Letters from North

I pulled up in front of the old Victorian at 5:16. I sat in my car, staring up at the daunting house, and once again, I questioned why I ended up here of all places. The round, stained glass window in the attic was broken, I could see it from here. I watched the swarm of pigeons land on the broken shingles lining the roof. The place had fallen into disrepair during the seven years it was empty.

Tall, dark trees filled with lush foliage crowded the house, leaning into the walls, branches pressing against windows. The backdoor couldn’t even be opened because the shrubs guarding the back porch and overgrown so much. I made a mental note to get some gardening shears next time I went shopping. I’d have to clean the place up if I wanted it to work...

If I wanted it to work.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose until the wave of guilt, sadness, and frustration subsided. Back in Georgia, waited my ex-wife and daughter. We’d divorced only a month ago, and I was in such a hurry to get out of there and get somewhere sunny to clear my head that I hadn’t looked at the pictures on the listing, nor had I really read the description. I’d seen the price was shockingly low for the area and contacted the realtor immediately.

I wasn’t sure if I regretted it yet, or not.

Finally, I climbed out, donning my key ring, I took my dear sweet time climbing the crippled, squeaking steps to my front door.

Where the pressing trees ended on either side of my yard, two neighboring houses resided. Both tidy and neat, any branches that had crossed the barrier of the fence had been mercilessly chopped off.

Unlocking the door, I stepped into the foyer, and it felt like taking a step back in time. The whole first floor was painted a peaceful pastel brown, matched with oak wood floors and white tiles. Both of which had been caked in dust when I dropped my suitcases here one week ago.

I hadn’t made much progress moving in. I’d only bought a second-hand mattress the night I arrived, throwing it down in the living room since I lacked the assistance and motivation to drag it upstairs to one of the bedrooms. All I’d done since arriving was brew coffee, eat, read, and write more drafts on my laptop. Maybe the divorce had just siphoned any creative juices I’d had, because I couldn’t write anything I enjoyed, didn’t feel like buying decorations or furniture, and I hadn’t even begun searching for a job to pay for all the upcoming expenses. Maybe I’d just dug my own grave.

I dropped the keys onto the counter, and went to the fridge to make a sandwich, already thinking ahead to writing a bit, then going to bed early. My scrambled thoughts were distrupted when there was a light knock.

I looked up, peering around the corner of the kitchen at the front door. I wasn’t sure if it was a knock or not, until I saw the shifting shadow in front of the distorted glass.

Wiping my hands quickly, I headed to the door and yanked it open just as the visitor was about to knock again.

“Huh? Hello?”

“Oh! Hello!”

It was an older lady dressed in white slacks and a yellow blouse. Already I could tell she was the neighborhood gossip girl.

In her hands was a tray covered in tinfoil. She quickly recovered from her shock to put on a convincing, welcoming smile.

“Hello!” She greeted again, making me even more uncomfortable. “I’m Marta. You just moved in, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m Thomas Parker.” I extended my hand and shook hers. “Uh, would you like to come in?” I asked awkwardly. There wasn’t much to look at inside besides my sad collection of dusty furniture, but it felt better to offer it than to be rude.

“Oh no! I won’t trouble you. I just wanted to drop these off and say welcome.” She shoved the tray into my arms. “This house has been vacant for a good long while.” She mused, taking a small step backward to get a better look at the upper floors. “Oh yes, I remember that girl used to sit up there by that window, and wave at everyone she saw.” She got a dreamy, fond smile before snapping back into reality. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, it was nice to meet you, Thomas.”

“Likewise... Hey, do you know much about the family that lived here?” I blurted out, curiosity catching my tongue.

She paused, looking surprised that I’d asked. She took a moment to tuck a short strand of greying gold-blonde hair behind her ear. “I did. We were close before they moved. Something of tragedy drove them away.” She frowned. “It’s really not my place to delve into. But it all revolved around that girl.” She nodded towards the upper window.

My eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Was her name North?”

Shock widened her eyes. She gathered herself before shuttering briefly, “Yes. Yes, that was her name. How did you know?”

“Uh... I just found some things.” I murmured, feeling weird that I’d asked at all. “Thanks for these, though.” I nodded towards the tray in my arms. She beamed, already over the topic. “Of course! Feel free to drop by anytime, we’re the house right over there.”

She pointed at the short yellow house to the left of mine. It wasn’t Victorian, it was modern design, like the other houses on the block. It made me wonder why it was the only one like that. Before I could ask, Marta was already waddling enthusiastically down my driveway.

I sighed as I closed the door, pressing my back against the wood. If anything, I now had more questions in my head than before. I had been rooting to get a current address from the previous owners to ship them their stuff... But now I was left with a strange feeling in my stomach and a question residing in my head: Who was North?



The sun had just finished setting and I was already in bed. Brushed teeth, pajama pants on and feeling in a lazy mood, I curled up against my pillows, which were pressed against the dust-coated, brown-painted drywall. I just lied there, looking around the empty room. The only other things in the massive living room was my suitcases, an antique stationary desk under a dirty sheet in the corner, and the coil of black wire that was my laptop charging cable.

Then my phone rang.

I was about fed up with all the curious people today, but I snatched my phone off the wood floor beside the mattress and put it to my ear before reading caller ID.

“Daddy!” A little girl’s voice came from the receiver.

“Lilly?” I wondered in confusion, pulling the phone away from my ear to check the time. It’d be a half hour later there.

“Mommy said that if I called you I had to go to bed.”

I frowned, realizing I’d just been used as motivation to get our youngest daughter to sleep. “I didn’t want to sleep yet, Daddy. I didn’t get to tell you goodnight.” I could hear the pout in her tone, and it wrenched my heart into iron knots.

