Thank you to blackrandl1958 for creating this event. When I heard about the theme, I just about cried because I love the genre very much. So much, in fact, that I had to write two stories. Thank you to Pixel the Cat for editing, and thank you to D for the feedback.
This one is an ode to V.C. Andrews. I loved the way she incorporated gothic horror into her stories, and they always stayed with me.
I hope you like it.
*****
The bus rolled into my hometown around dinnertime. I was wide awake, but I had been still for hours. When the bus driver finally parked, I felt like I was waking from a dream. In many ways, I was. It had been ten years since I had visited my little hometown in the dusty South. So much had happened, but my town looked exactly the same.
I grabbed my bag and exited the bus. There was a crowd of cars waiting, but I didn't recognize any of them. It wasn't like my brother to be late.
Then I spotted him, long after he spotted me. From his expression, I could tell he'd been watching me. A self-conscious flush spread across my cheeks.
He looked almost exactly the same, but his features had taken on an adult quality. Black hair, gray eyes, sharp nose. He had grown a bit of a beard, and he seemed leaner than I remembered. I made my way over to him, ignoring my shaking knees.
We regarded each other silently when I caught up to him.
"Good to see you, Addison." He hesitated for a moment, like he debated saying more. Whatever her wanted to say, he swallowed it down.
"How are you, Beau?"
He took my bag from me and gave me his old smile, though it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Surviving. How are you?"
"I'm a little hungry."
"Yeah, well, I started dinner before I came to get you. Hope you're okay with chili."
"Sure." I shifted on my feet.
I followed him to the car and remained silent as we wound through familiar streets. Beau watched me from the corner of his eye, but I pretended I didn't notice. Eventually we pulled up in front of the old mansion that was my childhood home. Our parents were old school wealthy, and Daddy had inherited the place from his uncle. All of the kids were jealous of it when I was growing up, but to me, it had always been a prison. It looked exactly the same, and for a moment I felt like the eighteen year old girl who had fled from it all over again. I could almost hear my mama's honey-dipped southern drawl again, whispering that I disgusted her.
"Will Dad be around?"
Beau turned to me as he parked and shrugged. "He spends a lot of time with his new wife and their family. I see him maybe one or two times every month."
"So this is all yours now, then."
"Yes." He tried to smile.
I didn't answer. I pushed open the car door and carried my bag with me. Beau walked into the house first. For a moment, I considered leaving. I'd hardly been back for twenty minutes and already it was too stifling, too emotional. Then I heard him call my name, almost so low that I wondered if he meant for me to hear it. I walked into the dark house, took a deep breath, and tried not to get overwhelmed.
It was not the same on the inside. Gone were Mama's trademark eggshell walls; the living room was a deep passionate red. The kitchen was a rich golden yellow. Mama always kept decorating to a minimum, but Beau filled the house with various pieces of furniture and knickknacks. I liked it. At least it looked like people lived there.
"Wait until you see upstairs. Your room is blue."
I tried to avoid Beau's stare, but my eyes met his as soon as I looked up. "Thank you."
We stood there for a moment, waiting for the other to say something. He rubbed his arm, which was one of his nervous gestures, and then reached forward to take my bag from me.
"Let me show you upstairs."
I climbed the steps behind him, admiring the little changes my brother had made to the house. He had done a good job, I had to give him that, and if Mama were still around, she probably would have thought so, too. Of course, Beau was an architect; it was in his nature to be able to look at a space and visualize the best way to showcase it. The last I heard, he worked from home but travelled to visit important clients at least twice a week. He was a big deal. I always thought he would be.
"Here's your room."
I followed him into what used to be his room and tried to hide my reaction. The walls were sapphire; the bedding was a dreamy cream color. The curtains were billowy and matched the bedding. It was the bedroom of my dreams; the bedroom I'd desired since I was a little girl. I never thought he was listening when I described it, but he must have absorbed every word.
"What do you think?"
I didn't know what to think, so I forced a smile. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
Beau walked over to me and slowly took my hand. "This room will always be yours," he swore.
We looked deeply into each other's eyes. Finally I stepped away, drained by the intensity.
"I better get dinner ready," he said. He turned around and left me alone.
I took the room in, touching things here and there. Yes, Beau had done a great job with the mansion, but memories crept back startlingly vivid and oppressive. The place felt haunted. It was as if any moment, Mama would barge right in and start smacking me with a brush because I was sinful and horrible, the ultimate disappointment of a daughter.
Something creaked in the corner and I jumped. The light from the window didn't reach that part of the room, and the corner was nearly black. A shadow flickered there, and I swore I could smell Mama's old perfume.
"Mama?" I whispered with a shaky voice, feeling partly ridiculous.
I rushed over to the light switch, only to reveal a coat hanger with one coat haphazardly draped across it. The relief was so extreme that I wanted to cry, but I held myself together. Mama loved it when I cried, and if there were any trace of her still left in these walls, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
*****
Ten years earlier...
"Don't you think blue is the prettiest color?"
Beau laughed lightly. "You're drunk."
I spun around until I collapsed onto the grass beside him. "Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that blue is gorgeous."
Thousands of fireflies hovered over the field, crisscrossing in the dark night. It was peaceful out, and it was peace I craved. Daddy and Mama fought fiercely all the time then, and it was rare to find a few spare minutes with my older brother. He was enrolled in college, so he was gone most of the day, and when he wasn't in class, he went out partying with his friends or working at the hardware store on Oak Street. No one worked as hard as Beau, and certainly no one played as much, either.
I admired him immensely. Maybe I even idolized him. I was his complete opposite. While Beau was gregarious, loud, unstoppable, I was meek, silent and afraid of my own shadow. Still, he found the time to spend with me, even if I was eighteen and awkward.
