I've always liked old fashioned things. I'm not sure why, they seem to have a certain charm to them. Antiques seem to have stories, unwritten pasts hidden in them. Ah, I sound like a sentimental old man. I get so wrapped up in things that intrigue me, it can be hard to find my way back out. Anyway, that's why I purchased my current home.
Truth be told, it didn't look like much. But I saw the potential. And Dios, it could be beautiful with a few repairs and a couple of fix ups. So I bought it. I really didn't even have to look inside to know I wanted it. My home was going to be beautiful. I could already picture it; the stained glass windows polished and clear once again, the gray-blue exterior repainted with white trimming, new furniture, drapes, carpets, floorboards. It was going to be beautiful.
I started right away, depending on myself to do most of the work. The electricity and plumbing worked just fine, thank god. I started on the outside. First I removed the windows and washed them properly, like they deserved. Next came the roof; retiling is hard work. First, I had to patch up holes, which involved a swollen thumb and other bruised parts. As if getting up there wasn't hard enough!
Painting was fun. I found the perfect color that matched the original that was peeling almost exactly. It's only when I started painting the upper half did I notice the attic. I was sure I hadn't been up there yet. I hadn't even cleaned the circular window with the others. I gently pried it off, coughing from the stirred dust that had made it outside and into my lungs.
As I mentioned before, I often get too involved in things that intrigue me. That attic intrigued me. Without hesitation, I crawled through the window, now stripped of its glass pane. It took a moment to adjust to the dim light, and even longer to the musty air. It felt as though this room had been sealed away for years, even decades. Old, forgotten boxes were everywhere, mine for the investigating. And investigate I did.
It would be easier to list what I didn't find. Old dresses that looked like they came from maybe as early as the twenties. Pictures, books, and sheet music, mostly in what I believed was Italian. An old guitar. Various chests and trunks. A beautiful telephone, decorated with Ivory. In one corner, there was an old suit, complete, even with suspenders and spats! It was the motherload, a treasure trove.
As I trifled through, everything round me just felt…heavier. I figured it must have been the air getting to me and continued. I'm pretty sure I found an old record player. I wonder if I could get it to work…
I was interrupted from my thoughts by the phone ringing. Only it wasn't the phone downstairs, that was oh, I don't know, actually plugged into the wall. And it wasn't the one in my pocket either.
No, it was the old, dusty phone, decorated with ivory in the corner. I stared at it and blinked. I was obviously hearing things, that old thing probably didn't even work anymore. I really should have opened the other window. The musty air is getting to me.
But it didn't stop ringing. The receiver rattled against its holder as the blaring chime cut through the air. My palms felt sweaty and it wasn't from working outside all day. Cautiously stepping forward, I gently placed my hand on the phone, flinching when I first made contact. With one final gulp and prayer, I gently lifted it and brought it to my ear.
"H-Hello?"
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
I winced when the heavily accented voice blasted into my ear. He sounded angry.
"Ah, who is this?"
"It doesn't matter; keep your grimy paws off of shit that doesn't belong to you."
I crinkled my nose in confusion and glanced around. "Is all of this yours?" I asked quietly. "Wait, how do you know what I'm doing, are you watching me?!"
"Stop touching our stuff!"
"If this belongs to you, I'd be happy to move it out so you can pick it up!" I squeaked looking out the window. Maybe he was standing outside, looking in. But no one was there, no pissed off man glaring at me.
"Just stay out of the attic."
It's quiet for a little while. He sounded less mad and more…upset? I can't really put my finger on it, but I know his voice cracked a little through the static. "Why? Are you the previous owner? Unless you come get these things, there's nothing I can do. This is my home now."
More silence. "Hello? Are you still there?"
"This is not your home."
The line went dead. I brought the phone down from my ear and stared at it, hand shaking. I had to sit down, I felt so lightheaded. I was hearing things. Yeah, there wasn't some guy watching me, trying to scare me. And I wasn't scared. Phones that don't work ring and function normally all the time.
