The House for Lost Things - Part Ten

Hey guys! This is part ten of the House for Lost Things. We hope you enjoy it and would love to have your feedback. Please read it and pass it on!

IMPORTANT NOTE: Also, as this story draws to a close we are looking to you, the audience for more ideas for the next story. Please comment or email cherise.tess@gmail.com or nevermoreemergingflame@gmail.com with your ideas and feedback. Thanks!

MORE IMPORTANT NOTE: The blog will now be updated only every two weeks due to lack of time and submissions. Thanks!

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I silently descend the stairs, slippers in hand. I do not want to be heard. I don’t know want to be seen. If I am to go, I wish to do it alone.

I do not want to be stopped.

As I creep through the cold, still, silent house, I am lured by the Mirror. I want to see if my fate is truly the same as Master’s. I want to see if it is true, what he said, that there is no one who loves me any longer.

I tiptoe toward the front room, freezing at the tiniest sounds. I hold up my skirt with one hand, trying to avoid snagging it on anything or having it brush against something “too loudly”. Hardly daring to breathe, I make my way into the the front room.

As with every morning, it is already filled with new things for Master and I to sort. The sheer vastness of the array suggests that Master was not able to accomplish much on his own the afternoon before.

I set my slippers by the hall doorway and use both hands to raise my skirt, carefully stepping around the piles of lost yet to be found. I do not stop until I’m standing mere feet away from the Mirror.

Is this wise? What if I get sucked into nothingness?

I frown and then set my jaw.

I won’t. Master did not. Therefore, I will not.

Then, I approach the Mirror and stand directly in front of it. As she edges begin to ripple, so do my frazzled nerves. I’ve not slept all night, trying to prepare myself to do this deed, to foresee both my past and my future. Yet, here I am, before the Mirror, before a sight that suddenly begins to calm my being.

Because the Mirror does not rage. It does not shake. It does not tremble. It ripples and shivers and a picture begins to form within its pools. Hope seizes in my chest, like that that takes hold in the chest of a baby bird about to commit to its first flight.

What is it?

I curl my fingers in my skirts anxious to see.

It seems like an eternity before the picture clears and the ripples cease. Then, I see at last the thing I’ve always longed to see. It is my old room in the upstairs attic. It is silent and dark like the tower, but I can see light trickling from the window.

But it is not this space that makes tears form in my eyes. It is the person in the space. The one who when I left was but a nine year old boy. My baby brother. My angel friend, Addien. His blonde hair is thick and full like mother’s, his eyes are grey and blue like father’s. His clothes are just as dirty as always, yet he looks clean and handsome.

Tears of joy gather in my eyes and I reach out, wanting to touch the Mirror.

Please...please find me. I want to come home.

I can see my brother, now every bit of those eight years older, walking around, talking to himself, but I cannot hear him. I want to cry out. I want to hit the glass. I want to scream and tell him where I am. But I cannot.

My brother stops. It is as if in that moment, he is looking right at me, as if he knows that I am there. Then, he reaches out his hand toward the Mirror.

Please, please find me. I don’t remember where I got lost. I don’t remember what happened. You have to find me Addien!

I feel a soft sob of plea gathering in my throat. I close my eyes and reach out to touch the glass of the Mirror.

My fingers sink through.

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