I came for the reading of Mr. Morrison’s will and discovered that I was inheriting quite a fortune. My astonishment knew no bounds, as I had no idea who Mr. Morrison was. To add to my surprise, the will contained a condition that not only shocked me but ended up changing my life forever.
I was sitting in the small apartment I was renting, surrounded by boxes. Exhaustion was weighing heavily on me. The landlord had just informed me that I had two days to vacate the premises.
With deadlines looming at work, the news hit me hard. I glanced at the letter from the school about the play I was directing and the countless notifications on my phone.
“This can’t be happening,” I mumbled, burying my face in my hands. “Where am I supposed to go?”
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The sound of the mail slot slamming open interrupted my thoughts. The mailman arrived, handing me a letter from a lawyer. I stared at the envelope, feeling far removed from the butterflies in my stomach.
“Who could this be? Have I gotten myself into trouble again?” I wondered aloud.
I tore open the envelope and read the letter inside. It said I was summoned to the reading of the will of a Mr. Edward Morrison. Shock and confusion washed over me.
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“Edward Morrison? Who is he?” I asked myself. “Why would I be in his will?”
My mind began to wonder. I’d never heard of this man, and yet, here was a lawyer’s letter summoning me to a will reading. I felt like I’d been the victim of a strange twist of fate.
“I guess I have to find out,” I said, trying to shake off my anxiety. “What else can I do?”
***
I arrived at an old manor house, an impressive but slightly neglected building. The vines creeping up its walls gave it a Gothic charm, but the peeling paint and broken windows told a story of neglect. I hesitated at the front door before knocking.
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Inside, in the large living room, I saw him for the first time—the man who would change my life. He was tall and stern, his eyes narrowed as he saw me. The atmosphere was tense, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me.
“I’m James, Edward Morrison’s son,” he said, sitting on a white sofa, without even the simple courtesy of standing up and offering a handshake. “Who are you, and how did you know my father?”
“I’m Catherine Green,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “I never knew him.”
James scoffed, his eyes narrowing further. “So what are you doing here?”
I was taken aback. “How rude!” I thought. “What right does he have to speak to me like that?”
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“I was invited by a lawyer,” I said firmly. “I want to know what’s going on as much as you do. So perhaps you could show a little respect for your father, who thought it was important for us to be here together.”
James huffed, visibly displeased, but said nothing more.
Before we could exchange another word, the lawyer, holding a file, entered and briefly apologized for being late. Then he began reading the will.
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“Mr. Edward Morrison has left his estate to James Morrison and Catherine Green,” the lawyer announced. “On the condition that you live here together for one year. If either of you leaves before the end of the term, you will lose your share of the inheritance and the money.”
James and I exchanged a wary look. I could see the annoyance in his eyes, and I knew he probably saw the same in mine.
James huffed, visibly displeased.
“This is absurd,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll manage.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
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I stood there, feeling stunned by this unexpected news.
Living with a man, and such an unpleasant man at that? Maybe it was a joke.
But I had nowhere to go. My life was falling apart. Maybe it was worth the risk.
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The lawyer, who was gathering his papers, looked at me and said, “I’ll call you tomorrow to explain the additional details. The will goes into effect the day after it’s announced, so I’ll give you specific instructions then.”
“Why did Mr. Morrison include me in his will?” I finally dared to ask the lawyer.
“Oh, Miss Green, I don’t know that. But Mr. Morrison was a wonderful man. Don’t worry, everything will be all right,” he replied.
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“Where should I go?” I asked.
“Oh, you’re already here,” he replied. “All you have to do is bring your things tomorrow at 10:00. See you later.”
I went out into the garden and spent a long time counting the roses on the bushes, trying to calm myself down before spending my last night in the rented apartment. I felt like my life had already changed forever.
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***
The next day, the lawyer handed me the keys to the house and gave me the names and contact numbers of everyone who was responsible for maintaining the house throughout the year, as ordered by Mr. Morrison.
James didn’t show up; the lawyer mentioned he would meet with him separately. We said our goodbyes, and I was left alone with my thoughts and my suitcases.
I unpacked my things in one of the mansion’s rooms, still trying to comprehend the situation. The room was large and dusty, with old furniture covered in white sheets. When I removed the sheets, clouds of dust rose, making me cough. The furniture underneath was beautiful but old, with intricate wood carvings and a sense of history.
“This place is amazing,” I whispered, running my fingers along the ornate patterns on the wardrobe. “I can’t believe I live here.”
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I opened my suitcase and began organizing my clothes, trying to make the room feel a little more like home. As I hung up my dresses and folded my sweaters, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unreality.
“Why would Mr. Morrison let me and James have this house?” I wondered. “What was his plan?”
I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. The walls were covered in faded paint, and the floor creaked with every step. It was both eerie and fascinating, a relic of a bygone era.
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“I guess I’ll just have to get used to the squeaking and moaning,” I said aloud, trying to relax.
After unpacking, I decided to go for a walk outside. I thought of James. As I wandered through the overgrown garden, I came across him sitting on a bench, looking at the tangled bushes.
“So you decided to stay,” he said without looking at me.
“Yes, I have to find a solution,” I replied, sitting down at the other end of the bench.
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James turned to face me, his expression stern. “This is my house. I know everything that goes on here. I grew up here. I have no intention of sharing the inheritance with you.”
“Listen,” I said, trying to stay calm. “I wasn’t planning on staying here long. But now, I’m going to stay just to prove a point. I deserve decent living conditions too, and I won’t be bullied into losing what’s rightfully mine. So, you’ll have to deal with my presence.”
James smiled, “We’ll see.”
I turned on my heel and went back to my room, not wanting to continue the conversation with such an unpleasant person. After about half an hour, I turned off the light, hoping for a peaceful rest. But the manor had its own plans for the night.
