The Winter Letter Page 2

  Leah wasn’t Will’s real aunt. She was his mother’s dearest friend (one of those friends who are usually much closer than any real aunt). Will didn’t have any real aunts. In fact, he didn’t have any real aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, brothers, or sisters. Before today his family was only three.

  Now it was only one.

  “What do you think?” Andy asked after a long silence.

  Will nodded. He wanted to get a picture of his mom and dad. He wanted the blanket his mom had made for him. He wanted his pillow so he could scream into it.

  The car started, crossed the railroad, turned down a few streets, but then they came to an abrupt stop. A flash of orange light pulled Will’s chin up for the first time in hours. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  His house was a firestorm, the entire structure drowning in flame.

  Three

  The Library

  The first thing Will noticed when he woke the next morning was the faded flower print lining the top of the walls. He was in his Aunt Leah’s house and had been drug awake by a screaming, coughing, much maintenance needed doorbell.

  “Will, you decent?” said a small voice from a crack in the door. It was Leah’s young daughter, Daphney. Daphney had been blinded by a fire two years before, but if you judged by her ever present smile you would have never known. She was just as bubbly without sight as with. Nonetheless, the question was only polite. She couldn’t see if Will was decent or not.

  “Yeah,” Will mumbled. “I’m dressed.” Actually, he was wearing the same clothes as the day before, and they still smelled like smoke and hospital. Satisfied, Daphney walked to the bed and sat on its edge.

  “I’m so sorry Will,” the girl said. As she spoke each of her s’s slid squeakingly through her front teeth. Will pulled away. Daphney’s sweet voice brought sour feelings. He had woke still in the nightmare. His parents really were dead; his house really had burned to the ground.

  “I asked Momma if I could wake you,” Daphney said as she wiped her blind eyes with the back of her hands. “It’s almost 2:30 and there’s a police officer in the living room. Mom says he’s really big. Are you going to jail?”

  “No,” said Will. “Go tell them I’ll be there in a minute.”

  As Daphney walked out Will shifted his legs over the side of the bed and put his face in his hands. He took two deep breaths before getting up.

  “Good Morning Will,” Will’s adopted Aunt Leah said as he stepped through the bedroom door into the tiny living room. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry?”

  Will shook his head and sat in a chair across from Leah and the big police officer, Andy. “I know this is hard sweetheart,” said Leah, “but we thought you may want to look around the house before the weather gets in. The snow has stopped for a while, and I’m sure there are some things you will want to get.”

  Will looked away. He didn’t want to see his home in a pile of ashes, but he remembered stories of people who had forgotten what their loved ones looked like after a long time. He didn’t want to forget. He couldn’t forget. “Can I go alone?” he asked.

  Leah looked over at Andy. “Officer Andy needs to be there... for safety. Is that okay?”

  “I’ll stay out of your way William. It will be as if I’m not even there,” Andy said.

  “It’s Will,” Will said, then he nodded his already hurting head.

  Neither Will nor Andy spoke until they arrived at the rubble that once was Will’s home. The house, from floor up, was either erased by flame or painted black by smoke. The front three outer walls were standing, the windows were in place, but inside everything was black and brown, wet and depressing. The pictures had lost their perfect form, the mantle was falling apart, and the plant in the corner (although not burnt) no longer snickered. Almost everything was destroyed. If the flame and smoke hadn’t got it, the water from the fire-hoses had.

  I did this, Will thought as he stared at the fireplace. Where he had dropped the blanket the day before was now nothing more than a blacker spot on the charred floor.

  “That’s strange,” Officer Andy said from behind.

  Will turned and walked over to Andy who was standing just outside the library door, peering in with a flashlight. Inside, the library was untouched; not the books, not the painting of the mulberry tree, not even the wallpaper was grey with smoke.

  “Can I borrow that?” Will asked, pointing at Andy’s flashlight.

  “Yes,” said Andy. He handed Will the shiny silver torch and stepped out of the way.

  Will crossed through the charred doorway. As always the air felt a tad warmer. He sniffed, breathing in the heavenly aroma of old paper. Somehow the smell of ash had not squirmed its way into the library. Everything was the same as any other day, only darker. On the bookshelves covering the long walls were books on top of books in front of books, and hiding at the far end of the library was his father’s open roll top desk. It was covered with loose papers, travel logs, and rolled up maps of places Will had never heard of. He walked over and unrolled one of the maps. Hand drawn x’s marked every block of some gigantic city. Will guessed these were a few of the many places his dad had visited. He tossed it and a few others things into an empty cardboard box, then he opened the top desk drawer (where the pencils are normally kept); it was empty. He opened the next one down, and it was full (of uninteresting things). When he opened the last drawer the light fell on an old brown leather bag. Will knew it immediately. It was his father’s travel bag. His dad had taken this bag, and this bag alone, on every one of his trips. Will pulled it from the drawer and unbuckled the flap. As it opened the smell of leather brushed through Will’s hair, a painful reminder of his father.

