Week of 4/10/2023 Story

“I think it’s absurd.”

“How could he do this? The very thought astounds me!”

“What ridiculous demands. He always was a fool.”

“Shhh, don’t let them hear you say that or you’ll be disqualified!”

Canary stared wistfully at the coffin before her, her aunt Victoria looking down at the gossipers coldly. She turned briefly, and the ladies recoiled in shock, unaware she had been listening.

“Oh my! How unfortunate it is. How young he was.”

“My condolences. We are deeply sorry for your loss.”

“He has gone to a better place.”

“We’re so sorry we couldn’t make it to the funeral.

Aunt Victoria looked at them with undisguised distaste.

“Why weren’t you?” she asked icily, glaring at them.

“We simply could not make it in time my dear!”

“Yet you found time for the will reading…” Aunt Victoria growled.

Canary stiffened, and Wilford barked. The ladies yelped.

“Oh dear, this is a funeral! Why in the heavens would you bring that infernal animal.”

“He belonged to Arthur. It was specifically in the will that he should attend.” Aunt Victoria snapped. The ladies inched away slowly, fanning themselves with their hands. Canary remained silent, staring up at her brother’s mansion. He was only 25 when he died, yet he had amassed an enormous fortune. Half of it he had inherited as the Wilcoff heir, and a half he had earned on his own. Now it might as well all been burned, standing empty, alone without him. It was alright for the gossiping distant relatives to have it. She didn’t care. She had Wilford, and she had Aunt Victoria, and that was enough. Arthur would have cared though. He would have hated to see his hard-won earnings go to anyone who didn’t deserve it.

“Is everyone ready? Please come inside!” Miss Isina called, beckoning towards them. She caught Canary’s eye and gave her a strained smile. The lawyer looked frazzled. Of course, she was with the demands of the will. It would be difficult for her to fulfill them. Canary walked towards her. The entryway to the mansion was spectacular, with a radiant splendor. Sunlight fractured off the crystal chandelier, illuminating the room. The front wall was inscribed with a quote. Her brother had liked to change the quote every week, claiming that there was no greater inspiration than a well-written motivation. That day it was painted on in plain black, in the relatively tame font of Calligraffiti.

“There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief. - Aeschylus” she said aloud, the first words she had spoken in the duration of the day.

“Who’s that?” Aunt Victoria asked, examining the quote.

“A famous Greek tragedian. He was called the Father of Tragedy. The genre stems from his work.” Canary answered. Her aunt opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment there was a loud ringing noise. Miss Isina was ringing a big bronze bell situated in the middle of the room.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, everyone, I’m afraid you must be quiet!” Miss Isina said, and the buzz of voices dimmed to a faint hum. “Now I’m sure you’re all aware of Mr. Arthur Wilcoff’s rather unusual instructions. He has requested to play some sort of game to decide who will inherit his fortune. Anyone who is related to Mr. Wilcoff by blood may play.” Some disgruntled-looking step-aunts and half-cousins stepped out, grumbling about the unfairness of the game. None of them had been present at the funeral either. Canary stepped forward curiously. Wilford barked softly and planted himself at her side.

“Now, now my friends! Settle down. Here is your first clue.” Miss Isina called. The room was once again silent as they waited to hear the clue.

“I can only say it once, so please listen carefully!” Miss Isina said, before beginning.

Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy.

Canary tuned Miss Isina’s tired voice out. Aunt Victoria looked at her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Spirits of the Dead by Edgar Allan Poe. I have it memorized.” Canary answered.

“Oh! I remember that one. A mystery of mysteries was the final line wasn’t it?” Aunt Victoria asked.

“Yes. It’s quite mellifluous isn’t it.” Canary said aloud.

“I find it rather somber. Arthur never liked such sad things.” Aunt Victoria answered. But I did Canary thought, though she kept those thoughts to herself. Suddenly, the group of gossiping distant aunts and cousins came over to her.

“Dear, have you any idea what that nonsense was?” her older aunt asked.

