Firefly

By Jennifer Kilgore

On the surface, Chloe Steele appears to be a normal eighteen-year-old girl, but underneath, she carries a dark secret. This secret propels her onto a journey that takes her to rural southeast Alabama, where she serves as a live-in caregiver for the elderly Les and Nellie Grady while attending the local college. When she meets the handsome, yet mysterious Will Finncannon, however, Chloes path of self-discovery takes a dark turn, leading her into a world she never knew existed--a world where the line between fantasy and reality is sometimes blurred.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468539912

Jennifer Kilgore

First-time author Jennifer Kilgore is a native of Hartford, Alabama and a graduate of Troy Universtiy. An avid antique collector and musician, Jennifer lives with her husband and daughter in Alabama.

Book preview

Prologue

Many people spend their whole lives trying redeem themselves from a past they can’t change. I was trying to find myself in a past that I couldn’t even remember. I’d been sleepwalking my entire life, or so it seemed. Everything was a steady blur—a disarray of unfamiliar thoughts and images masquerading as memories—all thanks to the head injury I had sustained in a whitewater rafting accident three years ago. Everything I should’ve remembered, I didn’t. I didn’t remember losing my first tooth, my first day of school, or my first communion. Most birthdays, holidays, and other special events were hazy as well. Everything I knew about myself was what someone else had told me. Sometimes, I saw it as a blessing, however. For me, having no memory meant having no regrets. Because of it, I had no recollection of losing my parents who, I was told, died in a car accident when I was very young. I was also told that the same accident almost took my life as well. Three purple linear scars peaking out of my hairline, just above my left temple, are the only evidence I bear that this was true.

I never mentioned my memory loss to anyone, however. I was afraid people would think I was insane or weird. My foster mom, Maggie, was the only other person who knew my secret. Or so I thought.

Chapter 1

First Arrival

The sunshine and blazing heat that existed when I left Auburn, Alabama had quickly evolved into a fierce thunderstorm as I coursed southward on Hwy 431. I could barely see the road ahead of me while walls of rain poured down my windshield. Periodically risking a glance in the rearview mirror, I noticed the same unmistakable pair of Ford headlights glaring back at me from where they had been there the entire trip. They were beginning to make me nervous. It was obvious I was being followed.

When I got closer to Dothan I decided to pull over and hopefully lose the Ford Bronco that had been riding my tail. Not only that but, my little Toyota hatchback wouldn’t stand a chance against anything solid should I hydroplane. I had counted at least thirty-eight crosses along the forty mile stretch of Hwy 431 between Phoenix City and Eufaula. Thirty-eight crosses. Thirty-eight fatalities. I didn’t want to add to that number.

Peering out between the feverishly swiping windshield wipers, I noticed flashing blue lights up ahead. A wreck must’ve happened. My guess was that the standing water in the roadway was the culprit.

As soon as the Bronco had passed and its red tail lights had disappeared on the horizon, I let out a small sigh of relief and decided to check in with my foster mom, Maggie, to let her know where I was. She was always so worried every time one of us traveled. To ease her tension, I promised to call and check in with her at different checkpoints along the way.

Hello? Maggie answered after three rings.

Hey Maggie, it’s me, Chloe! I’m just outside of Dothan! I yelled. I could barely hear my own voice over the steady drumming of the rain. Maggie said something, but her words were lost in the deafening clap of thunder just outside my car. I flinched, almost dropping the phone.

What?! I yelled again.

"Chloe, are you alright? I just checked the weather channel and the radar shows a severe thunderstorm where you’re headed!" She shouted on the other end.

Yeah, I was just going to let you know that I had pulled over to wait it out.

Okay! she yelled back, Be careful and call me when you get to Momma and Daddy’s house!

Will do! my voice cracked.

Instinctively, I ran my fingers through my hair, tracing the three purple scars that graced the corner of my forehead—reminders of the crash that killed my parents. It was a strange habit, but doing so always seemed to calm me down if I was angry or sad. And at that moment, I was sad. Very sad. I knew this day would come eventually, but never imagined it would be so painful. Maggie and I had grown so close in the past couple of years. Ever since the moment I woke up in the hospital after a whitewater rafting accident, she’s been by my side, guiding me through the recovery process. She was kind, patient, and best of all, she knew my secret. And she kept it.

