Free The Memento by Christy Ann Conlin Page B

harmless but it was disturbing for youngsters. It wasn’t healthy. Estelle had her way, even though she was a nurse who was supposed to have compassion. That’s how she had come to Petal’s End, working as a nurse in the Annex hospital.
    Loretta went into the house to get my cake. I never liked a birthday party and that was just as well considering we had almost no one to invite. I waited for her to come back out, fixing my gaze on a smattering of starlings collecting in the sky.
    We weren’t ever, ever supposed to go in the Annex. Even Grampie had told me never to set foot. That was on account of the one time we did go and the horror we found in the far room. When they closed the wing up after the sick soldiers stopped coming for the restorative country air, they locked the door and left it. They had no need for that much space and it was easy for the Parkers and everyone else to forget about it. Except for us kids, of course. Especially Jenny. And so that summer day came when Art and I went sneaking in the door. There was a painting of a landscape, all mists and blues, with a key hidden behind it, but we didn’t need that for the door was open a crack. That was what called us in. We crept down that long hall past all the cobwebs that were out of reach. There was a whirring sound, getting louder and louder as we went down. There was closed doors on either side of the hall and we opened them up one by one. The noise was coming from the last room, the patient salonthat had once been a spacious drawing room. The door was open. There was a sudden scream and then a piercing wail. We peeked in. The curtains were pulled and the light was dim. A fan whirred, circulating a horrific odour. Marigold was restraining Jenny and Charlie was swinging from the chandelier, his toes just grazing the floor. His face was purple.
    Photographs were spread out on a nearby table like a deck of cards, as though Charlie had been playing a game of solitaire or blackjack with ghosts, drinking wine from a crystal glass. We ran in thinking we could do something but there was nothing to do except cry. Marigold backed up, hauling Jenny with her, and she crashed into the table. Nothing shatters as spectacular as a quality crystal glass. I was silent, a dark horrible shudder crawling up my limbs. Then there was a parade of adults coming in and hauling us away, Estelle righting the table, picking up the larger pieces of glass and the mess on the floor, screeching as though she had lost her senses, clasping all of those photos like they was the most important thing in the world, barely noticing the children.
    When I was a small child we’d tell ghost stories on the beach by the bonfire. I knew many from my mother, from the fishermen in the village. We’d tell stories of the pirates who’d roamed the bay, the pirate who’d left the beheaded sailor behind over on the island. We didn’t share as many ghost stories after Charlie died. Estelle wanted to tear the Annex off the house but Marigold refused. It seemed odd that she wanted to keep such an awful memory alive in there, but eventually I understood that she wanted Estelle to remember, never to move on. The door stayed locked, the Annex shut up, locking in its memories and ghosts. It was the place we was not to go, the long dusty wing, the last place Charlie Parker ever saw.
    I sat at the table, transfixed by the Annex. What if Charlie was in there waiting for me to come see him? I couldn’t ask Loretta about that. There was only one time later that anyone ever spoke of the Annex. Marigold had come into the kitchen to discuss themenu for a dinner party with very important people. Estelle come in behind her. Loretta turned to the cupboard and I just kept washing the dishes. They were fighting over the Annex. The argument went as it always did between them two no matter what they were quarrelling over, with Marigold’s voice ice-thin and Estelle blowing and thundering. She started hollering that