She felt like a duchess who had been whisked away into some kind of wonderland. Her mind was about to drift into a day dream of how she wanted to set her stuff up in her new tiny, but spacious apartment. The young lady, paced back and forth her best to figure out what she would do with the remainder of her other stuff: donate some (not all) of her books to a local library; host a grand tea party in which she would even try to sale some of her great grandmother’s rare precious gems (but then again those might be better kept for her and her siblings to auction off at the most highest price for all the siblings to retire early). The sudden sound of an alarm brought her out of her reverie. Where was it coming from? It was only the beginning of her vacation, and she usually never set an alarm when she was on a break. Well, it was not quite the holiday season, yet…she just had been granted some time off from work..and now she had moved into a new place. The beeping noise kept going on, and on, and then it stopped. But then the sound of seagulls could be heard. Either it was a few of the locals children pulling off a prank, or the place was haunted? The young lady prayed, and hoped it was not the latter. She sighed, and decided to investigate where all the noises were coming from. She paced back, and forth around her new home. Everything seemed to all check out. Nothing was out of the ordinary, well nothing except there was something that made he stop in her tracks out of nowhere. She heard the sound of someone knocking. When she dashed to check the front door. Nothing. There was no one there. Then she heard the knock again. This time it almost sounded like someone, or something was trying to kick its way into her home. The young miss felt like she was losing her mind. She decided to check throughout the house once more.

“Can she not hear us knocking?”

“Do you think that maybe she could be hard of hearing?”

“Come on now, Chad. Let’s wait. It is her first day in the house, after all.”

Her nose now felt itchy. As soon as she was about to reach toward the edge of it, she spotted a heavy wooden door somewhere along the corridor. She raised her eyebrow. That door had not been there when she first checked for the peculiar sounds.

The young laskwa was caught off guard. She ambled closer, and closer toward the strange looking door. The powerful aroma of chai was coming through from the door. Not only the splendid aromas of tea, she could smell something else, too. She could not put her finger on exactly what that other thing was though.

She carefully reached for the door knob. The door began to slowly open before she could even place her hand on the knob to twist it. When she stepped through the door, it closed itself right as she stepped through it.

A pair of an odd looking beings stood before her with mischievous grins on their faces. They waved their hands at her before kicking the back of their heels in the air.

Before she could say hi back, they both chuckled. They began playing leap frog. Then leaped into the air past her in the direction of the wooden door. It opened itself up for the silly two peeps.

They rejoiced once they were in the corridor. The young lady gasped. She could not believe the two beings were in her home. She tried to run forward, but her legs were stuck in a pile of glue.

The peeps grinned, and transformed into what now looked like their new owner. She let out a scream at such a kind of odd sight. Here she had thought living by herself would be a ton of fun. But now she had a pair of of creatures that looked exactly like her that would take her life to do only God knows what. She looked in horror as the wooden door closed with a loud creak. The last thing she spotted was the sight of her doppelgängers waving at her from the corridor.

#CORVUS (All Rights Reserved) Lundi, 28th July, 2025.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=UleLq4cEvls

Over the 269 years since the home was built, it has undergone a number of “improvements” made by the previous owners. The roof went from wood shingles to slate to asphalt shingles to metal and back to asphalt shingles. Additions, including bathrooms and a laundry room, expanded the square footage. Appliances were installed, then replaced with more energy-efficient versions.

The plumbing, electric, insulation, doors and windows were constantly upgraded so the house met whatever the current (and later obsolete) code was at the time. Renovations were done in the name of comfort. The individuals paying the mortgage felt obligated to add personalized touches which, over the decades, slowly masked the original character of the house.

The final iteration ended with the home subdivided into a studio apartment occupying the upstairs and an efficiency in the basement. The main floor was now a common area shared by both tenants. There are rumblings that once the leases are up, the structure will be converted back into a single-family dwelling in an attempt to return it to its former glory and then listed as an Airbnb.

The charm the dwelling showcased when Ray Hewitt first built it for his growing family has dissipated as only a few of the original components are still intact. Undoubtedly, if Ray, his first wife and kids could see the home now, they wouldn’t recognize it.

So, I find myself, with the help of my brother, lugging a king-sized mattress up a flight of narrow steps while she follows with a box of linens. It’s moving day with my girlfriend. As we sweat and struggle with the bedding, I wonder if the Stearns and Foster will bend enough to make the turn to the left when we reach the top of the stairs. Her old apartment had wider halls and staircases. I rented on a first floor and didn’t have to worry about such logistics.

After almost a year, she decided we should “take our relationship to the next level” and live together. So far, it’s been a good union. We have a fair amount in common and for the most part can agree to disagree on the topics which cause friction. I guess we’ve both changed, matured if you will. Maybe me more than her but that’s because girls adapt and grow up quicker than guys.

