God knew how badly Raisa needed this break.

I look like a frigging mess. She grimaced at her reflection in the car mirror. It showed a dusky lady with red rimmed brown eyes and dishevelled curls barely held together by a pale blue scrunchie. There were bags under her eyes; literal bags where mice could easily make a hammock and sleep. The baggy t-shirt she was wearing still had crumbs from the breakfast sandwich she had devoured earlier that day. With a muffled sigh, Raisa Thorne sunk even deeper into the rental’s seat.

Outside, groves of trees sprinted past. A splash of green against the perpetually gray skies that many associated with Wales. Quite different from London, really. The problem with big cities is that it is easy to get lost amidst the towering buildings, the mindless bustle of people and traffic. Sometimes that was a blessing; sometimes one needed to be out in the open and breathe in the crisp scent of the Irish Sea. There was a comfort in small towns despite the many horror stories that seemed to be focused on them.

Raisa closed her eyes. The rumble of the wheels sent a pleasant thrill through her body. So far, so good. She was not sure if coming to Gwaywe was the best choice she had made in the recent months, but sitting in that car with its windows rolled down made her rethink her choices. Maybe her mom was right.

“Go to Gwaywe,” she said when Raisa called her to tell how she was barely getting any sleep these days. “You need a vacation, baby. You work so hard.”

It has been twenty-six years since she last came to Gwaywe. The last time she was here, it was Aunt Catherine’s funeral. Raisa remembered little about Gwaywe, just a few fleeting moments; the weathered lines of great grandma's hands, the sun rising over the sea, the trees behind the house she was headed to, and Catherine's laughter. Anything else? Poof. They were long gone, buried beneath years of schoolwork, dissertations, seminars and accolades. Her family spoke little about Gwaywe, at least not until great grandma died last year and left the house to Raisa. For a while she had pondered about selling the property, but was thankful she didn't.

“You knew Alice Reed, ma'am?”

The cabbie’s question made her sit up straight. She sat up straight and pulled her lips into a small smile.

“Uh, yes. I am her great-granddaughter.”

“Oh, that's good. You had me worried for a moment,” the cabbie laughed, taking a turn left. The road had narrowed here and there was not a house in sight. “Thought that the old house got sold.”

“Uh, no. We did not sell the property.”

Raisa inhaled sharply. Goose pimples had erupted on the exposed skin of her forearm. Bloody hell, she cursed. What was wrong with her? Just because that thing happened at the university did not mean it was also going to happen to her. The cabbie seemed like a good natured bloke at the rear end of the fifties. He was white, chubby, with a smattering of dark facial hair on his face. Not the person who would go around murdering people. But stranger things have happened.

So as the man chatted about the recent developments in the town and how, thanks to the mayor, it was very well connected, Raisa’s mind fled back to the university. She was a professor of psychology, focusing especially on research back in London. It was a great job with a good salary and a fair amount of benefits. But then it happened. A colleague had gotten killed, and she was the one who discovered him.

No, it was not a mystery. It had taken police less than a week to figure out who had done the deed and had them arrested. His nephew had killed Charles Weston, her dead colleague,. Apparently, they were having a fight over a familial property, which had turned violent. His nephew had bashed his skull against a wall and had left the campus by scaling the walls. It was a winter evening, so it was quite dark already. Nobody noticed a thing. It did not help that Charles was a bachelor whose one true love was his bed. And sometimes he stayed back long after everybody had gone home.

And as fate would have it, Raisa was the one who discovered him, brain matter splashed around and all.

Her face turned green just by thinking of the day. She was upset because the night before she had broken up with her girlfriend of four years. Hell, she had stayed up crying all night. That morning she had come to the university early and was taking a walk to clear her mind when she stumbled upon him. It was awful; he was gaping at her through glassy eyes, his mouth open in a silent scream. Thick stringy lines of blood and pooled beneath him with pink spongy bits which she would later learn was the brain. The impact was so hard that it had shattered his skull and splattered the brain like a broken bottle of ketchup.

“You alright, ma'am?” The cabbie broke through her chain of thoughts.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

Something low coiled in the pit of her stomach. She was so absorbed in remembering the past that she had not noticed that the car had come to a halt. That was the problem. After seeing Charles like that, Raisa could not unsee it. They were very close, but that awful gaze was imprinted on her mind. She was zoning out often, getting nasty flashbacks, and was having trouble sleeping. Her friends joked that she being a psychologist should be above all this. Well, nobody prepares you to see something like that. Besides, she was never very comfortable with blood and gore. If she was, she would have become a coroner or something.

