Ethan loomed over the counter methodically scrubbing and stacking dishes in the cold, antiquated kitchen of his family's Victorian farmhouse. The plates and bowls clattered against the chipped porcelain of the large apron sink as he stared out the rain-speckled window, the steam from the near-scalding water obstructing his view. He reminded himself he should check the boiler in the basement - the stark contrast between the cold house and the searing hot water required some attention, yet another to-do on his never-ending list. He huffed, unsuccessfully trying to blow the streak of brown hair away from his face. His old linen work shirt was unbuttoned and hanging loosely at the neck, partially revealing his chest and prominent clavicles. Dried mud on his boots was crumbling off and leaving a path of dirt on the floor, which he knew he'd get an earful about at any moment.
"It's getting pretty dreadful out there," he called to his sister who leaned over the kitchen table, scrubbing and wiping it clean. While she was four years older and had helped raise him for much of his life, these days Ethan found their roles to be somewhat reversed. "We ought to go around and close up the windows, it's quite cold."
"Yes." Lily barely whispered with a hint of her mother's Irish accent. She had become so terse and distant over the last few years. Her rich auburn hair shrouded what once was a glowing, vibrant visage in waves of copper, masking her deep green eyes, rosy lips, and lightly freckled nose and cheeks. Her modest apron dress, which she wore as often as she could, did little to conceal her delicate but shapely figure. While Ethan was thin and lean like his father, Lily was blessed with her mother's ample physique. She finished with the table and raised a boot to the chair to refasten its long laces, revealing the soft, milky skin of her upper thigh, "You're getting dirt everywhere, Ethan," she remarked, dropping her foot to the floor in protest and stomping out into the hall.
Ethan listened to the familiar sound of footsteps making their way up the stairs as he finished up with the dishes, wiping his hands on an old rag and tossing it over the lip of the sink. He stood, arms crossed, and observed for a moment. The house was so quiet even in the storm that howled outside. Its weathered white walls danced with shadows cast by the dim, flickering gas lamps. The sagging wooden floors were worn with time and sparsely covered by ornate old rugs. And the windows, those damned windows, shuddering with each gust of the wind and echoing down the halls with the unnerving, unending tapping of writhing tree branches. It wasn't the same without their parents there, the house itself had sunken into a depression as if it had died along with them.
A loud thud upstairs shook Ethan from his trance, sending down a puff of dust and plaster from the aging ceiling that he batted out of his face with the wave of a hand.
"Lily! Everything alright up there?" He yelled from the kitchen. He closed his eyes in anticipation of a snarky and incomprehensible shout from upstairs when a soft-spoken response from behind caught him off guard.
"I'm fine. Why?"
Startled, Ethan looked over to see his sister standing in the doorway leading out of the kitchen into the hall.
"Were you not just upstairs? Shutting the windows?" He was perplexed.
"No... I've been down here." She gave him a curious look.
Ethan shrugged, "Must've been the wind."
Lily rolled her eyes as she turned back to finish what she was doing. Ethan watched as she drifted off into the shadow of the unlit living room.
"I'm going to check the boiler in the cellar, the water is damn near scalding!" He shouted after her.
"I'm cold." She faintly said from across the hall, "always so cold."
Ethan sighed, "...and the furnace, I suppose," turning to the larder door in the kitchen. The knob was cold and stiff as he struggled with it. After a bit of fidgeting, it finally clicked and the door begrudgingly swung open, allowing Ethan to step into the dank little room. The shelves were dusty and empty but for a few old cans and some wilted, dried-up carrots. He didn't like going in there anymore, Lily kept all they needed to be stored neatly in the kitchen cupboards. The trapdoor to the cellar was situated on the floor at the back of the pantry. Ethan knelt down beside it, brushing a single black feather away from the latch as he reached to open it. Odd, he thought but carried on.
The door crackled as it popped open, releasing a puff of stale air. Ethan groaned at the moldy taste and covered his face before lifting the door the rest of the way, leaning it up against the wall. It was dark. And damp. And cold. A faint amount of moonlight was coming in through the cracked and dusty cellar windows that lined the upper portion of the walls, not quite enough to safely navigate the cluttered area. An old lantern hung on a pillar at the base of the stairs leading down from the pantry. Ethan cautiously approached it, pulling a book of matches from his pocket. He reached out, and upon touching the lantern his hand shot back to his side... it was warm. Not so warm that it burned, but enough that it startled Ethan. Warm enough to seem as though it had recently been used, but neither Ethan nor his sister had been in the cellar for some time.
He very slowly reached out again, his long fingers trembling, testing the temperature of the lantern nervously... yet to his surprise the lantern was cold - as cold as it should be, hanging down there in the icy darkness of the cellar. His face contorted in confusion. Plucking the lantern off its hook, Ethan struck a match to light it. A cold draft in the cellar doused the first flame, but his second attempt had the lantern emitting a soft glow. He eyed it suspiciously, watching the flame dance in its glass cage. A subtle amber light faintly spread out and splashed against the vaulted pillars and walls, leaving columns of cold shadows wavering in the faint illumination. The furnace sat ominously at the far end of the cellar, hulking and black and seemingly older than the house itself. Just next to it sat the boiler in question.
Ethan approached them slowly, being careful not to knock over the buckets and tools scattered about the cellar. A pile of dusty old wood sat off to the side, Ethan cringed at the thought of picking through the lumber, it was probably crawling with all sorts of nasty things, but he'd never hear the end of it from his sister if he didn't get the house warm soon. He lay the lantern on the floor just to his side so that it would cast its light across his area of work. The pile of wood splintered and cracked as he pulled piece after piece from it, each one trailing with wretched cobwebs and dust. He grimaced with every effort to move them, yet before long a decent-sized pile lay ready to toss into the furnace. At least enough to last through the night. He turned to his left, reaching for the iron hinge of the furnace door, but paused just as his hand made it to the latch. Scattered about the floor before the furnace door lay an arrangement of clean, black feathers. Reaching down to investigate, he picked one up, twirling it in the lamplight. How curious, he thought.
Intrigued by the presence of more feathers, Ethan left the pile of wood and picked the lantern back up. He walked slowly across the dusty floor, holding the sole source of light before him with a single black feather in the other hand.
"How did you get in here," he pondered to himself.
