My name is Portia. For context, I am recently married. Thomas and I met through a mutual friend. It was at a fundraiser in the city. Little did I know that Thomas was one of the heirs to the family that was throwing the fundraiser. He hit it off immediately.
Thomas is what I would call traditionally handsome. Tall, dark haired, with blue eyes like pools of water, and a contagious smile. He was also wealthy, not that this mattered to me, although I believed that was one of the reasons I felt such coldness from his family. His sisters spent a large portion of our dating warning me off the family and making me feel left out. Whether it was the clothes I was wearing or my accent, they never gave me a chance.
Thomas’ family was one of the largest family-run producers of poultry and pork in the United States. When I say family run, I mean a 2000 person strong industry with their surname, my new surname, punched across the deli aisles of every store in the United States.
“From Farm To Table, From Our Family To Yours”
Part of me felt like they expected me to work the farm as opposed to profit from it.
His mother, Heidi, was a little more warm, although I could see sadness in her eyes. It was like I didn’t deserve this. Thomas was the only one who wasn’t cold. The dating was a whirlwind of travel, fine dining, and lavish parties. I won’t lie, I was completely wrapped up in the “high society.” Following the wedding, Thomas suggested we go to Mexico as his family regularly visited there.
Fast forward.
Thomas and I were forced to finish our honeymoon in Cancun early due to Heidi’s sudden turn for the worst. She had vascular dementia and her progression (regression) was in full swing. While not ideal, these are the sacrifices you have to make for marriage. I knew Thomas would not forgive himself if something happened while we were away. In fact, I selfishly felt he would hold me responsible, although I had no reason to believe this. He wasn’t the overtly petty type. As we packed our things, he made me a promise we would finish our honeymoon.
A wedding gift that his family bestowed onto us was one of their manor houses. A remote, but well kept countryside home. with one hitch. We were going to live with his mother. Only for a short period of time while the family sorted out a full time live-in assistant in her own home. Until then, she was too frail and paranoid to be left on her own. I actually offered up the idea that we share the abode just until we have her settled. It was piece of mind for Thomas, and I didn’t mind getting to know my new in-law better.
The house was massive.
So much so that Heidi occupied the second floor with almost no interference in our daily lives. Aside from the occasional shout or disorientation, she pretty much stayed in her room. All in all, I cast any doubts aside and repeated the mantra that these are the small sacrifices you make for your marriage to work.
And, I really wanted this to work.
The day we arrived it was cold and misty. The air was sharp and each inhalation stung down to my lungs, but in a good way. Heidi was arriving later in the evening, so we had some quality time to ourselves. Thomas rushed inside. He hated the cold. I suspected that due to his family’s wealth he spent most of his time lazing around hot climates. As a result, the cold weather pissed him off royally. The house was clearly old, but he assured me that it had recently been refitted with modern comforts. Stone and wood complimented one another like salt and pepper on a table.
I stood outside. The gravel, iced, crunched underfoot. The house stood overlooking its land. The surrounding area was lush farm with a small wooded area neatly kept, like a strategic curl on the brow of a dignified gentleman. I took a deep breath.
My new life. My new home. Mine.
The first day went as I expected. Luggage delivered. Food ordered in from the only place willing to traverse the countryside. Heidi arrived with a carer who promptly set her up on the third floor. Everything was routine until just after dinner. Once we finished cleaning up, and a bottle (or two) of wine had mysteriously disappeared, Thomas called me into the dining room. The room looked untouched for 50 years barring the photos I had dotted around the place. Honeymoon, first date, and other little memories. Thomas sat across from me and slide over a crisp piece of white paper. It was a set down a list of handwritten rules. Neat handwriting. Definitely wasn’t his scrawling, haphazard hieroglyphs.
I smiled. He didn’t. He looked quite serious.
I half expected it to be a set of rules relating to the quirks of an old house. You know what I mean. “The upstairs bathroom door needs to be twisted counter clockwise and then pulled” or “the shower’s hot and cold taps are actually the opposite.” No. These weren’t anything like I had seen. They were bizarre.
I looked aghast. This looked more like a list of rules for a 15th century indentured servant. Thomas looked across the oak table at me. His face was cold. In fact, the entire dining room grew cold. It was like every corner had grown eyes, holding its breath to see my reaction. My gaze fixed back on Thomas. I spread my hands across the table furrowed my brow and sighed. He moved closer and embraced me.
He thanked me for understanding and apologised. I didn’t understand though and also, why would he apologise? Did he write the note? He didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, he hasn’t done anything throughout our relationship.
Of course, I wasn’t going to let this slide without a little Spanish Inquisition.
“What happens if we break them?”
He flicked me a glance of surprise.
“The monster comes out, of course.”
“No, but seriously what’s the deal with these? They’re a bit weird.”
