Victoria's Secret

“Welcome to Willow Spring!” Emy squealed, throwing her arms high, her bracelets jingling as sunlight filtered through the car window and caught the gold in her curls.

I couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped me as I peered out of the tinted window. A rolling landscape of warm, sun-drenched hills and artfully crooked houses greeted us. After weeks of anticipation, we were finally in Willow Spring. It wasn’t just a new location—it was a tribute, a step towards honouring Victoria’s last wish.

None of us had to be here. We’d already graduated from universities with far greater prestige than Cameroon Lance’s modest campus. But this was never about academics. It was about Victoria, about her request and our promise, and maybe, just maybe, about the pieces of ourselves we’d left scattered after her death.

Judith let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Wow, I’m so excited,” she drawled, her eyes rolling dramatically. “Can I die now?”

Emy turned in her seat with a radiant smile that seemed to ignore the sarcasm. “Oh, come on, Judith! Be excited for real—this is going to be fun!” Her voice was so high-pitched it almost bounced off the windows.

Judith rested her cheek against the windowpane and scowled at her own reflection. “No, seriously, can’t you see my joyful grin? I’m positively glowing with enthusiasm.”

“Cut the sarcasm,” Sage said, her voice low and calm. “You could at least try to enjoy this. For once.”

Judith clicked her tongue. “Sorry if I’m not shrieking over something as utterly meaningless as playing college dress-up. We’re not here for education. We’re here because Tori wanted some posthumous bonding experience. Couldn’t she have sent us somewhere more glamorous than this dusty town with its creepy trees and romanticised poverty?”

“Judith, look outside,” I murmured, eyes still tracing the vibrant blur of small shops and families walking beneath hanging flower baskets. “This town isn’t as tiny as you make it out to be. There are two universities, eight high schools, five junior highs, and nurseries scattered all over. Plus, it’s beautiful. Honestly, it’s too beautiful.”

“It really is,” Sage said, leaning over to get a better view. The wind brushed loose strands of hair from her face as she took in the view.

“Fine,” Judith muttered. “I’ll admit the town has potential. I could take some nice photos here—maybe a broody silhouette against the willow trees. But must we dress and act like commoners? I don’t want to sacrifice my fabulous style for some immersion mission. And don’t even get me started on studying. I nearly died last time I took online courses. I’m far too young for wrinkles and grey hair.”

Her voice cracked with theatrical despair, and I turned to look at her, shaking my head in amusement.

Sage touched her chin thoughtfully. “So your problem isn’t the town—it’s the idea of studying without bribing someone to do it for you. Got it.”

“Judith, you do know you have the poorest degree in the history of academic failure, right?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The questions were confusing!” she cried in protest, flailing her hands. “What do you want from me?! I passed high school, didn’t I?”

“After retaking the exams three times,” Emy added with a singsong voice.

The car filled with laughter while she glared bullets at us.

“Let’s not stress it—it’s Judith McDumb Bill we’re talking about,” Sage said dryly, flicking her hand dismissively.

“I’m not dumb!” Judith shrieked. “I’m allergic to books! Why can’t anyone understand that?”

Sage laughed and pushed her thick blonde hair off her shoulders. The red-tinted ends gleamed as they caught the light, woven neatly into small cornrows that made her look dramatically different. Her golden brown eyes were hidden behind steel-grey contact lenses.

“Judith’s been more paranoid than usual,” Emy remarked, studying our friend with amusement.

“Yeah,” Sage said, tilting her head, “something’s up. Spill it, Judith.”

“I’m always paranoid,” Judith snapped. “That’s my normal state.”

“True,” I said, eyeing her closely, “but you’ve evolved into a whole new level of jumpy. What’s going on?”

Judith squirmed under our gazes. “Why are you lot staring at me like that? You’re creeping me out.”

Emy leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Judith, mood swings are a sign of pregnancy, you know.”

“Yeah…?” Judith replied warily.

“Judith, are we about to become mums?” Sage asked with mock seriousness.

Judith choked on her spit and began coughing violently. I pressed a fist to my lips, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Just tell us. We’ll support you,” Sage added with a mischievous grin.

“Who’s the father? That model who looks like a half-ox?” Emy asked.

