For Sale; Reduced

Write at the Merge, Week 15

Happy Birthday to Cam!  "I am one of those people who celebrates their birthday in month long chunks. So, for this week’s Write at the Merge prompt, I’m giving you two photos that hit me like a sucker punch from an imgur.com photoset." 

Willa heard about the house at a lunch she had attended with other local realtors.  More than one had tried to sell the property, all had failed.  Most wouldn't even show the place after their first walk through.

She had to see it.  She had a way with houses, a gift to find its heart, and then the perfect buyer.

Willa eased her car up the leaf drifted driveway.  Dirty windows glared at her as she approached.  It wasn't often she was unnerved by a house, but this one was doing it's best to intimidate her.

She stopped the car in a wide parking area and surveyed the house. It sat precariously against a hillside above the city.  It was huge, three stories and a walk-out basement that opened to stone stairs leading down the hill to the street below.  On the city side, a long stone veranda promised a spectacular view.  

The small bit of lawn, left to its own devices, had gone wild, sending shoots of ivy crawling up the stone exterior.  The untended gutters were spouting a forest of saplings and the sidewalks and steps were carpeted in moss. 

Willa picked up her briefcase as she left the cozy comfort of her car and stood on the uneven pavers.  The house sent a psychic wave of haughty disapproval that almost sent her diving for the safety of her front seat.  Instead, she drew a deep, calming breath, pushed the warnings of the previous realtors to the back of her mind, and keys in hand, walked boldly to the front door.

She stepped into the entry hall, dust covered every surface.  Papers and trash littered the marble floors.  She let out a gasp of dismay.  Who had let things go so long?  No wonder the house was angry, she thought.  

She opened her senses to the home, searching for memories of happier times.  The presence of the house retreated from her probing, not hostile now, but distrustful.  

She slowly explored the main floor.  Each room showed the sign of abandonment, disregard.  When she entered the kitchen, she was delighted.  Though the space was just as disheveled as the rest of the home, the floor to ceiling cabinets and vast counter space excited her.  As she explored the nooks, in a cobwebbed corner, she found a broom.  Leaving her briefcase on a counter, she grabbed the broom and went to work.  

Willa spent the next several hours sweeping piles of dust and debris.  Once the floor was clear, she started on the counters and cabinets.  As she toiled, she felt as if someone was watching.  Not with animosity, but with curiosity.  

She stopped finally, and regarded her handiwork.  Sunset was close, the light in the kitchen was dimming.  She wasn't ready to spend the night just yet.  She grabbed the briefcase and headed for the door.

She could sense the house, sigh.  Her mind showed her the image of a child dropping their shoulders in disappointment.

"No," she said, "I'll be back, I promise."

Last Trip

Trifecta: Week Seventy-Two
Congratulations to the weekend winners!
And on to this week's word;
ALCHEMY (noun)

1

: a medieval chemical science and speculative philosophy aiming to achieve the transmutation of the base metals into gold, the discovery of a universal cure for disease, and the discovery of a means of indefinitely prolonging life

2

: a power or process of transforming something common into something special

3

: an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting

Jackson had spent fifty years in the one room shack at the base of the mountain.  He'd married, once.  It hadn't gone well.  He found he preferred being alone to arguing over every detail of life.  

But there had been loneliness.  Until he found Ayrydd.  

He was going to see her today for the last time.  He owed her that.  

The pain running up and down his arm was getting worse.  His number was up, no sense in fighting it.  He just hoped he had enough strength left to hike up the foothills to her lair.

Jackson had no regrets, he was somewhere in his eighties.  He could still get around, until just lately.  Yep, a good time to die.

As he labored up the mountain, he pondered what alchemy made the air suddenly unbreathable.  His wheezing had alerted Ayrydd to his arrival.  She waited outside her lair, sparkling green eyes reflecting her knowledge of the reason for his visit.

He accompanied her inside.  They sat together the rest of the day in silent communion.  As the pain spread into his chest and his breath stuttered, he whispered a barely audible goodbye.

                   **************

Ayrydd sat motionless for several hours, grieving silently for her latest loss.  She pushed her snout into Jackson's still face, though she knew there was no life left.  Then, with utmost tenderness, she cradled his body in her forelimbs.  She carried him along a narrow passage to a small cavern deep within the rock.  

In the center was the bier she'd built for him only days before.  She laid him gently on the bed of dried branches.

Ayrydd gazed at his lifeless form a few moments longer before emitting a puff of flame.  The fire's glow danced along her golden scales as she bid her friend a final farewell.

Under Gifted

Week Three: For this week, your inspiration comes from two words (you are not required to use these words, though you may):

Gossamer: noun; a fine, filmy substance consisting of cobwebs spun by small spiders, which is seen esp. in autumn.

Affinity: noun; ( pl. affinities ) (often affinity between/for/with) a spontaneous or natural liking or sympathy for someone or something: he has an affinity for the music of Berlioz.

Willa stood on the sidewalk gazing at the old duplex. The yard needed mowing, and the flower beds wanted weeding. Still, she saw dignity and grace in the abandoned building. The wide porch beckoned a welcome to either entry door. She’d always been drawn to the old homes. That was why she finally went into real estate, to listen to the voices of the homes, and find the proper residents for them.

It was her gift.

She planted her “For Sale” sign in the yard, then stepped onto the porch while fishing the keys from her pocket. For no particular reason, she opened the right hand door first.

As she stepped over the threshold, the house sighed with the pleasure. Memories drifted from the walls, reaching for her. Caressing her with silken threads of full lives and loves everlasting. Warm hearts and laughing family times.

She welcomed the peaceful embrace. Heard yearning in the whispers of empty spaces longing to filled again.

She knew the perfect family for this home. People of life and love and laughter.

Willa smiled contentedly to herself as she finished her walk-through and began to search for the other key.

As she reached the door, the voices of the home became more insistent, “Don't go. Don't go.” They pleaded.

“I’ll be back, and with a family for you.” She whispered. “I promise.”

Willa left the gentle memories behind. She crossed the shared porch and stepped over the threshold of the left hand door.

Her gift hadn’t prepared her for the mirror twin of the other side.