“They aren’t that weird, Porsh”
“An out of bounds kitchen, no guests, no family?”
“You can have guests and family, and you CAN have use of the kitchen. Don’t exaggerate. They are perfectly manageable”
“But are they necessary?”
“I wouldn’t have given you them if they weren’t”
“Why though?”
“Look, Heidi asked me to give them to you. She has superstitions about the house. She talked about it even when Dad was alive. Calls it the Ungeheuer. Says it haunts the family or whatever. I know it isn’t ideal, but we sort of signed up for this.”
(I don’t speak German, so this habit of introducing it into our conversations was a constant point of annoyance for me)
“Not sure I remember signing up to these rules”
I could see Thomas was finished with the conversation, and I knew his emotional front would slowly descend if I keep this up.
I relented.
“Fine”
“In sickness and health,” he winked.
Okay. Whatever. Heidi was spooked by some sort of strange folklore monster. Great. Add that to the list of peculiarities that old people have.
Small sacrifices for the better good.
In the intervening months, I would stay at home and take care of Heidi. She was largely independent, but at night, she could meander. This meant someone had to mind her. Added to the fact that Thomas’ job was demanding, it seemed a natural, albeit by my own insistence - temporary fit until a long term solution was in place.
I also obliged to follow the rules. Not out of fear. Not our of anger or paranoia, but out of a genuine desire to make things work. If this is what I have to do to smooth this temperamental house or monster or whatever it was, so be it.
Like I said, the house had recently been refitted with heating and insulation. The wood warmed and the stone softened. The three rooms on the ground floor- kitchen, living room, and dining room begun to glow with lived experience.
The first floor was our room
Heidi filled the upstairs and second floor with the continuous hum of 1950s and 60s music. While she was not altogether still with it, mentally speaking, she had a keen ear for music throughout her life. It gave the house a nostalgic buzz, and I must admit I secretly thanked God her sense of taste hadn’t been eaten away.
I made efforts with her. I tried to talk to her about Thomas growing up. The house itself. Her late husband. Many of these topics were light and open ended, but the thought of her late husband always caused her to burst into tears. She would regularly say he was here. Or to be more precise, he was close.
It was in these busy days that I totally forgot the rules that I had received on the first day. I forgot the second rule. Was a total slip of the mind. Thomas and I had eaten, watched a movie in the sitting room. I left two windows open in the dining room because I recently applied a light coat of varnish on some of the old chairs. The smell was noxious, and I needed the crisp cold breeze to fumigate the room. Thomas was early. A meeting he had to attend. I slept in.
When I finally awoke I stayed laying in bed, going over my plans for the day as well as the memories of last night. The dinner. The wine. A pretty decent horror movie about the disappearances of the Plain-View Neighbourhood Association. Then it struck me. THE WINDOWS.
I launched myself out of bed. Ran downstairs towards the dining room. My hand trembled on the doorknob. I braced myself mentally as I opened the door. The first thing I noticed was that the windows were shut. The curtains were drawn open. As I surveyed the room nothing seemed out of place. I checked under the long antique table. I shook each chair. Everything seemed fine? Then, as I was about to leave the room, I spotted it. The photos.
Each photo had been destroyed. Wedding, honeymoon, first dates, all destroyed. They were ripped to shreds and strewn across the floor like a nasty jigsaw puzzle. I couldn’t contain my tears. At that moment, Heidi entered the room. She must drift through this building because I never hear her. She is ghost like.
I choked out the words.
“The Monster?”
She nodded. She moved closer and embraced me. She knew. The rest of the day we spent cleaning up the broken glass frames.
We replaced what we could, but ultimately some of those memories were gone forever. Like a jealous ex, they had been smashed to pieces.
I resolved myself and decided to keep this to myself. Thomas worked long hours and the last thing he needed to know was that I couldn’t keep the simple rules of the house. I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to abide by the rules. In 4 weeks we only had three instances where the rules in which the rules were almost violated.
One night I was in a half daze, I sluggishly made my way to the kitchen, but stopped at the top of the stairs. I snapped to my senses and returned to bed. Thomas had not moved a muscle, but I sensed he knew. He knew I almost broke rule 3. Thankfully, I didn’t, but I could tell by his tense muscles as I hugged him in the morning before he left for work. He wasn’t happy.
The second time was on a lazy Sunday. I was tired from dinner and drinks the night before. Thomas was out for a work event for a few days leaving me alone with Heidi who hardly moved out of her room for the entire day. Just 15 minutes after 1am, when the kitchen was off limits, Heidi had left her room. I rushed downstairs to begin prepping and lo and behold. A meal was there. It looked like meatball with some white sauce. Small capers dotted around it. It looked quite good, but where was Heidi?
I eventually found her roaming the downstairs sitting room. She was writing on a small piece of paper.
“Du siehst den Wald vor lauter Bäumen nicht.”