People even used to think I was her biological daughter since we had the same dark brown hair and same olive skin. Even our eyes were the same shade of hazel.

Maggie and I had both suffered personal tragedies, though I must say her situation was probably a lot worse than mine. I was too young to really know my parents before they died. You can’t miss that which you never knew you had. Maggie had sixteen years with her son, Luke, and over twenty-five years with her husband, Dave before they died in a car wreck. That’s a lot of bonding; a lot of memories. Perhaps that’s what made it so hard for me to leave her today. I could’ve left on my eighteenth birthday back in May since the state no longer required her to be my guardian, but it just didn’t feel like it was the right time for me to leave her. Then, her mother became ill and was in need of a live-in caregiver. Since I had an interest in geriatric care, Maggie and I decided this would be the perfect opportunity for me. In return, I would get a place to stay and the family would pay me ten dollars an hour as well as foot the bill for my education at the local college.

Not a bad trade. I thought aloud.

After a few minutes of waiting on the side of the road, the rain finally slacked up enough for me to see the slick blacktop asphalt again. With my left blinker on and some retro 80’s tune blaring through the speakers, I was ready to commence my journey into the rural abyss that is southeast Alabama.

Suddenly, an odd feeling seeped into the pit of my stomach. It was the feeling that I had forgotten something important. But what? I checked everything off that was on my list before I even left Auburn. The strange notion had me so distracted that I almost got lost when I finally made it to Dothan. Thankfully, the city’s layout is constructed around a circle so it wasn’t long before I found my next turn onto Hwy 84 east.

Fifteen minutes after passing through a couple of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it townships consisting of a gas station and a caution light, I finally found the road I was supposed to turn off on.

When I made that last turn according to Maggie’s hand-drawn map, I felt as if I was leaving civilization altogether. Rows of cotton and peanut crops painted the landscape with stripes of green, stretching as far as the eye could see. I wondered if this place could even be found on Google Maps.

Finally, a few miles and a great many prayers later, I arrived in Gordon, Alabama. As of the year 2000 census report, the population was four hundred eight, though I’d be willing to bet it was even smaller than that. This was one of those communities you only hear about when there’s a severe weather bulletin scrolling across the bottom of your tv screen. With barely more than a post office and a nuclear plant to its skyline, how could this still be considered a town? The question distracted me so that I almost overlooked the driveway that marked the entrance to my destination.

Situated just off a dirt road, facing the western sky, Grady’s Plantation House stood amongst rolling terraces of emerald pastures. A small silvery creek snaked its way through one of the pastures, dividing the land in two. Bordering the eastern half of the fields, far behind the house, was a cluster of towering trees draped in kudzu, obscuring the view of the Chattahoochee river that flowed just on the other side.

As I turned onto the gravel driveway, the strange, unnerving feeling made an encore. Something seemed out of place. Shrugging it off as a simple case of jitters, I put the car in park and took a deep breath.

When I got out of my car, the heat and humidity was stifling. It nearly took my breath away.

You must be Maggie’s girl, Chloe! An elderly woman called from the front porch.

Yes ma’am. I smiled politely, daring once more to inhale the hot, sticky air that plagues Alabama’s climate year-round. Ugh! I could literally feel my hair shrinking up my back as it curled into tiny frizzy ringlets.

I’m Nellie Grady. Nice to meet you, the older woman stated as she hobbled over.

It’s nice to finally meet you too, Mrs. Nellie. I replied, slightly shocked to see her up and about. I was under the impression that she was bedridden.

Don’t you call me ‘Misses’! Someone’ll hear you and think I’m old! She playfully chided as she stroked a silvery white lock of hair out of her weathered face. Though we had spoken over the phone before, Nellie and I had never actually met in person until now. When she smiled back at me, it was easy to see that she and Maggie had the same deep set eyes and warm disposition. Her wrinkled hands felt as delicate as rose petals when she cupped them around mine.

We’re so glad to have you with us. she said. A strange, dazed smile fluttered across her face before she shook her head to herself, dismissing whatever thought had entered mind. Need any help? she offered while I walked around the car toward the trunk.

