The Vanishing House

Benton's story wasn't entirely enlightening. a multitude of questions bubbled in my brain. How did the house move? Why Fairfax, of all places? And, most puzzling... Why me?

Benton spoke of a magic in me. What such magic? My entire life I never possessed any special talents. I couldn't boast of singular, hidden wonders that I discovered. And though I could bake a wicked pastry, there was no such "magic" to be found within me. What was magic to me, anyway? What could it possibly do for me, other than rid my town of all of Benton's haunting history?

And his story was another thing entirely. How was I to decipher some fantastic truth, some profound solution from his tragic tale? If he, who had been on his own for seven years - which was plenty of time to figure things out for himself - wasn't able to help himself, what use could I be? The only conclusions I created from his story were the obvious ones: Benton's entire life was a doomed nightmare, and this Hedva woman was unimaginably cruel.

And it was on that note that inspiration struck me. Hedva. Surely this was all about Hedva. If she had placed a curse on him, naturally she would be able to take it away. If Benton could only find Hedva. It would be two birds with one stone - his curse could be lifted, and while journeying to find her, he would leave Fairfax.

"Hedva!" I cried. "That has to be it. You must find Hedva! You could find her, bargain with her, get her to lift this curse!"

"Nell," he began with an innumerable amount of caution. "That is the woman who ruined me life. That is the woman who essentially murdered my family. That is the woman who single-handedly made my life hell. Why would a woman of such uninhibited cruelty be willing to revoke this curse? Can you even imagine how many days I have spent dreaming of her death in a thousand torturous ways?"

His words sent a tremor through me. I was reminded once more that Benton was a very hurt, very troubled, very dark person, and it came flooding back to me that it was this exact thing, this exact, sinister darkness and mystery that jolted my people into their foolish cubbyholes of fear.

Despite the morose, grim attitude that Benton fell into so easily like a fitted coat, he was nowhere near an enigma. Just these two instances when I spoke with him revealed much more about his character than I think he would have liked or intended. I had it in my mind that he wanted to appear not only the master of the situation, but also something short of masculine. However, the fact was Benton was still very much a boy at the core of it. He looked not shy of nineteen or twenty, so he couldn't have been more than thirteen when his father passed. I suspected that he hadn't been able to grow up, whether due to the absence of his parents, the unmeasurable amount of misery he suffered, or his lonely curse, I didn't know.

And I still didn't know whether or not I could trust him. That was the worst part.

"I would love to help you," I said. "But I can't seem to think of anything else except to contact Hedva."

"You're just looking for an excuse to get me to leave Fairfax!" he accused.

"No, I'm not!" I was more than earnest with my proclamation. "Look, if I needed to come back here everyday for a hundred days and sit here with you to get you to leave, I would. I would do whatever it takes. I would even accompany you on a search for some foreign cure if it meant that someday I could return and you would no longer be here. I can't say anymore to persuade you to believe me. I feel like I don't have anything to prove. This whole Hedva idea was the first of what I'm sure will be... Many. Maybe. I don't know. Just... Well, I mean, you couldn't have expected this to be easy, all right? I'm not saying it's hopeless, but there's a possibility that this might... take awhile."

I could tell I hadn't said the right thing. He wanted to put so much blind faith in me, and it hurt him to hear the truth. The most horrifying truth I left unsaid, but I think he caught on: there was a chance that I wouldn't be able to help at all.

I tried to rationalize the situation so I wouldn't feel so terrible. He had spent years of his life dedicated to to disappearing. He had seven years of loneliness to dissect his situation from every possible angle. If there were no breakthroughs then, what difference would I make?

I looked to the worn armchair in the corner of the house. It was indented and creased. Almost hollow, like it was just a mold or a cast, discarded. Whispers and memories of another life were all that was left in the sad house. Ghosts of humanity, haunting a different life. The weight of all the artifacts hit me. The cracked teacups in the cupboard above the blue-tiled kitchen. The bumps and bruises and stains on the table. The notch on the post at the bottom of the staircase. These weren't signs of aging. These were bits and pieces of a life left shattered.

It was then that I realized my value to Benton. I was a new set of eyes. Others would look at the armchair and see a comfortable piece of furniture. I saw it as a chair that would hold a man, one who was large and proud of his family. Goodness only knew how Benton saw it, but it didn't really matter. I was something new, something fresh. I was the only one who had actually been trusted enough to enter the house, to provide the one thing that he felt no one else was qualified for: perspective. I wasn't sure how my point of view was any different from the next person's, but if there was value in me, value that could allow me to help Benton and expel his wretched house, then I would use every bit of my sorry brain to help him. I would lose sleep over this. I knew that much. I would become absorbed in ideas and theories, but it didn't matter. Before, I was just scared and anxious. Now, I was determined. I had purpose, one that I could see clearly, one that I genuinely felt I could achieve.

I looked up at Benton. I'm sure he could see the force in my eyes. It was the force of hurricanes, the force of thunderstorms. The force of a strong-willed human being.

"I'm going to help you, Benton," I said. "I was angry a second ago, and I apologize. But I realize that I can help you. In some way. In whatever way. I will help you. I will not be a waste."

We engaged in a staring contest, eyes locked, some sort of understanding passing from me to him and back again. It was a long time before Benton leaned back in his chair, the whining noise of weight meeting wood the only audible sound in the entire house.

"So, this search for Hedva," Benton began. "When does it start?"