Birthright – Part 2

An Anatomy of Typewriters Story / 1,988 words / 8min Read Time

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I drove for most of the night till I arrived at the house. I had definitely never been there before and never seen it beyond the photograph left to me by my birthmother but for some reason it felt like home when I turned into the driveway and turned the car off. I sat there, staring up at the two story house. It was dark and the only light I had to see the house came from the crescent moon in the clear sky. It reflected off the bay window in the front, a black door tucked around the corner, a pathway and three steps leading up to it.

I grabbed my overnight duffel bag and suitcase that I came with from the trunk of my rental car and unlocked the door. I felt around on the wall beside the front door till I found a switch that turned on a single light in the entrance. The house felt warm and cozy, not at all what I was expecting when I walked in. If no one had been in the house since my birthmother died, how was it that it felt so clean. No cobwebs, no musty smell in the air. In fact, I could swear there was a faint smell of hot chocolate in the air and it made me crave a cup. I left my suitcase by the front door and decided to inspect the lower level of the house. I was tired but I was fueled by my curiosity.

I followed my nose towards where I assumed the kitchen must be. Along the way I couldn’t help but notice the wallpaper in the house was bright red roses, a stark contrast to the cherry oak floor and railing for the stairs leading up to the second story. A black runner on the floor led me down a hallway where I could see the faint glow of the moon illuminating a stainless steal refrigerator. It was newer than I expected, then again I had no idea who the woman was that lived in this house. I suppose I was making assumptions based on the only mother I ever knew in my life. My mother would never have felt comfortable in this house. 

My childhood home was a mess. Well, not such a mess that I couldn’t have friends over, but there were pictures of us all over the wall. She had figurines on tables and in glass cases in every room. She even had her own plant room that made the house smell like an inside garden. I missed that smell but before I could shed a tear I pulled open one side of the French doors on the refrigerator, not surprised to see it was empty. Actually, I almost wished it was full of groceries. So I could know what food she ate. Did she eat the same foods I did? Something that would tell me about this woman I’d never met but who shared a bond with me in some way.

One wall had upper and lower cabinets, a large basin sink with windows that overlooked the backyard. I couldn’t see it well because of large trees that blocked the moonlight. I would have to wait till morning to find out just how well the hired gardeners are. I learned a thing or two from my mother about tending and keeping a garden.

My stomach started to grumble so I went to work confirming the cupboards were bare before pulling out my phone to find a nearby restaurant that would be open so late and deliver. There was no way I could get to sleep on an empty stomach. I pulled open the cutlery drawer, hoping there might at least be some inside that I could use in case the delivery forgot to provide them. A red envelope with my name on in shocked me so much I pulled the drawer completely out and it crashed to the kitchen floor with a clatter. Luckily it was empty, except for the envelope.

I stared at it partly sticking out under the upside down drawer. My hand shook as I picked it up. It didn’t weight much. The size of a Hallmark card but what could it possibly be celebrating?

I opened it and slowly pulled out the card. It said “Welcome Home” on the front with a gravestone beside it and a graveyard in the background. I dropped the card on the island in the middle of the kitchen and went to another part of the house. I wanted to get as far away from it as possible.

I grabbed my suitcase from the hallway and rolled it into the living room that was opposite the kitchen and plopped down on the long sofa. I was surprised how neat and clean it was. There didn’t seem to be a speck of dust to show its age or lack of human contact on it. In fact, I could just make out where someone had sat in the same spot every time. I sat just next to the indentation in the couch and stared at it. I must’ve been doing it for far longer than I realized because my phone pinged, letting me know my food had arrived. A picture popped up showing me where it had been left for me.

Strangely, it was left at the end of the driveway, near the mailbox. Pissed off, I went outside to fetch it before the chill in the night air made it cold. With food in hand I turned back around to face the house and saw a light come on in one of the windows upstairs. It was faint but I could just make out it must be a bedside lamp. Than a shadow moved across the curtained window. There was someone in the house.

I’d read my share of squatters stories. They were a nightmare to deal with. I had a decision to make. I could go back inside and get my things, hoping whoever it is doesn’t try to confront me, or I could call the police and take my chances that they could do something about it. I knew the latter was a long shot. 

