Garrick slowly opens his eyes. The gentle rustle of straw is felt beneath his achy body as he stretches far with an audible yawn.
"Dinner is ready, Garrick! Hurry up, or it'll get cold!" The distant voice speaks with demand but also with warmth as it echoes throughout the house, reaching his ears.
Garrick cautiously sits up as the confusion sets in. He wasn't in the Teldalor mansion he should have been, but it was in a familiar place nonetheless. He guided his hands along the smooth bed frame, feeling the occasional knot of the wood before gripping the bed frame and pushing himself up as it creaked and moaned under the weight, triggering another feeling of familiarity. Garrick stood tall, his black scruffy hair skiffing the ceiling, making him bend his knees just a little while rubbing his head as he scanned the room with confusion.
"It seems smaller than I remember." Garrick doesn't know why he said it, but it was as if his mind was slowly placing pieces of a scattered puzzle back together.
A scent hits his nostrils as his body sniffs deeply, inhaling the medley of flavours as his mouth uncontrollably drools. As if an invisible force was pulling him, he is drawn by the delectable smells through the cosy house, guiding him to his destination of a quaint kitchen where a woman stands with her back to him, stirring a wooden ladle in a black metal pot, crackling over a fire. Her long jet-black hair flows ever so slightly by the gentle breeze creeping in from the open window, accompanied by the caressing warmth of the sun as it creates a sun shaft into the house, making everything seem wonderous. Crimson and amber flames of the fire glide upwards, caressing the pot, as an almost rhythmic bubbling dance inside the pot, pushing out the tasty aroma that summoned Garrick there.
The woman stops stirring the pot as she turns around; her fair face radiates happiness, instinctively bringing a cheesy grin to Garrick's face as the last piece fits into place. This wasn't just any house he awoke in; this was his home and the fair-faced woman, his mother.
"Have a seat, Garrick, I made your favourite!" She excitedly shares, grabbing a nearby wooden bowl, sliding it across the countertop and filling it with two heaped ladles-full. "Hmm, there's still a little space left; you need to get big and strong, so I can't be skimping on my job, can I?" She ladles another heaped amount, then, leaning close, she carefully trickles in more soup, filling it to the brim until even the slightest tilt of the bowl will spill the soup.
Garrick runs his hand across the woodwork, skating over the decor, soaking in the memories while he can, and eventually, he reaches the ageing dining table. Wobbly and slanted, old and rickety but loved all the same as it brought the family together through good and bad, they all gathered at this table every night, even in silence; it radiated love.
She holds the bowl with two hands, her brow furled and tongue sticking out, focusing intently on transporting the bowl as if it were the most fragile or valuable object in the world until she reached the finish line. As she places it on the table, a small dollop bounces up as if it came to life, trying to escape as it splashes on the table. Garrick moves his hand quickly to scoop it up, but his mother beats him to the punch as she scoops the soup up with her finger, hastily putting it in her mouth and swallowing with an audible "ahh!" and afterwards showing a cheeky grin to Garrick, who glares in return.
"Come on now, you get that bowl filled to bursting all to yourself, and you'll glare at me like that for having a little teaspoon worth? I'm hurt!" She sarcastically while chuckling, closing with a kiss on Garrick's head. "Eat up, or it'll get cold!"
Garrick grabs the wooden spoon beside the bowl, both almost blending into the table, hiding from him. Squeezing the handle tightly in anticipation, Garrick carefully scoops a heaped tablespoon of the delicious soup and slowly brings it to his mouth, not wanting to spill a single drop. Biting down on the spoon as the soup hits his tastebuds, a warmth showers over him as goosebumps appear all over his body, and his legs kick back and forth in joy.
"I have no idea why you love this meal so much; it's just all the old food that needs to be eaten thrown in a pot together," she curiously says while smiling sweetly, watching her son enjoy his meal. While Garrick was too young at the time to give an answer, as he grew older and reminisced, the answer was simple: this was the only meal his family ate every week without fail. The pot of old meat, vegetables, fruits and anything else close to rotting was the meal of the Goldwind home, the staple that nourished him into his late teens. This meal was the very essence of home.
A memory that Garrick hadn't remembered for many years was an idyllic scene, almost like a painting. It was a perfect memory. His mother moves around the rickety table, being careful not to bump it and hugs Garrick from behind, kissing the top of his head.
"I love you, Garrick. Whenever you feel sad, make this meal, and it'll cheer you up, no doubt! It might not be as good, but you can't really go wrong." His mother squeezes him tightly while smelling his hair as Garrick eats another spoonful while nestling into her soft arms.
"I love you, Mom. I miss you." Garrick somberly says as he holds his mother's arm and snuggles in for a hug as the skin slides away, the exposed muscle on show as more of her skin falls off. Her whole body bubbles and melts over Garrick. Her skin fuses them both together under the extreme heat, like she is being burned alive. The joint screams of anguish and torment as they kick and fight to break free, ripping more flesh off each other. Garrick turns his head to see the once fair and beautiful kind face, now not even recognisable as his mother's, as the features drip off the face like wax from a candle.
"NO PLEASE, MOM!!!! DONT DIE!!! PLEASE!!!!!" Garrick roars to the malformed mass that more closely resembles a pile of goo than Mother now. His terror-filled screams filled up the house that was once a home.
The screams abruptly stop as Garrick awakes in almost pitch darkness, just a tiny sliver of light that sneaks in through the crack of the door. Sitting up with the bit of will he has left, he moves his legs over the edge of the bed as he puts his hand on the frame: no creak, no sound, nothing except a terrifying deafening silence. Looking downward, the tiny stretch of light illuminating his face shows the toll of the nightmare. His eyes, the gateway to the soul, hold pain and torment as they teeter on the verge of crying—the dark purple bags under them indicating that any sleep had was pointless. As he sits there, motionless, staring miserably at the ground in the dark and quiet, this moment is as far from home as he can get.
"Gaaaarrriicckkk! I got some spoooooky booooks for you! I know you're scared of reading!" Meetle's ghostly chatter from outside his bedroom door shatters the silence as Garrick looks up again.
A thud is heard on the other side of the door as Meetle lets out a small yelp. "Ow! That hurt"
"He can't even read, Gnome, books can't scare him!" Kyra laughs hysterically as Meetle chuckles, too. The pained face of Garrick shifts as the corners of his mouth curl up, bringing a slight smile to his face. It's not home, but they're the closest thing he has now.
End chapter