To Know Or Not to Know [RANTINGS]

The other night, sleep would not come. For some reason, my brain got a seed of worry caught in its folds and decided to nurture it. The worry wasn't an important one. An emotional connection with the world around me seems to be fraying and ready to break, but I gather I have more than my fair share of threads breaking. So why do I care about each individual friendship? Why do I want to know? What do I want to know?

I guess I want to know that my friends value me as I value them. And if they don't? Then I want to set them free of my attempts to connect. Sometimes, I feel like people answer my questions or invitations in riddles or delay answering to force me to cut ties. But the soft heart inside of me resists turning to stone and insists on giving the benefit of the doubt. Thus I end up back in the holding pattern, wondering if I am a friend or an annoyance. Wanting to know if this friendship has run its course.

And why do I question such things? I have many friends who share my enthusiasm for keeping connections. Such friends:

1. Call out of the blue to chat, but aren't offended if I can't talk long.
2. Respond enthusiastically to invitations I offer,working with me to mesh our schedules when I am miraculously able to drive hundreds of miles to see their beloved faces in person. (I do try to give them as much notice as possible at least a week or two.)
3. Share their talents with me (cutting my hair, knitting me cute hats) and don't charge me but accept payment anyway because they know I want them to value their talents as much as I do.
4. Forgive me for being weird and roll with it or ask for clarification if needed.
5. Set realistic expectations of our friendship. Allowing me to spend time with other friends or alone without feeling like our friendship no longer has value.
6. Are honest with me. Please be honest with me, not cruel: HONEST. Honesty makes life

Being that it is the last day of 2016 and our minds have turned toward resolutions and being our best selves, how many of us will try to be better friends in 2017.

Looking At the Little Things [RANT]

Like many mothers at this time of year, I am single-handedly running a branch office of Santa's workshop. I bake. I clean. I choose. I package. I label. I wrap. I sew. I paint. I write. I lick. I seal. I clean some more. I ponder. I worry. I buy. I wrap. I bake some more. The list of items I must do to be the best festive elf I can be seems to grow longer not shorter as I work through what needs to be done. Then someone adds one more thing or one more concern to my list.

Then a little bit of green creeps into the holiday. Instead of growing three sizes, my heart shrinks to a third its normal size. My head begins to throb as I repeat the same basic requests and get ignored. And I have to turn my back on the irritant and let it go. I have to refocus on the little things, those things that are truly important but often get overlooked with all the glitter, tinsel, and twinkling lights that punctuate the season. I have to focus on the real reasons I love the holidays and return to my kitchen over and over again in an attempt to share the heart of the season with those around me.

Important basics such as:

1. The love of a Heavenly Father who sent His Son to remind us how greatly we are loved.
2. An earthly family that shared the talent of the kitchen arts with me.
3. The smile on my husband's face as he taste-tests one of the first cookies out of the oven and finds it perfect.
4. My daughter's excitement as she meets a new friend who has come to be with her a result of the holiday.
5. My husband under the mistletoe. (Need I say more about that?)
6. An excuse to craft candy that I love and share it with others so I can still squeeze out of the front door of my house.
7. The anticipation of the beautiful cleanliness of new fallen snow.
8. Peppermint, ginger, cinnamon, and orange aromas on the air.
9. The rustic touch of live pine sprigs decorating the table at the Ward Christmas party.
10. The sweet taste of the little baby oranges that also graced the table of the party.
11. Friends smiling when you picked or made the perfect gift and they know it came from your heart not your wallet.
12. Getting a gift that reminds you how well your friend knows you even though most people would never understand.
13. Christmas hymns floating on the air.
14. The soft voice that reminds you to smile and speak kindly to a stranger who is probably as overwhelmed by holiday obligations as you are.
15. The grateful smile you receive for obeying that voice.