With a trembling hand, she opened the car's door. Sucking in deep breaths, she leaned in and pulled out her two bags. Kicking the door shut, she walked over and handed the cabbie a wad of cash.

“Keep the change.” She smiled.

The bloke grinned so widely that all his teeth, both whole and chipped, were only on full display. “Thank you so much, ma'am! Have a pleasant stay.”

With that, the car sped away in the opposite direction, leaving Raisa standing on the porch of the house. Her house. It was surreal to even think of it on such terms. She hung her bags on either shoulder without ceremony and pushed open the tall iron gates. They gave away with an audible groan.

“Home sweet home.” She mumbled in unison.

***

The house was eccentric, much like her great grandma herself had been in life.

It was cerulean blue, though it looked more teal. Bits of paint have flaked off, leaving behind empty spaces on the outer walls. The house looked crooked as if a toddler playing with lego blocks had assembled haphazardly it. An effect of being built near a bog. There were dried roses on the windowsills that the housekeeper had forgotten to throw away. It looked pretty good for a house that had been in the family for over eighty odd years.

But Raisa did not remember the place a lot. Even as she turned the key in the keyhole of the main door, there was no sudden burst of nostalgia. Neither did some memory come flickering into her consciousness. This felt like a place like any other. Was it time that had dulled all feelings in her about Gwaywe? She did not know and was way too tired to ponder upon it.

A whiff of dust motes and a dank smell hit her nostrils as Raisa took her first step inside the house. Long shadows had draped the living room in its embrace since the windows were not open. The smell was not terrible, the usual kind one can expect from a house that doesn't get much sunlight. From what she knew, the housekeeper came twice a week to clean the space and then left it locked up for the rest of the time. She switched on the lights and let herself be washed in its warm gaze.

The walls were decorated with a purple wallpaper that showcased wisteria blossoms. Tall bookcases lined one side of the walls, most of its shelves empty. Must be her mother's doing when she came here right after her great grandma’s funeral. Three worn maroon couches surrounded an oval centre table. There was a bearskin rug beneath it. The head was still attached.

“Didn't it drive her mad?” Raisa said aloud to the empty room. She never understood the allure of mounting animal heads or keeping taxidermied specimens in one's home. Those beady black eyes of the bear gave her the creeps. Besides, it looked so dang dirty. She was not sure if its fur was meant to be a brownish-grey or just brown, and the top layer was a coating of dust. Whatever it was, vacuuming this ancient rug was not on her to-do list at all.

She gave a cursory glance at her surroundings.

Most of the places were empty save for a few pieces of furniture. On the centre table was a bunch of keys which Raisa presumed was kept by the housekeeper for her. Keys to the rooms within the house. Away was the dining table with sorry looking chairs and a refrigerator beyond it. Raisa made a mental note not to use those chairs. Their legs looked contorted at odd angles. The moment she sat on them, they would give away and she would land on her back. No, the couches seemed like a much better option.

The walls were empty. Clean but without character. There were indents where pictures hung and other mountings. Raisa’s mother had ensured that they were sold or taken away. Since she had not made it to the funeral, she did not know what were the things that were in here. Ever since her aunt's death, their relationship with her great grandma had frayed. Thus, it was no small surprise when the solicitors had said Raisa had inherited the house and the land it stands on. Maybe that was great grandma's way of extending an olive branch.

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. It had been a long while since she had thought of her aunt or great grandma. They were there in the subconscious more than an abstract concept than as a solid person. But here in Gwaywe, they felt more real than they had in the last two decades and a half. Raisa was not sure why nobody talked about Catherine.

She remembered how her mother's face would scrunch up whenever she tried to talk about what happened that summer as she grew older. Her mother never spoke about it. Kept saying it was just an accident, and Raisa needs not to think about it. She stopped pressing her for answers that. With time, it started to not matter a whole lot to her.

Yet this had made Gwaywe a place of unease, the main reason she was having second thoughts about coming here to take a break. There were questions she had about this place that nobody was ready to answer. And the way her mother had deep cleaned the house, she had her doubts if she would find anything here. Then again, she was not here to unearth family mysteries if Catherine's death could be called one. Maybe her mother just did not enjoy talking about what must have been quite a traumatic memory. She was already stuck in troubles of her own and did not need to add this to her already substantial list. So before she could get cold feet, Raisa walked down the incline that divided the living area from the dining room to fetch herself some chocolate milk.

Chocolate, after all, makes everything better. Or so she thought.

~•~