by H.L. Cornetto
I hadn’t explored every corner of the house. I wasn’t brave enough, nor well enough. It was drafty with a musty odor, and, try as I might, I could not overcome the dread of the unknown. I couldn’t comprehend why we had moved into this dilapidated ruin; my family had always been wealthy, and never before had we lived in such conditions.
Most of the furniture was covered with sheets. Dust and cobwebs lurked in hidden corners. In my brief time here, I had gotten to know the window inside my sickroom well. I stood and looked out for hours each day. The rattling of the wind against the panes, the cold glass against my forehead, and the unsurpassed view of the property made this my favorite place in the house.
I looked out across the vast landscape, and had no idea how much of the property my family owned. There had once been an orchard, now scraggly and overgrown. The most peculiar thing that I could see from my window was a cemetery. An old family plot, from what I could tell, not unusual for this region. What caught my attention was an old swing hanging from an oak tree in the center of the plot. I wondered why anyone would put a swing there. Surely it was no place for a child to play, idyllic though the landscape was.
Time passed. I wasn’t sure how long, because the days blurred together. My cough had grown worse. I couldn’t remember the last time my parents had visited my room. I couldn’t blame them; my illness had driven a wedge of grief between them. I found myself still drawn to the window.
I saw the swing billowing back and forth in the wind, and I wondered, if I die, will they bury me in the plot outside, so that they can look out the window and see me?
Spring came and the weather grew warmer. The sun shone down, lifting the dreary cloud that hung over the outside world. I saw through my window a patch of daffodils that sprouted, flaunting their bright hues and banishing the darkness of winter. It was on one of these warm spring days that I decided to venture away from my window, and explore the grounds for myself.
I walked through the cemetery, running my fingers along the headstones. Finally, I could read names and epitaphs left in memorial. Samuel, Isabelle, Douglas… these people must have lived here many years before. Inexplicably, I felt myself drawn to the center of the plot, the oak, and the swing. Though the rope looked ancient, I settled down onto the swing and began gliding to and fro. My toes brushed the ground, and I glimpsed a small tombstone:
Lydia Ravenshorn
1886 – 1897
“Loving and Obedient Daughter”
As I turned back toward the house, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. Standing in my window was the silhouette of a girl looking down at me. Suddenly I realized what the window had been trying to show me.
I hadn’t just moved here. I had never left.
Holley Cornetto was born and raised in Alabama, but now lives in New Jersey. She is a librarian by day and a writer by night. Her fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Flash Fiction Magazine and Collective Realms. On twitter as @HLCornetto.
