Original Story - Enticing Memories

Cottage house 1900s (Public Domain Pictures)

Jill stepped out of the alleyway onto an empty street, not expecting to find anything of interest as the map simply indicated it to be a dead-end street. The only reason she’d darted down the short alley was to get away from the sudden influx of people that had descended onto the market square.

She removed her sunglasses as welcome clouds floated by to block the sun. Removing her wide-brimmed hat to fan herself, she looked down the street at the buildings on either side. They weren’t boarded up as was usually the case, but bricked up instead, making it hard to tell if they’d been shops or homes.

There was no one else there, not even a stray dog of which this town had plenty. She wondered how long this area had been devoid of life. While every street here had some historical significance, she figured this one had none as it wasn’t mentioned in any of the tour pamphlets. Making a mental note to ask the hotel staff about it, she turned to leave. And only then saw it.

An old-fashioned white house, flanked by a couple of sizable leafy trees, sat on an expanse of land at the far end of the street. It wasn’t like any house Jill had seen except in photos. Unlike the other buildings, it wasn’t bricked up.

She glanced to her right where the traffic of people and vehicles was still visible at the other end of the alley. Pursing her lips, she tapped the face of her watch. She and her friends had gone their own ways after breakfast to explore as each of them had different interests. They’d agreed a time to meet for lunch at what had become their favourite restaurant in the tourist town. She pondered if she’d still make it to the restaurant in time if she had a closer look at the house. Then curiosity won.

Trying not to look at the bricked-up buildings which gave her the shivers, she hurried to the end of the street. It only then occurred to her how quiet it was. She could no longer hear the drone of cars or chatter of the crowd, neither could she hear any birds. Slowing down, the hairs on the back of her neck rising, she was about to run back the way she’d come. Instead, she chided herself for being a scaredy-cat and continued to the house.

With its front steps leading up to the raised porch, it reminded Jill of the houses in the Antebellum South, a style she was sure didn’t belong on a Greek island. Long grass tickled her sandal-clad toes as she decided to, first, have a peek in the front window, a quick look around the back then leave without disturbing the inhabitants… she hoped.

Jill stuffed her hat in her bag as she placed her foot on the first step.

The front door opened.

Startled, Jill quickly stepped off, immediately apologising as she backed away.

The woman on the threshold was dressed in a simple gown that fell straight from her shoulders to her bare feet. Her silver-gold hair hung down past her waist. Jill had never seen anyone so beautiful; in fact, her beauty made it hard to look at her for too long.

She interrupted Jill’s apology. “Would you like to come inside?”

“Oh.” Jill had not been expecting an invitation. “I’d love–I mean, that would be nice, but I don’t want to intrude.”

The woman’s pleasant expression didn’t change. She stepped aside. “It’s no bother. If you really wish to come inside, that is.”

Unable to believe her luck, Jill hurried up the stairs, absently wondering if the woman was local for her spoken English was very good with no accent that Jill could detect.

Just past the threshold, Jill stood transfixed, her eyes stretched wide. “How can… I don’t understand. It’s not possible.”

“Is something the matter?” The woman, now next to her, didn’t sound at all perturbed.

“This, this looks just like Gramps and Nana’s place.”

Her grandparents’ home in the country had been Jill’s most favourite place for as long as she could remember. From a young age, it had been the best playground ever. Then, as she ‘d grown older, it had become her refuge whenever she’d needed comforting, and a place to hide from the world even as an adult. But that was in the past for the house had been sold after the deaths of both her grandparents.

Jill’s breath caught and she closed her eyes. Apart from the usual fleeting thoughts people had of family, she hadn’t really thought of her grandparents in, too long it seemed, but her memories of them were some of her most precious. They were such good people, always welcoming. They never judged anyone, and always gave her space to work out her upsets.

She turned to the woman and whispered, “How can this be?”

But the woman simply smiled.

As if in a dream, Jill moved slowly towards the dark wood stairs and laid her hand on the smooth round finial on the railing. It was solid, which meant it was real. But how could the interior of this house look the same as that of her grandparents’ home? It wasn’t even in the same country. A small voice in her head tried to suggest leaving, but Jill squashed it down, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Heedless of the woman, Jill made her way up the stairs. And exclaimed. Nana’s sunflower patchwork wall hanging decorated the wall. Her face crumpled in confusion as she fingered the faded brown patch near the bottom corner on the right. The exact spot where Gramps had accidentally left an oil smear.

