Something about him seems sick.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Young Uncle Niles laughs. “I’m not the one drenched in mucky creek water, darling girl.”
Uh-huh. Fair enough.
Niklaus is an immovable, mute statue.
“Come on, let’s get you two inside. There’s a night dawper on the loose on this side of the Bear Traps. Folks have been staying indoors until the mangy thing sulks back deeper into the forest.”
We follow Uncle Niles to a small, ratty cabin along the stream. The black shingles are patchy and destroyed from years of wear and tear and storms carrying strong winds. His traditional smoky stained oak front door is hanging crooked on its hinges. The windows cracked and covered in a gray grime. The wooden porch is a walking hazard, with broken boards that have probably sprained and broken numerous ankles, house many rodents, and act as a current cesspool for moldy debris. And it smells. It makes my nose sting as it spoils the air with its acrid, dead odor. Past the decay and subtle undertone of fish, the atmosphere is hard to describe. It’s the embodiment of loneliness and a slow poison hanging in the air for years, living on long after the dead have turned to dust.
It’s not Uncle Niles.
His home with Aunt Marilynn has always smelled of freshly baked cookies, warm vanilla sugar, and a gentle stream of sunlight twinkling through the curtains.
This house is not the kind of house I’d ever imagine he lived in.
“This is your house?” I ask as we step onto the creaky porch with soft, unstable wood.
Niklaus shoots me a dark glance, but I can tell he’s cautious of the same upsetting thoughts. Whether he has a good relationship with his dad or not…this is not the man he was raised by.
“Home sweet home,” Young Uncle Niles replies with open arms wafting to his crumbling abode.
A sinister chill trickles down my spine.
As we follow behind my uncle, I can’t help but gawk at the poor condition of his home. The dusty old furniture covered in grime and dirt. Walls speckled with chipping paint, holes, and crooked paintings. Pictures on the walls of his family. A man’s face blacked out of the photographs. Flickering sconces and stained floors.
If we were followinganyoneelse into this house, I’d turn my ass around and walk out of here. But I’d trust this man with my life. Even if he’s been living in a rough spot.
We sit down at an old dining table. The chairs groan under our weight.
“Tea and sandwiches?” young Uncle Niles asks.
I gulp forcefully. Though I’m starving and would love a meal that hasn’t been previously hunted…
“You sure we’re not going to catch a disease by eating in here?” Niklaus poisons that stale ambiance with his punitive words.
I pinch my lips together and widen my eyes, throwing a dirty napkin at his chest in horror. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” I mouth.
He shrugs and signals to our surroundings.
My uncle chuckles. “Maybe just a mild infection. Malaria… Tetanus. Polio.” He glances back at us from over his shoulder. “Streptococcus?”
I laugh, letting my shoulders sag in relief. Humor remains intact.
Uncle Niles sets a tray down in front of us. Two pink teacups with steaming amber tea. A small porcelain plate with finger sandwiches. Though the lettuce is wilted and old, I could devour them with how hungry I am.
“Thank you,” I tell him, sipping the hot tea that tastes like raspberries and licorice.
Niklaus nods at his father without making eye contact.
I toss my manners out the window and snatch as many sandwiches as I can from Niklaus’s grasp, cramming them in my mouth. I leave him two and chomp down on four with a shit-eating grin on my face.
Niklaus lets out a long sigh, eating his food as he watches me with bored disgust.
“So, what was the lover’s quarrel about?” My uncle walks around the table to sit on the filthy countertop, swinging his legs in amusement.
