Burden Upon Inheritance

“Crocodile tears.” I thought as I watched my stepmother, Rose Vincent, cry over my father’s open casket. She was very obviously a gold digger but dear old dad was too blind to see her for what she was, a money-sucking parasite. As I walked over to pay my final respects a hand tugged at my sleeve I whipped around already furious at my father’s death. Not to my surprise, it was Marc, my friend since birth and my only ally since my father remarried. "Cora..." he started but never finished I pulled him into a hug, fast, as for him to not see me cry. "It's going to be alright okay?" he said softly "and hey since he can't pay for Rose's 2 sizes to small corsets and petticoats she'll probably scamper back into whatever cave she crawled out of." a small ha was all I was able to get out. As church bells rang overhead, Marc and everyone headed into the church for the will reading and I followed close behind.

As I stepped in I braced myself for the warmth of the church. My sun-kissed skin was way more suited for the warm church than the foggy Sunday atmosphere the outside had to offer. Even though it’s nearing the summer solstice the morning feels of winter and death. Fitting I thought as we took our seats at the front pews reserved for the family of the corpse. When the will-reader and priest took the stage silence settled over the sea of black veils and suits. "From the last will and testament of Sir Calcifer M. Vincent," the will-reader called out "First the estate goes to Mrs. Rose Vincent, Sir Vincent's step wife". As I glanced over to her, under her veil and tears I saw a smirk tug at the corner of her mouth. "That witch" I swore under my breath.

"Next the inheritance of 20,000 dollars and Sir Vincent's personal journal goes to Ms. Cora Vincent, Sir Vincent's one and only daughter." 20.000 dollars I thought, "no" I whispered under my breath "this can't be true." As I direct my gaze upwards I feel the piercing glare of dear old stepmom that sends shivers down my spine. As the rest of the reading wrapped up I and Marc sauntered back to the estate, "20,000 dollars'' Marc whistled, "I know it’s insane" I sighed "and what’s with this journal", I looked down at the little black booklet the will-reader handed me. Of all people, I didn't expect my father to own one and why leave it to me in his will I questioned. "Why don't you open it up and see," he said as he smirked "I will, I will but later after tea wanna join?" "next time I have to get home," he said as a carriage pulled in front and "bye," I said with a smile.

I can already hear the servants non-stop whispering when I walk through the ivory doors barricading in the smell of Roses wretched perfume." She’s near" I say and sure enough Rose walks through the parlor doors. "YOU" she shrieks as she throws a vase of roses, funnily enough, at my head. It flew past me and hit the wall due to her lack of depth perception, "missed me" I say with a coy smile as I’m already dashing down the hallway. She tries to run after but her 6-inch heels restrain her from doing so and I’m already locking the bathroom door. "Ms. Vincent? someone calls through the door "it’s Angie do you want me to fetch you some clothing?" "yes" I respond, Angie's a maid my father hired a near month before his death.

When she returns I’m already soaking in the bathtub. The journal, I think to myself as I reach for it, it’s a very nice black leather-bound journal. As I unwrap the string tying it close a cold breeze blows through the room sending shivers billowing down my body, almost like a warning. When I open it up the first page is blank so it the next and the next? "Strange, every page is blank except the...the last" the last page is filled with strange symbols. When I trace my fingers along with the symbols it feels dangerous, like I’m on the edge of something more than me... something dark.

"Ms. Cora" Angie calls out to me through quarters doors "the banker is here to drop off your inheritance hurry!". I finish up brushing my hair and head down to the living room. "Hello" I call out when I enter "hello ms Cora I presume you know why I’m here" "yes to drop off my late father’s inheritance to me" "exactly, all 20,000 dollars in counting," he says as he points to 3 fairly large coin bags. "Angie take these to my quarters," I said as she went ahead and carried them out. "thank you," I said with a slight nod "you're welcome and sorry for your loss," he said as he collects his things and hurried out the door.

It’s breaking nightfall as I lay my head down to sleep. The last thing I see is my inheritance before I let the soft melodies of the night spoon me to sleep. "Get rid of it" "not yours" "danger" I hear but all I see are black swirls calling out to me. "Danger in the hands of the beholder" it calls out as there's a sudden weight, in my weightless hands. As I look down it’s the journal, with the string unfurling itself the pages blow open to the last page. "The symbols I... I can read them" they say "sorry for what I’ve done, my burden is on you now my dear Cora. Fire while cleansing the souls trapped in the inheritance." Wait does that mean I have to burn the inheritance "yes" the voices call out, "free us".

I awoke seizing from the feeling of pressure upon my chest. As I fling myself down the hallway to the bathroom the feeling gets heavier, almost as if it’s about to consume me whole. I managed to fall at the foot of the bathtub and dunk my head under the frigid water. What the hell was that I ponder as the pressure on my chest feels relieved, right now nothing is clear except one thing, I need to burn that money and that wretched journal.

I slink down the hallway in pitch blackness dragging the money and journal behind me. The voices are back calling out my name "Cora, Cora, Coraaaaaa" but I ignore them the only thing on my mind is burning this inheritance. I'm almost to the barn when I set them down, I race in and grab kindling, gasoline, and a lighter. As I throw the kindling on the money and journal a sense of solace overcomes me. I empty out half the gasoline and throw the lighter on, it creates a beautiful mass of flames and fury and I stand there, in the still cold night as the last of my father burns to a crisp in front of me.

Its dawn when I dragged myself back to bed. As I lay my head on top of my pillow I feel a slight discomfort underneath. I slip my hand under and to my horror, I pull out a small black leather-bound journal, the same one I had burned only minutes before.