Her Will be Done

“Don’t tell me you’re going to start doing that again!”

Snipped Sye Ten Bragglesworth with an incredulity known to exist, yet was rarely shown for fear of unwelcome reprisal.

Sye’s target was his brother, Ben Bragglesworth who, with the fastidiousness of the most anal obsessive-compulsive, and with the flamboyant light-footedness of an aging yet still capable ballet-protégé, escaped contact with the thirteenth step on the arduous climb to the Dover Bed and Breakfast.

Ben whirled on step fourteen and eyed Sye:

“Well, it’s Friday the 13th, you know!”

Sye wiped incredulity from his blockish, taut face and lowed as if foghorns clogged the Seine.

“Sure, Ben, and if Grandma had wheels, she’d be a wagon.”

But Ben remained unfazed.  Having reached the Cliffs’ porch with its surprising array of mums, white roses, odd looking pottery and cobalt blue vases (many of which contained lilacs), he set down his maroon Nike overnight bag, reached into his pocket and pulled out his rabbit’s foot.  He looked up briefly and muttered something undecipherable to Sye, then gave the foot a few quick rubs and beamed with glee as if he had been sprayed with an abundance of giggles.

“O Ben, for Billingsgate Sake!” Sye snapped, tossing aside his carry bag and striking his hand, albeit mildly, on a latticework of English ivy.

“Shall we be mad about our flat?” Ben joked, pocketing his foot while ringing the door bell.

“O let’s,” rejoined Sye, checking his watch.  “It’s a room, Ben, a room--not a flat.”

The two had been compelled to go to Dover; it was a condition of their Mother’s will.  She had left a considerable estate, yet she was known for her, “tests,” and this was apparently one.  A riddle, of sorts, a test which her two sons would have to pass.  Here they would receive further instructions.  From whom, and how?  That was unknown.  So the sons played along--there was little choice.

Sye and Ben had come from Bathe, a little town in England.  Sye had nine years on his brother and was three inches taller.  Sye looked a little like Stephen King.  Ben had a resemblance to Bill Gates, but was thinner and had curly hair.  Having gone through weeks of stress with the loss of their Mom, they were actually glad to get out of Bathe and into bed for the night in Dover.  Even despite Mother’s will.

A round, middle-aged woman named Abigail met them at the desk.  She had red hair and wore a purple dress with big white buttons.  Her personality was refreshing, like an English arboretum.

“I’m Sye, this is Ben,” said Sye Ten. 

And the usual small talk occurred while the two brothers signed the register and Abigail gave them their room key.  Only thing was, it was room thirteen.

“O no, this won’t do,” whined Ben, his face like cold sourdough. 

“O for the love of Abbey Road!”  bellowed Sye, but he got nowhere and figured this was a sort of penance and that perhaps Mother’s test would be truffles by comparison.

So they got room nine, instead.

Sye looked to the right and noticed a black cat.  Abigail noticed he noticed and jumped ahead of him. 

“That’s my dear Maize,” she said.

Ben then noticed and tensed up like a tennis racket. 

“Bad luck, back luck,” Ben machined out quickly.

Abigail for the first time concealed her saffron-tinted teeth and narrowed her eyes.

“O my, what’s with the man, has he gone off?  Maize is a precious cat, he is!”

Sye opened his mouth to speak, but Ben cut in front of him.

“This is Friday the 13th, you know!”

Abigail eyed Sye with her own incredulity, waved her hand and rolled her eyes.  Maize uttered and almost undetectable, “Meow,” and then disappeared around the corner.  The two brothers got their key and made for their room.

Abigail read their names on the register, uttered a surprised, “Ooh,” and called them back before they got to the stairs.

“What is it?” Sye Ten Bragglesworth asked.

Abigail reached into a cubbyhole along the wall and pulled out an envelope.  She handed it to Sye.

The envelope contained the two brother’s names, and right below that was the word, “Instructions.”

Sye showed it to his brother, wherein Ben crossed the fingers of one hand, and with the other reached for his rabbit’s foot.


735 Words
Writer’s Cramp
June 14, 2014