Before I saw the announcement about the light the world initiative, I decided to pass out cookies to my ward family. I scrolled through the list for names and made labels back in October so that I would have an idea how many cookies, and recipes, I might need to tackle this project. I believe my desire to spread Christmas cheer succeeded. I received lots of startled smiles and got to add some delicious Christmas treats to my holiday recipe book, so everybody wins.

I hope your holidays have been filled with love and sweet surprises. I hope they remind you how important it is to stay close to family, whether biological or by association. I hope your heart grows three sizes and your pants size remains the same. Have a fabulous holiday and as you ponder your goals for 2017, remember to include the most important things, no matter how small they may seem.

Family Surprise [FICTION]

My parents whisper and laugh when we watch “Teen Wolf”. They insist we watch it every time the weather turns cold and the air overflows with pumpkin spice. Then they laugh at their private jokes while I wonder how many people fell in love with Michael J. Fox while watching that movie. I can tell by the footage that the movie came out well before I was born, so I don’t share my parents’ enthusiasm. Nothing I have said has freed me from our family tradition. This year, I planned to change that.

I floated through a cloud of popcorn butter on my way to the door. I placed my hand on the knob. I paused. I didn’t want to pause. Something made me. I needed to take one glance over my shoulder. I took that glance. My resolve faltered.

My parents watched me with large round eyes. Larger and rounder than normal. My hand fell from the knob.

“Come on, Cyrene, it’s time to watch…”

“Please no.” My mouth dried up.

My mother and father exchanged the look. My feet carried me toward them without the consent of my mind. My mother reached out to gently grasp my shoulders, leaning me toward her until I imagined I understood the tower of Pisa.

“You don’t want to watch our movie?” She asked.

“I don’t want to watch your movie.” I whispered.

“Then I think it is time to tell you why we make you watch it.”

“What?”

“Sit down, daughter.” My father motioned to the couch.

As my mother released my shoulders, I took tentative steps to take my seat. My parents sat on either side of me. Each placed a hand reassuringly on my shoulder.

“You tell her,” my father whispered over my head.

I turn to my mother who smiled at me. Is it possible her mouth grew smaller than I remembered with thinner lips?

“Mom?” My own lips trembled.

“You’re old enough to know that we’re not like other people.”

I looked toward the muted television where Michael J. Fox was talking avidly with his father.

“We’re werewolves?” My eyes widened so much they could swallow the moon.

“No.” My mother giggled.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” My father added gruffly.

“I don’t understand.”

“We know, honey, but we have to tell you because you will feel different from the other children soon. We made you watch this movie, so you’d understand that it is fine to be different.”

“It’s fun to be different.” My mother added.

I nodded at this. “I know. I had to take health class.”

“Not in that way.” My mother looked down at her hand. “We grow into adulthood differently where we are from.”

My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t find the words to ask the questions flooding my mind, so I closed it slowly.

“We’re not from earth, dear. We came here when our planet died and you need to know a few things to make sure you are a good guest.”   

My mouth dropped open. It stayed that way. My parents smiled at me, so I raised my hand to gently touch my lower mandible. As I pushed upward on it, my mouth closed but my lips stretched to drape across the back of my hand.

“You have to be careful of your emotions now that you are growing up. They mess up our approximation of the human form.”

I nodded my head as if I understood. My mom stepped forward and gently pushed my lips back into my face.

“What else do I need to know?”

“Don’t kiss any humans.”

“Really?” I asked, hoping this was my father’s attempt at humor.

My mother nodded her head in support of his statement. “It doesn’t end well for them.”

With my hopes of the romance I saw in movies shattered, I foolishly followed up. “Anything else?”

“Don’t tell anyone.” My father said.

“And you’re going to be sick for a couple of days every three months.” Seeing my face fall further, my mother quickly added. “You won’t really be sick, dear. It’s just that humans can’t handle the pheromones we release when…” She started to blush and her face turned lavender.

My father concentrated on a point outside the window. When he finally turned toward me, foamy green clouded his normally brown eyes. “I told your mother I didn’t want to be here for this part of the conversation.”