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***
That night, I woke up in my bed because of strange noises. I got up to investigate, feeling curious and a little scared.
The electricity was out, so I groped my way to the kitchen, where I remembered seeing an old oil lamp. Luckily, it was full, and I managed to get some light.
I followed the noises, which seemed to be coming from the second floor. Suddenly, the sounds intensified, sounding like moans and whimpers. Uncomfortable, I continued my search.
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In the guest room, I discovered a record player emitting the sinister sounds.
“James!” I whispered, realizing it was his doing.
Angry, I headed to his room to confront him. But in the dimly lit hallway, I ran into James, shining a red flashlight in his face and making grimaces.
“I’ll keep this up every night until you leave,” he mocked.
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“You’re just an immature jerk,” I retorted. “Your stupid games don’t scare me.”
Just then, we both heard a strange noise again.
“Is this another one of your tricks?” I asked.
“No, not at all.” James suddenly looked puzzled.
We saw a cat rushing past and decided to follow it. We argued the whole way and jostled each other in the narrowing corridor.
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“Move over, you’re in my way!” I snapped.
“You’re the one blocking the way,” James retorted.
We reached a cupboard filled with rotten tools and began searching for the source of the annoying creaking noise. James began tapping his foot on the floor, and suddenly, the old planks began to give way beneath our feet with a loud creaking sound.
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The floor collapsed, and we fell into a small compartment built under the floor, not a full basement. It was quite cramped, but we weren’t too hurt, although I did bump my elbow. James looked more surprised than scared. The space was filled with books and personal belongings, all bearing Mr. Morrison’s initials.
“Do you see what you’ve done?” James began.
“Me? You were the one who walked like a tap dancer,” I retorted.
We continued to bicker. But as we explored and found more objects, our voices began to fade away.
The presence of the former owner was so palpable that it felt like he was standing right behind us.
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Finally, I pulled out of the dust and dirt an old newspaper marked with Morrison’s initials.
“There might be something interesting here,” I said, opening a page.
“You can’t read someone else’s diary! Give it to me!” James demanded and began to read.
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“It’s absurd. Dad writes about Jane, his love… but my mother’s name was Audrey. It’s not possible.”
“My mother’s name was Jane,” I whispered thoughtfully.
We impulsively began reading together, page after page, hour after hour.
When we finished, we sat separately, struggling to accept the reality that was engulfing us more with each silent minute. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the same cat appeared. It trotted over and sat between us, purring loudly as if trying to ease the tension.
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Mr. Morrison had hidden in that dusty basement the secret that had brought us together in this house.
***
James and I didn’t see each other for a few days. I was buried in deadlines and spent all day at school. My thoughts were racing—Mr. Morrison wasn’t just some mysterious man who had appeared out of nowhere; he had a story that was now a part of me.
The night before the play, I was sitting in my room, trying to prepare for the big day. The text was scattered across my bed. Suddenly, someone knocked on my door. It was James.
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“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked, a hesitant look on his face.
“Sure, I need to clear my head,” I replied, grateful for the distraction.
We strolled through the manor’s lush garden, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers. The quiet evening seemed to envelop us in a bubble of calm. Finally, James broke the silence.
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“So you’re my sister?” he asked cautiously.
“I think so. I find it hard to believe,” I replied, sitting down on a bench under an old oak tree.
“He kept a diary until his death. How did he end up in this cellar?” I wondered aloud, staring at the floor.
“I think he hid it in the closet and it must have fallen through a crack in the floor, right where we fell,” James suggested, leaning back and looking up at the starry sky.
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“That seems likely to me,” I sighed, feeling the weight of mystery.
“Catherine, Dad found you but didn’t get a chance to introduce us. He must have left that will for that to happen. Maybe we were meant to find that diary eventually.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “He probably wanted us to discover our connection on our own and build a relationship on our own terms.”
“So what do we do now?” James asked, his voice softening.
“I never had a sister. Our father loved two women, and he would probably love his two children too. I have to accept that now,” James said quietly.
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“I want you to stay in the house.”
“We must not neglect family, nor hold grudges for our parents’ mistakes,” I added, feeling a sense of peace.
“Let’s go to dinner. I’m cooking tonight,” James said, standing up and extending his hand. “I’m studying to be a chef.”
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“Really?” I was pleasantly surprised. “So, you’re a creative soul too?” I said, smiling, taking his hand, and standing up.
“What do you mean, ‘also’?” James asked curiously.
“Well, I direct elementary school plays,” I explained as we walked home.
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***
We continued our conversation in the kitchen and discovered we had many common interests: music, books, and art. The conversation flowed naturally, and I felt a connection forming between us.
“And I love tasting food,” I joked. “So your cooking skills are a treasure in this house.”
“Then stay,” James exclaimed, chopping vegetables with renewed enthusiasm. “For at least a year, and we’ll see where life takes us.”
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“I’m staying,” I smiled at James, tearing a piece of avocado from under his knife.
“Dinner is ready,” he announced, carefully setting the table.
We sat down for dinner, planning our future. We talked about restoring parts of the mansion, organizing community events, and maybe even hosting cooking classes and theater workshops.
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The house seemed warmer, filled with a sense of family.
“This is just the beginning,” I said hopefully, taking a bite of the delicious meal James had prepared.
“Yes, that’s true,” James agreed. “Together, we’ll make this place a home.”
As we savored our meal, the manor no longer felt like a relic of the past, but a place brimming with new possibilities. Our shared laughter and dreams filled the rooms, setting the stage for a bright and promising future. We talked about our hopes and aspirations, now as brother and sister, sharing dreams of what we could achieve together in this grand old house.
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