Maybe it was my hunger that took over my decision to go inside and confront the intruder myself, but I marched inside and slammed the door behind me. If we were going to do this, I wanted to at least let them know I was here!

“Whoever you are, I’ve called the police. So, you better not try anything or do anything stupid!” I shouted up through the ceiling. I could hear movement and muffled sounds coming from above my head. I started to walk up the stairs slowly, wishing there were things in the kitchen so I could at least have a kitchen knife to defend myself. As it stood, I had my wits and my cellphone. Not exactly a lethal combination. And it didn’t help that I could smell my dinner calling to me downstairs.

At the top of the landing I saw three doors. I assumed two were bedrooms and one might be a bathroom. I looked at the bottom of each door till I spotted the one with a faint glow. Bingo!

“I’m opening this door! Whoever you are, I’m sure we can work something out,” I said, suddenly my voice getting shaky. The confidence I had when I started walking up the stairs suddenly vanished and left behind a terrified woman. I gripped the door handle and pushed the door open just in time to see an older woman sitting in a chair beside a bed, a half filled glass in her hand.

“She’s been expecting you.” Those were her only words to me before she downed the glass and let it fall from her hand, shuttering on impact with the floor. She made a gurgling sound and instinctively clawed at her neck. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw opened so big I thought it would come unhinged. She managed to look in my direction and reach out one hand towards me. But fear had settled in and I couldn’t move. I’m not even sure I was breathing.

The old woman pitched forward onto the floor in front of me. She was dead. I didn’t need to check her pulse to know it for sure. I’m not a doctor or an expert on dead people. But I could tell she had stopped breathing. For some reason she had poisoned herself and was now lying dead on the bedroom floor of a house within an hour of my having stepped foot inside. I suddenly covered my mouth, afraid of the scream that I felt deep in the back of my throat would escape and someone outside might hear it.

I felt sick. I was going to be sick. I backed into the hallway and the next door I pushed open was a bathroom. I just made it to the toilet before I puked my heart out. When I was done I turned on the sink and washed my face. 

“What the fuck have I got myself into?” I asked myself. I looked up to see my reflection in the mirror, instead I was faced with another note. This time it wasn’t in an envelope. It was on an index card, taped to the mirror.

My hands were still shaking violently when I ripped the card off the mirror. What sort of sick joke was all this. With a dead body in the other room I needed to think about my next move. I could call the police and try to explain. But how would I sound to them.

‘You see, officer, my birthmother, whom I never met before and who’s dead, set me up from beyond the grave. Leaving me to take care of this dead body in the bedroom. Only just arrived—’ 

No way. Even I don’t buy what I’m saying. I slowly walk back towards the bedroom to push the door open and make sure that woman is still there, on the floor. I stop and look back towards the bathroom. That note about the basement. It permeates my mind. And I much rather deal with whatever is down there, right now, than what I know is waiting for me behind this bedroom door.

Standing in front of the door that leads to the basement I’m suddenly terrified and still very much hungry. But I can, and will, reheat my dinner later. Right now I need to investigate the basement before I can do anything else.

I take in a deep breath and square my shoulders before opening the door. Automatic lights blink to life, illuminating a dozen stairs leading to a cement floor. The railing on either side is surprisingly sturdy as well as the stairs look well maintained for a house this old. I was half-expecting to be met by a hellhole and the other half a smell that would require covering my nose. But so far I felt neither. In fact, I smelled…dirt?

I started down the stairs and the door to the basement shut behind me. I stopped breathing and listened, hoping it wasn’t about to lock on me. Especially, as I didn’t have my phone on me. Why didn’t I have my cellphone on me?!

At the bottom of the stairs I stumbled back into the corner at the sight before me. I was right. Dirt was what I smelled. But what I didn’t realize I was also smelling. Does it really have a smell? I don’t know. But death was definitely in the air. In fact, death was resting as peacefully as can be expected in twelve marked graves, in the basement of a house that I now owned.

“Well, fuck me…”