The ancient leather chair creaks on its mahogany legs, carved to look like lions. The years have etched creases and cracks into the leather, but the use just makes it more comfortable. The crackling fire shoots sparks upwards, only to be snuffed out by the cold air in the chimney. Rows and rows of worn aged books line the dark wooden shelves, gold letters scratched on the bindings. The atmosphere is just as I like it: solemn, quiet, somewhat mysterious from the generations of secrets whispered in between these walls, and as always, quite congenial. 

In fact, I don’t believe I can remember a time that I’ve been more satisfied. Why? Because I am about to upset all of the traditions and standards of our long established family, throwing everyone into confusion. Everything I’ve ever wanted. 

I steeple my wrinkled fingers together for a second, thinking. Then I pick up my ballpoint pen, take out a crisp sheet of paper, and poise my hand over it. I am about to ruin everything. And I love it. 

The Last Will and Testament of Clarence Erwin Harvey

September 4, 1937

It has come to my attention that I am going to die. Very shortly. How? Because my dear great niece Dorothy, not to mention all of the rest of the family, has bluntly pointed this out to me. I must say that this was rather unnecessary, but I appreciate your kindness in asking me to hurry up and die. Oh yes, I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t know what you were really saying. You all have been waiting for me to die, as I’m the oldest living member of the Harvey legacy, and you want my money. So, here is my will. If I don’t use the correct formatting, please excuse me. But I really don’t care. 

To my dear brother, Gerald: I remember the day you stole my chocolate pudding. I consider myself a  forgiving man, yet this is an offence that crosses the line. Also, you might want to know that your wife Charlotte wanted me, but when I declined, she chose you. You were second best. I thought you’d be interested to know that fact. But I digress. To you, I leave my sock collection. I have spent years collecting these socks from all over the world: my entire life in fact. I knew you would appreciate a good pair of reindeer socks during Christmas. Oh, and please don’t forget to water the plants at Harvey Manor. Mother always asked the oldest child to make sure that they were being taken care of. 

To my dear sister-in-law, Charlotte: Happy Halloween. (make sure not to eat too much candy though; that couldn’t help your already enormous size.) 

To my dear sister Minnie Alice: I faintly remember that when you were young, you did enjoy a good horror story. So I thought I’d leave you my knife collection, as well as my cursed jewelry. Many people don’t know this, but my current gardener is a convicted murderer, so I also instructed him that he should transfer his services to you after my death. You always admired the family China set, collected over years and years, gifted to us from Kings and Monarchs across the globe. It is also a tradition to pass it down to the oldest living daughter. So I just smashed it all. No need to thank me. 

To my dear Aunt Ida: You are too old to be alive. So is your dog. 

To Aunt Ida’s dog, Clide: I hope you die, you stuck up little prig. 

To my dear nephew, Raymond: Last time I saw you, you were very conceited, and your only care was money. So, I put you in charge of a new charity organization, called Clarence’s Last Hope. Problem is, you aren’t really in charge...meaning that you will have to do all the work, but will have no access to money and will be monitored by my faithful friend Robert. I leave $1,ooo,ooo to the trust. 

To my dear Marion, wife of Raymond: You are not from our legacy directly, so I thought you should be let in on a little secret. The Harvey family has many, many traditions, and if you violate so much as one, you will be disgraced forever. From the state of the manor, china collections and where you sit at the dining table, everything is regulated. Throughout my life, I have violated every single one of these traditions. I always had a bit of hope for you; you weren’t full of our famous Harvey pride. So I leave you the job of disobeying every unwritten and written law in the Harvey family. Good luck. (also, I leave you the quilt  from the master bed: I remember you liked it. Make sure no one else gets it: it’s worth about $2,000.) 

To my dear nephew, Harold: Your hair has always disgusted me, so I leave you the many hair products, tools and accessories that we have collected over the years. Use them well, I never did. 

To my dear niece Ethel: You will be single forever, so stop acting like your marriage is just around the corner. I leave you my chickens and goats, so that you will have some income in your later years. 

To my dear niece Lorraine: I remember that when your father died, and your mother Minnie Alice was left much better off (though she appeared to be slightly sad: I was never sure why.), you were only a little child, and an only child. Our family pampered you to no end: is that why you are so disgustingly conceited? Anyways, I thought I would leave you my stable broom: perhaps then you will do some good and useful work. Your hair is ugly when you pile it all on top of your head. Just thought you should know. 

To my poor Walter, husband of Lorraine: I am so sorry for your loss...otherwise known as your union with Lorraine. I left you a collection of old love letters in our family to comfort yourself that no one else had a better relationship than you. Shoot geese more often. It’s good for you. 

To my dear great niece Dorothy, that told me I was going to die soon, and I should just get it over with: I am leaving you our great silver pot collection, from the kitchens. No, I will not leave you any of the dolls...except for the porcelain one with the creepy face. You may have that. 

To my dear great nephew Eugene: I am leaving you all the rugs in the family manor. 

To my dear great nephew Harry: Perhaps you should actually try reading a book now and again. It might help lessen your stupidity. 

To my dear best friend Robert: I leave you in charge of supervising Raymond in Clarence’s Last Hope charity organization. Also, I leave you my entire library. If you don’t want the horror books, feel free to give them to my sister, Minnie Alice. 

To my dear great niece Gloria: I would leave you the family manor, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t like it. So I leave you my entire fortune. Even if you are only 5, I know who you will be. And it won’t be a Harvey. 

Hence, I conclude my last solemn Will and Testament. I hope you were all quite happy with the objects I bequeathed you all. I’ve never liked any of you, except Gloria, and perhaps Marion. I wish there were hope that you would change your prideful ways, inherited through the long and boring Harvey legacy, but I know that that will never take place. So, farewell. I leave this world for a better place, from which I can laugh and make fun of you all I want. Cheers. 

Signed: Clarence Erwin Harvey (writer)

Signed: John Alexander (lawyer) 

I lean back in my chair, and reach for my cigar. I quickly light it, and puff, watching the curling smoke dance in the air, forming images that fade in a moment. Perhaps that is what life is like: one puff of smoke, one chance to become something beautiful, and then you fade. Hmm. I look down at the paper and laugh. 

I can die any day now.