The Curse.

Chapter 7.

I know that there is only one chest and one chest only that has a padlock attached to it, and that is a fair sized chest.'

"Okay. Where is the key?"

'Have you found the inkwell and fountain pen? Have a look at the bottom of the box they are in. As you are here, you can look now.'

I rose a little unsteadily and walked to the table I had set up in there. I opened the box trembling slightly and removed both the inkwell and the fountain pen, placing them on the table and then lifting out the padding. There underneath there was a key just as he had said there would be.

"So. What do I do? I have to go into town tomorrow. So I won't be able to look upstairs, but I will take this with me. Plus, we have a lady coming around tomorrow for a job interview."

'You shall have to look tomorrow evening. But I guarantee you might not like what you find. As I passed away three years after my son . Robert. I left a condition in my will that all family history was to be stored in that chest or future generations, "he added. 'Beware of who you invite into this house'

"Why? For goodness sake, "

'Becuause it has been such a long time since she was last in this house nad she knows the torment I have suffered, am still suffering. Being trapped here, looking at that door, knowing that my family is on the other side, waiting for me. God alone knows I've waited long enough. And she will torment me further still.'

"How will she do that?"

'By reminding me of the second time that she cursed me.' He replied. Flatly.

"What second curse? You never mentioned that at the beginning of the conversation, "

Sir Francis sighed deeply and said 'On my deathbed, she had come to me and sneeringly had said 'Sir Francis, you love this house more than you love the common folk that surround you, on this night when take your last breath, I curse your spirit to be trapped in the painting that you love so much. That you shall never move on into the afterlife see your family again!'

"Wow! That some curse. But how could she come to you?"

'I was a fool. I was almost ruined y those I thought were my friends, dubious as they were. Cards! I curse them! I gambled my money away through grief, and I had to sell the land surrounding this house. Which included a small cottage.'

Michael could feel the depair in his voice, that alone was enough to make his mind up.

"Stop there. I'll help yo but answer one question for me."

'Yes. Michael?'

"Where would you like to be hung?"

'I do not like that question. Do you not think I have suffered enough?'

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. But earlier today, I was thinking of hanging your portrait on the wall. And of course you have suffered enough, Sir Francis."

'Apology accepted. I think it would look better displayed on an artists easel.'

"I haven't come across one in the attic. So I will have to buy one in the town tomorrow." I replied, stifling a yawn.

'It would make our conversations easier. So you woouldn't have to look up or down at me. It is time you went back to bed. Michael, But please. I beg you. Keep my warning in mind.'

"I will, Sir Francis. Goodnight."

Goodnight. Michael. Sleep well.'

As I stood in the doorway, reaching for the light switch. I watched as my distant uncle, Sir Francis, walked back to his desk, sat down, and adopted the same pose that I had seen time and time again whenever I had come into the library.

I switched off the lights, closed the door, and went back to bed, and I slept like a baby.

"Michael. It's time to get up."

"Just five more minutes. Sir Francis." I murmured, rolling over.

"Michael. For the last time, get up. We have got a busy day ahead of us, so come on, son."

I rolled back over and opened my eyes as he opened the curtains and looked at him.

"Good morning, son."

"Morning, Dad.What time is it?"

"Oh. It's only half past eighht. Who is Sir Francis? He asked, trying his best not to laugh.

"Half past eight." Jesus! I must have spent half the night in the library, speaking to Sir Francis. "I must have been dreaming, dad."

"Well. In that case you can call me Sir Francis if you want But I prefer Dad."

"I prefer that too." I replied. Smiling at him, thinking you wouldn't believe me if you, probably send me to the psychiatrist to have my head looked at more likely.

"What would my son like for his breakfast?"

"Just some cereal and a strong coffee. Please, Dad, "

"Okay. It will be ready when you are." He replied, walking out of my bedroom, closing the door behind him.

I shot out of bed, remembering the events and conversation with Sir Francis the night before. What I couldn't remember was whether or not I had brought that damned key back to bed with me!

I searched around my bed as I remade it, looked in the bathroom I showered, and shaved. s**t! I couldn't find it! Maybe it was still in the library, I got dressed and shouted down to dad to let him know that I would be down in a couple of minutes. He had called back that my breakfast and coffee were ready anyway.

I practically ran to the library, hoping that I would find the key to the chest in the attic. As I entered, I acknowledged Sir Francis by nodding my head and saying, "Good morning."

'Good morning. Michael.'

I was going to ask him if he knew where I had put the key when I spotted it lying on the table alongside my empty mug. I sighed with relief, looked at the portrait, and said, "That was a close call."

'Indeed. It was. Michael.' He replied from behind his desk.

I picked up the key, placed it in my pocket, grabbed the mug from the desk, and walked as calmly as I could from the library and downstairsto have breakfast with dad.

If you had asked me five years ago if I thought portraits could talk, I would have laughed at you. But now.....

By the time I got downstairs, dad had finished his breakfast and was cleaning his plate and mug.

"What took you so long?"

"I ust be having a bad hair day dad, it just wouldn't brush right after I had washed it." I replied, smiling.

"Nobody likes a smart alec. Michael."

"I know, Dad. It's just I didn't sleep very well last night."

"Well then. Just don't get smart when our vivitor arrives. That's all."

"I won't dad. Are you sure you don't need me to stick around whilst she is here?"

"No. You go down to the college and sort out what you need to. I can handle the interview. Anyway you said that you would stay long enough for me to introduce you."

"Ok Dad. As long as your sure."

"I'm sure.Michael. You know I've never figured out why your mum was so adamnt that you be called 'Michael'. I wanted to call you 'Thomas' after my grandfather"

"Why are you telling this now. I thought that this is supposed to be a fresh start?"

"Because we have never spoken about her since she passed. Also I have been thinking about dedicating a corner of the garden to her memory." He replied, looking out of the window.

"I thought never spoke about mum because it hurt too much. But that is a good idea to dedicate a corner to her. What were her favourite flowers, I'll go to the local garden centre and pick up some bulbs."

"Oh. She had a few hyacinth, gardenia, lavender and sweet pea."

I was looking for a piece of paper, so could write down the list. After I'd written it down, adding the easel. I replied.

"Ok I will see what I can do."

I showed him the list. "I don't remember an easel being a flower. But scrub off the sweet pea, I can't the sell of the damned things." He wrinkled his nose at the memory.

"Do you also remember the small vases of them that mum used to put around the farmhouse too?"

"Yes. I do. God! they used to stink the place out! But she said they smelled better than I used to when I came home."

I was trying my best to keep my face straight and not laugh when dad chuckled and started me off. But the time we had stopped laughing and got ourselves under control, I had to start us off again by saying

" Didn't she swap them out for roses after the accident with the tractor?"

"Yes. she did. son. she certainly did."