A good start? Shall I continue? Without assurances that you read and loved this, I shall move on to another project, so pay for your supper and give me some feedback...

"The Hunchback of Notre Dame" and Pumpkin Cake for One [REVIEW] [RECIPE]

I've actually read "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" a couple of times, just not recently. In fact, I lost the book when I was reading the novel for a class in college and the only copy I could find in the library was in French. Luckily, it was not what I think of as the "this will kill that" chapter. (Perhaps not so lucky, it's been over a decade and that chapter haunts me.)

If you've watched Disney's version of this classic, go ahead and pick up the book. Reading it will be a completely different experience. Many of the character names remain the same but aspects of the characters got changed in translation to a child-friendly forum. They named their gargoyles Victor, Hugo, and Laverne in honor of the author of the original and Shirley's roommate. More importantly, they kept Hugo's true main character at the heart of the story. The original French title is "Notre Dame de Paris".

Anything else I tell you would be spoilers, darling, so feel free to pick up your own copy and find out why this story popped into my head so close to Halloween.

PUMPKIN CAKE FOR ONE

I decided to make my own mug cake. I tried a couple different ideas, and I think this version was the tastiest one I made. Some people may prefer more sugar or more pumpkin pie spice, so feel free to add more if needed. I wanted to let the pumpkin flavor be on center stage not sweetness or spice. Somehow this recipe became vegan. I tried for gluten free but that version resembled thick pudding.

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1/2 - 1 tablespoon sugar
2 or 3 drops vanilla extract
2 tablespoons canned pumpkin
1/8 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
3 tablespoons self-rising flour (splurge for the pre-mixed bag from the store and save time)
1 tablespoon oat flour
2 tablespoons chocolate or butterscotch chips

Mix together the moist ingredients and spice. Add flours and combine. Fold in chocolate and/or butterscotch chips. Heat in microwave for 45 to 60 seconds.
Note: You can ice this cake with a bit of icing or ice cream syrup. I thought it was tasty without adding any garnish.

"Ensign" Magazine and Pumpkin Walnut Sticky Rolls [REVIEW] [RECIPE]

Since I didn't plan ahead for this cookie bookie month, I didn't set aside enough time to read a novel a week. Aside from the extensive roles of a wife and mother (nurse, laundress, chef, maid, butler, chauffeur, etc.), I have an impressive backlog of crafts (some of which would love to be gifts for your friends and family). I hope you will forgive me for not introducing you to a half dozen new and exciting masterpieces this month. I shall try to make up for it with my recipes.

This week's cheat takes the form of a magazine. I've been trying to catch up on the "Ensign", which is distributed by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. As you my note from the picture, I am still reading my way through the September issue. A couple of my favorite articles reminded me of the importance of prayer. Even when life is at its darkest, we always have somewhere to turn. And sometimes the few minutes we take to pray help us reflect on how lucky we actually are.

With my hefty "to do" list, I composed a somewhat simpler sweet roll recipe that incorporates the flavor of the season: pumpkin spice. The absence of yeast in this recipe takes away some of the waiting and makes it a good treat for loved ones who are allergic to yeast. (I recently learned one of my relatives suffers from such a sensitivity, so I need to remember this recipe next time I get to cook for her.)

PUMPKIN WALNUT STICKY ROLLS

PUMPKIN DOUGH:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup butter, chilled and cut into pieces
1/4 cup cream cheese, chilled and cut into pieces
1/3 cup pumpkin puree
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 cup milk

FILLING:
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 tablespoons butter, melted

CARAMEL TOPPING:
1 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 cup light corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup chopped walnuts

