. . .

The black and white checkered floors lead directly to the black grand

staircase—large enough to fit a piano through sideways—and flow off into

the living room. My boots squeak against the tiles as I venture further

inside.

This floor is primarily an open concept, making it feel like the

monstrosity of the home could swallow you whole.

and the smell of mothballs is overpowering, but it looks exactly how I last

The living area is to the left of the staircase. I purse my lips and look

around, nostalgia hitting me straight in the gut. Dust coats every surface,

saw it, right before Nana died last year.

A large black stone fireplace is in the center of the living room on the far

coffee table sits in the middle, an empty vase atop the dark wood. Nana

left wall, with red velvet couches squared around it. An ornate wooden

used to fill it with lilies, but now it only collects dust and bug carcasses.

The walls are covered in black paisley wallpaper, offset by heavy golden

curtains.

One of my favorite parts is the large bay window at the front of the

Placed right in front of it is a red velvet rocking chair with a matching stool.

Nana used to sit there and watch the rain, and she said her mother would

house, providing a beautiful view of the forest beyond Parsons Manor.

always do the same.

The checkered tiling extends into the kitchen with beautiful black

with black barstools lining oneside. Grandpa and I used to sit there and

watch Nana cook, enjoying her humming to herself as she whipped up

stained cabinets and marble countertops.

 A massive island sits in the middle

delicious meals

Shaking away the memories, I rush over to a tall lamp by the rocking

chair and flick on the light. I release a sigh of relief when a buttery soft

turned on in my name, but you can never be too sure when dealing with an

glow emits from the bulb. A few days ago, I had called to get the utilities

old house.

Then I walk over to the thermostat, the number causing another shiver to

wrack my body.

Sixty-two goddamn degrees.

I press my thumb into the up arrow and don’t stop until the temperature

that’s housed my heart since I could remember, even if my body left for a

my nipples didn’t cut through all of my clothing.

I turn back around and face a home that’s both old and new—a home

is set to seventy-four. I don’t mind cooler temperatures, but I’d prefer it if

little while.

And then I smile, basking in the gothic glory of Parsons Manor.It’s how

through the generations. Nana used to say that she liked it best when she

my great-grandparents decorated the house, and the taste has passed down

was the brightest thing in the room. Despite that, she still had old people’s

taste.

I mean, really, why do those white throw pillows have a border of lace

around them and a weird, embroidered bouquet of flowers in the middle?

“Well, Nana, I came back. Just like you wanted,” I whisper to the dead

That’s not cute. That’s ugly.

I sigh.

air.

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