“Yes. Come down.”
The metal knob rattles and twists toward the back of the room that leads outside. It unlocks with a click and swings open slowly.
I eye it cautiously. The dark stairwell looms ahead like an abyss you can’t see the end of.
Swallowing, I move to the top of the stairs and reach for the light switch. The light reveals neatly stacked plastic bins, exercise equipment, a worn couch, and an old TV.
I proceed slowly. Straining my ears to hear anything other than the creak of the wood, I examine the area for signs of anything amiss.
“Papa?” I whisper hesitantly.
This is the beginning of the action sequence in far too many horror movies. If I was smarter, I’d
head back the way I came. There’s something strange about this dream.
“I’m here,” I can’t resist my father’s voice. Not when he’s so close after so long. I travel to the bottom of the stairs, and he’s standing across the room.
“Papa.” I race to him.
Falling into his open arms, I rub my face over his soft top. He smells just like I remember, Earl gray vanilla tea and wood.
“My girl. You’ve grown so beautiful.”
I jerk back. They never recognize me as I am now. I’ve always been forever trapped at twelve.
I look up and see the same round face with dark brown eyes, a broad forehead strong jaw, and an upturned nose identical to my own.
“Papa?” Is this his spirit? “This isn’t a memory, is it? I am here now,” I whisper.
“Yes.” He kisses my forehead.
“Why did you wait so long to come?” My voice cracks
“Your mother and I wanted to protect you, and in doing so we did you a grave disservice.”
“H-how.” I stiffen. Had he possessed this ability to visit all this time?
He glances around unable to remain still. “I can’t tell you. But I can show you.”
Releasing me, he walks over to a tall armoire. Opening the doors, he moves the winter coats to the side and knocks on the wood.
He pushes in and steps back. A small door swings open into a corridor.
“I can’t go any further than this.” His voice is thick with regret.
“What’s back there?” My hands tremble.
“Our family’s legacy.”
“I don’t understand.” I look at the dark pathway. Is this real?
“I’m sorry. There are rules between the living and the dead.” Sorrow fills his eyes. “I can’t move freely on this plane.a” Our time together reaching an end.
I rush forward, wrapping my arms around his waist, I hold on tight. Anger isn’t worth missing this chance to hug my father again.
He returns the fierce embrace for a long moment. “It’s time for me to go.” I release him. “Please forgive us, Ylva. We only ever wanted the best.”
Swallowing hard, I nod and turn to face the corridor. Stepping down, I enter the cold, damp space.
Gathering my nightgown, I move forward slowly. A sconce flickers to life. The passageway appears to be original to the home.
Gray bricks are set with mortar and cut in irregular sizes. I see a rectangular opening ahead. Holding my breath, I step inside. Bookshelves line the wall opposite me.
A large wooden table sits in the middle of the room. Antique glass cases rest against the wall on the right, full of trinkets.
There’s immense power in this space. I walk toward the bookshelf.
The leather spines are broken in, but well, taken care of. I trail my fingers down the backs.
Pack 1700s, Pack 1800s. Why hide history books?
The legend of Fenrir. I think back to the large wolf’s words. I pull the black book with golden letters off the shelf and open it. Those of his line will be tasked with the job of protecting–.
“Ylva.” I’m pulled from sleep.
Vision bleary; I turn to glare at my aunt. That book and its contents felt important.
“It’s time to get up. Your presence is required at the meeting tonight.”