“Oh...” I paused, sitting up in bed, squeezing my eyes shut briefly to rid them of exhaustion, “What’s up, sweetie?”

“Nuthin, really.” There was a long pause, followed by a voice in the background I assumed to be Emily.

“Lilly.” I addressed my daughter to get her attention, but she didn’t respond. “Lilly, are you there?” I repeated.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Can I talk to your sister?”

There was another long pause, but in the background, I could hear heated, venomous words. Finally Lilly responded.

“She says she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Lilly murmured back. I heard an explicative.

“Oh.” Was all I could muster up in response. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m okay. Where are you?”

“Florida.” I clarified with a small nod she couldn’t see. “I have this big old house, it looks like it’s from a fairytale. You’d love it.”

“Can I come see it?” She asked unexpectedly, and I regretted saying anything.

“Maybe not right now... But soon, hopefully. Me and your Mother still need to work out some things.”

“You mean the custoady?” She asked curiously, pronouncing the term wrong. I laughed softly, slowly beginning to miss these conversations more and more.

“Yes, Honey. The custoady.” I smiled into the receiver, pinching my eyes shut to keep the tired tears of regret from forming.

“Oh... Okay.”

There was silence, and I welcomed it, taking the silent seven seconds to gather myself before speaking again. “How’s school?”

“Mommy says I have to go.” Lilly replied sadly. “Can I call you again tomorrow?”

“Of course, Honey. Anytime.”

“Okay... I love you.”

“I love you more.” I choked out as my throat tightened and my chest ached with grief. I collected myself, taking a deep breath to keep my voice from cracking.

“Good night, Daddy.”

“Good night, Lilly.” I replied. The line went dead not long after.

Still, I cradled the beeping dial tone to my ear like a light in the dark while I sorted through my scrambled mind. I really didn’t know what I planned to find out here. I don’t know why I chose to move so far away instead of staying closer to my kids. I don’t know what I wanted more... A new start, or to be far away.

I went to bed restless, unable to really get into a peaceful sleep without waking up every two hours, to toss and turn again. The stress made my stomach turn and my head hurt. After a few more hours of it, when I approached five AM, I finally just got up.

I didn’t waste much time getting dressed, grabbing my wallet and car keys, and I headed to the 24 Walmart in Jacksonville. A fifteen-minute drive from my house.

I was one of the few people in the store at this hour, save for a few shady looking men near the restrooms. I first went to the vacuum aisle, and picked out a decent, cheap model. Then I got some cleaning supplies such as trash bags, a broom, washcloths, soap, buckets, sponges and anything else I could use to clean up both the house and the storage unit.

After I’d gotten all that stuff, it was six in the morning, the sun just beginning to rise, and a few more people in the store to get a jumpstart on the day.

I probably looked pretty ragged, wandering around with a cart of cleaning supplies while my face was a week overdue for a shaving, and my hair was tussled like a madman. It was when I passed the full body mirrors in the decoration department did I get a good look at myself, deciding not to neglect my appearance and get some things to actually care for myself.

New clothes, new razor blades, soap, shampoo, the works. There was still a lot left that I needed to buy, but I was already running low on funds. I made a stop in the food department, only getting the necessities before heading to the checkout.

I felt relieved that no one looked at me or gawked. They had no reason to, when most of the people wandering around the store at this hour looked just like me or worse.

I’d probably head to the storage unit before going home to start clearing out more of the boxes, as well as cleaning. I’d just put the boxes in the foyer or something until I could contact the owners to either come get it or tell me where to take it.

I loaded everything into the back of my car, and then headed over the the storage park. It was harder to navigate in the dim light, since the place was like a maze, but after a few more minutes of wrong turns and explictives, I found the right one, isolated on the end of the third row.

It almost looked daunting in the dark, even though it was just a square, windowless concrete box with a garage door attached to the front.

Unlocking it the same as yesterday, I hefted the door up over my head, the lights of early dawn illuminating the stash of boxes. It was bright enough now to actually read them.

I grabbed one of the bigger, untitled ones and pulled it out from the wall. Behind it was a whole collum of short, small boxes stacked on one another, labeled #1, #2, #3, and #4.

Ignoring them, I reached for the box above it, but it was heavier than I anticipated. It fell from my grasp, catching the other boxes, tumbling down onto the dirty concrete with a crash. The box I’d been reaching for split open, spitting a heap of moth-eaten cloth out.

I hesitated, before crouching beside the box, lifting the article of fabric up into the light and shaking it out, surprised to find it was a shirt. A band shirt.

The logo was faded from behind heavily worn, and the fabric was creased in every direction from being carelessly tossed into the box. Resting the logo over my hands, I was able to make out the sloppy red screenprint of a typewriter font reading My Chemical Romance.

Confusion grasped me then. I thought that the woman Marta spoke of was the wife... Had Marta said it was a daughter? I mean, this could easily be an adult shirt, too, I guess.

I reached for the flaps of the box, tugging against them to turn the box right side up. I looked inside, pulling out a few more items.

A blanket that beared the logo of a bloody couple mid-kiss, a sweatshirt with the same image, seven more shirts with varying logos, a scarf, two vinyls of albums called Danger Days and Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. Nothing extremely noteworthy other than whoever owned this was obsessive.

I put everything back, and turned to push it back against the wall when my sneaker caught something on the floor. Looking down, I realized it was a journal.

I wasn't normally a nosy person, but I was curious. Who leaves all this stuff behind? It all looked like it meant a great deal to someone at one time or another.