Kim opened the door and smiled at the courier, before glancing down at the package. The first thing that caught her eye was the shape, then the tape, with the letters F R A G I L E written across it in red. It wasn’t the quail feed or book she was expecting. This was much larger, almost the length of her arm, and at least up to her knees in height.
Her first thought was that it must be a painting… but who would send her such a thing?
Carrying it through to the kitchen, she removed the outer brown paper packaging, unravelling it like cling film, to expose a burnished gold frame glittering in the spills of morning sunlight. The oil painting was of a lake scene, a finesse to the brush strokes that still made her catch her breath. She knew this painting well; it had hung in the hallway of her Great Auntie Di’s house.
Scrabbling around, she found an envelope along with a rusted key attached to the back of the frame.
Dear Kimberley,
Diana Munrose left this painting and the lake house property to you in her will.
The funeral is next Wednesday.
Best regards
Scott and Sons Solicitors.
Kim took a seat, her hand darting to her mouth at the news. Only the toot of a bus outside broke through the churning of her inner thoughts. She picked up the key and turned it over and over in her hand, the location of its counterpart a mystery. How ironic, a key to unlock her Great Aunt’s past, and now her own future.
Kim hadn’t seen Auntie Di or that side of the family for years, not since the feud, so she never expected to be left anything in the will.
Aged eight, she had stood in front of the painting and asked if it was a real place.
Auntie Di had smiled. ‘Yes dear, it is very real’.
‘I shall like to go sometime Auntie Di!’ A brazen confidence to her tone.
‘All in good time my dear!‘ She had chuckled, ‘Now let’s go and have some tea!’
It had been twenty years since that conversation, and after fresh baked scones and cream, Kim hadn’t given it another thought.
Now, as she got ready for work, it was the only thing on her mind.
The day before the funeral, Kim drove down to Somerset and checked into a B&B in an adjacent village. Early the next morning, she followed the solicitor’s directions to the Lake House. The entrance was almost hidden by a wall of wild hedging, swaths of blackberries peeking out, ripe for picking.
Kim ducked instinctively as she drove through the gap and down a bumpy track, grass and weeds poking through the cracked tarmac and potholes. Reducing her speed, her old car dipped and jarred along the uneven route, the suspension groaning in dispute. Mature oaks lined the track, a weave of branches knitted together by ivy to form a canopy. The foreboding darkness left her chest tight and adrenaline pulsing in her veins.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the tunnel of light ahead began to grow, until finally, the car burst out into a clearing, encapsulated by evergreen trees.
A ramshackle old wooden house stood at the far end, beside a beautiful lake, the water a deep blue of calm. From the air she imagined the property resembled a ring: the house as the gallery and the lake, the sapphire gemstone at the tip of the band of conifers.
Wooden steps led up to the front door and she reached inside her pocket to pull out the keys the solicitors had sent her. Once inside, she stepped carefully over the warped wooden floorboards towards the dusty windows, before unlatching the door out onto the decking. The view was breathtaking across the lake, a creeping morning mist evaporating as rays of sunlight sparkled across the water’s surface. In the distance, she could make out the Quantock hills, a haze of purple in the shade.
Taking a step forward, Kim gazed over the decking fence at a swan’s nest on the bank beside the reed bed. The lake house was higher than expected, so she followed the wooden steps on her left, down to a lower level; turning left again to face the building.
Deep underneath the decking beams was a small Medieval door. Its ornate metalwork hinges, like branches, projecting out from the stone wall in which it was encased.
She pulled out the rusted key from her pocket and slid it into the keyhole. Although stiff, the key turned with a nudge, and the door creaked open. A rush of pungent stale air escaped the room, lining her nasal and throat cavity. She coughed and covered her mouth to peer inside.
Kim’s eyes took a moment to readjust, but the darkness only lifted to a charcoal grey. Her body pulsed with excitement and intrigue as she ran back to the car to grab a torch.
This time, as she stepped inside, the air just smelt damp and earthy. The room was half the size of the lake house, diminishing in height as the bank steepened away from the lake. Wooden shelving units rested up against each wall, stacked high with glass containers. Many were full of unrecognisable contents, their labels now faded beyond recognition. Cobwebs had draped themselves across every corner, and moss grew in the cracks of the stones and mortar. Dappled light bled through a small window, now overrun by ivy protruding through the broken and dirt-smeared glass panes.
In the left corner was a small workbench, on which sat a large leather-bound book. Kim walked over and brush off a layer of dust. As she turned the pages, her eyes lit up in awe.
Her Great Aunt had been a witch!
Copyright © 2019 Lottie McKnight. All rights reserved.
Inspired by my writing group – prompt was ‘receiving a surprise package’