No thanks. I got it. I wasn’t about to let this fragile old lady carry one of my suitcases into the house.

Hogwash! You can’t piss in my ear and tell me it’s raining! Nellie scoffed as she reached around me and hauled one of the two large suitcases out of the trunk. I’m not going to let a scrawny little girl like you carry all this in by yourself! I’m sure if there was any wind right now, it’d blow you away!

And I’m betting these mosquitoes could carry me away faster than any wind! I remarked, swiping at the pesky insects buzzing around my face. Nellie simply smiled and nodded in agreement.

I could already tell I was going to like this lady. She was about as big as a Cracker Jack prize, but as feisty as a rattlesnake. In one move, before I could say anything, she had the suitcase in tow and was marching up the driveway toward the house. I grabbed the other one (I had only needed two) and followed her to the front porch where an elderly gentleman stood, holding the screen door open for us.

Les, this is Maggie’s girl, Chloe, Nellie said to the portly man. And Chloe, this is my husband, Lester Grady.

Well how’d ya do? Les smiled, tipping the faded trucker cap on his head.

It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Grady. I returned with a nod.

Please, call me Les. What else do you need from your car, Miss Chloe? Les asked as he took the suitcase from Nellie’s grip and set it on the ground. I’ll get that, Nellie. You just go sit down and take a breather. Though I couldn’t be sure, I thought I spied a brief glimpse of sadness in Les’s eyes as he watched Nellie shakily set the suitcase down and while she slowly hobbled over to one of the many rocking chairs that lined the massive porch.

That’s pretty much it other than a backpack. I replied, hoping to distract him from his momentary sadness.

Well, I’ll go on and carry these up to your room, he said, taking the other suitcase from my hands and heading inside.

The gravel crunched and popped beneath my feet as I trekked slowly back to my car. What have I gotten myself into? Would I be able to help take care of Nellie? Will she even like me? The questions flooded my mind, piling on top of each other until finally I looked up and saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks.

A Ford Bronco—the same black Bronco that followed me from Auburn—was creeping slowly down the road. The driver, a male wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, waved casually as if being polite. Hoping to avoid that awkward moment where you think someone is waving at you so you wave back, only to realize they were waving at the person behind you, I simply stood there glaring, confused. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed Nellie waving back at the mystery man as if she knew him.

That’s our neighbor, Will! I think he’s about your age. He’s a real nice young man. She called out when she saw me staring. We’ll have to introduce you two one day!

A simple Oh. was my only response. I suddenly felt ridiculous for being so paranoid.

After I finished unloading the car, Nellie lead me upstairs to the first room on the right at the top of the staircase. It was a quaint little suite with all the space I would need. A mini refrigerator and microwave oven were situated in the far corner next to a small round table with two chairs; my own little dining area. An antique cherry wood bed stood against the wall to my left, opposite from the computer desk and bathroom door on my right. A large bay window overlooking the field was on the opposite wall from the doorway where I stood. I could tell that at one point, the room must have been even larger before they added a wall to create space for a bathroom. With ivory walls and white lace curtains, the room had an old-fashioned, cozy charm about it. All that was missing was an antique wash basin shoved in the corner.

I just washed the sheets this morning. Nellie said, gesturing to the baby blue comforter and bed linens.

Oh. Thanks. I said.

The brief awkward silence that followed was interrupted by a light tap in the door frame. We both looked up to see an attractive, middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. She was poised with a confident, yet graceful stature that, combined with her flawless ebony skin, reminded me of Viola Davis. Judging by her white scrubs and stethoscope, I assumed that she was either a doctor or a nurse.

Miss Nellie, it’s time for your medicine. The woman smiled authoritatively.

Oh… ok. Nellie appeared as if she was slightly confused. It was almost as if she didn’t know that she needed any medication. Dr. Jennison, this is Chloe, she said while walking toward the woman in the doorway.

It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Jennison. I smiled politely.

Please. Call me Evie. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you quite a bit around here, she nodded while putting her arm around Nellie’s shoulders, coaxing her toward the hallway.

Well, I guess I’ll let you get settled in. There are plenty of towels in the hall closet if you ever need to borrow any. Nellie said as they both turned to leave the room.

