Most of Me (4 page)

“Hello, son.”

***

I sat at a small oak table. The man sauntered over to the sink, filled up a glass from the tap, added two spoonfuls of sugar, came back to the table and told me to drink it as if I had no choice but to do so.

I could smell fish. So many odours in the house and not one I could say was pleasing. He circled the table; I could feel him staring at me. Eventually, I said, “So,” I inhaled deeply, “my names Daniel.”

“I know who you are!” he snapped as if he was disgusted by my presence. “I’ve known for a while.”

The light from the kitchen was weak and flickered like an irregular heart beat. There was no light emitting from the bulb itself, but it was coming from somewhere. I just couldn’t make out where. It was as if there was an aurora around the both of us. “I have documents stating that I own this house.” I stood, pushing out the chair, its wooden legs protesting on the tiled floor. “So, my question to you is…”

“Who am I?” he concluded. “That is your question, isn’t it? And you’d be right to ask.”

“So?” There was a clock on the wall to the right of the kitchen door. It spoke freely, spoke with the courage I knew I was missing right now.
Tick Tock Tick Tock.
It was a hypnotic rhythm that brought a little calm to the situation. Poised beneath the clock was a shelf with a large hourglass. I judged that maybe I would need to wrap both my hands around the piece to touch finger tips. It must have been broke or clogged up because all the sand was at the top half.

He agreed. “This is your house and you have the right to be here. But…” He waved a boney finger.

“Don’t give me that squatters rights bullshit!” I pulled the documents from my pocket and slammed them on the table. “Legally…yes, you can stay, but this is
my
house!”

“I’m not squatting, Daniel. Wake up! You know who I am.” He went over to the shelf and collected the hour glass and weighed it in his palm. “You’ve started to fill,” he whispered, smiling.

We both went silent.
I did know who he was. But how could this be!
I shook my head, and eventually said, “But, you’re dead.”

He smiled at me. “It was the only way, Daniel. The only way I could find you.”

“Why would you want to find me?”

He snarled. I could see his yellow stained teeth. “I have my reasons.” He leered at the hour glass, gently returning it to its shelf.

I could feel tension, more through my own emotions than his. He just stayed calm.

I said, “what was that thing?”

“Thing?” he pronounced, as though the very idea of asking had amused him.

“The face…did you see it?
”

“Oh, I see! Yes…I saw it, Daniel.”

“Right? So what was it?”

He picked up the glass and returned it to the sink. “In time you will see it as a friend, as I did.”

“But that thing was
evil!
” I expressed.

He chuckled and said, “Evil has many guises, Daniel. Don’t judge so easily. But…yes…maybe it is evil…” he shrugged, “…maybe not. But it will keep you on your toes; trust me.”

“Trust you! I don’t know you. You haven’t been there for me, or Mom.”

“Ah, yes…your Mother.”

“She’s dead you know.”

“I know. What has she told about me? Probably malicious lies if your Grandma had anything to do with it.”

“I didn’t know my Grandma.”

“Course not,” he said.

“I was told nothing of you. But she handed me a tin; said it would explain everything.”

“Oh? And I take it hasn’t yet been opened.”

I paused to think and shook my head. “It’s in the car.”

“Perhaps this would be a good time to open it; I am here to defend myself after all.” He gestured with his hand my departure to the front door. In doing so, I wondered whether it was a good idea; should I just leave and come back another day after studying the contents of the tin. Maybe I should make up my own mind without his intervention. But no, I collected the tin from the car and returned to the house.

He stood in the doorway gripping onto the frame. His lips were moving as though he was talking to something I couldn’t see. He saw me and stopped, gave me a smile, and nodded at the tin. “Is that it?” he said.

“This is it.”

