Gradually he realized that it was the same room he always slept in, but now it was changed, radically changed: the moldering carpet was gone, and the floor underneath was clean and polished. The peeling wallpaper had all been torn away or painted over, and most of the rickety furnishings replaced by new, sturdy-looking ones. Only the heavy curtains over the windows remained recognizable, though they appeared to have been thoroughly dusted.
Friedrich sat up, astonished. How had his bedchamber become so altered overnight? He saw that he was wearing a comfortable new dressing gown, and that new slippers sat by his coffin. Even his coffin was new, the black wood polished to a sheen. He was even more astonished when someone tapped lightly on the door and let herself in, a beautiful, smiling, beatific teenage girl. “Good morning, Grandfather,” she said, coming to him and kissing him on the cheek. Her full lips brushed audibly against his papery flesh. “Do you need help getting up?”
He blinked, dumbfounded. “Do I need help?”
“Yes?” she said, sounding chipper.
He put up his hands, helpless. “Who are you?”
The girl frowned, her smooth, stainless brow momentarily furrowed. “Grandfather, don’t you recognize me? It’s Mary.”
Friedrich’s mind reeled. The little girl? What had happened to her? How had she grown so much in just a single day’s sleep, and how had his abode transformed along with her? What was going on? Seeing his confusion, Mary squeezed his hand and brushed his few, wispy white hairs out of his face. “Oh Grandfather, are you confused again?”
“Yes,” he muttered. “Confused, confused, so confused…” He repeated the word again and again, like a charm to make sense of the world.
“Grandfather, it’s a night like any other; the sun has gone down, and you’re awake, and I’m here to help you, just like always. Do you remember, you wanted to go for a walk in the garden tonight to see if the gladiolas you had me plant are coming along?”
“The garden?” he said. That old flowerbed, yes, he had meant to plant something there…
“And then you were going to finish the new painting.”
“The new painting? Yes…yes, I remember,” said Friedrich, sitting up straighter and ceasing to squint. Yes, he remembered, it had not been one night since Mary came to him, it had been ten years! She was a young woman now, and in ten years he had grown older and older still, and senility was creeping along the corridors of his mind, making him forget the time between. So hard to remember now, those nights since Mary came to him, so hard to remember the years that he’d spent as her teacher and protector, and she his caregiver in turn. So easy to forget everything, if only for a moment. He watched her as she closed the lid of his coffin and wiped away some of the dust that had settled on it, singing under her breath (Turkish lullabies so old she did not understand the lyrics, only the tune). They grow up so fast, he thought.
He let her lead him to the kitchen, which had been repaired and refurbished and was now full of dishes and food and other human amenities. They no longer had to sell the old jewelry through go-betweens with pawnbrokers to afford such things. Mary found reputable dealers to help sell her “grandfather’s” antiques now. Friedrich sat at the kitchen table and watched as she danced her way through preparing “breakfast” for both of them. He never ate, of course, but she enjoyed cooking for two.
“Did you sleep well?” she said.
“Well enough,” said Friedrich. “I feel like there’s something missing from my dreams of late.”
“I thought you never dream?”
“Not while I’m asleep.” A thought struck him. “Mary, do you ever see the ghosts anymore?”
“Ghosts?” she said, turning her head. “What a silly thing to ask about.”
Friedrich sighed. Yes, silly.
These had been happy years, his years with Mary (those he remembered, at least). Each night, of course, he thought about killing her, but always he decided it could wait another night, maybe two. Had it really been ten years now, ten long years, such a long time in the life of a young girl? Where had the time gone? How could he have waited so long? Not that it matters, he reminded himself. He had all the time in the world, still, just like always. What was time to a man who would never die?
But ah, he realized, she doesn’t have that much time! He examined her profile; she was no longer a girl but very much a woman, and how much longer could he keep her here? Why, even, had she stayed this long? Surely he would wake one night soon to find her gone, and what would he do then? How would he find her? What would he do without her? His hands began to tremble, a palsied shaking, as he thought about it. She smiled and sang and danced around the kitchen, unaware.
He couldn’t let her leave him. She couldn’t be allowed to leave, ever. It was time to finally do it then, Friedrich decided. Yes, right now, before he had anymore second thoughts. Hunger stirred in his decrepit veins. Yes, he thought, kill her now. He crept up behind her. Kill her while she’s distracted, so fast she’ll never know what happened. He licked his fangs, dull from thirty years of disuse. His eyes lingered on the creamy white skin of her neck. So soft, she looked, so delicate, so easy to take in his arms and crush against him until there was not a drop of life left in her, to leave her a withered shell, never again to smile or laugh or sing or —
“Grandfather,” said Mary, turning around.
“Yes?” said Friedrich. He moved back to his seat at the table so fast that she did not see him. His old joints ached. “What is it, child?”
Mary wrung her apron in her hands over and over. “Do you know what tonight is?”
Something tickled Friedrich’s memory, but he could not grasp it. He shook his head.
“That’s all right,” said Mary, sitting across from him with a plate of unpalatable mortal food. “I know how hard it is for you to remember things sometimes. It’s my birthday today, Grandfather. I’m sixteen.”
Friedrich felt his face twitch into a smile. “Of course it is. Happy birthday, my darling. Sweet sixteen, yes. So very sweet.”
“Since it’s a special occasion,” she said, “I hoped I could go out. I’ll still help you with everything like I said I would, but then I want to go celebrate with my friends.”
“Whatever you want, darling,” said Friedrich. His hunger bated a bit. It wouldn’t do to kill her on such a night. It felt…improper.
“I don’t understand why you never go out and see these friends of yours during the day, though,” he added.
“I like to be here during the day, in case something happens. I know you can’t be awake, because of your illness.”
Friedrich paused. His illness? Yes, that’s what he’d always called it, and she, poor, stupid, naive child that she’d been, had believed him. But that was then, surely she couldn’t still believe such a shallow lie? He watched her chew a piece of toast, lost in her own thoughts, and then smile at him. What was she thinking, really? He wished he could read her mind as easily as her memories. Why did she continue to humor him? Perhaps this is what it means when your children love you, he thought. They do not throw your lies back in your face when they grow too old for them.