"There’s also a place next to your desk over there to plug in your computer so you can get onto the… um… the intranet—internet… whatever you kids call it. Make yourself at home!"

Home. That last word struck me. The only home I’d ever known was with Maggie. It took me long enough to adjust even there. Would I ever come to accept this new place as home? I seriously doubted it.

After hanging a few outfits in the closet and organizing the rest of my wardrobe in the antique chiffarobe beside the window, I called Maggie to let her know I had made it safely. She didn’t answer so I left her a message and recommenced unpacking.

The evening passed fairly quickly while I busied myself with organizing my whatnots and picture frames on the shelves. I even navigated my way to the nearest grocery store to pick up a few personal hygiene items for myself along with a few other things for Nellie. Even though it was only eight-thirty when I got back, I was too tired to do much else besides what I had come here to do: take care of Nellie.

Thankfully, Les had already assisted her with bathing and had already put her to bed by the time I returned.

Today was one of her good days. She knew me, he said quietly with a faint sense of hope lingering in his expression as he closed her bedroom door. My heart sank. Earlier that night, he spoke to Nellie in the same tender voice that many would reserve for a solemn prayer. His sad old eyes rejuvenated with light and life every time she said his name. In the five hours I’d been there, I’d learned one thing: Les and Nellie had more love for one another than most will ever know in a single lifetime. How I hoped to one day discover what that felt like.

After making sure that they were both taken care of for the night, I went back to my own room and went straight to bed.

Despite the fact that I was exhausted, I had trouble falling asleep. All I could do was just lay there hoping my mind would just shut off at some point. But everything was so still and quiet as I lay there in the dark. Too peaceful I thought. I took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh lavender scent of the clean, yet unfamiliar bed sheets swaddling me. I had never spent a night in the country before. There were no familiar sounds of passing late night traffic or intoxicated neighbors and partygoers yelling at each other from across the yard. Nope. There was only the steady hum of the crickets’ lullaby outside my window.

The darkness made it even harder to ignore the restless feeling I still had from earlier in the day. Did I forget something? Was I wrong for coming here?

Shifting my focus away from the unanswerable questions that bothered me, I thought of Maggie and the rest of my foster family. There was Lauren, the girl who taught me to pick a lock in case I ever wanted to sneak out past curfew. She was also the reason why we even had a curfew. Despite her bad girl façade, she actually had a heart of gold. If I had come from a family as dysfunctional as hers, I’d probably be the same way. There were the Ortega twins, Luca and Jayla. They were three when their mother dumped them on Maggie’s front porch without even a backward glance in her rearview mirror as she drove off. And there was Kaylan and Dylan Walker whose juvenile records rival that of your worst hardened criminals. Still, like Lauren, they too were golden beneath the surface. Their actions were merely cries for help. All they needed was for someone like Maggie to come along and shower them with love they’d never been given.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw all of their drawn, tear-stained faces as they waved goodbye. It’s a safe bet that I’ll never see any of them again. Just thinking of it all made the lump in my throat that I’d been suppressing all day resurface. Thankfully, the darkness of my new home was just enough to shroud the tiny tears that leaked from the corner of my eyes. I never cried much—especially not in public. Crying made me feel weak and vulnerable. But in that moment, I didn’t care. I cried until I had no more tears and was forced to succumb to a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, I was awakened by the sounds of heavy footsteps marching up and down the stairs just outside my door. I wanted to go back to sleep, but I was famished from having skipped dinner the night before. And the savory smell of hickory bacon frying downstairs only made it even harder for me to stay in bed.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, I raced toward the kitchen to help myself to the mouth-watering breakfast that awaited me.

Nellie stood over the stove, flipping bacon strips in one pan while slapping homemade pancakes in another. Apparently, multitasking was her gift.

Good mornin’! Go on and fix yourself a plate. We’ve got plenty! Mr. Grady made a special trip to the grocery store to get us some sausage and bacon meat! she grinned cheerfully as I entered the kitchen.

Uhh… yeah… Thanks. I sheepishly replied as I grabbed a paper plate from the stack on the counter and proceeded to help myself to some hot pancakes. I then headed to the breakfast table where Mr. Grady sat reading the local newspaper.

