Elora Ackerman

Inheritance

I always knew my aunt Beverly was eccentric and a little odd. We were close, especially when I was little, I would go to her house to visit, it was always a magical experience. Her home was ancient, a Victorian house built in the mid 1800s, I always called it a doll house. There were these massive oak trees in the front yard, their branches twisted toward the sky like boney fingers. The interior of the house was old, but beautiful, the floorboards would creak and crack when you would walk on them. Whenever I spent the night, I slept in her “Blue” room. The floral wallpaper was peeling off, the crown modeling was cracked, but the four poster bed in the middle of the room was enormous and so comfortable. When I would lay in the middle of the room at night, I could remember feeling terrified by the dark. I always felt like someone was watching me and whispering, preventing me from falling asleep easily. When I finally did, I was restless, tossing and turning. In the morning my aunt Bev would wake me up and we would eat breakfast in her garden. Her garden was enchanting, it reminded me of being in a fantasy world. She had all sorts of colorful flowers and plants. The stone pathway went from the patio out to a lavish fountain that flowed into a koi pond. Her backyard was my absolute favorite. We would eat at her metal table, listening to the music the birds made. She would tell me stories about the places she had been. Talking with her hands, that were fitted with the loveliest jeweled rings and her nails were always long and painted. I loved my aunt Bev dearly. As I got older, I spent less time with her. I would still occasionally spend the night when I was a teenager, but mostly I just saw her on holidays. When I was twenty-five my dear Aunt Bev was diagnosed with dementia. I used to take turns with my mother and sister to go and take care of her at her home. It got to a point where she was too far gone and had to be put into a retirement home. I went to her house to take care of her koi fish. Her garden was overgrown with weeds, the color had been drained from the flowers, it broke my heart. One afternoon, I sat at our table and cried. I thought of the best memories we had together. We always had a special bond, even when I went to visit her in the facility she would light up, even if it was short lived. Her gray blue eyes would eventually lose their spark and she would forget who I was again. It was the most agonizing thing I had ever experienced. Bev passed away when I was twenty-nine. She was not a wealthy woman, but the bit of money she had she left to me. Twenty- thousand dollars. She also left me her house that I loved so dearly. I decided I would move into her house and take over the property to restore it back to its former magical greatness. I moved into the house two weeks after Beverly’s funeral. She requested that her ashes be spread in her garden, under her willow tree. I respected her wishes immediately and then got to work shortly after. I began in the garden, pulling all of the weeds and trimming the overgrowth. I spent over three hours cleaning the pond and taking care of the koi fish. By the end of the day, I was so exhausted, I didn't even have the energy to make dinner. I went to bed in the blue room, memories flooding back of the nights I spent there as a child. I laid there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and wondering to myself where the time had gone. How was I already an adult and my favorite Aunt gone forever? Before I realized it, tears were streaming down my face. I wept uncontrollably. I suddenly felt so very alone and frightened. I went downstairs to try and clear my head. “I wish my Aunt Bev was here.” I whispered. I lit the fireplace in the living room, cocooned myself in an old blanket and laid down on Bev’s dusty couch. My tears eventually dried and I thought of happy thoughts before finally drifting off to sleep.