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Make the pumpkin dough. Mix together flour, sugar, baking powder, pumpkin pie spice, and salt.
3. Blend butter and cream cheese into flour mixture using a pastry blender or fork until it resembles coarse sand.
4. Stir in pumpkin puree, lemon juice, and milk until dough comes together.
5. Pour out onto lightly floured surface. Knead until uniform in color and consistency.
6. Roll out dough until about 1/4 inch thick. Fold in third like a letter and roll out again. Turn 90 degrees. Repeat a couple more times. (You can probably skip this step. I found it soothing and think it makes fluffier rolls.)
7. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and place in fridge while you continue to the next steps.
8. Make the filling. Mix together walnuts, sugar, and cinnamon. Set aside. Set butter aside until a later step.
9. Make the caramel topping. Melt butter and brown sugar in small saucepan until the mixture begins to boil, stirring constantly.
10. Remove from heat. Add corn syrup and vanilla.
11. Grease a 9 X 13 pan. Pour caramel mixture into pan. Sprinkle walnuts over the caramel.
12. Assemble the rolls. Remove pumpkin dough from refrigerator. Roll out until about 12 inches by 10 inches.
13. Spread melted butter over the dough.
14. Sprinkle filling evenly over the buttery dough.
15. Roll the dough over itself until the filling is wrapped inside.
16. Cut the rolls into one inch thick rounds (should make 12 rolls).
17. Place rolls over walnut and caramel mixture. (I pushed down my rolls a little into the caramel nut mixture.)
18. Bake for 20-25 minutes.
19. Allow to cool and scoop out a roll and some caramel topping to enjoy. (I suggest an ice cream topper.)

Please comment fall flavor ideas below if you want to inspire my next recipe post. Also, I can clarify if any of the steps above doesn't make sense. Thanks for reading.

Revenge of the Candy [FICTION]

Night after night after night, life remains uneventful. Then the one night of the year comes that breaks the humdrum of our lives. We deck out our houses with cobwebs and pumpkins and hide ourselves behind wigs, makeup, latex, and nightmares. Children and adults share in the awe and wonder that culminates in Halloween night. A night when parents get the chance to share the glorious night with younger versions of ourselves, our children. Sadly, their interest wanes as they outgrow their need for our protection from the terrifying.

With a few weeks left before Halloween, I greeted my son Cal at the door with pictures of the final candidates for our costumes. I had tried to catch him numerous times, but he was always rushing somewhere. This time, I timed it perfectly and met him at the door. We would have a few minutes before dinner. He glanced at my idea sheets as he dropped his bag at my feet before focusing on his scuffed sneakers.

“Sorry, mom. I promised the guys we’d go as the ninja turtles this year.”

I choked back my feelings and flashed him a smile. “Well, that sounds like fun.”

“And we wanted to go trick-or-treating by ourselves,” he mumbled as his eyes moved up to his hands.

“Oh.” I couldn’t find words, so I turned toward the kitchen. “I should finish dinner.”

Silence reigned between us through the intervening days. We broke it only for required greetings or polite requests. When Halloween finally arrived, my husband helped Cal into his costume and walked him to the door for a few final words of caution. I hid in the kitchen, pretending that the fun size candies needed more work than simply opening a bag and dumping it into my oversized cauldron. With no partner in costuming, I had pulled out an old witch costume from before my precious boy entered my life. The itchy wig and slightly tight black dress accentuated my misery.

I sighed as the door closed behind Leonardo with his blue mask and foam katana. I focused more intently on my mix of candy, stirring it aimlessly as I watched the colorful packages swirl.

My husband joined me in the kitchen. “That looks just right, honey.” He reached around me to grab a peanut butter cup from the top of the stash.

“Thank you.” I mumbled.

“Cheer up, babe. You still have me.” As he leaned down to kiss the top of my head, the doorbell rang. “And your annual visitors. Better treat them. We don’t need toilet paper.”

I thanked him with a peck on the cheek and headed to the door. Throughout the evening, he offered me his winning grin whenever I glanced his way. The doorbell rang and rang. I tossed out candy to ghosts and goblins, superheroes and villains, and creatures I wouldn’t even try to figure out. I even doled out some treats to a couple of teenagers who were wearing far too little clothing for the gusts of chill wind that swept down our street. Even the sweetest smiles and expressions of gratitude made no dent in the shadow on my mood.