“Such an odd poem.”

“It’s just a poem. Arthur didn’t like most of Edgar Allen Poe’s works.” Aunt Victoria said coldly, before proceeding to trot up the stairs. Canary followed, trailing after her. “How do we solve the clue?” she said at last.

“Arthur wasn’t very poetic. He wouldn’t go into the trouble of finding a clue in a poem, rather… he’d make one. There was only one poem by Poe that he did enjoy.” Canary said, checking the time on her golden pocket watch. It was almost 5:00.

“Hmm? Oh! The Raven! Then it must be in the-” Aunt Victoria began, but a look from Canary made her go silent.

“You never know who may be listening,” she said, glancing at the doorway. They waited for a few moments until they heard soft footsteps walking away from the stairwell.

“Ah. As I was saying, it must be in your room.” Aunt Victoria said.

“Let’s go,” Canary said, racing up the steep ebony stairs. Aunt Victoria rushed to follow. They reached a large, empty room. The walls were painted a deep navy blue, and poems and newspapers were taped onto the walls. A large gilded raven statue stood guard over the window, it’s dark glare piercing through the silence. The room was perfectly pristine, except for the burnt wood flooring, still covered in ashes and charred with black streaks.

“Why would he make a puzzle only you could figure out?” Aunt Victoria asked.

“He always knew.” Canary replied. She stepped towards the dressing table, with 10 small drawers. Each of the handles was carved with an odd shape, half of them being long, and half short.

“Oh yes, something to do with The Raven, right?” Aunt Victoria asked, crouching down to look at the drawers.

“Not quite. If it did, he would have had The Raven be the clue. What’s the difference between The Raven and Spirits of the Dead?” Canary muttered out loud. Aunt Victoria fiddled through the poems and newspapers on the wall.

“Oh! It must be the meter. Spirits of the Dead was iambic, but The Raven is trochaic.” Aunt Victoria suggested.

“Right… the handles. The long and short syllables… Short, long, that makes one foot. Another short one, long, 2 feet. Short, long, 3 feet. 4 feet…5 feet…6 feet… 7 feet… short handle, long handle, 8 feet. Here we are. An Iambic octameter.” Canary said. She pulled on each of the handles until the 8th one gave a small click and opened, revealing a shining silver key the size of her hand.

“What does that open?” Aunt Victoria asked curiously.

“There’s an inscription. Memoriae sunt pulcherrimae imagines, mens nostra pingere potest, easque nihil unquam delere.” Canary recited.

“Errr… what language is that?”

“I think it’s Latin… but google translate will know,” Canary said. Aunt Victoria flipped open her phone and did a quick search.

“Ah yes. Memories are the most beautiful pictures our mind can paint, and nothing can ever erase them - Emily Sunday. Oh-Oh! Does it mean… that picture?”

“I’m afraid so.” Canary said ominously. Aunt Victoria nodded and they exited the room, making their way up the stairs yet again.

The room they had reached was on the 3rd floor of the 5 story building, yet it seemed impossibly high up. Mildew clung to old furniture that had been sitting untouched for ages. Cobwebs were strewn across the room, and spiders of various varieties had accumulated. The air was thick with the smell of damp ash. A large painting stood alone on the wall above the empty fireplace, a thick velvet drape obscuring the image.

“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this. That painting has been hidden for decades.” Aunt Victoria said, her voice reverberating around the walls of the dark room. Canary stared at the curtain for a second, as if contemplating her decision, before ripping it away. Aunt Victoria stifled a gasp as a beautiful portrait was revealed. Two smiling parents, a somber blonde girl, and a little black haired toddler. The toddler’s face was burned away, as if the owner of the portrait had rubbed a hot coal against it. It seemed almost macabre, with a charred space where a cheerful smile had once resided.

“It’s terribly grotesque isn’t it?” Canary asked.

“Why would Arthur do this!?” Aunt Victoria said, her hands instinctively reaching up to cover her mouth.

