The Vanishing House

"This is so stupid," I mumbled to myself, leaning out the window. It wasn't near noon, so maybe that was why nothing miraculous had happened to the little stone alley beneath my room. Still, I couldn't help but hope that there would be something. A flash, a sparkle, anything.

I sighed, disappointed, before getting dressed and going down to the bakery. I let out my mixed emotions in the form of pastries and rising rye bread. I felt so strange, like I was guilty for something. I didn't know what, although I guessed it was Benton. It was like Benton was a huge secret I had to bare, and just the mere knowledge of his existence made me feel like I was drowning. I could have told someone, I guess, but who was there to tell? Jerome? He would only get angry at me; his sense of wonder about these things was long ago skewed. I couldn't tell Denny or Tania; they would just want to go visit Benton. Anyone else would think I was mad.

I tried to keep thoughts about time away, but it was no use. It was like walking through molasses, or immobility on a humid summer day. Debates and questions raged in my head, all about Benton, of course. If I was rational, I wouldn't have trusted him. He was a foreign entity and it was safest to distrust him. And yet seeing him softened me. I had the impression that something malicious lived in The Vanishing House, not a shy, sheltered boy.

Although I had to keep coming back to the notion that it was all a facade. I wanted to be on my guard despite anything in me that told me he was harmless and, in a small way, rather pathetic. I was so used to employing impression to judge people. In Fairfax, impression was all one needed for a proper, accurate evaluation. But Benton wasn't from Fairfax. The Vanishing House was the first thing that had ever struck fear in us; it was the first thing to make us doubt and the first thing to make us try to forget.

I tore nervously at my lip until it cracked straight down the middle and blood leaked onto my tongue. I think that's what it had come down to: nervousness. I was nervous to continue my task, and I was nervous to judge Benton. I was nervous that I might ruin everything. I was nervous someone would find out about this escapade. I was so damn nervous. A cuckoo clock then sounded in the front of the bakery.

It was noon.

I rushed up to my bedroom and timidly peered out the window once more. Nothing had changed; gray cobble stone was the only thing in sight. I extended an arm outside and brushed my fingers through the air below my window. It felt strange - different, somehow. My forearm met a gentle breeze, but downwards, my fingertips felt like they were doused in ice. Benton had given me no good reasons to trust him, but I needed to show him some trust before he could inadvertently help me destroy The Vanishing House. So crawled out onto the windowsill and leaped.

I landed on the knotted wood floor of The Vanishing House so abruptly that I lost most of my balance and laid there, sprawled out in what was probably an unflattering fashion. I heard the thud of footsteps as Benton approached me to help me up. My immediate thought was to brush him away, but I could only stare at him lamely, surprised once more that this was all real.

"I'm sorry," Benton apologized. "That looked like it was hurtful."

"Uhm, yes," I replied after blinking. My eyes grew accustomed to the dim light while my limbs folded to the chair he had placed my in, and my nose met that dusty particles stirred up after my arrival.

We stared awkwardly at the spot I had just landed on. My neck grew hot with embarrassment and uncertainty. Benton was supposed to reveal his history today, and neither of us knew where to begin.

"Benton," I said, and he jumped a little, as if he was shocked to hear another human being addressing him. "Start your story. I... I need you to start your story."

I glanced at him, moving over his cheekbones to try and meet his eyes. He remained quiet, like he was deep in thought. Or maybe he was opening a closet to find the skeletons mixed in with the coats. Maybe he was calling out to ghosts. He met my gaze briefly before fixing his focus back to the floor and opening his mouth to begin.

"My father was Simon Aldebaran of Maday," he started. "His family was composed of poor fishermen, and he felt like he was doomed to live the same life. My father wasn't one for monotony, but he was an honest, humble man, and he wanted to please his family and continue on with the trade bestowed upon him without complaint. He was the middle child with two other brothers, as well as the most studious of the three. Although he dreamed of studying the lost vocabularies of Elders, he focused his time and energy on the coast since the day he turned thirteen.

"Maday was a town bordering Nivad, the capital city of the Western lands of the Borq Territory. Nivad is the meeting place of Council, where all the Statesmen meet biannually to do whatever the government does. The capital of Yulton Territory is Sehyr, a place on the outskirts of The Great Desert. From this capital came Statesman Taphir and his daughter Izdihar, who had never seen the ocean before. Statesman Taphir took her out to Maday to explore the coast. My father said he had never seen a girl so beautiful in his life.

"They met on accident, my mother and father. My father's glasses had fallen into the water right before he was to leave port with his brothers. He stumbled around blindly and knocked into a young woman about to depart to be out on the ocean for the first time. He apologized to her and she laughed at his humility before covering his eyes with her palm. She granted him temporary sight, only enough to get him through the day before buying new spectacles. Izdihar had a subtle magic to her, and if that wasn't enough in itself for my father to love her, it was her beauty. My mother is hard to describe because she was so beautiful. I wish I had words, or maybe better memories...

"But, uh, anyway. My mother and father met when they could. My mother loved my father, despite his modest profession, despite his modest wallet. At first, my father was very ashamed to be with someone like my mother, who was not only gorgeous, but also rich, with a powerful father. My father's greatest fear was Statesman Taphir. Eventually, as Izdihar grew more and more fond of my father and of Maday, Statesman Taphir grew suspicious. He took her to the coast less and less, until eventually he didn't take her at all. My mother was distraught, and she escaped her father's tyranny by running away to Maday, to my father. They married in secret and my father supported my mother as best he could with his small wages. Meanwhile, Statesman Taphir was scouring the country, looking for his lost daughter.

"My parents went into hiding, eventually. They lived peacefully together, and soon enough, we lived peacefully as a family. However, Statesman Taphir had discovered us. He didn't confront my mother and father directly. Instead, he took a large sum of money and went to Hedva the Wise, a terrible witch. He asked her to get his daughter back, and curse the man she married. Hedva took his money. But instead of doing what the Statesman asked, she ruined my life."

Benton stopped for a moment. I didn't press him. His life was like a fairytale, and I wasn't sure I believed it at first. But his grave look told me otherwise. The more I listened to the story, the more I realized how hard it was for Benton to control his emotions. I felt as though he had to have been trying considerably harder than I perceived, if only because his eyes hadn't sprung tears, although they looked like they were drowning.

"First," he continued, "Hedva removed my father's heart. My mother had to watch as he no longer loved her, or me. He lived life without purpose; only work. Then, Hedva placed a curse on me. This vanishing curse. I disappear, unwillingly so. Everything I touch disappears - that's why this house goes when I go. When I disappeared, my mother was so wrecked. Here she had a husband who couldn't love her anymore, and a son who seemed to be gone. She wept so much. I have more memories of her crying than of her smiling. When she was at her worst, Hedva took her and held her for ransom so that she might get more money out of the Statesman. But my mother killed herself before she allowed that to happen.

"As for my father, he died, too. He worked and worked and worked until he overworked and passed away. That was seven years ago. I've been alone since."

Benton lifted his head as though all his strength was behind the small gesture and sheepishly glanced over to me. Without knowing what better to do, I grabbed his limp hand, which tensed under my grasp. But I kept my skin to his skin, refusing to let go as a hot tear slithered down my knuckles.