It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, but the temperature was not too high. The clouds were big, white, and puffy. It was a beautiful day for a walk when I came across an intersection.

As I looked up and down the streets, deciding if I should head home or into town, my eyes rested on the ancient house on the corner. Quite honestly, I had never noticed that old house before. It was abandoned, with the windows uncurtained and the lawn untended. For how long, I had no idea. Yet, there was an air of familiarity surrounding the house.

I stepped onto the sidewalk leading to the house, again looking in all directions. It was still early enough in the morning that traffic was minimal. No one in the neighborhood seemed to be outside. I took a couple of more steps towards the house, squinting my eyes to see if I could see anything inside, except for bare walls.

Since I was a little girl, I had always had a fascination with older structures. Going on field trips to historic places was a big treat for me. Today, I found that I had not outgrown that curiosity. With a hard swallow, I walked up quickly to the old house, mounted the crumbling steps, grabbed the doorknob, and twisted. To my surprise, it was unlocked. With a bound of bravery and bravado seen by no one but myself, I entered the house and closed the door behind me.

I stood at the entrance, looking around. To my left was what at one time had probably been a dining room, the tables long gone, a dusty and cob webbed chandelier hanging in the middle. To my right was what may have been a living room, an old, burnt-out fireplace sitting on the far wall. Ahead of me lay a hallway, with a stairway to the side leading up. Under the stairway was a door, which very well could have led to the basement. I wondered to myself where I should explore first.

I turned left and stepped into the dining room. Yes, it had most likely been a dining room. The shadows of old furniture, outlined by years of sitting against the wall, were now visible on the walls. The imprints of the feet from the dining table lay under the lighting. I stepped through another opening and found myself in an old kitchen, the stove, dishwasher, and fridge still sitting in their places, surrounded by countertops that were now only collecting dust. Curiosity caught the best of me as I checked the interiors of the appliances, finding nothing in each of them. As I slowly walked through the old place, the air of familiarity grew deeper and thicker, yet I still felt as if I had never been inside before. I swore for a moment that I could smell baked ziti in the oven, feel the heat from the oven, and hear my mother humming softly to herself as she prepared a salad for the two of us.

Finally, I found myself back at the entrance of the house.

I turned right, strolling into the living room, the floorboards creaking under my steps. Although the furniture had long been gone, its ghosts remained, their images burned into the walls like ghosts of their former selves. I could see dents in the old carpet where an easy chair had once sat, a sofa, a TV stand, and a holder for firewood near the fireplace. As I neared the fireplace, I swear I could feel its warmth, could smell the burning wood. That imaginary smell took me back to my childhood, as I lay face down on the floor watching TV, my mom curled up with a book in her easy chair, softly humming to herself.

The images slipped away as I went through the back door frame of the living room into a hallway that led outside. I looked out the back door into the backyard, finding nothing but a rotting fence and weeds. I turned into the hallway and found myself near the entrance of the house.

I climbed the stairs, each one creaking, wary to grab onto the dusty, unsteady-looking rail. At the top of the stairs, I found a small hallway leading to three open doors. Inside the first, I found the bathroom, which was cozy yet large enough. A footed bathtub sat in one corner, where I swore, I could smell the bath salts my mother used. An image of her sitting in the warm tub, steam still rising from the water, came to mind as I sat on the floor playing a card game. My head snapped up when I heard the water splash, seeing the nude image of my mother rising from the tub, grabbing a towel, and toweling herself off as she softly hummed to herself, but the image faded away into nothingness.

One door led to a large room, with the dent of the bed visible on the carpet of the space. I could smell the soft perfume as my mother stood in front of the mirror, looking over herself, humming to herself as I lay on the bed, gazing at her in awe while she talked about an upcoming visit from Aunt Mae and how I was to behave. But the smells and visions were simply memories from the past. My mind boiled in confusion as I walked through the house, which still seemed unfamiliar but offered up memories from the past, perhaps part of its story being that all homes were homes to somebody.

I walked into the other room, finding a smaller bedroom with the ghostly squares of old posters on the wall. Another scent came to me, this one a little bit more bitter but one bringing another happy image as I lay front down on my bed as a teen, cheeks hollowed as I inhaled the joint, holding it, then slowly exhaling it with a giggle, handing it to my mother who lay in the bed next to me. She also took a puff, sighing contently and leaning her head on my shoulder as I took another puff.

Again, the images faded. I went back downstairs and near the entrance.

Gritting my teeth, I opened the door under the stairwell, finding a dark pit. I retrieved my phone from my purse and shone the flashlight, finding wooden steps leading downstairs. Gently and carefully, I descended the steps, keeping my eyes open for anything that might give away. When I reached the bottom, I found a basement void of anything but more cobwebs and dust, windows from all sides lightly illuminating the cellar. I walked along the floor, kicking at small rocks, before noticing a small doorway to one side.

