The Family Heirdoom
Wyndham pulled his blue sedan into the lot of the old folks home, checking his phone one last time for the address. The place was quiet, set back from the road with a pristine weathered grandeur, its brick walls softened by layers of Miami’s humid grime. The place looked a touch faded, wrapped in ivy, but well maintained with its tall windows barely catching the weak glow of streetlights.
He sighed, leaning back in his seat. Just one more delivery tonight. His last order for DoorDash then he could swing by the dispensary, and maybe, if the tips was big enough, he’d be able to grab some voodoo ranger before returning to the dorm room. Just a few bucks left to make it worth the large catering order.
Wyndham ran a hand through his unkempt hair and grabbed the bags from the backseat seat. He was dressed in his oversized tee, a black hoodie with weed paraphernalia, sweat pants, and his worn pair of lucky Vans. He headed inside, juggling the food bags and the faint smell of lingering floral air freshener that hit him as he entered the lobby.
A woman appeared, brisk and purposeful. Her name tag read *Lucille*, and her voice held a no-nonsense tone as she gave him a quick, assessing look.
“DoorDash delivery?” she asked bluntly.
“Yeah. Got your order right here,” he said, holding up the bags. “Where do you want it?”
“This way,” she motioned for him to follow, her sharp gaze taking in his rumpled clothes and general scruffiness. Her expression softened just slightly as they reached a large dining room with a table covered in white linen, prepared for something far more elegant than Wyndham’s usual drop-offs.
“We’re hosting a dance tonight for the residents and their families,” Lucille said, gesturing to the trays in his hands. “Set the food up here.”
Nodding, he began unpacking sandwiches, soups, fruit platters, and desserts. The quiet in the room pressed down on him; even the smallest clink of the silverware seemed to echo in the dimly lit space. As he set down the last tray, he noticed a shape in his periphery: a person, standing just beyond the doorway.
Wyndham’s hand paused mid-reach. The person was watching him, their expression blank. For some reason, his heart skipped a beat, recognition stirring at the edge of his mind.
“Kayden?”
The name slipped out before he could stop himself, but there was no answer. The figure stood there a moment longer, and then, without a word, turned and disappeared down the hall.
Wyndham’s heart pounded as he trailed Kayden down the corridor, calling his name again. But it was like his friend had been absorbed into the quiet, controlled atmosphere of the place, completely oblivious to Wyndham’s voice. Determined, he followed, feeling his frustration deepen with every ignored call.
At last, Kayden turned into a room with a plaque that read *Rec Room*. Wyndham hesitated briefly before slipping inside. The room was a sharp contrast to the muted halls: bright, cozy, set up with overstuffed couches, card tables, and a television softly playing a black-and-white movie. A few elderly residents sat here and there, reading or knitting.
Wyndham spotted Kayden near the center of the room, standing with his hands neatly folded in front of him, as if waiting for someone to speak. But something in his appearance stopped Wyndham cold. Gone was the disheveled, laid-back friend he knew. This Kayden looked practically unrecognizable.
His usually messy hair had been combed back meticulously, each strand slicked and held in place with a shine that caught the overhead light. His face was clean-shaven, smooth and fresh, almost boyish without the faint scruff Wyndham had always associated with him. He was dressed in a light purple dress shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of gray slacks that looked freshly pressed. A narrow gray tie completed the look, lying flat against his chest. Even his posture seemed alien for him upright, composed, his shoulders relaxed but squared in a way that felt… rehearsed.
“Kayden?” Wyndham tried again, his voice coming out weaker than he’d intended.
Kayden turned, but the look he gave Wyndham was polite, almost blank. No recognition, no flicker of familiarity in his eyes. Just a faint, puzzled smile as if Wyndham were a distant acquaintance he barely remembered.
“Who’s your friend, Harold?” asked a warm voice from the nearby couch. An elderly woman sat there, her hands resting atop her husband’s, her eyes crinkling with genuine curiosity.
Wyndham’s brow furrowed. *Harold?*
The name seemed to trigger something in Kayden, or rather, Harold. His faint smile softened, and he glanced between the older couple and Wyndham, struggling for words.
“Oh, uh… This is Wyndham. We go to college together,” he said finally, his voice oddly formal, with none of the casual tone Wyndham was used to. It was like he’d been recast in his own skin. “Wyndham, these are my grandparents, Ruth and Paul.”
Ruth’s face lit up, and she patted the empty seat beside her. “Well, come sit down, dear! It’s so lovely to meet a friend of Harold’s. He doesn’t bring many guests around such a nice young man, our Harold.”
Wyndham managed a strained smile as he took a seat, glancing between Kayden and his grandparents. Ruth and Paul seemed perfectly at ease, radiating warmth and hospitality, but all he could think about was Kayden, or *Harold*, sitting stiffly beside him, looking as if he’d been plucked from an entirely different life.
“Yeah, nice to meet you too,” Wyndham murmured, feeling as if he were watching a play he hadn’t been invited to rehearse for.
Kayden met his gaze, a flicker of something like confusion passing over his face before smoothing back into that distant, polite smile. There was no trace of the friend Wyndham had known, no spark of mischief or even casual recognition. Just a poised, docile expression as he leaned into the comfort of his grandparents, his gaze shifting blankly back to the room, as if this quiet little world were all he needed.
Wyndham glanced sidelong at Kayden or *Harold*, as his grandparents had called him. Unable to resist a smirk, he leaned in, voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and playful skepticism.
“So… Harold, huh?”