“Or the guy who walks like his knees were assembled backward?”

“Are you both mad?!” Judith yelled, her cheeks blazing. “I’m not pregnant!”

“Then are you on your period?” I teased.

“For five months straight?” Sage said with a mock-frown. “That’s not a period. That’s a horror story.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know she’s going to be a mummy,” Emy said wistfully.

“I’m not pregnant! What do you think I am? Virgin Mary?”

“More like Mary Magdalene,” Emy muttered.

Judith’s face flared red again, and she clutched her fists against her thighs. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Nicholas. That was five bloody months ago!”

Sage nodded solemnly. “Five months. The timeline adds up.”

“Then why is her stomach still flat?” Emy asked, lips pursed in mock curiosity. “Maybe she’s wearing a girdle.”

“Or the baby’s hiding in her spine,” Sage suggested. “Or maybe it knows its mum’s too fragile for a proper bump.”

Judith exploded. “I’m not pregnant!” Her voice cracked like thunder, and the cab driver, trying his best to keep composed, let out a snort of laughter.

“Maybe the baby’s just really shy,” Sage whispered dramatically. “It’s going to come out meowing like a kitten.”

“I want a nephew,” Emy chimed in. “A fat one. Tower-of-Babel fat.”

“No, a niece!” Sage said. “I’m already planning the godmother speech.”

“As if! I’m obviously the godmother,” Emy argued.

“Shut up,” Judith snapped. “Juno, please!”

I doubled over, pressing a hand to my stomach, struggling not to laugh. “Okay, okay,” I wheezed, waving my hand. “Enough, stop stressing the imaginary baby.”

“Juju!” Judith cried again, on the verge of tears.

“Wait,” Emy said, freezing mid-laugh. “Didn’t you have unprotected s*x with Raphael three months ago?”

Judith turned pale so fast it was like the colour had been s*ck*d out of her skin. That was the final blow. We all dissolved into helpless laughter as Judith smacked my shoulder.

“We’re here, miss,” the cabman said through a wide grin.

We’d taken two cabs—one just for luggage and musical gear (mostly Judith’s and Emy’s, of course), and one for us.

Judith looked out the window and gasped. “This is where we’re staying? I thought we’d be sleeping under a bridge or in a barn.”

“Very funny,” Sage replied. “I thought we’d get a communal tent or a backyard bunkhouse.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “We may be going incognito, but we’re not living like peasants. This house belonged to Victoria. She left it to me.”

“You’re joking,” Sage said, climbing out and staring up at the house. “It looks like something from a horror movie. You know, the kind where only one person survives.”

“And that would be you,” Judith muttered, stepping onto the gravel path. “Like a cat with nine thousand lives.”

The house stood tall, brooding under the sway of old trees, with dark-painted wood and steep gables in the style of a Queen Anne Victorian. The gravel road leading here was flanked with flowerbeds gone slightly wild, as if nature was reclaiming the path.

“Are you sure you want to live here, miss?” the cabman asked, his voice more serious now. “This place is haunted. No one’s lived here for years.”

Judith threw her arms up. “Brilliant. Now it’s a haunted house. Fantastic.”

I stood still for a moment, staring at the house. They are right. The house is colourless and terrifying. The wind whispered through the willow branches, brushing against my skin like fingertips.

Whatever this place held, it was part of Victoria’s story. And now, it would be part of ours.

The air carried the scent of earth and mould, as though the house had exhaled a long-held breath. Damp leaves and rotting wood drifted in on a breeze that set the curtains fluttering like pale ghosts.

The cabman and his partner unfurled the trunk; luggage clacked and bumped on the cracked driveway as we unloaded. I handed over the payment, fingers trembling slightly. He looked me over, concern etched in his lined face, then nodded once and drove away, the engine’s rumble fading into the distance.

I swallowed against the unfamiliar chill in my throat and slid my hand across the weathered door, its wood grain rough under my palm. The house groaned as I pulled it open, the hinges squealing like a startled animal. Inside, a hushed gloom swallowed us. Dust motes shimmered in the narrow shafts of light, and the smell—dry, cold, and old—filled my nose.

The place had clearly been neglected for years: faded wallpaper hung in tatters, a thick layer of dust coated every surfa