Exhumed [Part 1]
I sorted through my late grandma's belongings and found something weird.
My grandma was an eclectic soul. The type of lady who was probably a raging hippy back in the day. But she never spoke much about her youth.
She hated being in front of a camera. I cherish the photos I have of her, as few as they are. Some of them are from her early adult years, back when she’d travel the world well before it was normal and acceptable for a young woman to do that by herself.
Even with those few photos, it’s hard to imagine her as anything besides Gram—cotton ball hair sticking out every which way, extra thick tortoiseshell glasses perched precariously on her nose, more smile lines than an old tree stump has rings.
I loved Gram in a way that hurt. She put a roof over my head when I had nothing else. She drove me to my AA meetings and would wait in the parking lot for me. We binge-watched every episode of Bridgerton together. She didn’t judge me, even when there was so much of me I thought was unsavory.
Now, her tortoiseshell glasses sat dully on my nightstand, just a few doors down from Gram’s empty room. Their delicate chain draped sullenly beside them. It was Peruvian, constructed with little ceramic beads, hand-painted vibrant colors and patterns. It was a little souvenir she picked up from a small market during her most recent trip to South America.
That was the last time she traveled.
She treasured this little beaded chain the way she treasured all of her trinkets from overseas and across continents, but this was one of the only tokens she didn’t keep locked away.
The house was emptier without Gram—devoid of any spirit, like someone ran a vacuum along the carpet, walls and furniture.
Nothing about the house had changed since she died but the whole place felt smaller nonetheless. Quieter, more somber. Even Hermes was irrevocably changed. In the month since Gram died, the old tabby cat barely moved from his person’s sunken spot in the recliner. And I understand, I couldn’t bring myself to leave my own bed until today.
Gram’s estate lawyer had been calling me for weeks, pestering me to sort through any items I didn’t want so they could be passed along. I’m not sure what motivated me to finally pick up and agree to start going through her belongings, but it feels like a buzzing in the back of my ears that’s slowly intensified over the past few days. A beckoning.
Maybe it’s Gram trying to tell me something.
This morning, I picked up Hermes and rolled him into my arms—belly side-up, just how he likes it—and brought him down to the basement with me. It was a dank, unfinished space, only naturally lit by two recess windows clogged with fossilized leaves. I took in the room before me, and all the plastic bins and cardboard boxes stacked wall-to-wall, and sank onto the bottom stairstep. Hermes sat faithfully on my right foot and gave his paw a lick.
“I know, Hermes,” I murmured, absentmindedly stroking his velvety brown ear. We had a lot of work to do.
The center of my chest cracked wide open at the sight of all my Gram’s memories made tangible. How could I begin to decide which were valuable enough to keep and which had to go? Realistically, I couldn’t keep everything even if I wanted to. And more than that, I needed the funds. Gram’s house was paid for, and she left it to me, but I still didn’t have a job or any other source of income to help keep myself afloat. A lot of Gram’s odds and ends were valuable and would fetch a fair price on online marketplaces.
So, there I was, stuck on the bottom step, immobilized by loss. Hot tears pricked at the corner of my eyes at the idea of Gram watching me. She’d be so disappointed that the tokens of her life’s ambitions all bubbled down to extra cash in my wallet. I sat with my shame for a while.
But then a soft tail caressed my bare ankle, and Hermes rubbed his cheek against my shin. I know, Bug, he was saying. I had a strong suspicion that Hermes only knew me by my Gram’s nickname for me. He didn’t know me as Bea, because that was never my name in this household.
Hermes and I got to work sorting through each bin. I thought I’d feel more at ease as soon as we started, but that wasn’t the case. Box by box, the buzzing at the base of my skull got louder, more furious, until it reached a fever pitch.
When I pulled back the flaps of a small box in the corner and peered down at the singular object that had been sealed inside, the buzzing stopped.
Inside the box was a delicate golden bangle, tarnished with age. Light refracted from a lone emerald stone. I tilted the box ever so slightly, mesmerized by the gem and the way it caught even just a sliver of light in the darkened room.
The bracelet shifted in its box, revealing a folded slip of paper underneath. I gently extracted the yellowing note, then set the box on the ground. My hands shook as I unfolded the slip and drank in the beautiful curling script inked before me.
It thirsts for more.
Note: This fictional multi-part story is currently being edited for the subreddit /nosleep.