Halfway through the evening, my son returned home. The banging of the back door sent me racing to intercept an interloper. By the time I stepped into the kitchen, Cal’s back was disappearing up the stairs, one katana hanging dejectedly from his back without its partner.

My husband followed close at my heels. We exchanged that silent look so familiar to parents. He waved his hand up the stairs. I nodded and followed my son. I stopped at his door, pausing to catch my breath and sort my thoughts.

“Mom?” His muffled voice called out to me.

“Yes.” I almost whispered back, afraid to presume too much.

“You can come in.” His voice echoed louder.

As I entered the room, he rolled over to face the wall. My motherly eyes detected redness around his eyes in those few seconds.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Some big kids stole my candy,” he mumbled.

Stunned, I just stared at the back of his head. My mind raced.

“Mom?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.” Preprogrammed maternal words fell from my lips before I could formulate a plan.

“Thank you.” He whispered as I slipped out of the room.

Without more thought, I stepped into my own room and glanced into my overstuffed box of costumes. On top was a candy cane outfit from a Christmas pageant. I pulled it out and quickly switched from cackling witch to sweet treat. A few sprays of glitter and some white face paint made me feel appropriately incognito. I stuffed a dark cloak in against my skin before I zipped up. I slipped out the back door as my husband opened the front door to greet and treat a new batch of children.

Realizing that I hadn’t asked enough questions, I began speed walking from one street to the next. My eyes roved from child to child, hoping I could pick out the one who looked evil enough to steal from my baby. Despite the chill in the air, sweat began to pour down my lower back. My legs grew weary. I turned toward home to confess my failings as a mother.

I stepped into the shadow of a large oak tree as I rounded a corner and almost tripped over my sparkly red shoes. Turning the same corner were two awkward boys toting multiple bags of candy.

One bag of the bags stood out and stopped my feet. My heart melted as I gazed at the old pillowcase with a crude outline of a bat embroidered on it. Cal couldn’t have completely rejected me if he chose that sad carrier for his treats. I stepped out of the shadows into the path of the hoodlum and his partner.

“What the **** are you?” His voice changed pitch twice during his question, settling on a puberty-driven squeak.

“Can’t you tell?” I leaned forward, spraying a gentle mist of peppermint oil as I focused my best mom gaze on the little thief.

“What the…?”

As his eyes watered from the overpowering aroma of the holidays, I grabbed the bat bag. He resisted, but the other bags weakened his grip.

“You better return the rest of those treats or you won’t be getting anything for Christmas.” I said as I pulled the bag free and stepped away.

“Hey…” Another spritz of peppermint turned his squeaky protest into an irritated cough.

Before he or his friend could recover, I disappeared into a neighboring yard and made a beeline for the next street. I pulled out my cloak and threw it over my shoulders. I could hear them calling back and forth to each other as they searched for me. I kept cutting through dark yards until I reached my own backyard and disappeared back into my house. My husband looked up from the couch as I closed the door and locked it.

I nodded and headed for the stairs. He stood up to follow, but the doorbell rang again, so he grabbed the candy cauldron. I climbed the stairs alone. I rapped on Cal’s door, entering before he could invite me. As the door opened, his eyes took in my attire questioningly but lit up as he saw the bag in my hand.

“Thank you.” He exclaimed, leaping from the bed to hug me.

“You’re welcome.” I replied as I enfolded him in my arms.

“You can come with us next year.” He whispered in my ear as his hands reached for the bag.

“Thank you.” I said, letting go of the bag and sitting back to watch my boy sort through his treats.

(I couldn’t resist mixing my holidays like the retail stores do. Hope you can forgive me.)

Twanged and Apple Bars [REVIEW] [RECIPE]

 

I got invited to participate in Cookie Bookie month again this October. We decided to expand the recipe repertoire to include all sorts of harvest-worthy delights from sides to mains to my specialty, desserts. I decided to steer clear of the pumpkin fixation for this first recipe, but I promise nothing from subsequent posts. 

