100 Years Project Anthology

is, but it involves a lot of paperwork.
Faith stays in the sitting room with a book until the
grandfather clock in the hall chimes six and she decides she’s
hungry. She calls upstairs to her mother.
“I’m making dinner, what do you want?”
No answer.
“Mum?”
No answer.
There is a sick, cold feeling in the pit of Faith’s stomach. A
faint humming buzzes like an insect at the back of her skull as she
mounts the stairs towards her mother’s room.
“Mum?” She says again, stopping outside the bedroom door.
“Are you busy, or…”
Silence, except for that humming and the panicked whisper of her
thoughts. Shesgoneshesgoneshesgone, oh no, ohno ohno ohno—
Faith’s hands shake as she jerks the door open. The room is quiet,
the bed made and the desk neat. The fox-shaped clock that Faith
bought for her mother’s last birthday ticks quietly on the chest of
drawers. Everything seems in place, except for the yellow door next
to her mother’s bed.
The brass owl’s eyes lock with hers, and it clicks its beak in
delight.