Did ya sleep good? His eyes never left the headlines on the front page as he spoke.

Yes sir. I mumbled. Mornings were never my most talkative time of the day as I was still recuperating from the restless sleep I encountered on a nightly basis.

Well good. What ya got planned for today? Les asked as he slapped the paper down on the table and looked up at me.

I don’t know. Whatever Nellie needs me to do, I suppose. I shrugged.

If you don’t mind, could you maybe help me straighten up around the house? That shouldn’t take long. Then, I’ll give you the rest of the day off. Maggie said you start school tomorrow. Is that right? Nellie interjected with a smile.

Yes ma’am, I said, helping myself to a plate of pancakes and scrambled eggs.

When you’re finished eating, I’ll show you how I want everything done and then when you’re finished, you can have the rest of the day off.

Okay. I nodded.

What do you like to do when you’re not in school or helping out two old farts like us? Les asked.

Uhhh. I don’t know. I like to read and watch movies. Sometimes, I like to go hiking. I said.

What about fishin’? You can go the river out yonder just over the railroad tracks, he said, pointing to the rear of the house. Just be sure not to cut through the woods to get there.

Why’s that? What other way is there? I asked.

Up the road, you can turn onto a dirt road that’ll take you right up to the river banks. He said with a mouthful of biscuit and gravy.

Les, that’s five miles up the road! Nellie objected. She can just cut across—

—Don’t cut through the woods. It’s not safe, he interrupted, looking at me with a stern expression.

Oh Les, cut that out! Don’t listen to him, Chloe, Nellie chided.

Thanks. I might go for a little walk or something this afternoon, but I’ll stay out of the woods. I shrugged nonchalantly, though I was somewhat intrigued by his warning.

Les, when did you start smoking again? Nellie asked, changing the subject.

I quit seventeen years ago Nellie! Remember? Les said.

I’m not an idiot, Les. I can smell it on ya! You know what the cardiologist told you after your heart attack!

I’m telling’ ya, I ain’t been smokin’ no cigarettes! Les huffed, flapping the pages of the newspaper. That woman thinks she can smell a gnat fart a mile a way, he grumbled to himself.

After breakfast, Nellie showed me where all the cleaning supplies where kept and gave specific instructions on how she wanted everything dusted and in what order. Afraid I would forget, I wrote it all down on a sheet of notebook paper.

You can clean every room in this house except mine. It’s messy and I like it that way and I usually know where everything is. Nellie chuckled. You also won’t need to clean that room, she said, pointing to a closed door across the hall from my door. That’s Anna’s room. Anna is an orphan who’s been staying with us until she finds her own place. She’s about your age. She cleans her own room.

I see. I nodded.

After at least four hours of cleaning and organizing, I was finally finished and was able to enjoy the rest of my afternoon off.

I decided to go upstairs to check my email before I did anything else. Maggie had sent me a few jokes and some pictures taken the night before at Cheeburger Cheeburger, one of my favorite places to eat in Auburn. They had gone out to celebrate Lauren’s birthday. Lauren was one of the only foster siblings I ever felt close to. She was always sweet and a lot of fun to be around despite the fact that she came from an abusive home. I intended to reply to Maggie’s email, but really had nothing to say so I decided to wait until later to do so.

It was simply too beautiful to stay inside all day so after reading several chapters of Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, I decided to have lunch and enjoy the rest of the book out by the creek. Noticing how the wind had picked up outside my window, I tied a scarf around my hair to prevent having to brush out the tangles later on; I was terribly tender-headed. After throwing together a sandwich and grabbing a coke out of the fridge, I gave myself one final glance in the mirror before heading out.

Speckled reflections of sunlight glinted on the tiny ripples of water splashing through the creek as it snaked its way through the field toward the edge of the woods. The soft trickling of the stream coupled with the wind rushing through the trees of the nearby forest formed a melodic harmony sweet enough to rival anything I’d ever heard before. The water was clear enough I could see the schools of minnows swimming in syncopated swirls around the logs and stones scattered about the creek bed.

