The Storm
It was a storm that in ages past would have given rise to a god. The windows rattled, and not just from thunder. Wind howled as it threw itself against the stately manor. Rain pounded the glass like a host of solicitors come to swindle money from the impressive walls. When the thunder came, it shivered the stone.
Inside, a fire withered on the andiron, shrinking back from the storm. Electrical light wavered before the power. Three men sat in the vast study. One by the fire, lost in thought. The second at a desk, papers spread before him. When the storm hurt the light, he would look up and scowl. The last man stood at the vast window which in daylight watched over the duck pond and hunting forest. His memories played over the water.
“So, what’s the damage,” asked the man by the fire. His eyes hadn’t left the flame since he sat down an hour ago. “Does it last?”
“I’m still reading,” said the man at the desk.
“Hmm.” The man beside the fire let the matter drop.
Thunder ripped over the grounds and assaulted the building. The man at the glass took a step back. “Christ. It’s coming down.”
The other two remained consumed with their tasks. The wavering light grew dimmer.
“It’s bad,” the man at the desk said.
The man at the glass pressed his head into the pane. “I know.”
“He meant the will,” the man at the fire said.
“I know.”
The man at the desk cleared his throat roughly. “The will is complicated. Your late grandfather had too much property, if you will forgive my frankness. Your sister…”
“I know.”
“You know?” The man by the fire turned in his seat and considered the man at the window. “How?”
“She told me, before ⸻ . Before.” The man at the window straightened and turned to face the room. If the other two men saw his tears in the weak light, they were tactful enough not to mention it. “What’s the damage?”
The man at the desk gathered his things and gathered the papers together. “It means that you are going to have company. Bloodthirsty company. It means that by the end of next year, only one of seven eligible heirs will inherit it all. The rest get nothing. It would have been better if your sister⸻.”
“I know. I regret it all.”
Thunder rolled against the stone of the mansion. The wind gnashed against the glass. The rain did not let up.
Michael Frutig 