I finished Twanged by Carol Higgins Clark just in time. She wove multiple storylines in such a way that she could keep your attention focused on the outliers so you wouldn't quite notice when she showed the main antagonist's suspicious behavior on more than one occasion.

The story revolves around a young lady named Brigid O'Neill who is rapidly climbing the country charts. Her success brings attention and danger her way. An obsessed fan tries to find his way into her circle of friends and her heart. Another character wishes to steal Brigid's luck by way of stealing a fiddle that a dear friend gave her. And a third party or parties showers her with threatening gifts and letters.

Luckily, Regan Reilly, a private detective, gets invited along for the summer of excitement in the Hamptons. Feel free to pick up the book to fill in all those gaping holes I just left in my description. It is a quick and entertaining read.

APPLE BARS WITH STREUSEL TOPPING

Note: This makes a lot of bars. You could try to cut the recipe in half, but I made the full size and had extra streusel topping, which I sprinkled on this morning's French toast. (Does that count as a second recipe?)

For Streusel Topping:
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup oatmeal or oat flour
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 cup cold butter, cut into small pieces

For Applesauce Bars:
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
4 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 3/4 cups applesauce
1 cup vegetable oil
3/4 cups apples (about 3 small), peeled and finely diced

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 15 X 12 pan.
2. Combine brown sugar, oats, flour, nutmeg, and cinnamon.
3. Blend butter into dry ingredients using pastry blender or a fork until crumbly. Set aside. (I placed mine in the fridge while I waited, but I was wrangling a cute baby while trying to cook, which seems to take longer.)
4. Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and cloves. Set aside.
5. Beat eggs lightly.
6. Add rest of moist ingredients (sugar through oil) and mix.
7. Add flour mixture and stir until combined.
8. Fold in diced apples.
9. Pour into prepared pan and spread to the edges.
10. Sprinkle with streusel topping.
11. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes.
12. Let cool.
13. Cut into bars.
14. Enjoy and enjoy and enjoy because this makes a lot of bars.

A Home of My Own [FICTION]

Something brushed my big toe. I screamed. Emboldened by my fear, another cockroach skittered across my foot. The whirlwind activity of my big move had energized the winged creatures. They flaunted their courage even when lights blazed in every room. Their temerity reminded me why I decided to move.

My cousin Leda’s voice echoed from the empty living room. “That’s the third time you’ve screamed in five minutes. You should be used to your roaches by now.”

“I’ll never get used to them. That is why I’m moving.”

“I thought it was because you basically stole that gorgeous house.”

“The realtor said it’s a buyer’s market.” My defensive words brought back my own misgivings, but my mind’s image of the Victorian mansion with its turret and brown shutters erased them.

I held back most of my screams as I finished packing and toting the items I didn’t trust to the movers. I breathed a sigh of relief when Leda and I carried the last of the smaller boxes into the hallway. I closed the door with an aching tongue and a relieved mind.

By the time, we reached the new house, my tongue stopped hurting, but my heart raced with excitement. My cousin and I lingered outside as the movers finished the heavy lifting. I claimed a corner of the living room to survey my new surroundings and point movers in the right direction when they looked confused. Leda kept me company when she wasn’t walking from room to room with anime eyes. When the workmen finally cleared out, we hefted boxes of treasures too precious to trust with into the spacious living room.

“This hideous picture is still here?” Leda paused in front of the large canvas on the wall facing the window.

I gently placed my box of knickknacks on the floor. Turning to face the painting, I surveyed it slowly, hoping that another viewing would change my opinion. A human figure outlined in purple leapt off of a green and orange swirled background. Swirls of gold popped out at the corners, causing me to blink as they caught the light.

“As the new owner, I declare this monstrosity retired.” I announced elegantly and stepped forward to lift the painting from the wall.

