A Home

Moon

The unseasonable chill of the late afternoon pieced my cloths and bit down to the bone like the wind one feels when dreaming of open graves as the silhouette of the lodge appeared against the glowing orange tints of the western sky.

The wind scattered dried leaves before it in swills and eddies against the building I once knew as home, leaving rustling little piles in the corners. Was it so long ago I had built it with the help of the union and Mr Z, whose skill and attention to details had been invaluable to the more unique aspects of the construction

The negotiation with the town officials for the lot had cost a sum that almost ruined me, yet in time it would become home to myself and an open door for my friends to visit me any time. A door should always be open, never locked.

I pulled my cloak tighter against me as I approached. The door was still open, swinging lightly with the passing zephyrs. It was a miracle any of it was still standing. The clapboard was weathered and the roof missing tiles. Grimy windows were framed by hanging shutters which gave the impression of movement behind the dirty glass and led the imagination to wonder if it was alarmed squirrels heading for cover or something else stepping back out of sight. Pealing mortar and the hints of the smell of mold added to the notion that the lodge looked like a violated corpse, with limbs twisted and broken, laying amidst the ruins of a fall afternoon.

I took a deep breath as I entered the narrows of the hall, past the once familiar coat rack, as if guided into the open spaciousness of the main room. I had always wanted it to be a warm and inviting place with accommodations for many. My mind’s eye could still see my friends sitting by the great round table, carefully planning their next ventures while dreaming of the loot they hoped to find there. I turned towards the circle designed for casual evening chats and sharing stories. Moldy pillows still strewn about the floor surrounded the now cold kettle so often used for whatever brew the druid Lector put together. A soft giggle escaped me as I remembered his specialty, the mushroom brew that didn’t leave anyone of us entirely sober. Or Eragor the half orc, whose manners would have shocked anyone, hiding that the enormous brute had a big warm heart that beat for his friends well being and safety.

As I stood in the center of the room, the dark shadows crept in the corners, telling me night was falling outside. My eyes were failing me as I slowly moved in the rapidly growing darkness. Leaves on the floor swirled about my feet, covering the head of the bear rug I almost fell over. I leaned down and touched it. Surprisingly it was well kept compared to wear and tear of the house whose door had been left open for anyone to use over the years that had past since my last visit.

I needed more light… I softly whispered “inlumino” and my veins tingled as a rush of magic in my blood surged forth to light the lodge. The spell found the crooked wax candles teetering in tarnished candlesticks. The light felt suddenly harsh like it was disturbing a long forgotten memorial. Perhaps it didn’t make it better, I pondered, as the shadows drew life to dance on the walls… At least I could move around more easily without bumping into things that seemed to have forgotten their rightful place. I slowly walked towards the study, pulling gently on the light and delicately forged ornate gate. It creaked open, voicing it‘s objection to my presumed intrusion. Straight ahead of me lay my leather bound book, open for all to see my experiences and knowledge. To the right of the cauldron, further in, sat a desk burdened with shelves filled with all my herbs and useable trinkets, strangely, all untouched as if it were yesterday. Perhaps the study was awaiting my presence somehow. How could it have known? My thoughts turned to the master bedroom, the only room in the whole house that was locked. …and for good reasons.