"My imagination is getting to me," I chuckled, not nervously, of course. No, this was just my mind playing tricks on me. I shook my head and climbed back out the window. Maybe I should avoid the attic for awhile. J-Just to keep my lungs clear.
(-)
I finally finished the exterior. And not to toot my own horn, but it looked fantastic. Just like I envisioned it. After a nice, long, relaxing bath in a beautiful looking clawfoot tub, I decided to tackle the interior. Starting with painting.
I had seen some really nice looking furniture in the attic that would fit in perfectly after a little cleaning. I think I paled a bit at the thought of that place. I-I'll come to that later. I open a light blue paint I picked out and grab the roller.
The phone started ringing. Not the one in my pocket. Not the one in the other room. Without even thinking, I flew up the stairs and ran down the hall, stopping when a cord on the ceiling caught my eye. I yanked it down, and clamored up the creaky stairs it revealed, out of breath by the time I reach the phone. I didn't even hesitate to pick it up.
"Hello?!"
"If you paint my house that god awful color, I will castrate you."
He was threatening me now?! "Who are you?! This isn't your house anymore!"
"Shut up! This will always belong to us! We built it and we made it a home, damn it! Stop fucking with everything!"
Built it? My throat felt dry when an important fact hit me. "This house was built in 1938."
This house had been built 76 years ago. And this person did not sound like a wrinkling, old man. "Who are you?" I croaked, gripping my forehead.
The line went dead.
(-)
I can't sleep. That's kind of hard to do when some crazy stalker keeps calling you, claiming to own your home and to have built it himself over three quarters of a century ago. His voice rings through my head over and over again. It's spring, but it feels so cold in my room, no matter how many blankets and comforters I stack on top of me.
Groaning out of exhaustion, I threw the covers off of myself and sat up, recoiling when my bare feet hit the cold floor. No matter how much I stretched, my limbs still felt stiff and sore. I decided to grab some water or tea or something that would help me sleep.
The floorboards creaked under my weight as I trudged down the hall. The stairs were especially loud. I'd have to fix those. My own boxes lined the kitchen, waiting to be unpacked and sorted through. Thankfully, I had already unpacked most of my belongings in the 'kitchen box'. Sometimes I do think ahead.
God, why did it have to be so cold? I swore I could see my breath as I sighed. This house just must be extra drafty or something. I poured myself a glass of water and started to head back up when something caught my eye. Or rather, someone.
He was sitting in the window seat just looking out. "H-How did you get in here?!" I demanded. His head snapped up, and he looked at me, completely stunned. Because being called out on intruding someone else's home is completely out of the ordinary.
I couldn't decide if he paled at the sight of me or was already pale to begin with. "What are you doing here?" I tried again, attempting not to sound too harsh. He looked like he's seen a ghost or something. It was kind of cute, actually.
"A-Antonio?!"
He stood anxiously, still staring at me. "How do you know my name?" I mumbled in amazement or fear, I couldn't tell which. He stepped forward slowly, eyes wide. His clothes looked out dated and old. He looked really tired as a whole. Except for his eyes. They looked like they were on fire, they were so bright.
"How do you know my name?" I repeated as he staggered forward. He frowned and reached out to touch me. I moved back.
"Tonio, it's me. It's me. It's Lovi…" he whimpered, tears pooling in the corners of those gold eye. I felt completely helpless. He gripped my shirt and tried to pull me closer. "You're stuck here too? I-I've been waiting." His awestruck daze turned into a scowl.
"You stupid bastard!" he snapped. I winced and yelped when he balled my crumpled t-shirt in his fist. "You, you left, how could you leave?! Why did you leave?! You let the fucking garden die, idiot! Look at this place!"
His anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "You're home now," he mumbled, hand moving up to touch my cheek. I ripped away from the maniac currently standing in front of me, terrified. Did I really have a stalker? Was he mentally unstable or something?
"You must have the wrong Antonio," I muttered, backing into the front door. "You-you have to leave now. I don't know who you are, and if you go now, I won't even get the police involved."