I opened the door, finding a small room with a tunnel-like structure to one side. Curious, I stepped into the room, the door closing behind me, and approached the tunnel, only to find, to my disappointment, that it was nothing but a dug-out hole in the wall, its purpose long lost to time. I turned and grabbed the door handle, only to find it stuck. With a slight groan, I tried again, pulling harder, still finding it stuck. This time, I went after it with my shoulder, still finding it stuck.

With a bit of panic, I pulled out my phone again and looked at my contact list. A list of friends stared back at me, almost accusingly. Surely, I thought to myself, I could get out of this before having to resort to calling any of them. With another might huff, I again pulled at the door, still finding it stuck. I placed my hands on my side, then felt the blood drain from my face.

Somewhere in the distance, I swore I could hear humming.

I swallowed. I feared leaving this room, but I also wanted out of the room with every bit of being. I pulled the door again. With a grunt, I yanked it. It was still stuck. With a huff of frustration, I kicked it. It opened.

Feeling myself turn slightly red, I walked back into the basement. The humming had stopped. Perhaps it was my imagination.

I stumbled on an old box sitting near the door. Eyebrows crossed, I looked at it, confused as I swore it had not been there before. I knelt beside it, opening it, finding old clothing. I pulled one of the shirts out, opening it and recognizing it as one of my favorite play shirts from when I was a little girl. I stood, my mind in confusion as I looked around the basement, suddenly finding it full of old boxes, old toys, old furniture, old appliances, things which I swore had not been there seconds before. I started to question my sanity, wanting to escape this asylum, and walked quickly through the basement until I came to the steps. I carefully climbed them, opened the door, and found myself in the hallway.

The first thing to hit me was the smell of freshly baking bread. A soft hum came from the direction of the kitchen. The hallway was now filled with a decorative table, and pictures adorned the walls. In the living room, I could see the hint of a sofa and hear the soft crackling of the fireplace. I quickly stepped towards the front door, placing my hand on it.

My hand froze on the doorknob. The soft humming from the kitchen continued. The crackle of the fireplace. The smell of the bread.

I turned and slowly walked into the kitchen. At the counter, her back still to me, stood my mother, decorating a cake, humming to herself. Her blonde hair was unbound, falling over her shoulders and her back. She wore the same type of yellow sundress I wore.

“Hello, dear,” she said softly, her back still turned. “I have been waiting for you for a very long time!” She turned to me, a soft, loving smile on her beautiful face. She walked to me, arms spread, and took me into them, giving me a warm hug I had not felt for decades, that I had needed for decades.

“Mom?” I asked softly. “It can’t be ... how is this possible?”

She pulled back and let out a little giggle, turning back to the cake. “It really does not seem like it could be possible, but here we are,” she said softly, squeezing a tube of icing to create a pink flower. She shrugged her shoulders. “It is not up to me to be able to explain these things. But it has happened, and we are finally together again.” She set down the tube and let out a sigh. “Oh, I have missed you!” she said, turning and embracing me again, putting her head on my shoulder. “I have missed you so much, my love,” she whispered.

Her warmth enveloped me, and any fears of the mysterious suddenly melting away, as acceptance and joy flowed through my body. I held onto her tightly, feeling her warmth cover my body as I held hers close to mine, my head lying on her shoulder as we embraced.

Our heads rose, our eyes met, her eyes smiling as bright as her lips. She leaned forward and gave my forehead a light kiss, then placed another on my nose. “You have grown into the wonderful woman I knew you could be,” she said, her eyes darting around my face.

“I could have never been anything like this without you,” I said softly.

She smiled, pulled from our hug, and took my hand. Without a word, she led me through the dining room, the table already set. We continued to walk, hand in hand, until arriving in the living room, the fire crackled, the curtains drawn close to the nighttime darkness. She led me to the sofa, where two glasses of wine sat on the table. We sat, each taking a glass, each taking a sip, my taste buds exploding to the sweet woody taste the wine had to offer.

She curled her legs under her as she again rested her head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around her, burying my face in her golden hair, its scent surrounding me. The warmth of the wine, the fireplace, and my mother’s embrace flowed through me, calming me.

My mother let out a small sigh, her head still on my shoulder. “I never got to see you turn 18. For that, I am so sorry.”

I shook my head. “It was not your fault, Mom. Things ... happen.” I took another sip. “Are ... are ... are you...” I swallowed hard.

She nodded. “Dead. Yes. I have been for several years. But this you already know.”

I nodded. “I guess I do.” I sniffled a little bit. “I missed you so much.”

She planted small kisses on my falling teardrops. “I know, Love. I missed you, too, more than I can put into words. But I still watched you grow from the frightened little girl into the wonderful woman you became.”

I smiled. “So, you saw me and Aunt Mae,” I said quickly, like a child caught in trouble.