Pumpkin Pie 13, Sea Salt 10: The House
Title: The House
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Pumpkin pie 13 (full moon), sea salt 10 (ice), chopped nuts (Genius Loci AU), cherry (genius loci, also secret genre), malt (gandolforf's Thanksgiving black olives stuffed with cream cheese prompt 16: Casa Blanca), gummy bunnies (darkfaerieclaw's prompt on this meme: In-a-Genius Loci!AU), fresh pineapple (Islands, the XX).
Word Count: 1339
Rating: PG.
Summary: The house always knew things first.
The house knew first.
The house always knew things first.
It woke Olivia with a little shiver of the floorboards under her bed. She blinked herself awake, and swung her feet out of bed, put them flat on the warm wood.
"What is it?" she asked, softly.
The house shivered again, and then the window swung open with an inviting little creak. She got up, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then padded to the window and leaned on the sill, looking out.
Cold air caressed her face, patting against her cheeks and weaving through her hair like affectionate fingers. The land outside lay bleached of all color, stripped to deep black and bone-white by the full moon and the night. Olivia turned her face to the moon for a moment, the soft light shrouding her face, before she looked out across the striped land undulating under sky.
There was someone walking, towards the house. Her lips parted. Someone... coming, Someone new?
She hadn't seen someone new in years.
Olivia touched the windowsill in thanks for the warning, running her hand over the splintery wood without fear. The house loved her; no matter how worn the boards, no matter how many times she touched them, she never got splinters, and she never would. She shut the window on the cold air, turned away, and went to her closet, pulling at the door.
It remained stubbornly shut.
She frowned, and said, "I need my clothes. I can't meet a stranger in my nightgown."
The house was unmoved, and so was the door.
She gave up after a few fruitless tugs-- the house never changed its mind-- and secured her blanket more comfortably around her shoulders. At least it would keep whoever it was from seeing through her thin cotton nightgown.
Someone new. Someone new! She hadn't seen anyone since she was sixteen, since she hadn't been able to take it anymore. Since she'd found the house.
It had been another night like this, dark and still, bone-white moonlight striping the ground. She'd wandered under the trees, dappled light and shade sliding over her face. She'd been hungry, and tired, and frightened and lost, wanting nothing more than to go home, knowing all the while that home was gone, that home would never be again. Then she'd looked up and there was the house, light shining at its windows, warm and welcoming. She'd gone in and there was food on the table, tea in the kettle. She'd fallen asleep on the freshly-made bed, feeling safe for the first time in years.
Now it had been four years, four years of food in the pantry and books in the library when she wanted them, stacks of sheet music that changed every time she rifled through them, a piano always in tune. The sharp-edged memories, the fresh wounds in her mind had been dulled and healed by time, time and the house; it got so she couldn't remember her mother's face anymore. She'd been happy. Lonely, but happy.
Now someone was coming.
It could be anyone. A friend, like all the friends she thought she might have had once. Someone who would hug her when she was sad and laugh with her when she was happy. The house was wonderful and caring, but it didn't have arms and it didn't have a voice, not really. She missed those little parts of being human.
The hallway was silent, the floorboards like silk under her bare feet. The house warmed them for her, usually, but tonight every step she took away from her room made the floor colder and colder. She got as far as the landing before the footsteps echoed up to her.
She hesitated the stairs, looking at the front door. The someone was coming up the steps, ancient wood creaking and groaning; the house never did that when she climbed those steps. She should have known from the cold floorboards, really; whoever was outside, the house did not want them there.
Maybe she should trust it. It took care of her, after all, protected her from the people who called her lazy and stupid and crazy. It knew what was best. Maybe she should hide. After all, it could be a criminal, a robber or a rapist, someone who would beat her and hurt her and kill her. It could be someone like her mother, who would mock her, laugh at her, pick her confidence to shaky little pieces. She should just go back to bed and let the house protect her.
The someone rapped on the door-- she froze, a deer in the headlights, panic locking her muscles. What if... what if...
The floor warmed beneath her bare feet, tenderly. The someone called out, in a warm tenor, "Hello? Is anyone there?"
And deep in her mind a memory stirred.
Don't worry, Sunny. I'll take care of you. Don't worry.
"Hello?" the someone called again.
Olivia breathed in, and out, and descended the last few steps.
The moment her feet touched the first floor, the wood went icy beneath her toes, but she had made her decision and the house could not stop her. Besides, it loved her. It would protect her if this was a mistake, but she didn't think it was. She laid her free hand on the doorknob, inhaled again for courage, and pulled open the front door.
