Living Inside A Novel: South - West Room (Mary E. Wilkins Freeman)

Walking on a bumpy path that had been abandoned for a long time was truly mind-blowing. I nearly tripped several times over rocks hidden by huge piles of dry leaves, not to mention the tree roots protruding from the ground. Above my head, ravens were singing; I wasn't sure if it was a song dedicated to nature or a death threat addressed to me.

I raised my head and saw a run-down mansion with broken windows. The ivy on the walls was yellowing. I didn't dare imagine what the inside was like; I knew I would surely spend some sleepless nights because of the drafts and insects. I knocked at the door, and after a moment, a tiny girl opened the wooden door, which was home to millions of moths. Honestly, they too had the right to be hosted at this B&B.

I didn't say anything to Sophia. No one could know that I came from the future. Politely, she showed me to my room. It was located at the end of a windowless corridor, lit by candelabras glued to the walls. Above my head hung a black wrought-iron chandelier covered in cobwebs. My room was tiny and clean, and in the center stood a bed with freshly laundered sheets. Given the late hour, I put on my pajamas. Under my pillow, I found a Victorian-era bonnet; I secretly hoped it didn't belong to Aunt Harriet.

After breakfast, I went back to my room to read the local newspaper. I placed it on a wooden table and started scanning the news. Becoming bored with my reading, I took a piece of paper, black ink, and a white quill pen, though I found it somewhat difficult to write with. As a lover of writing, I adore staining my fingers with ink. I began to write down my thoughts about Sophia's rationality.

I looked around and felt terrorized by the environment. It was dark and sad, filled with background noises that seemed to come from the abyss of the earth. I didn't know why my chair wobbled whenever someone walked down the hallway—a design flaw or something else?

At breakfast, I tried to speak to the other guests, but they were totally indifferent. Sophia understood me immediately. She came close to me and explained that New England people are antisocial and indifferent to those they don't know well. I nodded and returned to my room, praying for a chance to speak to Sophie, having noticed a book on Plato. Climbing the stairs, I thought that in this peculiar environment, it was highly probable to have a psychological crisis while reflecting on Sophie and the intention of her Uncle Harriet to rewrite her identity.

Later, I went to the veranda to smoke my pipe. A little further away from me sat Sophie, who was reading intently. She started to speak about her existential problems, finding a close ally in me since we shared the same fear of the future. We spoke for a while, recognizing that as naturally quiet people, we had to get straight to the point: that it is good to ask questions, but not always necessary to find a clear-cut, universal answer.

Knowing what was to come, I told her who her Uncle Harriet really was. She felt a bit upset but then told me that Harriet was a negative person who loved the misfortunes of others, making me understand the toll it took on her and her sister. I told her that sometimes rationality is well hidden, much like dark matter, but it still exists. She smiled ironically at me and then her expression shifted; she looked deeply troubled.

I finally understood that Uncle Harriet was still alive inside her mind—he had settled there, rooted deeply within the dark sides of human consciousness.