He took it from me and disappeared into the sitting room. The fire was spitting. I wondered when he’d had the chance to light it. He ripped open the seal of the tin and poured the contents into the fire. The flames ate the papers like they had been starved for a long time. He shoved the tin into my stomach. “A souvenir,” he said bluntly. He stared at the fire still licking its lips on paper and ink. “Lies, Daniel. All lies. Now you can make up your own mind, the way its meant to be.” He bowed his head courteously. “No one telling you what to do and how to do it. Especially a dead woman!” Then he walked away.

I stared at the fire and at the burnt truths my Mom had warned. Just before I began to follow the old man, the fire spat a charcoaled piece of paper at my feet. I picked it up and it read, ‘
…abused me. He is not the man he was. He's different. I think something lives…
’.

I folded the brittle paper and placed it in my back pocket, leaving the room.

“Are you coming!” the man called: the man who was my Grandfather. He waited in the hallway. The candles had been lit and twitched away from the draft that came from the basement door he had opened.
The darkness from the doorway seemed thick; cold stale air which smelt as though a dead cat was rotting away in the basement, floated up my nose.

I noticed for the first time how tired, but gentle he looked. (I didn’t really know to relate to him: Grandad, Old Man Winters, or Carl, so I’ll just relate to him as
he or him
.) His eyes were icy blue, soft smooth skin which, in the new light of the candles, appeared transparent. I assumed he was aged between sixty and sixty-five years. His complexion was pasty with fine veins mapped over his cheeks and red blotches descending his neck. His posture looked quite athletic for his age, too.

But there was something else, too. It made me uncomfortable to look. His neck had been cut, but the wound was old. There were also cuts and dark bruises across his wrists and arm. Some cuts appeared stretched with age, whilst others had dried. But there were a couple of wounds on his wrists still weeping. I wondered whether they were self inflicted, or did something else try to take away his life.

He ushered me into the basement, but I wouldn’t. He grinned, staring at me and reached inside to pull a light chord, all the time never looking away. The light clicked on and he waited for me to enter.

“After you,” I said.

He chuckled. “You still don’t trust me? Your own flesh and blood?”

“I can’t trust what I don't know.”

He nodded. “Very wise…nice to know that my
bitch
of a daughter has taught you something useful!”

I wanted to make his eye shine for saying that; he had no right. I stared into his eyes, tired as they were. He didn’t look away. He held his stare and I saw something in his blue eyes. I had a feeling of being watched, but not by him, by something else.

He’s different. I think something lives…

I eventually surrendered to his stare. “Thats my Mother you talk about!”

“Yes!” he sighed, “I’m sorry. I should be more respectful of the dead.” He smiled, and behind it I knew it was all a lie.
He
was a lie.

I took a step back. “This isn’t right.”

“Oh?”

“This…all of this! It’s all wrong. I don't need this. I don’t need
you!
You’re alive. This is your house. So…so, I can go. You’re nothing to me.
Nothing!
” I turned away and headed for the front door confident that this was the right thing to do.

“I see,” he sounded disappointed.

I reached for the door, but when I opened it, I saw nothing but white haze in what should have been the brightness of day.

“But it’s too late, Daniel,” he told me calmly, although I could detect an air of sarcasm.

I could see nothing through the density of white.
What is this!
I turned to him for an answer.

“There is nothing for you out there, now,” he said. “Only in here is where you belong…only in here.”

“But I
can
leave!” I assure him.

“Where? Into what, Daniel?” he expressed. “There is nothing; you have seen with your own eyes.”

I slowly closed the door. “I…I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this!”

“Thats because you won’t
allow
me to explain,” he said. “If you just listen, you will understand; you will except certain things are your destiny.”

“Go on,” I told him. “Make me understand this destiny.”

“Well, Daniel…I am dead.” He paused for a reaction but all I gave him was silence. “So, all of this is yours: the house, everything. Once I have made you understand, and you will understand, I will explain to you the rules and the boundaries. To go further, I think its best you follow me.” He disappeared into the light of the basement doorway and down the steps.

I opened the front door again. The whiteness still lingered, and cold to the touch as I offered my hand. I was angry at myself.