Surprised by the weight of the antique frame, I stumbled. The painting fell from my hands and slammed into the floor. I reached out to catch myself and found my hands resting against the bare studs inside the wall. The painting hid a ragged hole big enough for me to hide inside. As I leaned against the studs, I realized I may not have been the first to make that observation.

A desiccated corpse grinned gruesomely up at me. My eyes locked on empty eye sockets. A gargle escaped my throat. Leda stepped forward and grabbed my elbow.

“Did you bring a cockroach with you?” Her soft giggle subsided as she peered over my shoulder.

“No.” I whispered through clenched teeth.

She leaned back, and I pushed myself away from the wall. We turned slowly, each waiting for the other to speak.

“I think I know why I got such a great deal.” I said.

Leda nodded. “So what should we do?”

“Call the cops?”

“And move back into your old apartment?”

I paused to consider her words. “Oh no…”

“Oh yes. If this place becomes a crime scene…”

We gazed at each other in silence. I stepped forward to peer into the hole again. As I leaned over to admit light, I noticed a folded sheet of paper between two fingers of the right hand. Without thinking, I snatched it. The yellowed paper rustled in my hand as I opened it. Then it dissolved into dust.

“That won’t help us much.” Leda said.

“I guess not.” I frowned.

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. The person I bought the house from was about our age, so I don’t think they killed…” I paused to survey the remnants of lace around the body’s neck. “Her.”

“Probably inherited the problem.” Leda offered a shadowy attempt at a smile.

“Maybe they didn’t know?”

Leda laughed.

“Okay. For the price I paid, they had to know.”

“We could do research?”

“Or we could just cover up the hole and forget we saw anything.”

Leda shook her head.

I sighed. “I guess we’ll let the cops figure it out?”

Leda shook her head again. “I just think we shouldn’t live with someone else’s mistake.”

“What are you thinking?” I looked at her intently.

“We could easily fit our friend into one of your larger moving boxes.”

“And have the movers come and get it?” I started to laugh nervously.

“Of course not. The two of us should be able to heft it. We can just take it to the dump.”

“But…” All my moral concerns failed to flood from my lips.

Thus, I found myself at the dump with my cousin, pushing a heavy box down into a gaping hole in the ground. We brushed our hands against our chests with a shiver as the box tumbled away from us into the trash chasm. We turned slowly toward the car, maintaining our silence until the gates of the dump completely disappeared in my rearview mirror.

I tried to forget what I had done, but the wizened corpse haunted me in my dreams. I settled into my house, but I felt the woman watching me from every corner. She held more sway in the living room. Leda helped me replace the battered wall with fresh drywall and cover the whole room in a bright golden hue, but darkness seemed to creep out of the corners. When Leda visited, she insisted we spend time in the kitchen at the back of the house or poking around in the drafty attic.

Our efforts to transform that space into a cozy game room finally brought me peace. As we poked through the last pile of crumbling papers and dusty books, my hand rested on a leather-bound volume with half the pages ripped out. Spidery, antiquated handwriting covered the first couple of remaining pages. I tossed it into the top of the rubbish bin. Leda scooped it up with a laugh.

“Don’t be rude. It looks like the house left you its journal. You should at least see what she had to tell you.”

I shivered, rolled my eyes, and went back to scanning the last few pages on the nearest shelf. Assured that they didn’t hold vital information, I threw them away. As I opened my mouth to proudly declare the job done, Leda gasped.

I looked up at her. “What is it?”

“Listen to this,” she held the book up and began reading.

“I have torn out most of my dark thoughts. You can’t have them any more than you can have my house. I will be here forever. No one will make a home here. I shall take my poison and hide myself within its heart. If they don’t find me, my spirit shall linger on and haunt this place. If they do find me, they will never be able to live in a place with such a horrific past.”

I stared at her and a burden seemed to rise from me, taking the darkness with it.

***

In honor of the season, I thought this needed to see the light of day.

Did you love it?