Despite relaxing in the warm sunlight in this peaceful setting, I still had that feeling that wouldn’t budge the day before. Again, I tried to discount the uneasy notion as anxiety or nerves. After all, I had spent so long preparing for this time in my life: the fork in the road where I must decide which path to take. But ever since my whitewater rafting accident three years ago—the accident responsible for my secret, I’d felt as if someone had taken away my map and my compass and told me to navigate the rest of the journey using only my gut instincts. I wouldn’t call it abandonment—it was just my time to fly solo. Still, something just didn’t feel right.

My moment of reflection and solitude was abruptly halted when a sudden gust of wind blew my scarf off of my head and proceeded to carry it away. Bustling and swirling in the wind like a wayward spirit, my scarf continued to elude capture as I chased after it. Every so often, it would come to rest on a pine seedling or a blade of grass. But not long before I would catch up to it, another gust would carry it away. The task of catching the chiffon accessory soon seemed like it was nothing more than a fool’s errand. I began to give up hope of ever retrieving the darn thing.

Finally, the wind died down allowing the scarf to rest gracefully on the surface of the creek at the edge of the woods. As I reached down to retrieve my scarf, I looked up and noticed a small grouping of statues just on the other side of the tree line. My curiosity led me to venture into the shady forest where the stony figures stood beneath a cluster of colossal oak trees. Approaching with caution, I realized that the marble crosses and cherubs were all headstones. One of the older gravestones appeared to mark the tomb of a Civil War veteran as it had a Confederate seal engraved near the top.

While struggling to read the epitaphs on each weathered headstone, I noticed that all but one of the graves bore the surname of Fincannon. In the opposite corner of the small cemetery from the confederate soldier’s grave, there was a larger monument—apparently indicating the final resting places for one of the family patriarchs, Mr. William Edward Fincannon (b.1870 d.1916). Buried next to him, his wife, Virginia Mae Sullen-Fincannon (b.1875 d.1915). Beside their plot, was a smaller headstone, fit for a small child, which read:

Heavens Brightest Star

Benjamin Royce Fincannon

May 1st 1909-July 5th 1912

Across the way were three more graves marking the burial plots of Master William J. Fincannon (b.1897), Miss Sarah Helen Clarke (b.1900), and Miss Rosalyn Jane Fincannon (b.1899)—all of whom died in 1918. Noticing this common thread made me wonder what could have taken the lives of these three people. They were all nearly my age when they died. It had to be some unforeseen tragedy.

A sudden rustling of leaves in the distance startled me, shaking me out of the daze I was in. I looked up from the graves to see what caused the sudden commotion, but there was nothing there. Remembering what Les had said earlier, I was beginning to wonder if I should give any substance to his warning. Peering further into the forest, I didn’t see anything suspicious, but I did see something that piqued my interest in a different light. Just up the hill from the cemetery, partially obscured by the surrounding entanglement of oak trees and evergreens, there stood what appeared to be an old abandoned house. Carefully stepping over and under mesh of vines and tree branches, I ventured further into the woods to get a closer view of the forsaken structure. Something told me I should turn around, but I couldn’t resist the luring affect this mysterious place had on me. Something about the place was beckoning me, drawing me toward it.

Chapter 2

A Discovery

The moss hung wearily from the branches of the massive oak trees surrounding the house, framing it with mournful strokes of brown and grey. As I got closer, I could see that this was no average-sized house. This diamond in the rough was a mansion. (Cue Tara’s Theme ). Overgrown vines shrouded the towering pillars and outer walls of the house’s Greek revival architecture with varying shades of green and yellow.

Making my way up the brick steps onto the massive porch, I had a strange feeling. It was as if I’d been here before. Perhaps I’d dreamt about a place like this once. Shoving the notion aside, I pressed onward. The front door was long gone, leaving nothing but open air between myself and the internal mysteries of this magnificent beauty.

Once inside, I was immediately overwhelmed by the surreal beauty of this forgotten palace. The smell of turpentine, pine, cedar, and dust combined with a hint of mildew filled the air, boldly announcing the house’s antiquity. Straight ahead of me, the grand staircase wound its way in a downward spiral from the second floor balcony. I could easily picture a parade of debutantes in white antebellum couture gracefully gliding down its steps in debonair fashion.