“For a while, he couldn’t stand the pain. Not for long though. Arthur was always an optimist.” Canary said, sliding the key into where the toddler’s face should have been. There was a series of small clicks and the portrait door swung open, revealing a small music box. A note pinned on top said “Play Me”

“Should we?” Aunt Victoria asked.

“No, it’s broken. It will probably self-destruct if we wind it up.” Canary replied, opening the box. Inside was a little dancing cat on a silver pole, doomed to stay still and silent forever. A note was inside the box. Aunt Victoria peered over Canary’s shoulder to read it.

“Congratulations! If you have found this, please see Miss Isina for the inheritance papers! Do good things with it.” she said aloud.

“I’m sure you will. But right now, I hear footsteps.” Canary said, grabbing a musty burnt out candlestick. “Let’s make sure we can keep it.”

The stairs creaked precariously as the gossiping ladies made their way up to inherit, their ‘rightfully owned’ fortune.

“Quickly! If she’s found it, we have to take it. We can’t let her inherit the Wilcoff Fortune.”

“So many stairs! The first thing we should do is sell this infernal mansion.”

“Nobody would buy it. There’s a rumor that the mansion is haunted because of all the deaths. His whole family, and then Arthur. It was all a bunch of tragic accidents. The Wilcoff Curse.”

“What an apocryphal story.”

“There’s no way they’re still haunting us” one muttered, just as a candlestick crashed into the wall above their head.

“AAH! I don’t care how big and grand it is! I’m not living in a haunted mansion!”

“It’s straight out of a horror story. Oh let’s just leave. It’s not worth dying.” The gossiping ladies rushed out, just as Miss Isina came in.

“Hmm? Excuse but if you leave you’re forfeiting,” she called.

“We won.” Aunt Victoria said.

“Hmm? Oh, the final item of course. I think you mean I won, Miss Victoria. I’m not playing, remember.” Miss Isina said cheerfully.

“Y-yes.” Aunt Victoria said, “Sorry, it must be the excitement.”

“I can’t believe your the only one who could find it. I’m glad though. I’m sure it was what Arthur would have wanted.” Miss Isina said.

“I hope so.” Aunt Victoria replied.

“You know, this whole will thing was so out of sorts for Arthur. Spirits of the Dead? That quote on the wall? I have no idea how he came up with it. It’s even more concerning that he had the reading planned for the anniversary of his family’s death.” Miss Isina chattered.

“I suppose so.” Aunt Victoria replied.

“Such a tragic fire. The poor parents and their little girl. Arthur was so young too. Such a shame.” Miss Isina said.

“A shame indeed…” Canary murmured softly.

“Err, Miss Isina, could you give me a moment? There’s something I have to take care of.” Aunt Victoria said.

“Oh, all right! I’ll wait outside with the documents you need to sign. Goodness, what a lot of paperwork!” Miss Isina said, shuffling the files and disappearing down the stairs. Aunt Victoria turned to Canary, who was looking paler than usual. Her skin seemed almost opaque.

“Are you going to go now?” Aunt Victoria asked. “You know, you don’t have to.”

“I know. But I should.” Canary said.

“I’m sorry I never got to meet you in life. But I’m glad I got to see you now.” Aunt Victoria replied. Canary smiled. She began to fade rapidly, her ankles disappearing.

“You know, I never could decide to stay or go. But now I know that the family’s future is in good hands. I can’t wait to see my brother again.” Canary said, smiling at Aunt Victoria.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save him Canary.”

“Nobody could have. At least you honored his memory, unlike all of them. I’m sorry I never got to meet you.” Canary said.

“Me too.” Aunt Victoria replied. Now her whole legs were gone, and she seemed nothing more than a ghostly mist.

“Thank you for taking care of my little brother.”

“Goodbye Canary…” Aunt Victoria said, choking back a sob.

“No. See you later!” Canary said, and behind her Aunt Victoria saw the ghostly outline of Arthur, smiling brightly as always. He waved, and they both faded away into nothingness. Wilford barked.

“You’re right Wilford. We’ll see them again.”