  Inside was a small journal. Will adjusted the light, flipped open the book, and read:

  I have traveled far this trip and am weary of the loneliness, but I must continue. Soon Will will be of age., then we can go as a family. Maybe then these never ending journeys can come to an end…

  Will pushed back a tear and flipped the page. Stuck in the crease was a picture of him, his mother, and father, all smiling on his twelfth birthday. He couldn’t bare it; little knives pricked at his heart. He shut the journal, stuffed it in the bag, grabbed the box full of maps and turned to leave, but as he did the light flashed across a letter lying on the long table.

  Will froze.

  “What is it?” asked Andy, still outside the doorway.

  Will didn’t seem to hear.

  “William?”

  “It’s nothing,” said Will, just loud enough to be heard. He walked over, not taking his eyes off the letter, and set the box just outside the door.

  “Are those maps?” Andy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Mind if I...?”

  “No.”

  Andy unrolled one of the maps, labeled: C.O. A. His face disappeared behind it. “Did your Dad travel a lot?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Officer Andy leaned out from behind the map. He looked confused. “Did he ever tell you where these places are?”

  “No.”

  “Do you kn- -”

  “Can you give me a few minutes?” Will asked coldly. Tears were visible in his eyes and could be heard in his voice.

  “Sure, but first, is there anything important in the library you need to save?”

  “There’s a safe.”

  “Do you have the key?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. We can figure it out later. I’ll be out back if you need me.” Will nodded. As soon as Andy was out of sight he creeped towards the letter, like it would explode if he approached too quickly. He picked it up and read, again.

  Dear William,

  Happy late thirteenth Birthday.

  First, let me tell you I am sorry for your loss. This is a difficult time for you and I know you are hurting. I know about the fire. I know about your parents. I know how the terrible acc
ident happened. I know what she said to you in room 14. I know you are angry and alone and miserable. I also know that right now you are asking yourself many loud questions. I can hear them as clear as a voice.

  First, the most obvious question, which you have yet again attempted to answer by glancing at the closing of this letter: “Who am I?” The second question is, “How did I know these things happened?” and the third you are asking is, “Am I responsible?”

  Today, in this letter, I offer no answers, but I do offer them. Today, get on the 3:30 train. Go south. Get off at sunset, and walk deep into the Eastern woods. Knock on the door of the only house you come across.

  I know this brings up a fourth question, which is the most important: “Am I good; can I be trusted?” This question you will have to answer on your own. This is my offer. I urge you to take it, but it is your choice. After today, you will not find the house.

  Affectionately,

  King Mel Masih

  P.S. If you leave now you will have enough time to make it on foot.

  Will’s thoughts stampeded together. He shook his head trying to sort out at least one of the million incomplete sentences that followed, like What in the worl— and How did this happe—’. Didn’t the P.S. say, Answer the door yesterday? He remembered the sudden knock that made him nearly pass out. How did it change? Was he losing his mind? He pulled out the picture of his family and forced himself to stare at it. As he did one sob pressed into another, and another, until they grouped together into a painful, angry growl.

  Who is this King? thought Will.

  “Did he kill my parents?” he said through clenched teeth.

  “He did; there’s no other way,” he whispered to himself.

  Will’s brow lowered. He wiped his burning eyes with his numb hands and strained until the tears stopped. Those would be the last he would allow until he knew the truth.

  He lifted the light to a small clock over on his father’s desk: 3:15.

  ***

  Officer Andy climbed through the burnt walls and into the backyard. Even from here he could hear Will’s sobs. How he hated to see William so broken. No young one should have to feel such pain. Although he had just met Will, he felt responsible for him, especially since his mother had asked him to watch out for her son. He would give Will some space, for the moment, then try to figure out a way to comfort the boy.

  The 3:30 train announced its arrival at 3:20.

  “Just on time,” said Andy, looking at his watch. When the horn stopped blowing he listened closely. Will’s sobs had silenced. Turning he made his way back into the house. Outside the library door was the box of maps and set beside it was his flashlight. Andy leaned in the doorway to look inside.

  Will was gone.

  Four

  The Crooked House

  The train rocked back and forth and kept perfect chuck a’ cluck rhythm. Will unbuckled his dad’s bag, took the letter out, read it, and put it back at least four times. He studied his mother’s pendent, twirling the silver rope around his fingers and sliding the bars of metal that imprisoned the enclosed locket. After a few minutes he gave up trying to unlock the puzzle and watched half frozen rain streak across the windows. Soon, his eyes grew heavy and he drifted into sleep, gripping the pendant in one hand and holding his Dad’s bag in the other.

  Will slept through an orange lit train car. Far to the right the sun was melting away for the day, blending into the earth, leaving streams of orange flowing into the illuminated lake created to birth tomorrow. In the distant land where the sun sets and sleeps the sky turned pink as the day’s last inferno lit the lingering clouds. Will woke when the train began to slow down and the last slice of sun fell out of sight.

  “Get off at sunset,” Will said to himself. He gathered his things and when the chuck a’ cluck stopped he hopped out onto an empty train platform. He was the only person there. The stop was nothing more than a base of concrete wrapped in trees. In its middle sat a bench longing for company, and to the left steps led down from the platform and into the woods. Will swallowed hard and (without letting himself think about it) descended the steps, following a hardly worn path into the trees.

