Great Grandpa's House

Abby loved visiting her great grandfather. He was nearly one hundred years old and his house was amazing. Her mother pulled the car up into the driveway and Abby leapt out, eager to explore.

'Stay out of the long grass and don't try to catch those darn cats again!' her mother yelled after her.

Abby gave a non-committal yell back, already ankle-deep in long, dry weeds.

The first structure she came to was a shed housing an ancient car and years worth of what her mother called “junk”. Abby slipped into the cool dark shelter, breathing in the moist, musty air. She let her eyes adjust to the dim light, gazing around at the beams of wood, Hessian bags and boxes scattered around the car. A rustling from behind the car drew her attention, and she silently made her way around the dusty vehicle. Her feet caused little dust clouds to rise from the dirt floor, tickling her nose and landing on her sweaty skin. The rustling stopped as she got closer, the creature must have sensed her presence. Abby crouched down and crept along, trying her best to spot the animal in the mess of wood and metal beside the front wheel. Her hand bumped a piece of metal, the clang extra loud in the silence. A dark blur vanished into the shadows on the far side of the room. Abby sighed in disappointment and looked for the piece of metal. Picking it up, she examined it closely. Deciding it might be useful, she shoved it into the pocket of her overalls and continued on past the car. An old biscuit tin held an exciting array of treasures, buttons and marbles, some chipped with age but all of them dusty. She grinned and replaced the lid, sliding the tin under her arm. The door into the second half of the shed was blocked by a large cabinet, one wooden door hanging by one hinge. Abby poked around in the cabinet to see if there was anything she had missed last time, but wasn't surprised to find it was the same old pile of wire frames and pest-eaten material. A rickety shelf led to the rafters, where Abby carefully crawled across the sturdiest to get into the back of the shed. Her mother would have had a heart attack if she knew what Abby was doing, but the child trusted her great grandfather's building skills. After all, the shed hadn't collapsed yet, had it? The house he had built, the one her grandmother loved to point out, was still standing, and that had been built when her grandmother was a child.

The second room was lighter than the first, sunlight forcing its way through the grimy windows set just below the rafters. The window closest to the wall was her favourite. Panes of coloured glass came together to form a pretty picture of a river winding through a field of flowers and grass. Every time Abby visited, she made sure she climbed up and gently polished the window with a rag. She sat on the rafter staring happily at the window, imagining the water flowing along while a breeze made the flower heads dance. A clatter dragged her from the daydream and she hastened to climb down, a task made slightly harder with only one arm. A large wooden table dominated this room, thick legs holding up a sturdy top covered with car parts, hunting equipment and greasy dust. Abby skirted around the table and out the side door. Blinding sunlight struck her face along with the sickly sweet smell of fresh honey. She grinned, knowing at least one jarful of that honey would be on their kitchen table tonight. The blades of a windmill swung lazily high above her, creaking as they turned in the little amount of wind the summer day brought. The clatter had come from another shed, this one beside the chicken run. The heavy metal door was open and she could see movement beyond the dark doorway.

She skipped in. 'Hi, Grandpa,' she said cheerfully.

The old man turned around, surprised to see her. 'Abby! How's my little boy?' The same joke everytime.

'Boy? I'm a girl, Grandpa!' she exclaimed, giving him a hug.

'Oh, of course, how silly of me,' he replied with a chuckle, returning the hug. 'See any of those cats around? Think I've got more since you were here last.'

'Really? Cool. No, but I saw a mouse near the car.'

'Darn cats ain't doing their job then.'

'Mum's at the house looking for you,' she informed him.

'Well, I better go say hi to the old girl, then.'

'Hey, Grandpa, can I keep this?' she shoved the tin under his whiskered face.

'Hm...' He opened the tin and looked through the contents. 'I suppose so, take good care of them.'

'I will. Thanks, Grandpa.' She replaced the lid and he wandered out the door.

'Check the chooks for me, need more eggs for dinner,' he said over his shoulder.

