She hadn’t stepped into her father’s old study since she was a girl. It had scared her then; it was forbidden. She remembered tip-toeing with bare feet among the shelves and papers, her heart racing. She didn’t really need to tip-toe then. Father was out. She was alone.
What had scared her, though, what had sent her flying from the room like a frightened thrush from a thicket, was the skull. All the while she was creeping around, silent as a mouse, she couldn’t help but feel someone’s gaze upon her. When she had come around her father’s desk and peered up over its edge, she met that hollow, boring gaze, the shadowed holes which were the eyes of death.
She screamed and ran away crying. She never willingly entered that room again; until now.
The room was dusty and disused. The mess of papers her father had always toiled over were curling and old and yellowed.
It was a tighter fit now, getting between the shelves. Tighter. She was a big girl now, a woman, and her belly was just beginning to bulge. She was not so agile now as that little girl who had snuck in here all those years ago.
She could see it, but she wouldn’t look; the white dome of the skull sat silently upon her father’s desk. Slowly she made her way towards it. With a huff, she lowered herself into her father’s chair. Hand on belly, she felt the life inside her; so small, innocent.
She realized she was avoiding it, her eyes roving all around the room, looking at everything but the skull. She forced her eyes to meet its lifeless gaze.
The years had changed her, given her breasts, shame, secret joy, and love, a new love in place of the one that the years had stolen. Surely, though, this dead thing had not changed. It was dead. Yet, as she looked at it—was it the same skull? Maybe father had replaced it before . . .
She picked it up and studied it. This, the source of her nightmares, small in her hands and grinning up at her.
“Do you miss him too?” she heard herself say. The grinning skull beguiled her into a smile. “Maybe you’re not so terrible,” she mused. “Do you miss him? I do.” These last words came out in a squeak as she held back a sob. “Life’s moving on though,” she began again.
Tale Told 