17 comments

Fiction Drama

I’ve always hated the expression “if walls could talk.”


In my experience, walls are remarkably unobservant and rather square. The way they go on, you’d think they were the greatest thing mankind ever invented. Not so, my friend, not so.


Sure, walls are important for holding up roofs, keeping out the elements and such. But the things that make the heart of a place, that hold a home together, are not walls.


The family has come and gone for decades now, visiting the cabin now and then to escape the clinging city air. My favorite season is summer, when the sunlight from the east window is warm and makes my face shine as I mark the seconds, minutes, hours, days. Summer is when the family spends the most time up in the mountains and away from it all.


Since the cabin was first built and the furnishings moved in, I have kept careful record of time. 42,076,809 seconds passed between the furnishing of the cabin and the day the Samsons brought little Ben for the first time. One year and four months, approximately. He was just an infant then, but he already had quite the temper. After Ben there was his brother Jacob, and later, their little sister Marie. They visited the cabin every summer. I heard their parents say once that they grew up fast.


Really, it was only 6,723 days after that first summer before Ben became an adult and ownership of the cabin passed to him. And only another 1,194 after that, he brought a wife and a child of his own to visit.


Little Willa.


Of all the people who have ever stayed in the cabin, Willa was by far my favorite. When she was in the house, the walls themselves reverberated at the rhythm of her footsteps. Her dark curls shone with sunlight and song, and her smile spoke of mischief.


Willa liked to lean against me and tap the floor in time with my pendulum when she was bored, which wasn’t often, or when she was in trouble, which was a common occurrence. In those still moments, we would stare out the wide eastern window together at the sight of the clouds kissing the mountaintops. I would chime the hours softly then, like a lullaby, so as not to startle her.


Never, before or since, have I been tempted to slow down time. Only with Willa did the seconds seem too precious, too few. When she was around, I kept time, but I did not control it. Time was a wonderfully wild thing which I could hardly bring myself to tame. Much like Willa herself.


If the walls could talk, they would tell you that the last time she was here Willa left the cabin in disgrace. As I said before, they’re rather unforgiving. But I digress.


It was winter when she arrived, alone, and brought the cold in with her. The time was 5:43 pm. I remember watching her struggle to start a fire, watching her wander around lighting candles to keep the dark away. She was nearly grown then, a young woman of seventeen years, two months, eight days. I had never seen her cry before, not like that.


It nearly broke me to see her, sobbing deeply on the frigid floor, clutching to the thin blanket she used to carry around when she was little. In those moments, keeping time was agony, as if the passing of each second somehow made her pain more real, etching it into history.


I know very little of the world outside of the cabin, but I know that it took too much from her. Perhaps that is why she felt that she needed to take something back.


Willa cried herself to sleep and dreamt fitfully until the fire died out at 2:11 am. She struggled to light the kindling in the dark. Once she got the fire going again, she stayed awake, staring into the flames as if they held the answers to life itself.


At 4:04, she began to sing to herself. Something about troubled water and silver girls and bridges—I didn’t catch it all, but it was beautiful. I chimed the hour in harmony with her. When the song was over, she got up and began rummaging around the cabin. 


Willa returned to the fireplace, holding a photo of her mother so tightly I thought the glass in the frame might shatter. She packed it carefully in her bag and turned to leave without a backward glance or goodbye.


I never saw Willa again.


504 minutes later, at 12:32 pm, Ben arrived at the cabin, frantically calling his daughter’s name. He scoured the cabin for her while I marked the seconds, which must have felt like hours to him. After a fruitless search, he stood by the fireplace with his head in his hands.


He looked strangely like a child in that moment, and I recalled the days when he ran about the cabin with his siblings, when his world was simple. Time is a tricky thing. It seems to me that it takes more than it gives.


Ben began to cry. His silent tears shone in the bitter January sunlight.


“I never should’ve told her to leave,” he whispered to himself.


He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to make a call—a useless endeavor, as the cabin has never had service. Finally, he rummaged around for a piece of paper and wrote a hasty note, which he left on the shelf beside me:


Willa, if you’re reading this, come home.

I shouldn’t have said what I did, I didn’t mean it. I’m not mad, just sorry. So sorry.

Please come home. I can’t lose you, too.

Love,

Dad


He left in a hurry, and I had a strange sinking feeling that we would not see the Samson family again. The cabin took on a melancholy air that hung heavily about the walls and the furniture and the last of the fire’s embers.


