The House

The day they were set free, the house felt stifling and unusually quiet. The creak of windows opening caught her attention, and Hanna turned her head with a smile. While no one else was in the room, the windows were raised enough to let in the breeze. The weather today was strange for the season, but perfect for a long journey. She walked away from the kitchen doorway and towards the widows over the sink. 

She stopped by the counter, her hand gliding over the pots and pans she used daily for everyone else. She sighed as the cast iron items seemed to settle dejectedly as she moved towards the windows again.

As she walked, she wondered if they would be taken care of and put to good use. The family who owned her did not set foot into the area, besides to give orders and insults. She wasn't sure they could even cook. 

Hanna reached for the window pane, pulling them down before anyone could enter the room and berate her. Even if it would be her last day within the walls she didn't want to risk anything, the mistress of the home never agreed with her having any sort of comfort. 

The loud angry tinkling of glass gave her pause. The sound had been following her around the home for what felt like weeks but was probably only a few hours. The sound grew louder, and then the sound of something rolling across the floor made her look down. 

A small glass vial rolled towards her. When it felt her gaze, it stopped. She bent to pick it up, and the vial rolled out of her reach and slammed into a wall. Startled, she stood up quickly, accidentally smacking her hand on the counter. 

Upon contact with the counter, a knife from the wall floated down out of her sight and pricked her finger. Hanna's head jerked to the side, as she kissed her teeth at the sudden pain. Her finger burned unexpectedly, hurting worse than even the beatings she'd received before. 

She moved her finger towards her mouth, but from nowhere, a frayed piece of rope grasped her wrist and with strength it should not possess, pulled her hand onto the counter with her palm facing up. 

Hanna's breath picked up, heart pounding, confused because the house had always been so welcoming before. The loud sound of glass rolling across the floor caught her attention again. The young woman watched in fear as the vial rolled closer to her. It seemed to be filled with crushed leaves and dirt.

It stopped next to the counter and stood placing its flat bottom on the ground. The bottle leaned back, the cork pulling itself loose. Hanna gasped as the cork seemed to be lifted by an imaginary hand. It kissed the top of her bleeding finger, soaking up the blood gathered there, and shook after. 

Hanna began to struggle against the rope around her wrist. The pressure in the house shifted, wrapping her in a warm embrace. She released the breath she didn't know she was holding. She trusted the home, it sheltered her within its walls, hiding her in different nooks when she needed protecting.

The cork settled back into the mouth of the vial. The rope released her wrist, flew to the vial, and knotted around the bottle's neck. The vial rolled to her foot and leaned back as though it was waiting for her to lift it. So she did.

Hanna bent and grabbed the vial tightly in her nonbleeding hand. As she held it, lightheadedness overtook her. She swayed, her other hand gripping the counter, bloody finger pressed into the countertop. As her vision swam, the room took on a new glow.

"Hanna!"

She quickly shoved the vial into the makeshift pocket on her dress, her vision clearing as soon as it was out of her hand. “Yes ma’am” Her words slurred together in a rush, but her eyes kept those of her former owner, as she turned the corner into the room, no longer afraid to do anything but look away.

“Ain’t you supposed to be gon?”

Hanna smiled, remembering the reason she even came to the room, and gave a nod. “I’s jus sayin bye to the hous-”

“Get out! I don’t wanna hear no foolishness. Be gon na girl!”

Hanna took a deep breath and centered herself. Her bloody finger accidentally rubbed across the counter again, this time stinging as she touched a piece of splintered wood. Hana stuck her finger in her mouth and quickly glanced to where the knife had fallen only to notice it was back in its place. 

"I said be gon!"

She nodded to her momentarily forgotten mistress. As she walked by Mrs. Johnson, her former owner bumped into her and Hanna's bloody finger touched her hand.

“Don’t touch me!” Mrs. Johnson yelled, pushing Hanna away and backhanding her.

Hanna fell into the wall and looked Mrs. Johnson in her eyes with a glare that would haunt the family for years. She pulled herself from her slumped position and noticed a tingling on her lip. She licked at the blood pushing its way to the surface and spat it towards Mrs. Johnson's feet, the floor made it disappear almost instantly. Mrs. Joshson stepped forward. 

Hanna wanted to fight back, years worth of anger bubbling below the surface but the tinkling of glass and warmth in her pocket reminded her of something important. This was her last day in this hell, and she'd never have to see this miserable woman again.

Hanna smiled, large and wide catching the other off guard. "Goodbye Mrs. Johnson," she stated and then walked out the door, slamming it behind her before the other could respond.

Hanna paused on the porch, standing next to a tall white pillar. "Goodbye house," she whispered softly and stepped onto the dirt path that would carry her away from the only place she ever knew as home.

As she made her way off the plantation, the trees blew in the breeze, pushing her and holding her all at once. Never looking back, she failed to notice the life draining from the building with every step she took away from it.