Willow
watched her feet carefully, trying not to step on any dry leaves or
twigs as she ran through the forest, as if she was wanting to be as
quiet as possible. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t avoid making
noises, as the ground was blanketed with autumn maple leaves of
different colors, now beginning to fade to brown. Continuously, the
twelve-year-old girl checked over her shoulder to make sure she had
outrun whatever was following her. Finally, she came to a clearing and
stopped, out of breath. When she looked up, what stood before her was a
massive, half-timbered old house to her surprise. Forgetting her
danger, Willow stared in awe for a while.
She then remembered she carried her treasured Polaroid camera with her
in her knapsack. Though she was lost, she still found joy in the
adventure. Willow put the view finder window of the camera in front of
her hazel-colored eye, and closed the other of the pair. She wanted to
get the whole building in the shot if she was able to, so she stepped
back, adjusted her angle thoughtfully, and holding still, she pressed
the red button. After a few seconds, a small, almost square sheet of
film crept through the picture exit slot. Willow watched as the
photograph came to life in color, happy with her work, and slipped it
into a folder for the printout pictures kept in the bag on her shoulder.
There was a sudden shiver of fear in her spine, awakening her mind to
the peril that she might come across that thing again. Willow scurried
up to the door to see if she could find someplace inside to hide. She
was also wildly curious to behold what was inside this strange, worn-out
and mysterious building.
Willow noticed a flimsy "for sale" sign on the door with a rip in the
middle. She decided to ignore the fact the house looked so haunted and ancient
that it was almost cliche. She opened the door and walked into a dark
hallway, with only two large windows covered in curtains to let in the
dimming sunlight. Willow searched for a light source. Perhaps the house
was so vintage that there was no electricity. I guess I could open these curtains.
The house smelled of old, musty books and pipe smoke. Opening the
curtains made the sunlight of the afternoon pour into the room, which
she could now see was quite spacious. They were covered in dust, though,
causing Willow to sneeze. She looked over to her left to see a large
family portrait, noticing there was only one child in the painting.
"Who lived here?" Willow wondered to herself aloud.
"They did," the voice came from behind. Willow jumped in shock, turning her head.
Out of the corner of her eye, Willow saw a young, skinny boy of maybe thirteen standing right behind her. "W-who are you?"
"My name is Vincent."
"Oh. So where did you come from?"
"Upstairs." The boy pointed to the staircase. "I thought I heard something, so I..."
There was a silence after his voice trailed off to a mumble. Willow
decided to speak, "But...the sign on the door says this house is for
sale, so why are you here?" She was very confused and anxious about the
whole situation. Vincent stared at her for a moment, and it was as if
time stopped. Willow observed his ghostly pale complexion and his icy,
silver-blue eyes, which seemed to almost glow. He wore a hat which
covered light colored hair that she couldn't decipher in the dim light.
"I..." Vincent looked at his feet as if he was ashamed of something. "I got lost and...well...now I'm stuck here."
"You're...stuck?" Her hazel colored eyes widened. "W-what do you mean, 'stuck'?"
"I mean I can't leave...ever." His voice seemed to quiver and crack slightly as if he might begin to cry.
"I—I don't understand."
"You're stuck here too, you know."
"So...we're stuck? But how?"
"If I knew how, I would have left ages ago," he scoffed, seeming to be
offended. "Anyway, why are you here? How did you find this place?"
"I was being chased."
"Chased? By what?"
Willow frowned with a puzzled look on her face. "I don't know. I could
feel something behind me, and I heard weird noises." Vincent looked a
bit disturbed. As she watched his eyes wander, her mind spiraled back to
that moment. "Oh! I almost forgot!" She took the bag off her shoulder
and rummaged through to find her photo envelope. Willow searched and
shuffled through the pictures. "This might be it," she said, holding up a
photograph of a dark blur amongst shaky trees.
The boy took the card of film and examined it. "Weird noises, huh? Are
you sure this wasn't just a bear or a wolf, or something?" Willow didn't like that he was being smart-alecky, but maybe that made more sense. Yet, it didn't seem like an animal that was chasing her. At least whatever it was wouldn't find her. Hopefully. "Anyway, would you like some tea?" Vincent was trying to be nice, but it was mostly pity.
"Okay..."
"Sugar?"
"Yes—uh— please," Willow suddenly felt uncomfortable.
Vincent left to prepare the tea and reentered the room carrying a tray
with a pot of tea and two cups. He set the tray down on a long table
surrounded by chairs near the foyer. "Please, sit." Willow hesitantly
came to the chair the boy pulled out for her. Vincent lit the
chandeliers above the table, making much of the room suddenly more
clear. Willow eyes wandered around the room and saw the portrait again,
and then her gaze went back to Vincent. She studied his face, which was
now more overt. It looked very familiar. "Drink. The tea will help you
forget about the dangers in the woods."
"Um, Vincent?" He looked up in response. "Do you...know the boy in that portrait?"
"Why, yes. That boy was myself when I was quite younger." The child in the painting looked around four to six years of age.
"W-what happened to your parents?"
"They, er...died...long ago."
"I'm sorry."
"It's...alright. I can take care of myself." For a moment neither of
them said anything, and then Vincent unexpectedly burst into tears. " I
... I couldn't ... save them."
Willow was moved by his emotional state. She migrated closer to sobbing
Vincent, his arms hugging his legs with his head buried in his knees.
She did the only thing she could: she wrapped her arms around him,
feeling his cold skin and his body trembling. He looked up at Willow,
his eye lids puffy and red. His face was saturated with wet streams that
ran down his cheeks. He hugged Willow back. They stayed this way for a
while.
"By the way, my name is Willow."
"Willow? What a beautiful name." Vincent smiled, looking straight at
her, his eyes shining. He swiped off the dampness from his face with a
sleeve.
"Thank you." She held out her handkerchief to the boy.
He took the cloth slowly, looking at the ground. "I—lied. Before. When I said we were trapped here."
"Huh?"'
"Yes, um, what I meant was—I can't leave this place because I have
nowhere else to go. I'm not very fearless, to be honest. And...I said
you were stuck here as well. I only said that because I'm really quite
lonely, and...I'm sorry. I was being terribly selfish."
"Oh. Well...it's okay...I guess."
"But it's not okay!"
"It is now that you've told me the truth, right? And if you want, I can stay here for a while."
His eyes widened. "R-really?"
"Sure."
Overjoyed, Vincent cried again, this time with a smile, and he tilted
his head toward Willow and his lips met hers. They separated and Willow
felt her face growing warm. "I-I'm sorry, I got a little too excited."
Willow smiled and took out her camera. She snapped a picture of
Vincent. When the photograph printed and came alive, she took a deep
breath and exhaled. She handed the colored picture to him. "I think this
is how you were meant to look. Happy."
"You know, you're funny. I like you."
"You're not too bad yourself."
"I'm...not?"
"No. You're kind. But you're also a little overemotional."
He laughed. "I guess I am."
*
Little did she know, the house was slowly killing the boy, but she was bringing him back to life.