It opened easily, the first thing that had.
It was a boy.
He was taller than her, even hunched over from the cold, his arms wrapped around his chest and the tips of his ears red in the moonlight. He smiled down at her as she stared wide-eyed back, and said, "Hi. Sorry to wake you, but I saw your house and I'm kind of lost. Do you know the way back to town?"
Olivia shook her head, hypnotized.
"Oh." He frowned. "All right, then. I don't suppose you have a... a barn, or a shed or something? It's just that it's really cold and I don't think I should be out here in this." He held out an arm, covered in a thin flannel jacket. "I wouldn't ask otherwise."
The house was the house was the house. Anything not the house was the land, and the land didn't love her, the land wouldn't protect her. Olivia shook her head again.
His frown got deeper, and she might have been afraid, but he wasn't frowning at her, he was frowning at something in the distance, at the worry of it all. Someone else had frowned like that once, then hugged her and told her everything would be all right.
She wished she could remember who.
"Oh," the boy said again, sounding troubled. "All right. I...hate to ask this, but do you maybe have a spare bedroom I could use, or someplace I could sleep? Even the floor. I swear I won't bother you at all and I'll be gone as soon as the sun comes up." He held a hand up, two fingers pressed together, two folded against his palm, his thumb over them. "Scout's honor."
The house only had one bedroom, hers, but it did have a couple of couches and loveseats she liked to relax on when she was reading. Surely it wouldn't mind him staying just the night.
Olivia nodded. The doorknob froze under her hand.
"Oh, thank goodness." His smile was back, wide and heart-clutching. "You're a life-saver. Possibly literally."
She hesitated, clutching the blanket together at her breast. There was something she should be doing...
"May I come in?" he asked, patiently, moonlight gilding his tousled curls.
She nodded, grateful for the prompt, and stepped backwards, running her hand across the doorframe. Her finger caught, pain stabbed, and she flinched, jumping away.
"What is it?" He took one quick step forward and hesitated, looking uncertain. "Are you all right?"
Olivia didn't answer, couldn't answer, didn’t even look at him; she was staring at her forefinger, and the splinter embedded in its pad.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Pumpkin pie 13 (full moon), sea salt 10 (ice), chopped nuts (Genius Loci AU), cherry (genius loci, also secret genre), malt (gandolforf's Thanksgiving black olives stuffed with cream cheese prompt 16: Casa Blanca), gummy bunnies (darkfaerieclaw's prompt on this meme: In-a-Genius Loci!AU), fresh pineapple (Islands, the XX).
Word Count: 1339
Rating: PG.
Summary: The house always knew things first.
The house knew first.
The house always knew things first.
It woke Olivia with a little shiver of the floorboards under her bed. She blinked herself awake, and swung her feet out of bed, put them flat on the warm wood.
"What is it?" she asked, softly.
The house shivered again, and then the window swung open with an inviting little creak. She got up, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then padded to the window and leaned on the sill, looking out.
Cold air caressed her face, patting against her cheeks and weaving through her hair like affectionate fingers. The land outside lay bleached of all color, stripped to deep black and bone-white by the full moon and the night. Olivia turned her face to the moon for a moment, the soft light shrouding her face, before she looked out across the striped land undulating under sky.
There was someone walking, towards the house. Her lips parted. Someone... coming, Someone new?
She hadn't seen someone new in years.
Olivia touched the windowsill in thanks for the warning, running her hand over the splintery wood without fear. The house loved her; no matter how worn the boards, no matter how many times she touched them, she never got splinters, and she never would. She shut the window on the cold air, turned away, and went to her closet, pulling at the door.
It remained stubbornly shut.
She frowned, and said, "I need my clothes. I can't meet a stranger in my nightgown."
The house was unmoved, and so was the door.
She gave up after a few fruitless tugs-- the house never changed its mind-- and secured her blanket more comfortably around her shoulders. At least it would keep whoever it was from seeing through her thin cotton nightgown.
Someone new. Someone new! She hadn't seen anyone since she was sixteen, since she hadn't been able to take it anymore. Since she'd found the house.