The handwriting. It was identical to the rules. Heidi looked at me and winked. It wasn’t a “I got you” wink, but more a “I know what you’re thinking.”
Once I put her back to bed, I made my way back to my room, but not before leaning over the bannister and “apologising” to who or whatever was down there. Thankfully, nothing came of the whole situation, and I decided to bury it.
I brought her to bed. Two days later, looking jetlagged and irritable. Thomas arrived back home. I left him be.
The third instance was more embarrassing that anything else. My older sister turned up unexpectedly. Thomas answered the door. He looked perplexed. I didn’t grasp the full extent of the conversation, but after a brief back and forth, a bit of laughter and smiles, he turned to me and just whispered “ Rule 6.” I had to feign the worst stomach bug even going so far as to pretend like I was having coughing fits.
I felt utterly helpless as Claire smiled sincerely, nodded, and said if I needed anything just to let her know. In her words, “I had disappeared.” I didn’t agree with her. I have routinely tried to make things work with our family. I even go as far as to make handmade presents every birthday. While I may have missed a few birthday recently, it wasn’t due to anything malicious, I was just busy. Anyway, I had a family I needed to care for, so excuse me for prioritising myself for once.
The night I broke the cardinal rule, I knew things were far more serious than Thomas and Heidi had let on. I was awoken to a loud crashing downstairs. I tried to shake Thomas awake, but he firmly gripped the covers and turned his back to me. Never get in the way of a man and his sleep. With trepidation, I left the bedroom and stood deathly quiet in the dark.
I moved towards the stairs and held my breath as I saw light creeping out of Heidi’s room on the second floor. Quietly, I made my way to her room.
“Heidi?”
“You okay?”
Empty. Fuck.
I spun on a pivot as I heard the sounds of something barraging down the stairs. I leaned over the second floor stairs looking right down to the hall on the ground floor. Nothing. I glided down the stairs to the first floor, my floor, and stood nervous at the top of the stairs leading to the ground floor. If Heidi really was in danger, I had to pursue whatever had made that racket.
I descended.
In the pitch black rooms, I crouched as I surveyed the surroundings in the hopes of finding her. Dining Room, clear. Living Room, clear. The kitchen was really the only place she could still be. All other rooms were locked.
Whether in my head or not, the whole room caved in. I felt as if two hands were pressed to either side of my skull. I blinked hard and entered the kitchen. I held my breath. In front of me was Heidi. She was preparing a meal.
“Heidi”
“You shouldn’t be down here”
“Heidi, let’s go back upstairs”
She turned towards me with tears in her eyes.
“Okay, Heidi, let’s go”
She looked past me, “Er ist ganz der vater”
I looked over her shoulder to see two blue dots and a wicked white smile reflected in the kitchen window behind her.
Then everything went black.
When I woke up sore and tired, Thomas was standing over me. I was in my bed. My head was bandaged. Dried blood in my hair. I couldn’t tell when exactly what time is was, but it was morning now.
“Rule. 3”
He shook his head. Dressed impeccably, he turned and left the room.
The next few months were a blur. Rules changed. Each room warped and molded to the emotions we threw out. It was as if the Monster not only had control over our lives, but the very fabric of my home.
A once welcoming house became a hostile minefield of rules.
Time became unimportant. Only the rules matters. Music was not to be played. Doors were to be locked. Food was to be prepared to a fine detail. If not, the monster would return. The smaller the rules, the more subtle the punishment. One night, when I had forgotten to turn the TV off, I woke to the sounds of the monster destroying the downstairs furniture. I locked the bedroom door and waited for it to pass.
As time passed. The rules became my life. Guests rarely arrived. Family were not invited. I couldn’t risk angering the Monster that inhabited this home.
It was during another day of abiding by the rules, I heard a bellowing voice from the dining room.
“Come downstairs”
The voice was almost unrecognisable. Hints of humanity, but largely a foreign creature. After a few moments of nervousness, I left my room and moved towards the stairs. Above me, Heidi. I could see it in her eyes. Acceptance.
I descended the stairs. The monster was sat in the dining room. Stoic. It presented me with a new list of rules.
I sat there. Eyes red. Sleepless. The bruises that had healed were replaced with new ones. From tripping down the stairs to accidently catching my hand in the dining room doorframe. The cutlery had worn thin due to repeated destruction by the monster. The house, once warm and inviting was cold and claustrophobic. The original rules had been modified.
The writing, a familiar handwriting. The monster looked up from the table. His deep blue eyes like pools to the abyss stared dead across from me. His contagious smile now infectious. He asked for my signature. I signed with my weak hand as I was nursing a sprain from a rule violation the previous morning.
He embraced me and forgave me for my constant violations. He said he loved me and left. I heard the door lock. I sat there. I re-read the rules again. They are the sacrifices you make for a happy marriage, right?