It is said that where there is light, there is shadow. In my grandmother’s case, the shadows in her house existed without light. Whispering voices would haunt you day and night, but my grandmother was used to them. After all, she used to practice some all-powerful dark magic. She coexisted with the voices in the shadows while practicing her craft, living with them in the darkness. It was as if she could understand their sorrow and grief. I suppose it’s not necessarily bad, at least for her.
“The voices can be a salvation,” she often said when I visited her. “Like listening to music to help you feel better after a long day.” I didn’t quite understand her meaning at the time as I was still a young cat-eared, Pegasus-winged vampiress trying to grasp her telekinetic powers. When I finally did, my grandmother had died. Guess her human form has caught up to her. She had left me the house in her will, but I didn’t have the heart to move in. I managed to contact a realtor and sold it for a tidy sum.
A loud clanking sound snapped me from my thoughts. I looked for the source and saw my cat dropping her food bowl at my feet. A breathy chuckle escaped me as I shook my head. “Oh, Kyra, do you think of nothing but food?” The Grey Siberian meowed innocently in response while I headed to the kitchen to get a can of cat food.
I was in the middle of opening up the can with the can opener when I heard it. The whispering voices in the shadows. Just like the ones at Grandma’s. They revealed secrets that I thought were long buried. I’m not going to tell them because it doesn’t bear repeating. It makes me curious, however, how they found out about them cause Grandma was not the gossiping type. A sigh left my lips as I dumped the cat food into Kyra’s bowl. The shadowy voices were supposed to be a part of my grandmother’s past; it’s not supposed to magically become mine.
Tiffany’s Writing Desk 