The Mourners

The house stands like a ghost over the small town of Morsend, an ever watchful strict grandfather, making sure no one steps out of line and disappoints him.

Ellis House had been in possession of the Plutarch family since one ancestor married the only daughter of the Ellis family, inheriting the house after the untimely death of the last remaining Ellis. It had been bigger and grander before 1820, when a fire forced the Plutarch family to rebuilt it in a more modern style, smaller too, just enough to fit a family and not much else. Black wood, looking more like charred planks than the actual color of the wood, met dark bricks, overly dirty where they should have been pale. The shape of it belonging to a haunted house, not a house where one would raise a family, instead it looked like one where an entire family would be murdered in mysterious circumstances, maybe a satanic ritual or a cannibalistic serial killer.

Moira Plutarch had never set foot in Morsend. Her dad had become estranged from her grandparents long before he had even met her mother. Because of this, neither Moira nor her brother Charon had met their grandparents.

And they would never do, since their spontaneous trip to Morsend was the result of their grandfather dying and their grandmother's nurse wanting a vacation for Christmas. Their grandmother was not…really present, her dementia had been worsened after a stroke and now she was mostly asleep and didn't almost react to outside input.

Her father had been quiet since they had gotten in the car and hadn't spoken a word since then. The trip from Georgia to Massachusetts was not short and, while Moira had it easier sitting quietly in one place, she knew Charon had suffered the entire trip over.

The house itself is an antique, very different from the other houses downtown, it set itself apart not only in location—since it was atop a hill overlooking the town and the sea—but also in style, victorian and bigger than most houses in Morsend, that, from the drive around town, looked to be pretty modern in comparison.

While Moira stared up at her new home for the winter holidays, her father had already entered the house dragging his suitcase behind him and Charon, that had been the first one to enter the house, was coming out again to get his violin's case.

"What are you standing there for?" Asks Charon, the salty breeze trying to undo his already vaguely holding on hairbun—it had been also trying to make a mess of Moira's braid, but it had only managed to free some small hairs on her hairline.

Moira just frowns at the imposing victorian house, with its dark color and dying front yard, it all looks dead or dying and she is still thinking about her grandfather—the black dress had been the first thing to pack, just so she wouldn't forget it—about how he had died in this house, and in the basement too, and that made her think about how many people had died in this house over the years, all members of her family.

Moira don't answer at first, more preoccupied with frowning at the imposing house, with its dark colors and dying front yard. Her mind wanders to her grandfather, how he had died in the house, a heart attack right in the basement, his body found by the nurse, and that made her think about how old Ellis House was, and how many people must have died over the years, all members of her family in some way or another.

"Do you think it's haunted?" Asks Moira, her voice just barely over a whisper.

"This old thing? Of course it is" chuckles Charon with glinting eyes and a sharp smirk that reminds Moira of a cat "Do you know how old it is? People die all the time and a lot of people have lived here, of course a ghost or two haunt this shithole"

Moira glares and shifts in place, turning her anger and fear towards the yellow grass under her feet. Her shoes are perfectly polished and shine back her own glower.

"Don't be an ass" growls Moira, trying to sound threatening even as her mouth turns unwillingly into a pout "What kind of big brother are you? You should tell me that ghosts don't exist"

"What kind of brother would I be if I lied to you, Mo?" Chuckles Charon, head tilted in mockery. With a loud barking laugh, goes back inside with his violin's case in hand, leaving Moira alone again.

The possibility of ghosts was not the only thing that worried her. Moira had read on dementia on the way over—the trip had given her plenty of time to study what they would have to deal with—and was frankly terrified of what awaited her inside.

Ginevra Plutarch, known as Ginny, had suffered a stroke less than a year ago and, since then, her dementia had gotten much worse, unable to speak properly and barely recognizing people, Moira had heard also, from a phone conversation between the nurse and her father, of her terrible habit of screaming at night.

It scared her, but also made her pity her ailing grandmother, it was not her fault and she was probably more scared of her own situation than Moira could ever be of her. It made her feel guilty, being scared of her own grandmother, someone she had never met and, judging by her current state of mind, never would, at least, not properly.

With a loud sigh almost imperceptible thanks to the loud wind coming from the cliff side, Moira starts walking forward, her shoes making a loud clacking noise as she stepped on the stone path leading to the front deck. The creaking of the wooden steps made her fear breaking them, but they held her weight as she finally stood in front of the main door to the house.

The inside of the house was darker than the cloudy evening outside Ellis House. A wide hall with some arches that, to the right, directed her to a clean kitchen and to the left a living room. The walls were covered in a brownish wallpaper that must have been a gaudy gold color in the past, dark wooden floors and an aging chandelier gave almost no light at all, making Moira squint at everything.

The floor creaks under her feet as she enters the living room, a fireplace, a sofa and a couple of armchairs are the only furniture inside, that and bookshelves serving as walls, full of books that looked older than Moira. Portraits of strangers with sour faces stare back at her as she exits the living room back into the hallway and immediately enters the kitchen.

This room is much more modern, with a fridge and stove clearly new and clean counters colored in a nice mint green, a small table in the corner of it and a door to the side, a door she suspects must direct to the basement.

In the kitchen stands his father, talking in murmurs over the phone as he stares out of the window to the front porch. Moira waves at him and he forces a smile before turning his whole face into a frown as he listens to whatever he is being told over the phone.

