England's house hasn't changed in many years. The furniture is in the same place as its always been, repaired and re-upholstered, but never replaced. The curtains are drawn back in the same way they've always been, and though they're not the originals, they could be, a carbon copy of a pattern that's long been out of style. The rug has been replaced, many, many times, over the years, but it's still worn in the same spots, while others look completely untouched. It's a large, empty house, and the only thing that hasn't stayed the same is the occupants.
Years ago, the house was full, echoing in laughter. Then later, there were fights, arguments, a slamming of the mohagany doors. It was lively. But then, one by one, the occupents left. Some fought and stormed off. Some politely gained permission, some were kicked out. At the end of it, even the owner of the house himself left, unable to bear the terrible silence, and the house sat quiet and empty, save for the maids that worked hard on the up-keeping of the house.
Now, years later, the house will be occupied again. The house owner has once again stepped foot over the threshold, and he's not alone. He's brought a child with him, thinking that perhaps, if he's not alone, if he's with a child, he can bear to live in the house once more. That perhaps the house won't be as empty, as silent. But England isn't prepared to face the memories that linger in each room of the house.
He sees the memories, like children, draped over the sofa, sliding on the bannister, tucked up into the armchair in the corner. He's afraid to forget the memories, to move the furniture and displace what had once been, but even more afraid to replicate them. The child he brings with him knows nothing of these things, and is happy to clamber onto the sofa, kicking his legs happily. The sight is too close to that of another child that once say there, and the man snaps at the boy to sit still, and Sealand doesn't miss the sharpness in his tone.
England is restless, and the further into the house they venture, to sharper his tone becomes. By the time they reach the bedroom, his words are clipped, one word commands. Sealand attempts to lighten the mood, he laughs, jokes, and plays, but each attempt meets a stone wall. So soon, the child stops trying.
England is trapped on both sides by a house full of memories. He is lingering like a ghost, he cannot let go and he cannot move on. Sealand is growing cowed. He hates the house, although he doesn't know why. He hates the house because of the way his guardian changed when they stepped in. For England , it's a mixture of nostalgia and sadness, a place of fond memories and a place of deep loss. For Sealand , it's a malicious place that will take away all that he loves and leaves him feeling cold and alone, despite the fire burning in the fireplace his guardian is reading by.
In the days that pass, Sealand learns to be quiet to avoid reprimand, and the house seems larger, and even quieter than before. In a ways that's both unjust and unreasonable, England begins to resent Sealand. He brought the boy to liven the place up, but the halls remain as quiet as before, the only sign of a child being the occasional toy left behind. England pettily takes revenge by avoiding the child, partly to satisfy the nastiness in his heart, partially to incite a reaction from the boy - yelling, stamping, crying, anything.
Sealand thinks that he isn't loved anymore. Something in his heart begins to lock itself away, and when he opens his mouth, the same thing blocks his words from going out. Sealand has convinced himself that nothing he says will do any good. Due to England's constant rebukes, he thinks anything he says will only get him in trouble. England is irritated by this, and locks his heart away from the boy. England turns his back. Sealand stops reaching out.
Eventually the meals together dwindle from three a day, to two, then to just one, and eventually as the days go on, only one every other day. Both Sealand and England wonder if it be better to never eat together at all. Both know that if that were to happen, they'd break. Even so, the time they spend together grows less and less.
Before they came into the house, they weren't perfect. England was a little too hesitant to connect with Sealand, and Sealand too was testing unknown waters. But they were growing closer. When they entered the house, Sealand was holding England's hand. They were talking, and Sealand was smiling and England's face was soft. Sealand misses those times.
Now, Sealand never sees England. When he does see him, England is cold his face is stiff. Sealand doesn't smile anymore, although the child doesn't realize it. He has no way to. England, too, has yet to realize it. He doesn't see Sealand enough to notice. They are strangers under the same roof.