  At first, under the thick canopy, the path was scarcely visible, but soon after, dark fell on everything and Will couldn’t see his hands in front of his face nor the trail at his feet. Now, he wished he had stolen Andy’s flashlight. As he went he tripped over every brier, bush, and fuzzy moving thing. He grabbed thorns, ran face first into trees, and slipped on uneven ground until, to top the misery off, he flipped nose chasing toes down a hill and collided face first with a dirt embankment.

  That’s when a steady rain decided to fall.

  Will put his back to the dirt wall and pulled his legs close to his chest. Leaning back he gritted his teeth. “I can’t take it anymore! If you want to kill me, come and do it!” he screamed at nobody. The rain flowed through his hair and made his dry eyes look as if he was crying, but he was not. He sat shivering, staring into the black, and at each thought of his parents he shook his head violently, trying to erase the thought like a memory etch-a-sketch.

  Suddenly, something bright hopped onto one of Will’s wet eyelashes and rode into his vision.

  Squinting and shielding his eyes, he could just make out a faint light dancing through the rain. It was dim and distant, but still enough to strengthen his legs. He pushed back to his feet and commanded himself to move. He still tripped and fell, but as the light grew stronger his worrying about the briers and the bushes faded. There was only the single little light: an earth star guiding his steps. He dare not look away, not even for a moment. The closer he got, the brighter it shined, until he reached the top of a hill where there was a candle sitting on a crooked table. The flame flickered and fluttered, but kept burning even in the midst of the downpour. Down the opposite side of the hill sat a house that leaned to the left.

  Waisting no time, Will rushed down, tripping over his own feet all the way to the crooked front door. He reached up to knock, but a split second before his knuckles hit the wood he stopped. What if this King guy is on the other side? he thought. What if it’s a trap?

  Slowly he backed away and snuck around the side of the house to one of the crooked windows. Lifting on his tip-toes he peaked in. There was an old looking stove (one of those black ones made to burn wood) with many pots on top hissing out steam. Plates and glasses full of what looked like ice tea crowded a sopping wet, crooked wood table. Will pushed himself a bit higher onto his toes. He couldn’t see anybody inside.

  “It ain’t nice to be sneaking round folks houses at night son,” said a voice from behind.

  Will spun around to a little old lady holding a lantern in one hand and pointing her cane at his chest with the other. She wore one of those bright yellow rain jackets with matching boots.

  “I— I’m sorry, M’am. I thought someone else lived here,” Will answered.

  “M’am? Well I guess you do have some good up-bringin after all!”

  “I’m sorry for bothering you. I was just—”

  “Now, don’t go explainin boy. I know why you’re here. I been knowin all along, just don’t think you should be sneakin round, especially tonight. It’s been crazy round here, busier than the last three hundred years.” The little old lady lowered the cane and looked down at where her watch would have been if she had one. “Anyway, you’re late,” she said, “what’d ya do stop and take a nap?“ With that she laughed at some joke Will didn’t get.

  “I’m late?” Will said, “You know why I’m here?”

  “Of course I do William,” the old lady replied.

  “It’s Will—Wait, you know my name?!”

  “Yes silly, I know your name, and I’m Ms. Lani. Now, get over here and open the door for an old lady. Let’s talk inside. You look like you’re freezing, and I’m getting soaked. I’m too old to be playin in the rain.”

  Will was shivering, so he did as he was told.

  Inside was old. The
floor was old. The table was old. The rocking chair was old; the stove, the pots, the blankets, even the air. Everything was old, and smelled old, and looked old, and acted old; everything but the old lady. Although she walked with a cane she had the spunk of a teenager.

  “So where is King Mel?” Will asked.

  The old lady seemed to not hear.

  “Excuse me M’am. Where is King Mel?!” Will asked again more loudly, as if talking to a person with a hearing problem. The little old lady turned and threw a towel in his face.

  “I ain’t deaf, not yet,” she said. “Now get out of those wet clothes.”

  Will dried off. Then, he hid around the corner and put on some not as soaked clothes from his bag. Afterwards, he tried to ask the old lady questions, but she told him to hold his horses until they had a bite to eat. She then bossed him to the sink where she took water and poured it over his hands.

  The majority of the little house was one big room that was the dining room, the kitchen, the living-room, and the bedroom (except with no bed). There were three doors: one Will guessed was a closet; the one he had entered from; and another on the other side of the room that led out of the back of the house. Will figured the bathroom was somewhere out in the rain. He sat at the table and decided not to eat until being invited to. He learned a lot during that meal. Like, to chew with his mouth closed, not to talk with his mouth full, to hold his fork properly, and to keep his elbows off the table. However, after tasting the food he didn’t mind so much.

  Ms. Lani started the conversation while they ate. “So you got you a letter didn’t ya?” she said matter of factly.

  “Yes Ma—”

  “And it told you to come here, didn’t it?”

  “Yes M’am, how did you kn—”

  “And you’re looking for a few answers, ain’t ya?