Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
That sounded wrong, though—rude, I thought. Sebastian seemed to agree because he gave me the side-eye and made a hissing sound.
“Er, not that I’m trying to say I’m your owner or anything,” I backtracked, trying to make amends. “But I’d be grateful if I could stay here for a while. I don’t know where I am and the door to my apartment disappeared. Also, I’m going to lose the apartment anyway since my rent just doubled and I lost my main job. I can’t—”
Before I could finish the sentence, the front door trembled again and I heard a faint click, as though a lock was turning somewhere inside. Then, to my mingled relief and trepidation, it swung open.
I stood there for a moment, not sure if I ought to go in or not. Sebastian, however, had no such worries. He stepped right over the threshold as though he owned the place.
I looked inside as he did. The interior wasn’t gloomy at all. The door opened into a short foyer that led up to a set of stairs. An antique side table was pushed against one wall and there was an old-fashioned lamp with a white frosted globe painted with pink climbing roses. It was glowing softly, as though to light my way inside.
Since nothing bad had happened to Sebastian—his bushy tail was currently disappearing around the corner—I got brave and decided to step inside myself.
“Okay,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “Here goes.”
As I stepped over the threshold, I thought I heard the little voice again.
“Welcome home, child,” it breathed.
“Uh, thank you,” I said, looking around. But no one answered.
I was afraid the door might swing shut behind me and disappear like the one on the bridge, but it stayed open, which was a relief. If it had slammed shut, I would have felt immediately trapped. I caught myself thinking that maybe the house knew that and it—or he—didn’t want to scare me.
I tried to push the idea out of my mind, but it wouldn’t quite go. I made my way deeper into the house, passing by the stairs and following Sebastian around the corner.
I found myself in a cozy living room. There was a big, overstuffed couch upholstered in a faded floral print with three hand-crocheted lace doilies across the back. A fireplace at the far end of the room already had a pile of logs in it, as though it was waiting for someone to light it.
“I don’t know anything about making a fire,” I remarked aloud. “I’d be afraid I’d burn the house down—I don’t think I’ve ever lived anywhere with a fireplace in my life.”
But even as I spoke the words, I had another bright flash of memory. I was sitting on the worn carpet in front of the fireplace while someone carefully untangled and combed my hair. I could see the flames flickering in the grate and feel their warmth on my face. I was wrapped in a towel and my hair was damp—I’d just had a shower or maybe a bath…
Then the memory was gone but the implications were clear—I had lived here before, or at least visited. In fact, it seemed like my entire lost childhood was somehow tied to this house.
Deciding to explore further, I left the living room and went around the corner to the next area, which was a formal dining room. There was nothing to see here except a large, oval dining table with six chairs.
The only odd thing was the chair at the head of the table—it was way bigger than the other five chairs and it was built more solidly too—its wooden legs were as big as my thighs. And believe me, I have some thick thighs. It looked like it could support someone much bigger and heavier than your average human being.
I frowned. Had my Grandmother had giant friends come to visit? Who in the world besides someone the size of a professional wrestler would need a chair this thick and sturdy?
I waited to see if I would get any flashes of memory to answer the question, but when there were none forthcoming, I decided to wander into the next room of the house.
It was the kitchen and if you’ve heard the term “grandma kitchen,” well, that’s exactly what it looked like. There was an old-fashioned stove/oven in one corner with black burners ringed by aluminum foil—presumably to keep them clean. Beside the stove was a long countertop with a sink in the middle. There was a window in front of it which looked out into a large, sloping backyard filled with more Maple trees and a stream running at the bottom.
More countertops and cabinets ran along the side wall. I saw several canisters labeled “Sugar” and “Flour” and another, smaller one labeled “tea.” Beside the canisters was a mug rack with several thick pottery mugs that looked handmade. On the faded and scuffed linoleum floor was a large, oval rag rug in many different colors.