His face crumpled into disbelief and utter devastation. "Tonio, how could you forget me?! How could you forget us?! What happened to you, that's not like you!" he cried, shaking his head. "I know I forgot a few things after I passed, but not you, never you…"
I froze, heart pounding. "P-Passed?"
The man nodded and started to step forward. "I can help you! We'll remember together! Yeah, everything will go back to the way it was before, just the two of us! God, I've waited over seventy years for this. For you."
"What are you talking about?" I'm dreaming. No, I'm having a nightmare. The man tilted his head and walked up to me, eyes never leaving mine.
"You're dead too, aren't you?"
D-Dead? As in lifeless, no longer breathing, 6 feet under dead? More importantly, dead too?!
"It's ok, I know it's weird at first, but you'll get used to it. Damn it, Antonio, why'd you keep me waiting. Damn bastard."
For some reason, I felt the need to flee, but my legs wouldn't move. "Y-You have to go," I ordered shakily. He frowned and crossed his arms. "Antonio, you're being even dumber than usual," he snorted rolling his eyes. His expression softened as he moves to touch me again. His hand rested on my forearm. His fingers were ice cold.
"Antonio, what's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me?!" I snapped, pulling away. "Oh I don't know, some crazy man who somehow knows my name broke into my house and is claiming to be dead!" Without looking at him, I opened the door and pointed outside.
"You're trespassing. You're lucky I don't report you."
I stole a glance at him and immediately regretted. Furious cannot begin to describe his hurt expression. "Did you move on after I died? Pick up everything and leave to go to someone else?!" he growled. "If so tell, me. Don't play dumb."
"I have no idea what you are talking about! Go!"
He glared outside before smirking. "Fine, be that way. You want me to leave? You want me gone?" he grumbled, storming toward the door. I let out a relieved sigh when he finally exited and shut the door, leaning against the hard wood. I closed my eyes and ran my hand through my hair, praying he wouldn't come back.
"Miss me?"
My eyes flew open to find him tapping his foot impatiently in the middle of the foyer. Now I'm definitely having a strange nightmare. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face with my hands, trying to remember how to breathe. "How did you do that?!" I squeaked, still refusing to look at him. Maybe he'll go away. I'm dead. Ican't leave our house, Tonio," he mumbled back
"Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!" I commanded myself, shaking my head back and forth. My fingers gripped by curls and held them tight, trying to pull myself out of sleep. "You're not sleeping, idiot!" he snapped, stomping over. I felt those two cold hands grip my wrists and attempt to tug them away from my face. But he was pretty weak, leaving his efforts wasted.
"Damn it, Antonio! Why are you doing this? Don't deny it; you're dead, just like me."
His recognition, the fact that he's accepted this so freely stirred something inside of me. I let him pull my hands away. Out of curiosity. "M-Maybe you're dead. B-But I'm not!" I whimpered, watching him carefully.
"Jesus, look what you're making me do," he mumbled, glancing away coyly. When he looked back up, he seemed flustered. I felt like I had seen that look before. "Antonio," he murmured, gently squeezing my wrists. "Antonio, it's alright. We're together again. I know I never said it enough, but I'm so happy to see you. You've turned me into a god damn sap, keeping me waiting all this time."
His hands started shaking, still clinging to me. I could only gape and shudder when his fingers grazed my cheek. "I'm sorry I wasn't sweet or nice to you. I should have been; you deserved better. But you have to remember me. Remember us."
"Th-there's nothing to remember. I-I'm not dead!"
"Yes, you are. But it's ok. You were always there for me. So I'll be here for you through this."
"I'm not dead. I'm not the Antonio you're looking for. I don't know you, we've never met!" I lightly pushed him away and grabbed the door handle. "I m-moved here two days ago! I-I came from outside," I stammered as I opened the door again, flinging myself out. Thank god there weren't any houses nearby because I probably looked crazed.
I ran out to the middle of the road and spun around once. "You can't leave, but I can!" I call back before jogging back in. He looked so disappointed. Like everything had come crashing down around him. Maybe it had. "But, that's-that's not…you're…"
His disappointed look mixed with determination when he turned away.
"You are Antonio. And I'm going to prove it."