The door to the first bedroom was slightly ajar. Swallowing hard, she pushed it open. Green and cream walls, wooden furniture, green and cream patchwork quilt on the solid wood bed. An exact replica of her grandparents’ bedroom.

Jill remained in the doorway then marched to the wardrobe and pulled the doors open. A cry of disbelief leapt from her. Nana’s dresses on the left and Gramps suits on the right. Struggling to comprehend what her senses told her to be true, she stumbled from the room.

Standing in the hallway, her thudding heartbeat echoing in her ears, Jill stared at the door to the room at the end. That small logical voice in her head again tried to convince her to leave, that it was surely time to meet her friends, but she shook her head.

As she stepped into the small room at the end of the hallway, tears blurred her vision. A white room with a sunshine yellow rug on the floor, to match the cream and sunshine yellow patchwork quilt on the bed. Her room. Her grandparents had wanted their only grandchild to feel at home in their house, so had set up a bedroom she could call her own, filled with her own things. Jill clasped her hands to her chest as she tried and failed to stop her tears.

Making her slow way back downstairs, she wandered over to the two easy chairs positioned either side of the window. By Nana’s chair was her sewing box, the one Gramps had made for her with the lift-up lid, filled with many-coloured threads and wool, and different sized needles. And there was Gramps’ gold-rimmed spectacles on the small table next to a copy of one of his favourite westerns, the cover showing a cowboy on a rearing horse.

Jill exclaimed softly. “That smell…” She hurried towards the kitchen. And stopped, hands over her mouth.

The comfortingly familiar red and yellow tablecloth covering the solid wooden table; the glass jug decorated with fruits and filled with lemonade; the matching glasses around them; the white plates edged with bees and blossoms. And piled up on the largest plate, cinnamon cookies.

There was no mistaking it. Nana’s cinnamon cookies. Jill favourite comfort food, the ones Nana could whip up in no time at all. Each time Jill visited, Nana always sent her on her way with a tub full of cinnamon cookies, which was supposed to last her a few days but never survived the journey home.

Standing over the cookies, Jill closed her eyes as she breathed in the heavenly aroma of buttery cinnamon. Her hand hovered over the plate.

“Do you wish to eat them?”

Surprised, Jill straightened. She’d forgotten about the woman who now stood just inside the kitchen. “It’s a dream,” said Jill, staring at her. “I’ve fallen asleep somewhere and I’m dreaming. Nothing else makes sense.”

The woman said nothing, only continued to smile.

Stepping away from the table, fiddling with her watch but still staring at the cookies, Jill said, “I should go. The others, they’ll probably be at the restaurant already, wondering where I am. Yes. Yes, I’d better go.”

Inclining her head, the woman began to walk away. “As you wish.”

But Jill remained by the kitchen table, the tantalising smell of the cookies enough of a hook. To taste Nana’s cookies one more time was too great a temptation. “Just one,” she whispered.

She bit into it. Her eyes slid shut as her mouth filled with the taste of cinnamon laced with butter. A flood of memories washed over her as the years seemed to roll away…

Gramps pushing child-Jill on the swing tied to the tree as she screamed to go higher; playing hide-and-seek with Nana as she hung white sheets on the line; cuddling on Nana’s lap in tears after another scolding from her mother…

Teenage-Jill trying to teach Gramps the latest dance moves but laughing more than dancing; regaling them with stories from college; sobbing at the kitchen table after breaking up with the boyfriend she’d thought was ‘the one’ as Nana took freshly baked cookies out of the oven…

Jill was vaguely aware of the woman standing beside her.

“Excellent”, said the woman softly, her smile widening.

Jill nodded as she bit into another cookie, for they certainly were excellent.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 A young couple stepped into the empty street with the bricked-up buildings and looked around.

“See?” said the man. “Told you there was nothing here. Satisfied?”

“No harm in having a quick look,” she replied.

“You sound like my mum,” he said then laughed as she scrunched up her face and punched him lightly on the arm. “Come on.” He took her by the hand and led her back to the busy street.

She glanced once more down the empty street. No, nothing to see here at all, apart from creepy, bricked-up buildings and an empty expanse of bare land at the far end.