Britni Arrington

The Little Black Book

“Are you sure this is the place?” The taxi driver asked as the car came to a stop at the entrance of the drive. I understood the slight panic in his voice as concern, although, there might have been a hint of judgment as well. Eyes wide and staring at a scene straight out of a Tim Burton movie I muttered, “This is the place... this is Gran’s.” The house was old and unkempt and for a moment I felt guilt. The once well manicured grass and plants had turned feral, revolting against the years of neglect and engulfing the house to make known their discontent. “How could I have let it get this bad?” I thought aloud. Gran had assured me that everything was under control, but it had been years since I visited and it was ever evident that the house was under everything except control. The hearse parked in the yard, a clear reminder that the memories I had of this once castle like Victorian weren’t my only loss, Gran was gone.