I look up at the high ceilings, and if the sun wasn't still shining outside, I'd have turned the massive chandeliers on in a heartbeat. It makes me excited for it to turn dark. The large crystal chandelier hangs from the middle of the ceiling, twisted iron studded with diamonds and wax candles. Sloane appears at the top of the sweeping staircase, she grabs the worn polished wooden banister, and steps down the crimson carpet runner. "I found which room I want!" She calls down to me.

I turn to Kent but he’s walked off somewhere, so I shrug and follow Sloane up the stairs. She pushes into one of the rooms, sunlight streams in through the huge window, casting dancing triangles across the threadbare rug, it’s fraying at the edges and corners, I make a mental note that we’ll replace it. Sloane drops onto the huge four-poster bed and she suddenly looks so small. I smile at her, and turn to the imposing, antique wardrobe. There’s a wooden rocking chair facing her bed, and she sits upright to follow my gaze over to it. “That looks like fun!” She says.

A tall wooden dresser with tarnished brass handles, stands in the corner, waiting patiently for Sloane to hang her clothes up in it. “I can come sit in your room.” Oliver grins as he walks into Sloane’s room uninvited and drops into the faded, upholstered armchair by the window, the cushions sink below him. “I think I should get this room.” He says.

Please, not another argument. “Why?” Sloane asks him, frowning.

“You don’t even like reading.” He motions over to the bookshelf filled with old leather-bound books, their spines cracked and titles barely legible. “But I love reading.”

“When did you ever read a book?” Sloane scowls, she reaches for a pillow and chucks it at him. “Get out!” The pillow hits him straight in the face and he yells at her, throwing himself at her. They wrestle together on the bed, where Sloane manages to push him off and he goes tumbling to the ground with a growl. “Freak!” Sloane shouts at him as he runs off.

I glare at her, “Why can’t you and Oliver just get on?” I frown, she shrugs and turns away from me, pulling a porcelain jewelry box off the bedside table, she opens the broken lid and rifles through some belongings, being nosy. I shake my head and walk down the landing towards Oliver’s room.   

Oliver’s room is much smaller, a simple bed with a wooden frame stands in the centre of the room on bare wooden scuffed and scratched floor boards, across the other end of the room is a desk with a few empty drawers, it’s surface dusty and mostly bare. Beside the desk is a bookshelf, a few old children’s classic books left behind. A small plain wardrobe stands with it’s doors open, and a moth flies out, ew, I hate moths. 

I walk over to the single, narrow window and unlatch it to push it open. The moth flutters around then flies out. I turn to let my eyes skim over the simple chest of drawers with their dusty surface and a few personal items scattered on top. My eyes skim over a picture of an old man in a black suit, he’s in a wheelchair with the woman’s arm around him, the same woman I saw in the front garden, the man looks so much like Kent that I almost had to do a double take.

“Look, Mummy.” Oliver says, “There’s a toy box.” He rifles through the toy box at the front of the bed, pulling out rag dolls with button eyes, and tin soldiers. He pulls out a wooden puzzle and turns to me, “Can we play?” He asks.

“Not right now.” I tell him, I grab the photo off the chest of drawers. “I just have to show your Dad something.” He slumps disheartened and I exit his room, I walk down the dimly lit narrow hallway with it’s worn and creaky wooden floor, and make a mental note to replace the faded wallpaper that’s peeling at the edges and revealing patches of bare wall beneath. Dust motes float around like silent flies, and a few old photographs and paintings hang crookedly on the walls, covered by age and grime.

walking down the stairs and across the cold marble floor towards the kitchen. The hall echoes with each step, the sound bouncing off the hard surfaces and reverbeating around the building. I descend the stairs, each step creaking and groaning loudly under my weight. There’s moss growing between the cracked stone tiles, brown grime in the grout lines. I step over it, careful not to step on it and I spot Kent standing leaning against the counter, his eyes glazed over as he stares outside. “Are you okay?” I ask him.

He jolts suddenly, his hand rising to wipe away imaginary tears as he turns to me, his lips cracking into a smile. “I’m fine.” He lies.

I hand him the photo I found, “He looks like you.” I say, smiling. He takes the photo from me and examines it. “He must be like what? Your Grandfather?” I ask.

“Great Grandfather.” He replies, “They had two girls, one of them is my Grandmother.” He turns back to the window, “I’d love to bring Mum here, I think she’d like it.”

I stare him, “Please tell me you’re not considering keeping this house?” I ask. I motion to rough exposed brick walls with their dark soot stains and mostly bare shelves. “It’s a hellhouse.”

“It just needs some fixing up.” He says calmly, “It’s a beautiful place, in a beautiful location.” Two small, leaded glass windows let minimal light in through the grey cloudy patches of dirt, the light is overshadowed for a second by a swooping bird and then the light comes back again. Kent has returned to stare out the window and I sigh loudly. “This was my Grandmother’s home.” He tells me, “I think it’s only right that we stay here.”