The high tray ceilings were lined with decorative molding, supported by massive white columns throughout the room. Old crystal chandeliers dangled lifelessly, covered in cobwebs, from their ornamental medallions above. More kudzu vines had crawled in through the windows, and stretched across the walls and floors with uncultivated sprays of greenery. Chipped paint, sawdust, and debris had scattered itself across the white marble floors in disarray. Silvery light pouring in from the open windows provided a ghostly pallor to the atmosphere.

The room to my left appeared to be a sitting parlor with a fireplace and Victorian bay window in the far corner. Off to my right, a small vestibule led to what appeared to have once served as the ballroom. Entering the spacious room, I felt dwarfed by the high ceilings and massive columns. Cloaked in cobwebs and covered with rust, brass sconces and candelabras adorned the walls, The life that once existed within the walls of this forsaken place seemed to have ended abruptly. The whole house was now dead and left to rot, taking with it the memories of those who once lived here.

My mouth fell open when, gazing across the grand room, I spied an old abandoned piano in the far corner. Years of neglect from exposure to the various elements had left this beautiful instrument in ruin. Still, I couldn’t resist the urge to let my fingers run about the keyboard, playing a few notes of an old familiar melody. Surprisingly, though slightly out of tune, the old piano still sang beautifully, all things considered.

Once my mini concerto concluded, I headed back into the grand entry room to continue my expedition. Gravitational forces of intrigue pulled me back toward the grand staircase that spilled openly onto the marble floors in the foyer. Setting safety aside, I took my chances and began to ascend the treacherous steps. The boards creaked and moaned in distress beneath my feet, but I persisted. I probably should’ve heeded their warning because what happened next could’ve ended my little excursion abruptly and tragically. Right before I reached the top step, I heard a creak followed by a loud snap that led to me screaming, "Aaaa!" One of the boards on the last step had rotted and broken under my weight, leaving my right foot stuck.

"Real cute, Chloe." I whispered to myself. Desperate to free my ailing limb from the wooden step, I kicked and flailed my foot as hard as I could. Still, it wouldn’t budge. I tried the same method over and over until finally, I had loosened the boards enough to pry myself free. While swiping away the splintered wood and debris from my pants leg, I noticed something peculiar in the hole where my foot had been.

Reaching down with caution, I retrieved a small wooden cigar box. Thoughts in my mind began to swirl as I tried to imagine what could be inside. My curiosity peaked, I had no choice but to open the tiny package.

Inside, there was a stack of letters—all addressed to Miss Helen Clarke from Master William Fincannon. The same people whose graves are marked out front. I thought. Carefully, I picked up the stack of letters and noticed that the postmarks dated back to the years 1917 and 1918. I wondered if any of them provided any clues as to what may have caused their untimely deaths.

Buried under the stack of letters, was a small leather-bound book with the initials W.F. engraved in the bottom right hand corner of the cover. Unbuckling the fragile leather strap that held the pages intact, I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for snooping through someone else’s things—even if that person had been dead for a century.

Before I opened the front cover to behold whatever secrets the book held, a loud slam echoed throughout the halls.

Geez! I jumped, having almost said a different four-lettered word. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel my pulse throbbing in my ears. Shaken and frazzled, I peered over the railing onto the main floor to investigate the source of the loud noise when a fox sprinted across the floor. It must’ve knocked something over, I reasoned with myself in a feeble attempt to calm my shattered nerves. Ever so anxious to unlock the mysteries of this place, I continued to open the book. Handwritten inside the front cover, in the most beautiful script were the words:

"To my William,

Godspeed and hurry back to me!

Love, Helen "

What sort of token of farewell was this? My unspoken question was soon answered when I turned the cover page and a small piece of paper slipped out onto my lap. I gingerly picked up the note and read its tragic message.

To whom this may concern: We regret to inform you that, on the morning of May 12, 1918, P.F.C. William J. Fincannon was killed in battle at the hands of enemy fire in Luneville, France. The personal effects that were in his possession at the time of his death are enclosed in the associated package. On behalf of the United States War Department, we extend our deepest condolences.

Sincerely,

Major General Menoher

42ND Rainbow Division

Baccarat Sector

My heart swelled with sadness. With some unintended sense of foreshadowing, the giver of this journal was saying goodbye, in more ways than she could have known. Realizing that the personal effects mentioned in the telegram