4
Van gazed at the big, crumbling house in front of him. He always thought it was right out of a dream. It seemed so magical somehow, hinting at secrets and mysteries. He shook his head and smiled, snapping out of his daydream. Foolishness, his father would tell him. His friends often teased him about it. It seemed like he never outgrew his childish fantasies and illusions of mystery and adventure. He wasn't all too worried; he was only fifteen after all. His mother often said he'd have been better off if he were born in the Renaissance period, a time of eloquence, romance and dreams. He grimaced at the thought.
He'd always been captivated by this house, ever since he could remember. It was on the longer route to his home. He'd still come here whenever he felt unhappy or down or just because he felt like it. It made him feel at peace. Like he could fill his heart with images of it and savour them until he felt content. The stonework on the house, the vines snaking around the walls, the moss stippling the window shutters, all surrounded by a lush, disorganized garden of flowers. Roses of every colour, African violets, white lilies which blushed with pink, jasmine, and more flowers he couldn't name. There seemed no order to them, it was as if they were all thrown together based on whim, but the overall effect was pleasing to the eye. It added to the charm of the decrepit house.
Suddenly, he saw a movement in one of the windows. His heart hammering, he peered at the figure; he'd never known someone lived there! It looked like a woman, he couldn't be sure. With a jolt, he realised that person was looking at him. Panicking, he jumped on to his bicycle and pedalled so fast that by the time he made it home his legs felt like they'd fall off.
Later, after he'd changed and sat down to lunch, he poked at his food, deep in thought.
"What's wrong dear?" his mother asked, concerned.
"Huh?" Van replied distractedly, "Oh nothing…"
His mother shook her head and blamed it on raging teenage hormones.
"Ma…do you know that house on Eries road? The big, old one with the garden out front? Do you know if anyone lives there?"
"Well, I'm not so sure. I heard it used to belong to a businessman, Vröd Surda, he was always away, I think he died around three years ago. Why do you want to know?"
"I saw someone at the window today, I couldn't be sure because it was dark inside, but I think it was a woman."
"A woman…" she trailed off thoughtfully, "Now that you mention it, he had a daughter, though I'm sure she can't be too old, since the old man was around seventy when he died…"
"I see. I guess she lives alone then. It's strange, I've never seen her before."
With thoughts of the mysterious woman, he quickly gobbled his food down, and in a decisive moment, he went out and grabbed his bike, determined to go take another look at the house.
He jerked to a halt outside the house and stood there, intently examining the windows for movement. It seemed like even the leaves in the garden were still, waiting in anticipation. Slowly, letting his breath out, he sat back on to his bike.
"Who are you?" he asked softly, "Why don't you come out?"
Sighing, he slowly pedalled back home, not noticing the slight shift in the window, as two eyes watched him disappear down the street.
How he hated tests. First they make you jittery, until the feeling grows into full blown panic, then they make you depressed and gloomy, then they make you so fatalistic you couldn't care less how you did on the test until finally, you realise you have scrambled eggs instead of a brain and couldn't tell a monkey apart from a leprechaun.
Van mumbled goodbyes to his not-quite-as-disgruntled friends and slowly began the journey home. So engrossed was he in his thoughts, he didn't realise that he'd ended up in front of the house that had caused him so much wonder in the past.
Curious now, he leaned his bicycle against the outside wall and edged toward the gate. The gates were rusty and so thickly covered with creepers you could only see the metal in a few places. He jumped back in surprise when he saw the curtains on one of the windows was pulled back, and the same woman, at least he thought it was her, was standing there, looking at him. For a few seconds, his mind went blank. He wasn't expecting this, so he stood, frozen to his spot, mouth slightly open. She held his gaze before a smile graced her features. He hesitantly smiled back. She waved at him, motioning him to come in.
He was assailed by doubt. What were her intentions? She could be a psychopathic serial killer. Maybe this was how she lured her victims inside. But then, things couldn't possibly get worse today. Throwing caution to the winds, he creaked the gate open and gingerly walked up the short path to the window.
She had disappeared for a moment and then she was back at the window, gesturing towards the door. Nervously, he turned the door knob and stepped inside. His first impression was of order. He'd expected the inside of the house to be just as neglected as the exterior. But the living room was clean; several plush armchairs were set around a low round table that shone in the light. The room consisted mostly of muted shades of red, brown and a few flashes of deep blue here and there. There was a big bowl of flowers on the centre table. The place smelled like jasmine, and oranges?
