1 Chapter 1: Welcome to the estate

Welcome to the estate

It is impossible to be outside today, the heat is roaring and the dirt is wiggling with searing temperatures, my feet will not have it! I've been living in this habitable oven of a house baking like a brownie. Too bad the chillers have been smoked and unable to function since last night's thunderstorm. I sweated like an ice pack in summer. Bessie had to fan me all night to keep me from sweating and groaning in ick of my sweat. She didn't last very long though, said she couldn't wave her arm for much longer, so she opened the window and hoped it would invite the three-morning breeze. After that, she went back to her quarters shortly after, to catch her share of rest. Poor Bessie, I hope Mr. Reed pays her enough for this. She didn't age this far to do more work, it's unfair! Bessie set the breakfast table up: dusted the muck off, cleaned the doilies, and placed all the dinnerware. Mr. Reed and I sit on opposite ends. It is hard to have conversations when you're both at difficult positions like this. Our voices never reach the other end at an audible volume. It always fizzles back to air. Poor Bessie always has trouble attending to us, she always has to walk a mile to pass the salt!

I quickly eat up all of Bessie's delicious oatmeal. She always serves mine at the right temperature, she knows I get impatient and try to slowly lick off the hotness. It was a tiny intervention, and a birthday wish from Mr. Reed said that I would never do that again. Not on his table, it was a distasteful sight, he said. I tried to resist the impulse, but I never really got full control over it. Bessie had her own solution. Yes, she was smart for doing so. Oh, what would I do without Bessie? I would go insane! I quickly walked myself to the bench under the oak tree in the yard. It is my favorite reading spot. There's good lighting, and cool shade to fight off the summer prickly heat. I sat on the cold stone that caught my bottom's heat. They say hard sitting surfaces are good for the back. I would like my back to age very well, not like my horse riding instructor's slouchy stance. The breeze is hot like breath, I feel my skin tickled by the beads of warm water walking on my skin, the humid day isn't going to turn these into ghosts anytime soon. All I feel is external discomfort, like walking with shoes filled with baked beans and tomato sauce. Every day I dream of passing those gates – see the outside but I am scarcely encouraged to do so. My step-father used to tell me all kinds of tales of wendigos, beasts with antlers that tower like trees, eyes sunken that glow watching for children that wander off into the woods, and teeth as sharp as a dagger that will cut through bone like a hot knife through butter. He said that each child it captured made it stronger and faster. Now I wouldn't like some wendigo to gain that much power. Other children might suffer more if I get captured! I sometimes dread that it's only a matter of time before a wendigo tramples those gates and claims my poor young life – I must see the world first! Oh, sweet life, I've grown so old, it would be such a waste to flush my nine years down the drain, and to think I'd turn a decade in five months.

There are nights when that's all I think about, the slimy mouth essence dripping from its stalactite teeth ready to chomp off a piece of my flesh, and it would savor each moment of my suffering under its sadistic cackle. I would imagine it grasping my torso right after it gets a taste of my young soul, then it brings me into the forest and eats me piece by piece as I breathe the rest of my life out. I would run to Bessie during these fearful nights, and she'd tell me it is all a telltale to scare me. I always ask her if I could sleep on a bedroll beside her, she wouldn't mind. I always find myself back in my bedroom in the morning, it slightly doubts me if it were all a dream, but Bessie always tells me otherwise at the breakfast table. It isn't so bad here, the house feels like a town from the stories I've read; the yard's a country.

I don't see anything beyond those tall firs, not the horizons I've seen in the picture books Bessie tells me to sleep. Even if I climbed up the attic five stories up, the alps still contest the fir and the estate's peak. I'm quite glad though the sun's still the champion of all towering things. There never seems to be anything that can cover it, except the roof of my house, no matter which floor I'm on. I guess you shouldn't really argue height with the sun.

Later on, I took my horse riding lessons with my instructor, Paul. He took his Volkswagen Beetle here, a classic in contrast to my stepfather's Tesla (which never wakes me in the morning). He always parks his beetle in the driveway, always under the shade of a large oak tree. He says he doesn't appreciate it when the car heats like an oven in the sun.

We do horse riding drills for two hours before we take them a couple of laps around the yard. An hour before noon, Bessie prepares steamed broccoli for me. I wasn't always fond of this vegetable, but Bessie tricked me once, making me believe it was tree candy.

She always eats lunch with Paul in different quarters, they like it near the stables, where they say home smells mostly similar. I sometimes come for them to ask Bessie for extra cookies, but they always lock the barn. I don't dare barge in, possibly interrupting them in their own time. It's all the time they both have every day after all. Perhaps I should think of urging Paul to give up a few more minutes of lessons for their own time. I worry it's only a matter of time before Bessie calls it quits and leaves the estate. I don't know what I'd do without her.

I sometimes eavesdrop, sticking my ear at the big door, but that thing keeps sound out as well as oil keeps itself away from water. All I hear are murmurs, I guess they like talking privately about personal things. Sometimes though, I hear nothing. I wouldn't stay long to wait for the next cue of sound, I would much prefer proceeding to my daily reading instead. Every week Mr. Reed brings home a crate of books from town and places them in the library. The shelves are half-filled with books sorted with the Dewey Decimal System. It's taken nearly a century to collect that amount.

It is noon and Paul's lessons are over. The rest of the afternoon is mine. Bessie's eyes and mind are finally on me. Today I decided to dismiss her, and she agrees but she doesn't go too far from my view.

She likes watching over me, making sure I don't wander off just about anywhere. When I was six I always scared her when I'd play surprise hide and seek with her. She was especially infuriated that one time when the game went on for about an hour, she crawled in every tight space, getting scratches from the rose patches and vines in the garden, and mud from the stables and pens. The game went on until evening. At this point I wasn't even playing anymore, I was turning afraid of the scolding I'd take when she found me. I would make little giggles because I worry she'd think I wasn't even on the premises of the estate. It made her cheeks redder. Mr. Reed was home an hour later. My giggles of amusement gradually turned to pants of fear. Bessie was about to have a breakdown, and Mr. Miller now joined in the hunt. That's right it wasn't seeking anymore. I was prey now. Even my step-father was boiling in temper. The giggles stopped and all they heard was a nearby shouting of fear and peril waning in volume as I ran farther from them. I was now afraid of them and the dark. It was nearly dinner time, and they'd decided to stop searching and just wait for me indoors. Fifteen minutes later, I followed. Porridge was ready at the table, and Mr. Miller was fast asleep in his recliner while Bessie turned in for the night. I could hear her snoring from the corridors. I must have really siphoned all their energy. Count me in as well. That was more screaming than I'd do in a whole year. I grew out of the playing phase and turned to books. So we're back here.

I picked up a book from the shelves about animals in the woods. Wonderful creatures: foxes, raccoons, squirrels, deer, and all the rest. I spend the whole afternoon shredding page to page, following dinner, then bedtime.

Tonight my head is clear, I did not need Bessie's company, and I am brave enough to open the windows to escape the summer heat. Good night.