Little did she know by stepping across the

Little did she know by stepping across the threshold of the old country house she would start to discover the dark secret surround her birth family.

The oak door creaked at the hinges, but the key still worked. The servant greeted her, "Good afternoon, Madame. Would you like tea?" "Sure", she answered. The sitting room was huge

and she'd never seen furniture as beautiful as the chairs and couches in this room. It was such an odd contrast to the rest of the house that she had to

check herself and peek again into the rest of the house. Still uncertain, she returned to the beautiful room and sat in a chair. An old silver bell with a black handle moved toward

the edge of the mantle as though guided by an invisible illusory hand. The black handled bell emitted the most delicately delightful dingle dangle din

that tickled loose a memory as if an occult hand had reached through the dimensions of time and space to caress it out. A simple memory of a monk on a hill holding up a flower.

The flower smelled exactly like a cheeseburger tasted, causing even the monk, with all their years of detachment, to raise an eyebrow. I wasn't sure if this memory came from a drea

dful past long forgotten about the monks with only one eyebrow, the ones legends say Phil Keoghan is descended from. I ripped the flower out of the ground

ed from the soil at the spot the seed landed. Each sprout bore a tiny foot that kicked the seed’s ass out of the field & spoke in a tiny, squeaky voice: “No anchor babies allowed!"