"Like what you see?" the woman asked, a faint smile on her face.
Her voice seemed like it was right out of one of those fantastic stories of magical beings he was still so enraptured with. Like music, but without the effort of trying.
"Wouldn't you like to sit down?' she asked, amusement flickering in her eyes.
"Um, okay." He wondered what drove him to agree. This was a very suspicious situation. But she was so beautiful. Not conventionally, but to him she resembled the warrior princesses he'd read about as a child. She had large, captivating brown eyes and long, shimmering black hair. She could've been anywhere between twenty five and forty five, he couldn't tell. She was dressed in a simple flowery dress, but seemed as elegant as royalty.
"Would you like some tea? I was just about to have some."
"A-alright," he stuttered, glancing at her nervously.
"Here, it's mint flavoured."
He sipped his tea awkwardly. Unable to bear the silence, he blurted out, "Your house is like a fairytale." He winced at the childish remark. To his surprise, she burst out laughing. Her laugh was like, God help him he had to say it, magic. It was entrancing. Everything about her was.
Ignoring the warnings in his head, he plowed on, "What I meant was-"
"It's alright, you needn't explain. I understand." She went on, smiling, "This house is more than eighty years old, of course the garden only came later. Actually, it was a gift, for my seventh birthday. I would always urge my father to tell me stories about fairies and kings and magicians…so he decided to give me a magic garden, where I was the Princess and the flowers were my subjects, like my father put it…" she trailed off, lost in memories when she shook her head, smiling, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bore you."
"Oh no! It's alright, I think it's fascinating. I loved those stories as well, I still do actually," he said sheepishly, "I know it's childish, but I just…"
"The magic is always there for those who choose to see it, it has nothing to do with age or maturity, don't you think?"
"I guess…" He smiled, glad that she didn't think he was foolish.
"You go to school here," it was more a statement.
"Yes, I'm in the tenth grade. I had a test today actually, maths, I don't hate it, but I could do with less of it…I prefer literature. What was your favourite subject?"
She grinned, "I was home schooled, I used to be very ill as a child, not that I'm any better now, but like you, literature was my passion. For someone who's always closed up indoors, books were my window to the outside world. It's very powerful, knowing that you can live entire lifetimes, several times over, just within the pages of a mere book. It was reasonable compensation for one who couldn't do it in reality. Of course, I was always partial to stories pertaining to other imaginary worlds. Maybe it's silly, but still…"
"But still," Van smiled back, understanding perfectly.
They both turned around at the sound of the doorbell.
"Could you get the door for me please, dear?" she asked.
"Sure," he obliged, going to the door. Standing there was a plump, middle-aged woman with large grocery bags who openly stared at him. Pushing him aside, she stepped in, leaving Van gaping indignantly.
"Here you go Miss. Surda, I brought your groceries for the week, and the books that you asked for as well, such lovely weather today, isn't it? I'd stay but Merle has dance class, and I have to go drop her," she ended as she dumped the bags on the floor.
"That's alright, Nita, thank you again for bringing these over," Miss. Surda said as she handed Nita some money, "I really appreciate this, I'll see you next week then?"
"Yes, yes, don't you worry, I'll be there," again she looked at Van as if he were a blotch on the face of mankind, and bustled out, leaving him utterly perplexed, still standing by the door.
"Don't mind Nita, she may seem to be rude, but she's very kind. She brings me provisions because I feel too tired to manage it," Miss. Surda said.
"But you don't look…" ill was what he was going to say, but on looking closely he realised she had faint shadows under her eyes, and she seemed too pale to be deemed healthy.
"I don't believe I know your name."
"It's Van, Van Fanel. I should really get going now, thanks for the tea."
"It was my pleasure, I so rarely have visitors. It was delightful talking to someone who shares so many of my interests. You're welcome to come over anytime, I would greatly enjoy your company."
Blushing slightly, he said, "It was really nice talking to you too Miss. Surda…"
"Call me Varie, Miss. Surda makes me feel old," she smiled.
"Varie." He smiled hesitantly, "Thank you again, I'll drop by again soon, I enjoy talking to you too. Well, I'll see you later then."
"Until next time, Van."
He smiled shyly. Picking up his book bag, he left, smiling absently to himself. Who would've thought that finally meeting the woman would do nothing to quell the mystique and allure he associated with the house and its inhabitant?