A few months later, the cabin was sold to a young couple, the Gregorys, who are utter strangers to us. They came to us, talking of renovations and moving furniture about, and shattered our peaceful existence. Nothing has felt right since.


The walls hold it against her, you see. They say that if it weren’t for Willa running away, breaking what was left of Ben’s grieving heart, the cabin would have stayed in the family. But this cabin is so full of memories, and grief is a hard thing when it’s held too close.


I think it was only a matter of time.

January 21, 2021 00:45

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17 comments

Thom With An H
17:44 Mar 09, 2021

In football one of the highest compliments a receiver can lavish on a quarterback is that he throws a catchable ball. Not thrown too hard or in the wrong spot but right where it's easiest for the receiver to grab. You write very readable stories. I don't struggle to see the scenes or know the characters. I immediately feel a part of the story. Your real gift is you do it while still having deep and meaningful stories. It's not easy to combine the skills and you do it masterfully. I'm really glad I have found you and have been able to ...

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Claire Lindsey
18:07 Mar 09, 2021

Personally, I’m happy to continue our game until we’ve gotten through all of each other’s previous work! And then continue from there :) This is the first (and likely the last) time I’ve ever been compared to a football player, but I’m honored. Your stories are certainly readable, too, and I look forward to them every time. Heading over now!

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Philip Hedges
21:56 Feb 12, 2021

Beautiful story. What an original idea :)

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Claire Lindsey
01:26 Feb 13, 2021

Thank you, glad you enjoyed it :)

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Crystal Lewis
06:31 Jan 26, 2021

I really liked this story and how it was told through the eyes of the grandfather clock. I love stories that use personification so heavily and how it tells a story without telling a story almost, like a lot is left for us to piece together which I sometimes like because it gets me more involved as the reader. Well done. :)

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Claire Lindsey
13:23 Jan 26, 2021

Thank you C. Jay! So glad you enjoyed it :)

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H L McQuaid
14:16 Jan 23, 2021

Nice. This is the first time I've read as story from the perspective of a clock.:) And l loved every second of it (hahaha...ah...I'll see myself out). I think you were able to create a sense of the 'grandfatherly' emotions and experience. After all, he's seen a lot, and must be very patient. First, the lines I really liked: Willa liked to lean against me and tap the floor in time with my pendulum when she was bored, which wasn’t often, or when she was in trouble, which was a rather common occurrence. (only suggestion there is to conside...

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Claire Lindsey
14:31 Jan 23, 2021

Hahaha I love the pun!! And thank you so much for your comment, I’m always grateful for a careful read! I agree, that specific paragraph wasn’t my favorite. I’ll go in and made some edits there before the story is approved :)

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Nyla N
13:04 Jan 22, 2021

Wow! I loved this! At first I was so confused, I was like 'who is this psycho who counts every second' and then I realized! And it was a great realization! I actually have no criticism, it was super well done. I love love love the last sentence! and I love how you talk of a renovation at the end, that was hilarious! You're a great writer! Would you mind taking a look at my story and leaving me some feedback so I can improve?

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Claire Lindsey
20:48 Jan 22, 2021

Hi Janey, thank you so much for the read and the kind comment! I'd be happy to take a look at your story!

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Nyla N
21:47 Jan 23, 2021

Hi Claire! I tried to utilize the feedback you gave me to the best of my ability, and I just posted a new story if you're interested. Be prepared though, its definitely a different genre... :)

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Claire Lindsey
22:14 Jan 23, 2021

I'd love to! And ditto-- just posted a story in a genre that's new to me if you'd like to take a look :)

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Nyla N
02:12 Jan 24, 2021

I just took a look and left a comment. It was sooooo good!! Well done! I had to follow you because you just write so well!

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K. Antonio
01:12 Jan 21, 2021

I actually enjoyed the narrative a lot, it was clever and well constructed if you take the title into consideration. I'm guessing the clock was telling its tale. Great stuff, and very rich in sentiment, super smart and interesting take on the prompt! I'm just amazed at the stories people are putting out this week with this prompt and the window prompt, so many cool ideas being explored!

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Claire Lindsey
03:49 Jan 21, 2021

Thank you! I’ve been wanting to try out some new POVs and this prompt worked well for that.

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Unknown User
04:24 Jan 21, 2021

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Claire Lindsey
15:55 Jan 21, 2021

Thanks, A.g!

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