Like a maid

    The amount of work Finius put into the old mansion was phenomenal, especially for an eleven-year-old. Soon such work fell into routine. He would climb the largest ladder he'd ever seen and scrape the mold off the ceiling and chandelier; he had managed to reupholster half the furniture in the living room; he replaced the broken, never-washed dishes in the cupboard for a new set he had haggled for at a nearby pawn shop; he would set to vacuum at least 23 of the 24 rooms of the house every week, and as he had noticed his grandfather was forgetting to eat, he was now cooking breakfast and dinner for the inhabitants of the house.
    His father was usually in and out of the manor often, and it made Finius sick to think what he was doing, so he vented his energy into working harder on maintenance. On a day he had found a small speck of blood on a robe in his father's laundry, he went ahead and replaced every door in the house but his grandfather's with a freshly-painted one.
    The few times he went out with his father, usually to buy something, his father proved to be as polite as a root canal. When the two had gone to buy some flowers to spruce up the front yard, the largely-built but kindly lady at the counter accidentally sat on some pansies, only to have him growl, "Watch what you're doing, Porky!" But besides these kinds of things Finius sometimes found himself holding a good impression of his father, who was always very courteous when dinner was served, saying things like, "This is amazing, Finius!" or, "I've never had ribs this good!" As it was, Finius was relatively torn between the shifting views he would have of the man.
    As for his grandfather, he was more elusive than his son, and rarely left the dark room beneath the stair. The few times Finius managed to come into contact with him, he would mumble something inaudible or give a faint hello and wobble back to his room.
    For all of his toil and indecision, Finius was starting to feel lonesome.

The End

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