But I really don’t want too, and I can’t shake the feeling that the house doesn’t want us too either.

Kent moves to the deep porcelain sink, it’s stained with rust and he frowns as he pumps the hand-pump for water, all that comes out is a goey brown sludge. It makes me nearly vomit, and I have to swallow back down the acidic bile that’s rising in my chest. He turns to me with a smirk, “As I said, it needs some fixing up.”

A few chipped enamel bowls and plates are piled haphazardly on the shelves above the sink and when I turn around I stare at the sturdy wooden table scarred with knife marks and burn rings. There’s only three chairs around the table, mismatched with peeling paint, I make a mental note that we’ll have to buy another chair for Oliver.

Kent reaches into the cupboard, the unaligned door creaks but there’s nothing in there, other than a few wooden cups and some ancient utensils. The stairs in the hall creak, alerting me to someone’s presence and I wait until I see Sloane coming around the corner. Her mouth is fixed in a scowl when she sees me and she crosses both arms over her chest.

“What?” I ask her, her eyes darken at my tone of voice but quite frankly, I’m getting sick of her attitude.

“Where’s Dad?” She asks me.

“He’s just there-” I turn but Kent has gone. I turn around, but he’s no longer in the same room and a shiver skitters up my spine, to leave he would have had to walk past me, and he didn’t. I turn back to her, “I don’t know, why?”

“I had a question to ask him.” She replies, and before I can ask her what it was she’s turning on her heel and leaving. I follow her, the light above me in the kitchen flicking to life and then blinking out quickly, barely leaving enough time for my head to figure out it had even happened before it’s too late. I look over my shoulder at the light but it’s dark and lifeless.

“Does this place have a basement?!” Oliver yells, flying down the stairs towards me, he runs past Sloane who’s jogging up the stairs, and a sigh escapes my lips. Crossing on the stairs, that’s going to lead to more arguments then. I frown, I don’t know where that thought comes from, it’s not like I'm  a superstitious person.

“I don’t know.” I smile at him, “But hey…” I motion to Cinnabun who’s still sitting in her cage, she’s shuddering slightly and I feel bad that we’ve all just kind of forgotten her. “Why don’t you take Cinnabun into the living room and find somewhere for her to stay?” I ask him.

“Will you help me?” He asks.

“Sure.” I grin, “come on.”

He runs through to the living room and I follow him. The living room is probably the brightest in the whole house, sunlight shimmering through the huge bay windows. An old threadbare Perisan rug lays in the centre of the floor, faded with it’s muted colours. There’s even more photos in here, hanging on the dark wood-paneled walls, their glass dusty and their frames tarnished. This room has a big stone fireplace dominating one wall, stained with soot under a heavy oak mantel. There’s cold ashes and charred logs inside the fireplace with a set of antique fire irons resting nearby.

I glance up at the old, brass clock on the mantel, but it’s frozen at a long-forgetten hour. Oliver sets the bunny cage down on the floor, and opens the door. Cinnabun sniffs at the air and then hops out and runs under the heavy, upholstered sofa with frayed arms and sagging cushions, she stares at me through black beady eyes from under the sofa. “Mum?” Oliver frowns, “Is she okay?”
“It’s a new place.” I assure him, “She’s probably waiting for us to move so that she can explore freely.”

There’s a large, brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, tarnished and missing several crystals, with a few remaining candle stubs. A grand piano sits in the corner, it’s lid closed and when I walk over to it and pull up the lid, the keys are yellowed, an array of sheet music is scattered on top. An old, upright radio sits in one corner collecting dust. I stare up the cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling and then down at other cobwebs around the windows, glistening.

Oliver is on his hands and knees trying to coax Cinnabun out of her hiding place, so I leave him where he is and walk into the hall. The front door is wide open and I can see Sloane pestering her Dad in front of the car. “For the last time!” I hear him yell. “I’m not giving you the keys to the basement!”

Sloane growls loudly in frustration and starts storming towards the house, I barely have enough time to step out the way before she storms past me and thunders up the stairs. “Sloane!” I call after her, but she doesn’t make any attempt to stop and turn back to look at me. I hear the car door slamming and turn to look back at Kent who’s surrounded by different boxes and belongings.

I walk out to join him by the car. “What’s going on?” I ask him. “Why did you yell at Sloane like that?”

“Sorry.” He rakes a hand through his hair, “I was just busy and she kept going on and on about the basement, I didn’t even know this house had a basement. I certainly don’t know where the key to it is.”

“Oliver was asking if this place has a basement too, maybe they can find the basement together, and it’ll be something they could bond over.” He stares at me, eyebrow raised. “Don’t look at me like that, not all basements are bad.”

He laughs, “What would be the point of a house with a basement if that’s not a red flag?” He bends down and grabs a box, chuckling to himself as he carries it inside.