'Okay!' Abby left the tin in the shed and opened the gate to the chicken run. It had been built with old spring beds, pieces of fences, gates and metal sheets. She marvelled at the old man's creative ability to re-use nearly everything. The chickens ran clucking out of her way with a flurry of wings. She checked the old wooden boxes and the porcelain bathtub but had no luck finding eggs until she looked in a tool chest that had once been attached to a truck. Seven eggs sat nestled safely in the hay. Abby glanced around for a bucket to carry the eggs back to the house in. She quickly spotted what looked like a wire fruit bowl resting on the ground not far from her. Scooping it up, she filled it with the eggs and left the run. As she passed the open shed door, she grabbed her biscuit tin. Dry weeds tickled her legs while she walked the length of the three sheds back to the driveway and the back door of the house. As she approached the open back door, movement caught her attention in the small wood shed beside it. She froze instantly, her eyes scanning the chunks of wood for anything living. Her eyes met those of an orange kitten perched high atop the wood pile. The kitten's fur stood on end as it stared at her, muscles tense, ready to flee at the slightest hint of danger.

'Hey, kitty,' Abby said, her voice low and even.

'Abby! Where have you been?' Her mother's voice rang out loudly from the kitchen and the kitten fled, disappearing into the long grass on the other side of the wood shed.

'Aw, Mum, you scared it!' Abby cried, walking into the house. She set the eggs and tin on the cluttered kitchen table.

'She was collecting the eggs for me,' Grandpa chimed in, entering the kitchen from the hallway.

'Seven eggs. There was a kitten in the wood shed. An orange one.'

'Good boy.'

'I'm a girl, Grandpa.'

'Really?'

'Yes!' Abby laughed. 'I'm gonna go find a book to read.'

'Okay. Be careful.' Her mother turned to Grandpa. 'Really, Grandpa, you need to get rid of some of this. There's too much of it.'

'I need it all.'

'For what?' She began bustling around the kitchen, tidying up as best she could. 'Out of all the hobbies you've tried, collecting is the only one you've ever stuck to.'

He chuckled. 'Nothing wrong with a collection of things to keep me busy. Did you see the wooden clock I've been working on in the back shed?'

'No, I haven't seen it. How can you make food in here? There's so much stuff everywhere.'

'Useful stuff.'

'And why do you keep those cats? They're all feral. They'll hurt someone one day, probably Abby when she tries to catch one.'

'They keep the rodents down. And they're friendly.'

'Only to you and only when you're feeding them.' The old man chuckled again in response and set two big jars of honey on the table beside Abby's tin.

Abby stepped cautiously into the bedroom, placing her feet on the solid parts of the termite-ridden floorboards. The carpet would probably prevent her legs from getting too scratched up, but she didn't want to risk being banned from exploring. A long, low bookshelf against the far wall was her goal, but she had to get around other furniture and boxes first. She stopped at one of the boxes and looked through the contents. Women's clothing, long outdated, once belonging to her great grandmother. Beneath the clothing was a half-finished blanket, knitting needles poking out of it, waiting for skilled hands that would never pick them up again. She replaced the clothes as neatly as she could and continued past the box towards the bookshelf. A flash of bright colour caught her eye and she opened the door of the wardrobe it was poking out of. A quiver of arrows with bright orange and green feathers met her astounded eyes. There was no sign of the bow, no matter how thoroughly she searched in the wardrobe. Defeated, she shut the door and made her way to the bookshelf, a little sad that the bow was missing but sure that her mother would have refused to let her keep them. She sat on the soft carpet before the bookshelf, her eyes flicking over the religious books until she found a collection of short stories from Reader's Digest. Pulling the book out, she quickly read the story summaries before flipping to the one that sounded most interesting.

Abby, time to go. Her mother's voice pulled her from the intriguing story she had been immersed in. She looked around to realise the room had grown considerably darker. At her movement, a small weight lifted from her lap and she was surprised to notice a grey kitten looking at her from an open box. With a grin, she replaced the book in the shelf and got up, stretching her arms above her head.

'Coming, Mum,' she said, making her way back out of the room. They said a fond goodbye to Grandpa, who was attaching a sail to a model boat at the kitchen table. Abby yawned as she climbed into the car, clutching her biscuit tin and the jars of honey. She was already looking forward to her next visit.