Puzzled

Dust, loose hairs, cobwebs, angled pictures and paintings, and an oppressive stench of wet dog. I took my last deep breath of unstained air before closing the maple door behind me. Levi had told me to take my shoes off before entering, but I absolutely will not ruin my socks.

The thick grime engulfing the hickory floor cushioned my heavy steps. Don't look down. But I did look down. I looked down and saw a concoction of stray hairs, grey soot, and tiny critters all grasped tight around my dry boots. My stomach jumped. I dropped my bags and sprinted up the stairs, both hands holding my mouth shut. I didn't make it to the bathroom.

I carefully stepped over where my bile lay and found the bathroom door. I tugged on the sliding door with my clean hand, yet it didn't budge. I could feel my heart beating faster and faster, my breathing becoming ever more shallow and sudden. The walls were closing in around me, the world doesn't want me. I shut my eyes.

My fingers wrapped around the stress ball in my pocket. It was soft and smooth. Pressed against my palm, I could see the sleeping black cat engraved into it. In, and out. In, and out. I breathed with the cat, and my heart rate returned to normal. I opened my eyes.

Laundry has cleaning.

I avoided the puddle and went back downstairs and towards the kitchen. A large plastic sheet covered the table and chairs in the dining room. Another was over the sink and dishwasher under the window. If the plastic had failed to encase it even slightly, the sink would have been filled with sticks and leaves. I dislodged the bar holding the window open and allowed it to shut with a creak, click, and a lock. Without spilling the forest floor, I folded the sheet over itself to free the sink. The faucet was stiff and screeched as it turned. A battle broke out within the depths of the piping, the tap vibrating violently.

I took a step back before a sudden blast of water fired from the spout, drenching the sink and dehydrated drain. I turned it down and rinsed off my hand. There was no soap, so I had to scrub thoroughly as not to dirty my pants. Once I had finished, I patted the wet off my hands. I came to the bifold doors that concealed the laundry from the kitchen and pulled it open. It lacked the mess that covered the rest of the floors but still had not escaped the dirt. The back wall was partially waterlogged, with much of the paint peeling off of blisters and boils. Much like myself, the spiders seemed to have a great aversion to the stench that filled the room. Maybe once I clean it up, they'll become permanent residents again. The washing machine was... old.

It was a strangely familiar washer, maybe even nostalgic. It wouldn't be the one we had while growing up, it couldn't be. Could it?

I dropped to my knees, dragged out the machine partially from its gap in the counter, and craned my head around the side.

Less than ten centimetres from the base towards the machine's front side was a dent whose centre would have still perfectly fit the handle of the door uncle David and I had banged it into in the summer of 1978.

I'd recently turned 12 and had left something in my pockets that may or may not have caused the washing machines motor to crack. Davi got me to help him fix it, which we eventually did after most of the motor was replaced. While moving it from the table back to the laundry, we swayed it into one of the pantry doors and left a nice big dent in the metal.

I had to help him swap it with a newer one almost a decade later, which he had to replace in 1993 if my memory's right. It was a pretty high tech one that connects to your phone and did something to do with the load's weight too if I'm not mistaken. Why'd he swap it with this old one again?

Check what's behind.

I stood up again and leaned over the machine to check the back of it. Nothing? No pipes existed to connect to the tap, nor were there any cables to plug in. I pulled it out all the way and checked its back. The pipes and wires had all been removed.

Vomit, don't forget.

I collected the items I'd come for and returned to my guttural spillage. I left the spot cleaner than it has likely ever been, long before Davi's passing and maybe before we even moved in.

I again attempted the bathroom door. Capable of using both hands this time, I managed to grind it open, the wheels another thing I'd have to replace.

The bathroom was strangely cleanly; no cobwebs, light dust, no bad smells. I raised the toilet lid to reveal clean water in the bowl. And in the reservoir, no growths.

Feed me drink.

"Not from here," I twisted the tap at the basin, which quickly dripped clear, clean water. My Oxfeeder, a maroon and black purple gecko, climbed down from his perch atop my shoulder and onto the tap. He wrapped his thin furry tail around it and sipped from droplets before they fell. I stood triumphant as I freed my bladder of the weight it had gained from the hour-long drive here. The toilet didn't struggle to flush nor have any problems filling, so I washed my hands and returned downstairs to inspect the laundry again.

I gently pulled the peeling paint behind the machine, revealing the damp wood beneath. I went higher up and took the rest off, wetter wood and a cut in the top corner that seemed to be the source. I climbed onto the counter and stood up the best I could without hitting my head. There was a plastic pipe with a small drip type of attachment being fed a small amount of water. It was intentional; whoever installed it wanted to damage the wall like this. I dropped back down and inspected the washing machine.

"Check underneath for me," I told my Oxfeeder.

He scuttled down my pants and under the washer.

Little black book.

He returned to my shoulder as quickly as he'd left and watched on as I struggled to roll the washer over without dropping it. After a few moments of strain, I safely lay it down and inspected its bottom. Taped securely to the metal undercarriage was a black journal that fit within my palm. I freed it from its sticky bonds and ran my fingers down the leathery spine. The entire cover lacked any engravings or writings. I opened it up and let the empty pages fly right to left until a black streak on the lineless cream paper caught my eye.

I flicked back through the pages to where I saw the inked page. The streak was actually a page filled with angled lines of numbers separated by dashes and grouped by commas. '223-57-13-8,' was the first group.

Is it code?

"I think it's a book cipher," I responded.

I stood up and made my way out of the laundry and around the back of the staircase. On the opposite side of the hall was the library office thing. I swung open the dual sliding doors with their colourful frosted glass windows, freeing the room of its stale air. Inside were four large shelves filled to their entirety with books and an L shaped desk overlooking a pond from behind two tall windows. I raised the curtains as high as they would go and began going through the shelves. To 223, I counted from the highest book closest to the right corner of the desk, going across then down the first shelf to the next. Each shelve had at least 50 books, and there were eight shelves on each bookcase. To make my task a little less arduous, I grabbed some paper and a well-used pencil from the desk. I counted the first shelve to be 65 books and wrote it down on the paper as "1 - 65" before tearing it and sticking it to the shelf with some nearby glue tack.

It took almost 3 hours, but I eventually got all the books I needed and had them opened onto the listed page. The floor was covered in nearly a hundred books. I attached a piece of lined paper to a clipboard and, with the black book open in my left hand, began counting to the specific line and word indicated. After about an hour of double-checking, miscounting, and removing some of the incoherent babble, I was confident I'd finished the code.

Dear Shaw I wanted to give you one last great puzzle before my passing but I have run out of time look after your cousin for me even if she won't listen I know you will take good care of the dogs and I know you aren't hurting for money but please do check the des code three 34 twenty

The desk had a combination lock on it and, when unlocked, dropped with a thud onto the carpet floor. I pulled open the drawer, which held a letter taped onto a box with the words 'For my dear little boy' inscribed onto it.

I opened the letter and read through a note that had been folded to fit inside.

I know this puzzle wasn't nearly enough for your abilities, but I do hope it kept you out of trouble for just a short while. I'm proud of you Shawny my beautiful boy, and your father would have been too.

I lay the note down on the desk and opened the box. $100 notes had been stacked tight within the box. I counted through it, and it equalled to be precisely $20 000. At the bottom of the box was another short message.

Hopefully, this covers the damages for this puzzle; you're not being covered for the rest of them.

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