Six months in, Sealand has had enough. He thinks the house is cursed, and if they leave they'll be happy again. He packs his bags, shoving books and clothes and toys inside and fastening the case shut. He knows he won't stay there a moment longer, and he intends to make England take him away, by any means necessary. He leaves his bag by the door, and knocks on England's study door, hard. There's no answer. The child swings the door open, but the office is empty and still.
England has gone out, thinking to be quick, not thinking the child will notice or mind. He thinks that the Sealand only thinks of him when the child is hungry. England doesn't realize how broken their relationship is,even when he left the house without so much as a note. Sealand is realizing it for the first time. He panics, searching each and every room, but there is no-one there. England is intending to come back, but the child doesn't know that. Sealand thinks he's been abandoned.
This is the last straw. Sealand gives up on England. He hauls his bag to the front door, uses a chair to reach the lock, then spills out onto the front step. The child feels free, like he's outside for the first time since they came to the house, despite his daily trips to the garden. It feels like he's finally becoming alive again. Sealand doesn't look back till he reaches the gate. The house is ominous, looming high above, and the vines that had been there since England first bought the house are still twisting around the house as though they're the only thing holding it together.
Is a house trapped in time, no place for a little boy. The boy still wants to grow. He doesn't want to stay in the same place his whole life. The child pulls the heavy gate open, just enough to slip through, and closes it behind him, as though to lock the malicious house safely behinf the iron bars. Sealand will never go back again.
Not even a half hour after the child closes the gate, the homeowner opens it again, balancing paper bags in his arms. He's boughten sweets for the child in a rare moment he allowed himself to feel the weakness. He doesn't truely think that sweets can fix the emptiness in the house. He's desperate enough to try. The house feels emptier and colder than ever when England steps inside, and for a moment the memories fade enough for him to see it. The further into the house he walks, the more he notices it.
The chair near the bookshelf is empty. There's nobody clinging to the bannister, no one in the pantry using a stool to get into the jelly. There's no laughter coming from the garden and no one playing in the playroom. In fact, the further in he walks, the more is seems like there's no one in the house at all. England begins to feel afraid as he searches. There's a few articles of clothes in Sealand's room, crayon drawings on the floor, a toy sword under the bed. But thats it.
England registers what's missing before he registers whats left. Then he takes a step back, and a paper crunches under his foot. Its a crayon drawing Sealand made, and though it doesnt really look like anything England's seen before, his mind somehow supplies the correlation. A large, black house with red eyes and scary teeth. A little boy. England's bowler hat. Suddenly England understands why the house feels so empty.
The boy in the sailor suit is sitting with his knees tucked into his chest, resting his chin on his arms. He looks old fashioned and out of place in the park, like a boy who stepoed out of the past. A lot of people notice. None of them say anything. The boy wishes that England would come get him, but he's glad England hasnt. Sealand had already made up his mind to never go back to that old-fashioned house. He feels something familiar, a presence like him, and a shadow blocks out the sun. Despite himself, the child whispers his caretaker's name.
England throws open the wrought iron gates powerfully, and steps off his property, no longer chasing memories, but a real living boy.
Sealand looks up at the person in front of him. Blue eyes peer back down from behind a pair of glasses. The man is towering above the boy, but the boy isnt afraid. Both of them can tell they're the same. The man hesitates, as though making a choice, then holds out his hand, a silent offer. Sealand's cap slips off as he takes it,craning his neck to look up at the man.
England falters to a stop in the park. Seeing the familiar blue across the path, but there's nothing in the nest of grass except a boy's sailor cap, ribbons curling in the wind. England kneels down to pick it up.
England's house hasn't changed in years. The furniture is in the same place as its always been, repaired and re-upholstered, but never replaced. The curtains are drawn back in the same way they've always been, and though they're not the originals, they could be, a carbon copy of a pattern that's long been out of style. The rug has been replaced, many, many times, over the years, but it's still worn in the same spots, while others look completely untouched. It's a large, empty house, and for the first time, England realizes this, but its already too late.
Sealand won't go back to that house again.