Her hands were good at being busy while she thought. She was thankful for the peace to process all the new information that seemed to be bouncing on all her senses.

     Everything now, she realized, seemed like it was dying. The grass was colorless like dusty glass, and the tree branches held no sign of life; they reached out into an ashy sky in tangles of blacks and grays. Indeed, the clouds were like clumps of ash, and the sun only served to illuminate from behind them. There was a scent of metal on the wind, mixing with earth and rot from the rain. The only sound she heard was her own clamor while washing the laundry.

     “Wasn’t it supposed to be spring?” she thought.

     Even the water felt different. It was cold, of course, but it flowed abnormally, like thickened syrup, and even had a slight tinge of brown. It smelled of smoke like one of Grandfather’s tobacco sticks.

     Something was off around her; she did not know what it was; Bo seemed to know what it was, so she would talk to Bo away from Grandfather.

     After she hung up the laundry to dry in the wind, she reentered the house through the mudroom and started to make breakfast in the kitchen,

     Bo was sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded, openly staring at her.

     “Free to talk now?” he asked, tapping one of his fingers on the table.

     “Grandfather will be up in a little while. It is best if you leave or go back to the guest room,” Leena answered, pulling down a large black pot with which to make oatmeal.

     “What is he like?” Bo asked.

     “Grandfather? Oh um…he…well. He likes things clean,” she replied, unsure of how to talk about him without revealing too many of his bad traits. He was a drinker and a smoker, and he tended to blow up at her without much provocation. She could not remember if he was different before Grandmother died.

     “I see…The town nearby, Icherrun? How are the people there?” She paused a moment and stared into the gelatinous water in the pot.

     “They are normal people,” she replied, touching the pot lightly, hoping to feel the warmth. It was cold. Curious, she reached her hand towards the fire underneath. It was warm like used bathwater. She pulled her hand away.

     “You’re hard to talk to,” he said, “Look, I just want to know if they are acting strangely or not.”

     “You’re the strange one,” she replied, “Where did you come from? Why are you here?” She dumped some oats into the pot, spilling some on the counter and floor.

     “Damn,” she said, sweeping them up quickly with her hands.

     “I’d like to go with you into the town before we leave,” he said.

     “What?”

     “I want to visit the town.”

     “No, I mean, the leaving. What do you mean ‘we?’” She grabbed a metal fork from the utensil jar next to the stove.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

     “Well, you can’t stay here,” he replied, “You have to come with me.” Suspicion, deep and violent, sent bells ringing in her ears.

     “No…no. I have to take care of Grandfather. I’m not going with you.” Bo grimaced.

     Footsteps fell and creaking scratched out across the air. She turned back to the pot, stirring vigorously.

     “Good morning, Mr. Wyatt,” Bo said politely. Leena set down bowls and spoons at the table and dished out the watery mash.

     Grandfather stared at her with nostrils flared. She noticed the thin clothes he wore and the multiple knicks on his face from trying to shave with a dull blade. She saw the tops of his socks pool around his ankles above his slippers. His hands were shrunken, dry, and gnarled like the tree branches in the woods. His skin stretched out and piled in wrinkles of gray and yellowed skin.

     She avoided looking at him directly and tried to ignore the itchy feeling creeping down her spine.

     “The oatmeal looks good, Leena, thanks,” Bo said, dipping a spoon into his bowl.

     Grandfather seemed to snap out of his gaze.

     “Good morning. Bo, was it? What are you up so early?” Grandfather replied as he sat down at his normal spot at the kitchen table and proceeded to clang the metal spoon against the bowl.

     She sat down, too, to eat with them and watched as Bo pretended to eat the sad excuse for a bowl of breakfast.

     “I want to get into town,” Bo replied, “I have some things there to take care of.” Grandfather took a large bite of the oatmeal. Leena felt her stomach turn and pushed her bowl away.

     “You’re best off getting out of here as soon as you can, boy,” Grandfather warned, “If you have business, you do it and leave. Icherrun is no place to stay.”

     “Yes, sir. I do not plan on staying long.”

     Leena watched as Grandfather devoured the bowl of oatmeal against the sound of clanging spoons and light breathing. He stared at her, and she knew he would want to talk to her away from prying ears of a guest.

     “Leena, come see me in the parlor,” he said, standing up from his chair. It rattled against the floor.

     She took the dishes from the table and clattered them in the sink.

     “I’m going to go pack up my things,” said Bo, “Thanks for the extra clothes and your hospitality.” Grandfather grunted and nodded at him, pacing off towards the parlor.

     Leena hesitated at the doorway of the kitchen, listening to the squeaking of Bo climbing the stairs. She turned back into the kitchen and sifted through a junk drawer for a pocketknife.

     “Leena!” she heard her Grandfather bark.

     She ran on her toes to the parlor.

     He was sitting in his large green chair in the parlor. Stuffing poked out of it like odd white popcorn in a dirty green bag. Scratches on the legs lay like scars. Grandfather already had poured himself a glass of whatever liquor was in the decanter on the nearby end table.

     “I’m here, sir,” she replied, wringing her cold fingers in her hands.

     He held the glass of brown booze on his knee, squinting at her with a fervor in his eye.

     “What were you doing with that boy?”

     “Oh uh. I was just making breakfast, sir.”

     “You were talking to him! I told you he was trouble, and you spend your time talking to him!” he growled at her in a low voice.

     “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered, feeling the pain of her fingers wringing together.

     “If I catch you alone with him again, it will be the basement.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Now, get, go wash the dishes.”

     She turned around quickly and made haste towards the kitchen sink.

     Soap, bubbles, water, and a sponge. Scrub, rinse, dry, and put away. She managed to finish without dropping a dish from her shaking hands.

     Before she left the house, she peeked in on Grandfather. He was already drunk in his chair.