ALAN
The drab law office of Turnbriar and Finch sat next to the resplendent stone church on Front Street, like a sullen, disobedient child sitting next to his responsible older brother. Inside, the carpets were worn and frayed, and there were malignant brown stains on the ceiling tiles. An ancient air conditioning system rattled and coughed, feebly striving to counteract the stifling heat of early June.
Unlike the building, Henry Finch was young and vibrant, and it was hard to picture him poring over thick legal tomes, or whatever lawyers did. He greeted me with a firm handshake and a keen look in his eyes, as if he was a vulture and I was crawling through the desert on my last legs. Then he turned and introduced a young blonde woman named Brianna.
"Brianna is an administrator with the local bank here in Bramblewood. She and I will be working closely together to take care of your mother's estate. As I mentioned during our phone conversation, there are one or two items we should discuss."
One or two items turned out to be twenty or more. An hour later, I was ready to climb out the window. "Look," I said, interrupting Henry's explanation of fiduciary obligations. "I still don't understand why we can't just sell the house and everything in it."
A shadow crossed over Henry's face. Just for a second, it seemed like he was irritated - or maybe even worried. But then the shadow passed, followed by a benign smile, as if he was about to explain algebra to a dim-witted child. "Well, you see, Miranda - I mean, your mother - placed the house in trust. She wanted to preserve it, to keep it just like it is..."
"That doesn't make any sense." I sighed, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. "What good does it do, to keep it shuttered up for decades?"
Henry nodded. "I understand your concerns, Mr. Blackwood. But the house belonged to your mother, and it was hers to do with as she wished. I believe it had great sentimental value to her."
Well, that much was true. Not the sentimental part - his mother had been as emotional as a refrigerator. But she practically haunted that house during her life. Who knows, maybe her ghost lingered there even now. The thought of that sent a chill down up my spine. "So we're stuck with it? There's no way to break the trust?"
Henry shook his head. "Your mother was emphatic. You and your siblings are welcome to live there, if you choose, on the condition that no alterations are to be made."
The thought of living in that miserable place made me shudder. But then again, my meager savings wouldn't last too long staying at the Old Devil.
Henry slid an envelope across the table. "The keys to the property. Please note that any documents you might find - any books, papers or writing of any sort - are to be turned over to me. To assist in the administration of the estate."
"Fine," I said, only half listening at this point.
"Excellent. Brianna and I will be in touch soon to discuss the next steps. Good day, Mr. Blackwood. We'll talk again soon."
I picked up the envelope, its dull weight matching the lump of dread in my chest. I failed to see how this day, or any day soon, could be considered 'good'.
* * * * *
BRIANNA
I was almost out the door when Henry's voice stopped me. "Oh, Brianna...a quick word, if you don't mind."
I did mind, since I was going to have lunch with Daniel and Lucy soon. But this estate was a big project, the largest I'd ever worked on, and I wanted to get it right. "Sure," I said, forcing brightness into my smile.
"It's a strange thing, really," said Henry. "There was this old parchment in Mrs. Blackwood's study, and I was wondering if you could take a look at it." He placed a worn piece of paper on the table, watching me intently as I leaned over to examine it.
"It's...just a bunch of symbols," I said, though there was something indescribably odd about them.
"Keep looking," he instructed, moving closer. "I think you'll be surprised."
My eyes roved over the sigils. They didn't make any sense. And yet, there was something fascinating about them. The more I stared, the more they started to form an uncanny pattern. It was like watching raindrops slide down a window, except they were all sliding together, gradually coalescing into some sort of mysterious message I longed to understand.
"What do you see?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said, hesitantly. It wasn't what I saw - it was what I felt. The symbols almost seemed to be writhing, and I was starting to feel a little dizzy just looking at them. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to look away. "What is this?" I asked breathlessly.
"I believe it's some sort of magic spell," he replied.
"No, I'm serious."