No Sense Of Time

I walk through the old wooden door of the old neglected house. I take a few steps into the dusty old living area. The floor boards creak under my feet. I look around the room. It is cluttered with so many things. My mind has a hard time processing the information.

To one side of the room, a large round dining table is covered with stacks of old looking books. There are so many books on the table that it is difficult to see the table. In front of the table are two chairs also covered with stacks of books.

The curtains are all drawn and it is hard to see past the table with the books. The curtains are all heavy block-out curtains. Everything smells like dust and old paper.

To the other side of the room there are many black crates stacked on top of each other. Each marked with a white sticker and black handwritten labels.

I do not try to read the labels. I am tired and drained. The drive here was long and exhausting. It was burning hot during the day and I was already exhausted from the day before.

I turn around to look at Charlie. He is still standing on the creaky wooden porch outside the door. He looks sympathetic. I hate sympathy. It makes you feel like you have lost something.

"You will be okay here, Stella." Charlie shakes his head quickly. "Or should I start calling you Lubelle now?"

"I guess since you are the only person who knows where I am, you should call me by my new name." My voice sounds sad. I don't mean it to sound sad at all. Charlie will have a hard time leaving me here if he thought I was unhappy.

The change of name was necessary. I needed a clean start. Very clean. I couldn't risk being found ever. I had narrowly escaped almost marrying a serial killer. Charlie forged a new life for me. He got this old house of an old lady that recently passed away. She left the house to her son who refused to have anything to do with her. Charlie bought it for next to nothing.

The old lady had apparently been a hoarder. The labels on the crates tells me that she at least tried to be a neat hoarder, but she hoarded nonetheless.

Charlie takes two steps into the house to come to stand beside me. The floorboards protest his presence. He points to the far end of the room.

"I had an office set up for you over there. It has a nice computer with an untraceable internet connection. The neighbours said that the courier services know how to get here, so if you need anything you can order it online and have it delivered. I set up an account for you also. If you need to send anything they can come to pick it up too." Charlie smiles a sad smile.

This is what I asked for. I wanted to live as a recluse. I was tired of running and hiding. I wanted a place far from anything I know and from anyone who may know me. I wanted a new life with a new name and a new story. I wanted to be a new somebody nobody knew.

"That sounds perfect. Thank you." I look at Charlie again. This may be the last time I will see this dear friend of mine for a very long time. "Thank you for everything you have done for me."

"Only a pleasure. I am sorry I have to leave so soon." Charlie looks around the ground floor of the house and shakes his head. There are so many heaps of things everywhere. It looks like a maze from one side of the room to the other. There are neat little pathways going from one room to the other.

"It looks like I will have enough to keep me busy." I tell Charlie as my eyes roam over the same clutter Charlie is looking at. The difference is though, Charlie sees clutter. I see someone's life interests. Treasures. Stories.

Charlie gives me a quick hug and turns to go back to his car. He will need to get back to the city before anyone notice that he is not where he usually is. He did me a huge favour to help me get here today.

I watch as Charlie leaves. I thought I would feel a great sadness to be left alone like this but I am just too tired to feel anything. I turn back into the house and close the wooden door behind me. I start to make my way through the little pathways towards the stairs. I am only guessing that the bedrooms should be upstairs. Every step I take in the house can be heard by the creaking of the floorboards. At first, I thought this would irritate me a lot but then I decided that it would be a great way of hearing if anyone ever entered the house.

The downside, of course, would be if nobody was there but the boards creak. I push the thought from my mind. The house only looks very old. It doesn't mean that there are ghosts here making the boards creak when you try to sleep.

I take the steps to the first floor slowly. The wooden steps are covered with a thick red carpet. It muffles the creaking of the stairs somewhat. I wonder how long ago the old lady died. Judging from the amount of dust in the house it must have been more than a year ago.

When I reach the landing of the first floor, I am surprised to see that the top floor of the house has a different feel to the ground floor. The curtains in front of the windows are all opened. There is more natural light coming in from outside. The landing at the top of the stairs walks into a long broad hallway. From where I am standing, I can see that there are three doors in the hallway leading to bedrooms and one leading to a bathroom. Those are the only doors leading from the hallway.

Half of the floor space in the hallway is stacked with neat heaps of books or boxes. I take the small pathway to the furthest bedroom. The doors are open. I look into the bedroom, a bit disappointed that there is no bed in the room. There is a large desk and a chair. On the desk are more stacks of books. These books look different though. They are all leather bound. The floor is covered with more stacked boxes and plastic containers.

I walk to the second open door. There is a small iron framed bed inside the room. The bed is set in the far corner. There is no bedding on the bed. The mattress is covered with a white sheet like most of the other furniture in the house. As in all the other rooms of the house most of the floor space is occupied by stacks of books, boxes or plastic crates. There are narrow neat pathways leading to or from other rooms or places. In this room the narrow pathway leads either to the bed, the window or the cupboard. I follow the pathway to the cupboard. The cupboard is stacked with neat plastic boxes from the floor to about halfway to the top. The second half of the cupboard is filled with things hanging from the rail. It is difficult to see what they are since they are all covered with plastic bags.

The other half of the cupboard is shelves. They are neatly stacked with bags you would usually fill with bedding and then vacuum so it would take up less space in your closet. I pull out one of the bags. I open the zip side of the bag and it draws in air. The contents of the bag swell out and I pull it out of the bag. It is a comforter and a pillow. I move to the bed and gently pull the dusty sheet off the bed and let it crumple in a little heap at the foot of the bed. I cover the mattress with a matching sheet I found in the bag and throw the comforter over the bed. I toss the pillow onto the bed and crawl after it.

I cannot believe how tired I am. I also cannot believe how good it feels to crawl onto this bed. I hug the pillow and make myself comfortable on the bed. I drift off almost as soon as I close my eyes.

The last thoughts that go through my mind is how much work is in this house. I will not be able to keep all these things. I will need to send it somewhere. I don't think I will get bored too soon after moving in here. There is really a lot of things that need sorting.