Once all the labeled totes were staged in their designated rooms and my brother left, the process of unboxing began. I had sold my duplicates of any item from when we combined our property. This lightened the load and reduced clutter. As the kitchen was being organized, I found myself feeling nostalgic for my blender though. Hers is fancier but I was comfortable with mine. I use to make margaritas with it during college and transitioned it into whipping up smoothies before heading off to work. I’m sure once I get accustomed to it, hers will be more than adequate.

I was getting ready to tackle the bedroom projects when I noticed a half-door that had been painted shut in the far corner of the room. Taking a break from my primary goal, I decide to see if I could breach the coats of latex, or more likely lead, keeping the door affixed in place. Excitement builds as I chip away at the filled-in gap around the frame with the flathead screwdriver in my hand that I intended to use for tightening the bed frame bolts.

I methodically carve, removing each paint layer as the corresponding flecks fall onto the carpet below. Alternating between scoring around the perimeter and tugging on the low-profile handle, I feel the door flex. This progress gives me a renewed outlook on my decision to move. It rekindles feelings that the sacrifices I, we’ve, made will recoup great rewards. Much like life, the only way to find out what’s behind any door is to put forth the energy to open it.

There has got to be long forgotten treasures concealed by this hinged, wooden panel. Items once carefully sequestered then forgotten then overlooked and now rediscovered. Although the door was old, whatever’s behind it would be new to me. The anticipation reaches a fever pitch.

My girlfriend enters the room and notices me struggling with my side project. She approaches and asks, “What are you working on there? Do you need any help with the bed frame?”

“Nope, I’m good. Just trying to get this door open to see what’s in there,” I reply without breaking my cutting/pulling sequence. One last solid yank and the door releases, the edges still holding onto jagged layers of paint.

When our eyes adjust, we find ourselves staring at what appears to be an abandoned dumbwaiter shaft. A piece of plywood served as the floor while another was installed for a shelf. Both are covered with an accumulation of dust, cobwebs and pieces of plaster. The mummified remains of what appears to be either a large rat or a small squirrel is located towards the back.

“When you clean this out,” my girlfriend interjects, “it’ll make a great place to keep my photo albums and childhood knickknacks. Let me know when you get that done and I’ll bring you the box of that stuff,” she concludes as leaving.

This once serviceable feature wasn’t part of the original home. It was added after it’s invention in the mid-1800’s. But then someone decided this convenience was obsolete and needed to be transformed into storage. And when that lost its purpose, someone else decided a wall was a better option and just sealed the opening.

Disappointment settles on my heart faster than the dust coughed up from the void settles onto the paint chips covering the floor. The musty smell that had been displaced by the fresh air from the room now clings to my clothes, as if it is trying to catch a ride to somewhere else.

I thought for sure I’d stumble onto some treasure from times past. I had optimism I’d be a changed person when I got whatever valuables should have been hidden in there. I’d get a fresh outlook on this new chapter in my life. But there was nothing.

With a defeated sigh, I toss the screwdriver towards the still unassembled metal frame in the center of the room. I replay the idea over and over in my mind – “I thought for sure I’d stumble onto some treasure... I had optimism.” But that didn’t happen. The only revelation was that of nothing. And this nothingness is giving me a hug, not a comforting one, more of a welcoming embrace. Like, “Welcome to the club. Welcome to your new normal.”

Now I have a connection to the house. More than I thought a renter could have. Or wanted to have. Because, like the house I’m contractually obligated to call home for the next twelve months, all the changes made in the name of improvement were actually changes that caused it to lose its identity.

Renovated but rustic

I stroll through my new home

Wanting to take it all in

Needing to make it my own

Every doorway a gift

Im homeless no longer

But theres one I think I missed

And I cant help but wonder

So I shuffle forward

My feet thankful for floor

Embarrassingly content

How could there be more?

As the knob twists inside I hear nothing

And gaze upon something utterly stunning

Im standing now deep in a memory

Staring at my past and what it means for me

I dont belong here I shouldn't have tried

But the streets are soo cold these past few nights

I step back quickly, slamming it shut

I deserve to take a breath, im worth that much

It swings open to look back at me

But now its my future and its outlining defeat

So i try and take solace in the moment at present

But if this is a victory it doesnt feel that different

Yes im warmer and my stomach is full

But the feeling im holding onto is increasingly dismal

Ive sacrificed all of me to finally be here

But I cant spend another second looking in this mirror

I board it up, along with the other reflective planes

Won't allow myself to play these deceptive games

The streets were my prison but now I've made my own

Take your shoes off at the door, Welcome home.