Chapter 8 Birdy #2
It’s not unpleasant, it’s just so overwhelmingly familiar.
Even though I thought I’d never been here.
I recognize the hallway and the staircase too, and I feel as though I have been pulled back in time or tumbled down the rabbit hole.
I have been here before. Even if I don’t remember it.
I don’t know if all homes have a distinctive smell, but this one definitely does.
It smells of old books, wet dogs, Shake n’ Vac, chocolate brownies, and tea.
It smells like my mother.
It smells of my childhood.
But we didn’t live here and I didn’t think I had ever set foot in the place until now, so I don’t understand what I am remembering.
I hesitate in the hallway, lingering in the shadows of forgotten memories, still uncertain about going any farther inside.
Stepping into the hall feels like stepping back in time.
The decor is faded and old, the furniture looks as though it belongs in a museum, and the elderly, elaborate carpet is threadbare in places.
The wood-paneled walls are covered in framed photographs of what I suspect might be family.
But when I venture closer, I see that every one of the expensive-looking frames contains a photograph of a dog.
Some big, some small, all different. Every frame has two dates engraved into the bottom of it, and I’m guessing they were all beloved pets that lived here.
I had presumed we would have little in common but my grandmother was clearly a dog person too.
One picture is of a huge husky that looks the spitting image of Sunday, but according to the date on the frame the dog died over thirty years ago.
I don’t recall the dog, or the house, or the woman who owned them, but now I’m here, I’m almost certain I spent time in this house as a child.
Maybe I was just too young to remember it.
Memories and feelings coexist in a close relationship.
They’ll lie to you if it means they can stay together.
I close the front door, sealing myself inside the house in a way that makes me uncomfortable.
When I do, I notice that there is a large, untidy pile of unopened post on the floor behind the door.
I experience a lightning bolt of pain through my body when I stoop to pick it up.
The pain is getting harder to ignore. I wish I knew exactly how much time I had left—the doctor was predictably vague—it would make it so much easier to plan and make decisions if I knew how long I’ve got.
I try to forget about the future and focus on the present, but everything about this situation feels peculiar, as though I have been dragged inside an unfamiliar version of my past. I feel off-kilter and uncertain, and am uncomfortable looking through a dead woman’s mail.
She might have been family, but to me she was a stranger and I can’t help thinking I am intruding.
I also can’t shake the feeling of being watched, but when I look outside there is nobody there.
The post I have picked up consists mostly of unopened envelopes and far too many flyers.
Several of them are for retirement villages, funeral homes, stair lifts, and hearing aids, and the way advertisers target the elderly sparks a small flame of fury inside me.
I’m about to leave it all on an antique bureau by the front door that is already covered in papers when something catches my eye.
The envelope looks fancy. It’s like a wedding invitation, except that it’s black, with pretty rose-gold foil letters printed on expensive-looking card stock.
There are just two sentences on the front:
Everyone knows their birthday. If you could know your deathday, would you want to?
“For fuck’s sake,” I say beneath my breath.
What a terrible thing to be sending to elderly people.
Some scam, no doubt, to relieve them of their savings.
The cruel things people do to other people never fail to shock me, even after all the years I have spent doing what I do and seeing what I have seen.
I know it’s nonsense but the envelope has still managed to pique my interest and it’s already been opened, so I pull out the letter inside.
At Thanatos we believe that everyone deserves to live their best life.
The only way to do that is to know how long you’ve got.
Millions of people spend their lives saving for a future they’ll never know.
Millions of people pay into pensions they’ll never receive a penny of.
Millions of people never get to say goodbye to their loved ones.
The world is full of people who put off living their dreams,
because they’ve been fooled into thinking there will always be a tomorrow.
Nobody needs to live, or die, that way anymore.
We can offer you the certainty to make the most of your time.
Here at Thanatos, after years of tireless research, our friendly team of scientists and doctors have discovered how to predict the date of your death.
There are no scary medical tests involved.*
Unlike most private health clinics, there are no fees.*
We care about our clients and we keep anxiety to a minimum, so there is no waiting list.*
We believe knowing your future is your right and that your time is precious.
Let us help you make the most of whatever time you have left.
For a free consultation, please call this number.
*Terms and conditions apply and only clients named on this letter can participate.
The name at the top of the letter is mine.