The cold, grizzled volt of vultures scoured the landscape with a temperamental glower, crushing my faint hope of a warm homecoming. What madman would choose to live here? I burrowed in my coat pocket for my lucky bone, and found instead a half-used tissue, which did little to lighten my dark forebodings.
I barely registered the sound of the cab tires spinning and catching on the soil as it roared away. I approached the mansion with trepidation, as though one of its many windows would open into a vacuum and suck me inside. Ridiculous. At least the lawn was well-manicured, so perhaps I could already count on a gardener to maintain the extensive grounds. Not only the grass, but even the bushes and trees seemed recently trimmed.
When I reached the front door, I repressed an impulse to knock, instead producing the skeleton key from my pocket. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
As the light outside was fading, I first felt frantically for the switch, and thankfully found it in ready reach behind the coat rack. Bathed in light, the entrance hall looked as I remembered, with an elaborate red-and-blue carpet stretching out in welcome, my grandmother's portrait hung over the side table, and doorways in every direction. "I'm home," I said aloud, and felt a chill at the way this emphasized the mansion's emptiness. I mocked myself for fearing ghosts or some such rubbish.
My grandfather's bedroom had been on the second floor near the top of the front staircase. I decided to sleep in a guest room downstairs for the night. I could select my bedroom in the morning, and I did not think I would choose to sleep in grandfather's room.
Turning on lights as I went, I found my way to the guest room I'd had in mind. It was surprising how much I remembered from my childhood. But then, I have read that humans have such a knack for remembering places that the ancient Greek method of loci, or "mind palaces," maps data onto real-world locations. Certainly, this mansion would provide ample locations for storing memories! I must make a thorough examination in the morning.
It was only slightly disturbing to find the white sheets and comforter on the queen guest bed in perfect order under its white covering, as indeed was the rest of the furniture, once I removed the dust-covers. Small decorations on the mantle, unnervingly austere portraits on the walls, rocking chair in the corner, writing desk by the window...everything remained as it had always been.
I am ashamed to admit that I turned off the lights from hall to bedroom in hurried reverse order, and having brushed my teeth in the nearest bathroom, actually checked the closet and locked the door. It is a curious thing to be the only inhabitant of a mansion that possesses at least 10 bedrooms, and this not a week after the death of its owner. Of course, I am the owner now: grandfather left everything to me.
As I attempted to sleep in the total silence, a memory arrived without invitation. Perhaps I had been eight years old, and my family was on its usual summer visit to grandfather. I'd liked to sleep in the attic with the windows open to let in the night breeze. Just as I drifted asleep, a dark form swooped over my head and began swiftly circling me, occasionally dipping close to my head. I recognized it after a moment as a bat, and hid under the covers, too frightened to scream. It landed on my shivering form, and I threw my body out, sending it winging away into the night. That was my last night in the attic.
Inopportune timing! I already had doubts that I could sleep here tonight. Remembering a traumatic event of terror was not what I needed. I tried instead to turn my mind to the old cocker spaniel that grandfather had kept, a dear who would always settle in my lap and lick my legs. With this and other happy thoughts in mind, I finally succeeded in falling asleep. I did think I heard a faint sound like furniture being pushed across the floor a moment before passing out, but put it down to my imagination.