“Would somebody please tell Aunt Tillie she’s dead!” Mother blurted out breaking the silence of our ordinarily droll morning meet up over weak tea and buttered toast. “I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in over a week, and frankly, I just don’t know how much more I can bear!”
Without looking away from his morning Post, Father muttered, “Well, she is your sister. I believe that places the burden of truth squarely upon your shoulders.” To which mother groaned loudly in response, causing Father to add, “After all, you’re the only one she seems currently intent on making miserable.”
“Not so.” I voiced rather meekly, my mouth half hidden behind a nervous hand. Father’s morning Post crackled as he lowered it cautiously, just enough to rest his bespectacled eyes directly above the morning market headlines. They widened as he looked from me, to mother, then back at me again.
“Mother didn’t know. I never told anyone. The night she passed, I heard what sounded like someone crying in the attic. I was frightened, but I steeled myself, took a deep breath, put my hand on the doorknob and unlocked the door. When the door opened I felt a presence.”
“As it passed me in the doorway, a small voice whispered something about a gopher or maybe a mole and father’s inner thigh? Oh! I don’t know! It all happened so fast.” Mother’s eyes narrowed. Father ducked quickly behind his Post. And Auntie Tillie? She was never heard from again.
This piece written in 50 word increments is my response to the literary quote provided on this week’s 50 Word Thursday. The quote was, “I took a deep breath, put my hand on the doorknob and unlocked the door.” – Christiana Miller – Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She’s Dead.