I woke up before my alarm went off. I lay there on the couch listening to the silence around me. I watched the second hand tick by slowly on the clock above the fireplace. My heart seemed to beat in time with it. I finally got up and walked to the door of my room, where I stood, hands clasped in front of me. I stepped caustiously into the room, and got the clothes that I would need for the day. I grabbed a pair of tan capris, a white polo and my brown flip flops. I took my shower, and put on my makeup and fixed my brown hair up into a simple pony tail.

I arrived at the address on the letter as scheduled. I pulled up in front of a huge colonial style house. The windows on the front looked larger than life itself. It was a beautiful home, with a rose garden to the left side of the house. I stepped out of my car, and walked up the stone pathway to the door. I was about to knock, when the door opened, and a small child was there in a little blue dress with the blondest hair I had ever seen. Her brown eyes were the color of milk chocolate. She reached out her hand, and said, “You must be Miss Callie. My Daddy is expecting you, let me take you to his office.” She promptly took my hand and lead me through an open foyer, then to the left, down a hallway with wood floors. We came to an oak door with a lion’s head engraved in the door. She knocked once, then opened the door. It opened onto a large office, with Oak furniture everywhere you looked. The desk, the shelves, and the high backed chairs. It was quite intimidating. Behind the desk, sat a man in his late forties, red hair and blue eyes, the young girl must favor her mother. He stood as we entered.

“Thank you Katalina, I appreciate all your help.” He reached over and patted her on the head. Katalina bopped out of the room, throwing a wave over her shoulder. He looked over at me then. “Callie, you are as beautiful as ever. I am Kegan, an associate of your parents.” He reached his hand out to shake hers. She took his hand, it was soft and smooth, not a callous on them.

“Thank you sir. I am not really sure why I am here. I thought that the will had already been taken care of.” He motioned her to a chair.

“Well, Callie, the will of your parents has been taken care of. The Will of the House, is quite another matter.” Callie looked at him a bit puzzled.

“The will of the house, I don’t understand what you mean.” She shook her head and looked at him inquiringly.

“Let me begin by telling you that the house you live in, is not just any house. It is a house built of patience and love. That alone makes it special. That is where the,” and he put his fingers up and made a quoting gesture, “‘will’ of the house comes in.”

He sat down behind the desk, and pulled a book out from a drawer. It was brown and tattered, and looked as if it could fall apart at any moment. He set it on the desk with a loud thump, and opened it to the front page. There written in blue ink was an entry dated August 12, 1978:

“This house is our house. It is in the soul possession of Candice Martin, Christopher Martin, and the soon to be Callie Martin. This house was built with blood, sweat and tears. Every ounce of love that we could muster was put into every nail, piece of wood, wiring, shingle, sheet rock, and tile. With the writing of this vow, we do hereby decree that only the blood of our own should live under the roof and within the walls of this house. Our children’s children will keep it strong, and standing, until the end of time.”

I looked up from reading the page. I smiled at Kegan. “Sir, I believe that they spelled sole wrong. When speaking of a possession it should be spelled s-o-l-e not s-o-u-l.” He looked up at me and shook his head.

“No, my dear, I believe it is spelled quite correctly. The house you live in was built from the blood, sweat, tears and soul that your parents put into it. That is why your room set itself aright last night. It doesn’t want harm to come to any part of it. That is why we must talk. Callie, you have a lot to absorb. Maybe you would like to have something to drink?”

I sat in the high backed oak chair and looked at the man in front of me in awe. What in the nine levels of hell was he talking about?

(to be continued)