I should have opened the tin earlier; if I had I might not have been here now! This was just crazy
.

I shut the door softly so that he couldn’t hear. I falteringly went over to the basement door, pass the hardened pools of wax that were piled on the carpet underneath their holders. I looked down the wooden step. I could see a shadow moving around, and then he said, “you coming, son?”

I pressed my palm on my right eye trying to relieve some stress, but it didn’t work. “This is crazy,” I whispered, sighing. “And then called down, “yeah…on my way.”

No way is he dead! How can he be? He looks alive, and he’s no ghost, thats for sure. So he cant be dead!

I looked at the door for the last time and contemplated walking into the whiteness.
But then what? Would I be dead? Would that kill me?

The rotten odour was strong and was inevitable that it was going to get stronger the deeper I went into the bowels of the house. Damp; tampered earth; rotten meat.
What if he was dead and the smell was him! A walking dead man!
I sighed and told myself to stop. Told myself that he was alive and he was family, so what could he do to me?

Lifting my t-shirt over my nose wasn’t enough to mask the stench. It was foul. The light bulb above my head buzzed as if by warning to keep me from going down there, or usher me down there before the bulb shattered into storm of pieces around me. The stairs creaked but seemed sturdy enough. When I got to the bottom,
he
was there. He was in a hole about two metres deep, and around it was heaped soil and rubble, which made the hole look deeper. I was reminded of an empty swimming pool. He turned to me, wide eyed with excitement, a child’s expression. He pointed to the wooden ladders that appeared less safe than the stairs.

“Come down, son! Come down!” he uttered, sharply. He was squatting over something large and flat that seemed as though it was embedded in the ground. He was carefully removing old brown cloth that protected the object. He grinned, stood and stepped back. “This is for you, Daniel. You need to see for yourself.” He stood aside to let me through.

I approached with caution, squatted at the foot of the object and began to remove a corner of cloth. I looked at the old man; he was just staring at me, staring hard as though he was trying to peel away each layer of my personality to reveal the real me. But I wasn’t even sure who the real me was…not yet, anyway.
Why was I even here?

“What is it?” I asked him.

“What is it?” he repeated, clapping his hands with excitement. He was like a child.

“Yes, thats what I asked you! So…what is it?”

He chuckled. “I don't know.
I really don’t know!
I know what it is for me; might be something different for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh…you will, boy,” he assured. He closed his eyes and breathed, “you’ll see, Daniel. It will tell you what you need to know!”

I removed another corner of cloth to reveal the edge of a black frame, ornate and gilded in tainted gold. It had writing carved into the frame; it was a language that I couldn’t read or recognise. Symbols, letters that neither resembled english nor any other language. I ran a finger over one of the symbols, and it shimmered like fire. I quickly withdrew my hand.

“What the…” I looked at the old man.

“Isn’t it curious?” he said. “But ask yourself this; how far do you want to go?”

“Hang on!” I spluttered. “You pull me into this, and now I get the impression that you’re warning me away!”

“Oh…no, no, no. I merely want you to be careful. I mean, by all appearances it is a mirror. But what you see in its reflection depends upon the looker. The danger is where its power might absorbed you.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. He said, “It feels good; I wont lie. But if you loose yourself as I did, then its difficult to get yourself back.”

The old man gave a weak smile and chuckled.
“
This, Daniel, is the part where my story becomes ridiculous. Because when we were a family, when your mother and grand mother lived here, I had a dream, a premonition; the devil himself came to me. He talked to me as I speak to you. And in that dream he told me of a mirror that had been buried beneath the basements foundations. He said that it was in my best interests to excavate the mirror and when I had done so, smash it into a thousand pieces. And with this he gave an ultimatum. If I didn’t listen to him, listen to his instructions, he would take away my family. But he also told me that if I did decide to destroy the mirror, it would release hell on earth. Ever heard of seven years bad luck, boy?”