on from the porch, as the front door opens, revealing a very excited and joyous man. He was older, sure, but to this younger lady, she did not seem to mind. "Relle! You're finally here." He excitedly smiles. "Halman!" Relle squeals. The two meet in a kiss and hug, before quickly entering inside the aged home.

Climax Chapter:

         Stepping into the attic, the smell of moth balls and old wood presented itself with a bold front. Relle covered her nose with a loose palm, stretching the fabric of her sweater sleeve over her face. Within the prism shaped attic, a cluttered array of old trinkets, clothes, and household objects decorated the edges of the floor, with a barrel tucked away by a far end corner. Was this it? All of those strange dreams lead to here? Despite nothing immediately present in the area sticking out, Relle's senses were speaking otherwise. A chill was creeping up her spine. Taking a step towards the center of the attic room, the floorboards groan loudly under the weight. It was terribly silent despite the noises of the floor. Relle dug for the small diary booklet in her pant pocket, and fumbled through the wrinkled pages hoping to find another clue. "Come on," She mumbled anxiously. "There has to be something here."

         Flipping to the back of the booklet, she finds a page slightly glued to the leather backing of the diary. Was this a page, or the end of the diary? She thinks. It looks like it should have been. With careful consideration, Relle gently peeled away at an edge of the paper with her fingernails. Listening around her, it was apparent that Halman hasn't noticed her absence quite yet. Ten minutes. She only had ten minutes.
                   With the edge of the paper finally free, she loosely prys the page off the leather backing, with gentle pace and manner as to not rip away any writing that would be there. Her nerves felt tingly, almost as if her fingertips were awaiting the reveal . Feeling her heartbeat fastened, Relle managed to free the page, carefully turning it over to find the last writings of Taina Elenai. Faintly inscribed, the writing seemed messy, almost as if Taina had trouble grasping the pen as she wrote the message.

         "I have always loved my husband. Always. Though it hurts me to have to part with him due to this terrible sickness, I hope he parts well with me once I am gone. I finally found the name of the flowers I wanted for my funeral. White azaleas. Halman had found them for me. I feel so terrible, my tongue has swollen so much this past month, I can barely swallow even the tiniest amounts of fluid. My headaches have been so incredibly debilitating.
         My taste has gone. I no longer suffer with the prevalent flavor of saltiness as it seems my taste buds have deteriorated and reduced to nothing more than simply the irritated flesh of the muscle itself. I await my departure, as I feel my funeral will be as elegant and white as the wedding I had wished to have had with my husband. My dear Halman, you have never done me wrong. I await the day when I can see you on the other side."

         Saltiness. Reading the word made ibrelle's stomach churn and her hairs stand on end. So it was true. Halman's dinners have become increasingly salty, and it was not because of her recent diagnosis. The attic lightly suddenly flickered, drawing Relle's attention from the diary booklet to the ceiling of cobwebs, and back to the array of dusted artifacts that surround her. That was when the barrel suddenly caught her eye in the corner of the room.

         Daunting. That was what she felt. It drenched her skin, and raised her hairs stiffly. Her eyes were fixated to this barrel, and she slowly stepped forward to it, ignoring the moans and groans of the old floorboards beneath her. Observing the barrel, there was evidence that it had been opened before. The structure itself was of old quality, with strips of wood tightly bound and glued, as rings of thin metal finely shaped and held the barrel to it's form. Surrounding this barrel were multitudes of dusty woolen balls, releasing a sour scent of expired lavender and lemon into the dusty air. The barrel was large, terribly large; much bigger than what Halman had described it to be. It's old wine, Ibrelle recites. It's old wine that I haven't gotten to yet.

         Looking closer at the lid of the barrel, it was undoubtedly clear now that it had been opened before. The lid itself was not perfectly flattened down to form a quality seal, and a white paper-like substance protruded from the opened end. Relle knew right away that this wooden containment could have ever carried wine. It would have long been spoilt and evaporated. Relle's body was buzzing, however, almost as if she was jumping out from herself. This feeling was not going away. If anything, it was growing in intensity.
         Carefully touching the top of the lid, Relle took a deep breath, despite the dust. With slightly curled fingers, she slowly lifted the lid. With her back to the light, she could only make out that the barrel was topped off with a large amount of the same grainy-like substance, with a black hole right down the middle. A voice in the back of Relle's mind spoke otherwise. Turn it towards the light.

         With great decision, Relle replaces the lid and moves the barrel from the corner it had been tucked in. Surprisingly, the weight was much lighter. There was no sound of sloshing fluid inside, so the idea of there never having been wine inside was proven. The wooden binds cracked slightly, as she dragged it away towards the center of the room, right underneath where the light was. With more room to take a better look at what's inside, Relle tried again at the lid, and stopped suddenly at the sound of footsteps.
         Relle's eyes boggled open in panic, as fear crept into her body. Halman was making his way up the steps, calling her name. He was close, very close. Relles fingers began to tremble, her hands holding still. She needed to open the lid under this light, but what if Halman saw her? She was not supposed to be up there to begin with. Yet, everything made too much sense. The dusted gifts, the dated dresses, and the dairy...was it all truly connected? Halmans footsteps turned into climbing creaks. He was now climbing the ladder. He would be up here any second.

         Open it. That was what her mind was telling her. Open it now! Relle lifted the lid, this time with great speed, before slamming it shut, and squeezing the lid down to create a quality seal. The expired rubbers gave in with failed resistance, as Halman poked his head though the ladder entrance. His expression was blank, viewing his fiance next to the barrel. Panic raced through Relle's mind as Halman finished climbing up the ladder, and approached her. Think. She said to herself. "I'm sorry Halman, I just..." She stutters. "I really wanted to try this wine. You're always talking about it, and you know I have a fancy for aged liquors. You can't just expect me to not go up here and grab it."
         Halman stares at Relle, studying her expression and body posture. Relle tried her best not to show her fear, keeping her fingers relaxed on the barrel lid, despite her wanting to clench her fingers. There was a moment of silence. Halman eventually let his face fall into a soft smile, before giving a chuckle. "This wine is for our wedding. I've been meaning to keep that part a secret, but it looks like curiosity got the better of you." Halman approaches the barrel, resting his palm on the lid, rubbing against the grain with his finger. "Now that you know that, do you think we can still save it for then?"
         Relle nods her head, giving a disappointed look as to not give away her position. Halman kisses her forehead before heading back to the ladder. " Dinner is ready, dear. Do you mind if we head down?" He asks. "Yes." Ibrelle answers, as she motions to put back the barrel. She slowly shuffles the wooden haul back to it's corner, making as if it's heavy. Once Halman was gone, Ibrelle paused, clenching her mouth with terrible grip, tears flooding her eyes as her brain began to process the image of what she had seen in just that moment. Did he know? Does he know? Was I caught? Is it really...her?

         Before Halman had finalized making his way up the ladder; in the split second that Ibrelle had the light properly hit inside the contents of the barrel, it was clear that the center of the grainy sand did not have a hole. There was no mistake of what Ibrelle had seen inside. She did not want to believe it. Yet there it was, the true and real evidence.

         Amongst the split second of light when opening the lid was a crown of black hair poking just above the surface line of an entire barrel of salt..