It had been another night like this, dark and still, bone-white moonlight striping the ground. She'd wandered under the trees, dappled light and shade sliding over her face. She'd been hungry, and tired, and frightened and lost, wanting nothing more than to go home, knowing all the while that home was gone, that home would never be again. Then she'd looked up and there was the house, light shining at its windows, warm and welcoming. She'd gone in and there was food on the table, tea in the kettle. She'd fallen asleep on the freshly-made bed, feeling safe for the first time in years.
Now it had been four years, four years of food in the pantry and books in the library when she wanted them, stacks of sheet music that changed every time she rifled through them, a piano always in tune. The sharp-edged memories, the fresh wounds in her mind had been dulled and healed by time, time and the house; it got so she couldn't remember her mother's face anymore. She'd been happy. Lonely, but happy.
Now someone was coming.
It could be anyone. A friend, like all the friends she thought she might have had once. Someone who would hug her when she was sad and laugh with her when she was happy. The house was wonderful and caring, but it didn't have arms and it didn't have a voice, not really. She missed those little parts of being human.
The hallway was silent, the floorboards like silk under her bare feet. The house warmed them for her, usually, but tonight every step she took away from her room made the floor colder and colder. She got as far as the landing before the footsteps echoed up to her.
She hesitated the stairs, looking at the front door. The someone was coming up the steps, ancient wood creaking and groaning; the house never did that when she climbed those steps. She should have known from the cold floorboards, really; whoever was outside, the house did not want them there.
Maybe she should trust it. It took care of her, after all, protected her from the people who called her lazy and stupid and crazy. It knew what was best. Maybe she should hide. After all, it could be a criminal, a robber or a rapist, someone who would beat her and hurt her and kill her. It could be someone like her mother, who would mock her, laugh at her, pick her confidence to shaky little pieces. She should just go back to bed and let the house protect her.
The someone rapped on the door-- she froze, a deer in the headlights, panic locking her muscles. What if... what if...
The floor warmed beneath her bare feet, tenderly. The someone called out, in a warm tenor, "Hello? Is anyone there?"
And deep in her mind a memory stirred.
Don't worry, Sunny. I'll take care of you. Don't worry.
"Hello?" the someone called again.
Olivia breathed in, and out, and descended the last few steps.
The moment her feet touched the first floor, the wood went icy beneath her toes, but she had made her decision and the house could not stop her. Besides, it loved her. It would protect her if this was a mistake, but she didn't think it was. She laid her free hand on the doorknob, inhaled again for courage, and pulled open the front door.
It opened easily, the first thing that had.
It was a boy.
He was taller than her, even hunched over from the cold, his arms wrapped around his chest and the tips of his ears red in the moonlight. He smiled down at her as she stared wide-eyed back, and said, "Hi. Sorry to wake you, but I saw your house and I'm kind of lost. Do you know the way back to town?"
Olivia shook her head, hypnotized.
"Oh." He frowned. "All right, then. I don't suppose you have a... a barn, or a shed or something? It's just that it's really cold and I don't think I should be out here in this." He held out an arm, covered in a thin flannel jacket. "I wouldn't ask otherwise."
The house was the house was the house. Anything not the house was the land, and the land didn't love her, the land wouldn't protect her. Olivia shook her head again.
His frown got deeper, and she might have been afraid, but he wasn't frowning at her, he was frowning at something in the distance, at the worry of it all. Someone else had frowned like that once, then hugged her and told her everything would be all right.
She wished she could remember who.
"Oh," the boy said again, sounding troubled. "All right. I...hate to ask this, but do you maybe have a spare bedroom I could use, or someplace I could sleep? Even the floor. I swear I won't bother you at all and I'll be gone as soon as the sun comes up." He held a hand up, two fingers pressed together, two folded against his palm, his thumb over them. "Scout's honor."
The house only had one bedroom, hers, but it did have a couple of couches and loveseats she liked to relax on when she was reading. Surely it wouldn't mind him staying just the night.
Olivia nodded. The doorknob froze under her hand.
"Oh, thank goodness." His smile was back, wide and heart-clutching. "You're a life-saver. Possibly literally."
She hesitated, clutching the blanket together at her breast. There was something she should be doing...
"May I come in?" he asked, patiently, moonlight gilding his tousled curls.
She nodded, grateful for the prompt, and stepped backwards, running her hand across the doorframe. Her finger caught, pain stabbed, and she flinched, jumping away.
"What is it?" He took one quick step forward and hesitated, looking uncertain. "Are you all right?"
Olivia didn't answer, couldn't answer, didn’t even look at him; she was staring at her forefinger, and the splinter embedded in its pad.