Returning to the main hallway, the finds a staircase to the upper floor, a few more doors and another archway that takes her to a dining room. The room itself is more spacious than the living room, with enough space not only to house a grand dinning table but also a loveseat under a window, more bookshelves and a chess set that looks as valuable as it is old.

This room is even more decorated with portraits and paintings of huntings scenes. The portraits themselves are similar to the ones in the living room, with the small detail of having the bottom of them slightly darkened, like they had been burnt. The ones that interest her the most are two in particular, one of a pair of fraternal twins—dark haired and dark eyed, both looking too serious, the woman with a complex hairdo, a yellow dress and a gold moth necklace, and the man with an eyepatch and holding a curious looking dagger that is split down the middle of the blade, looking more like a sharpened tuning fork than a knife.

The other painting is that on an old man, not that old since his hair is still mostly black, but the surprising thing about him is how much the man looks like Moira's dad. An ancestor clearly.

The rest of the rooms in the first floor are a small bathroom, a study with an enormous wooden desk and, finally, a bedroom. Moira barely glances inside the bedroom, noticing almost complete darkness inside and the figure sleeping in the hospital-like bed as her grandmother. She closes the door carefully and decides she needs to explore the second floor next and find her bedroom for the duration of their stay.

The staircase creaks as much as the rest of the house and its walls are also covered in more art, she keeps going, the sound of music coming from upstairs calling her like a moth to flame. The upper floor of the house first greets her with a wide space where all the doors to the rooms are located. The first is a bathroom, a fancy bathtub being the one thing she notices first about it, next its the room where the music is coming from.

The door is wide open and Moira enters, immediately finding her older brother sitting on the floor and looking through a book instead of unpacking his suitcase. The room he had decided to get for himself was surprisingly small, clearly it hadn't always been a guest room. The bed was narrow and the bookshelves covering every wall made the room seem claustrophobic, books seemly everywhere, including the floor at the end of the bed, where towering piles of book where starting to look like the tower of Pisa.

"Whoa" gasps Moira instead of a normal greeting, making his brother let out a soft squeak and turn around, not bothering to stand up.

"Jesus Mo! Don't scare me like that!" He huffs with a glare as he turns again and returns to the book he had been looking through—a big one, with a broken spine and yellowed pages, print so small Moira would probably need a magnifying glass to be able to read anything—Moira sticks out her tongue at him, even if he couldn't see it, he would feel it, it was a brotherly instinct.

"I see you're making yourself at home" says Moira, crossing her arms and looking around without fully entering the room, remaining at the threshold where she could see everything better. The room was made just for one person in mind, it already looked too crowded with Charon inside, the piles of books didn't help either.

"Yep" answers Charon, enthralled in whatever he's reading "Yours is next to mine, we'll have to share the bathroom, dad's room has an in-suite"

Moira gags in disgust, already expecting it but still disappointed. Back at their home, she had her own bathroom, small but hers. She could only hope for the best, but knowing her brother, the bathroom counter would be disgustingly cluttered and the toilet lid up before she would shower later that night.

She was a sixteen year old girl and she dreaded even sharing a wall with her older brother back home—he had been lucky, or not depending on how you view it, and, since his university was close to their house, he could still live at home while studying, Moira had hoped he would move out and finally be free of sharing a house with him, but not such thing had come to pass—and now she had to share a wall and a bathroom, clearly luck wasn't on her side.

"I'm thinking of walking to the town later, dad looked at the fridge and since is mostly empty he said we could get take out for dinner" says Charon, finally looking at Moira with a smirk "They don't deliver so we have to go get it, dad will order it before we leave so we just need to pick it up and pay"

"Yes!" Exclaims Moira, suddenly excited at the prospect of not eating anything her father cooked, he loved to experiment and his children often ended up being the guinea pigs for whatever he decided to make.

"You can come if you want, but we'll have to walk, dad doesn't want us to take the car" chuckles Charon as he returns his attention to the book "be downstairs in twenty or I'll leave without you"

"Great!" Says Moira, maybe they'll have time to explore a bit of the town while they wait for their food.

With that said, Moira walks to the room next to Charon's and, while his looked like an afterthought, Moira's is clearly a guest room, a proper queen sized bed, a closet, bedside tables and even a dresser, all very vintage but well taken care of. She wonders for a second of a reason for Charon to pick the smallest bedroom instead of this one, but then remembers his interest in the antique books covering his room and discards the thought. He was obviously putting his entertainment over his comfort.

Moira returns to the car to get her suitcase leaves it besides her bed with the intention of unpacking before going to bed and then finishes exploring the upper floor, finding her dad's bedroom but not entering beyond the threshold and a small room next to it with a grand piano and a wide window similar to the one in the living room.

Before she knows it, twenty minutes have passed and she goes downstairs to find Charon already waiting for her in the foyer.

"Let's go, dad already ordered to a Chinese restaurant downtown" smiles Charon as he starts walking out the door and into the cold evening. Moira frowns, less excited about the trip now that she knows where they are going. She has never been a fan of Chinese restaurants, and less in such a small town as Morsend, the dishes are probably not the ones she would find at the place they usually went to back home, a more traditional and authentic place, one that reminded her of the dishes her mother cooked for them before she died.

"Come on!" Shouts Charon as skips ahead, a bright smile on his face "Lets check this place out, tomorrow we'll be stuck inside all day, we have to take this chance to explore!"

Tomorrow?…ah, yes…the funeral is tomorrow.