Harold’s polite smile didn’t falter, though there was a flicker of something else, maybe discomfort, in his eyes. “Yeah, uh… Harold’s actually my real name. Kayden’s my middle name. My parents liked it better, so it just kind of stuck over the years. But… I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Harold.”
Wyndham raised an eyebrow, amused. “Alright, Harold,” he said, putting just a little emphasis on the name. “Guess I’ll have to get used to it. It’s just a little weird. Question: aren't you from San Diego, right? Since when do your grandparents live all the way out here in Miami?”
Harold’s expression softened, a strange warmth flickering across his face as he looked back at Ruth and Paul. “I… well, yeah. They used to live in San Diego too, but when it came time for college, I decided to come here. Wanted to be closer to them, you know?” His voice was softer now, as if he truly believed the words. “Family’s important.”
Ruth’s eyes sparkled with affection, and she patted Harold’s hand, her gaze shifting to Wyndham. “And you, dear? How did you meet our Harold?” She pronounced the name with pride.
“Oh, uh, we… go to college together,” Wyndham replied, glancing at Harold, who nodded along politely, though his eyes held that same unfamiliar blankness.
“And what are you studying, William?” Paul asked, while Ruth began leaning forward with a grandmotherly interest that was both charming and unnerving.
Wyndham blinked, caught off-guard by the use of the name. “It’s, uh… actually Wyndham,” he corrected gently, but Paul only laughed softly, as if the distinction didn’t quite matter to her.
“Such a unique name,” she murmured. “But do tell, what are you studying?”
“Business administration,” Wyndham replied, feeling her gaze like a spotlight. “I mean, it’s not the most exciting thing, but it’s practical, I guess. I just kind of… fell into it.”
“Oh, practical is good,” Paul chimed in, nodding approvingly. “You can never go wrong with a good, stable field. What year are you, then?”
“Uh, planning on graduating in about two years or so.” Wyndham shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, sensing they were sizing him up, trying to place him.
Ruth tilted her head slightly, her smile never faltering. “And you’re here all by yourself, then? No family nearby?”
Wyndham hesitated, realizing he was revealing more than he’d intended. “Yeah… pretty much. I'm from just outside of Boston so my family is back there.”
“So, William, what brings you here today? Not that we’re not delighted to have you join us, of course.” Ruth asked, grabbing a plate of cookies.
“Oh, actually,” Wyndham said, glancing over at Kayden who was tightening his necktie, “I’m just here on a quick DoorDash run. Some kind of big order for tonight’s dance.” He gave a nod toward Harold, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess that’s why Kayden here is all dressed up.”
The reaction was swift and subtle but enough to make Wyndham’s smile falter. Harold’s expression turned to mild displeasure, his brows knitting just slightly. “It’s *Harold,*” he corrected gently but firmly, as though needing to make sure Wyndham got it right.
Wyndham’s cheeks warmed a bit, surprised at how much of a nerve he’d seemed to touch. “Oh, right. Sorry, Harold.” He nodded slowly, trying to get used to the name on his tongue. “Guess it’s still a bit weird. So it's that why you're dressed like… this?”
Paul chuckled, shaking his head with a good-natured smile. “Oh, he isn’t dressed up just for the dance,” he assured. “Our Harold always dresses like a proper gentlemen when he comes to visit his grandparents, don’t you, son?”
Harold offered a modest nod, his hands folding in front of him with a calm, almost practiced air. “Yeah, Grandpa likes it when I look respectable,” he replied. His tone was easy, relaxed, but it felt… off.
“Doesn’t he look nice, dear?” Ruth chimed in, beaming with grandmotherly pride as she gave Wyndham a look of expectation, like she was waiting for him to acknowledge how perfectly Harold fit in here.
“Oh, uh… yeah, totally,” Wyndham said, trying to match her enthusiasm. “You clean up nice… Harold.”
Harold’s mouth curled into a polite smile, the expression genuine but missing a certain spark, a familiarity that Wyndham couldn’t quite place. Paul and Ruth, meanwhile, looked at Harold with a proud warmth that radiated through the room. For them, everything seemed perfect, as if Harold had always been this way with his hair neatly combed, politely spoken, and clothes perfectly pressed.
“Anyway, you must be awfully busy to come all the way out here with that delivery.” Ruth’s tone was warm, but there was an intensity in her eyes, as though she were peeling back layers Wyndham hadn’t meant to expose.
“Oh, I mean, yeah,” Wyndham said, glancing down at his phone. “Just doing the usual college thing, trying to make some extra money, you know?”
Harold watched him with that same faint, distracted smile, a politeness that bordered on detachment.
Ruth exchanged a look with Paul before leaning back, her smile softening into a gentle kindness. “Well, William—oh, Wyndham, of course,” she corrected herself with a laugh. “Would you like a cookie, dear? I made them fresh this morning, just for Harold and his friends.”
Wyndham managed a chuckle, trying to ignore the sense that they were coaxing him into staying just a little longer. “Sure, I… I could go for a cookie.”
Ruth reached over to a small plate on the coffee table, holding out a warm, chocolate chip cookie with a knowing smile. As he took it, Wyndham couldn’t help but feel the warmth of their gaze, a strange, almost possessive comfort that filled the room, slowly wrapping around him like an embrace.
Wyndham took another bite of the cookie, but as he chewed, a strange sensation prickled at the edges of his mind. The room seemed a bit brighter, the colors of the decor more vivid, almost unnaturally so. He blinked, trying to shake the feeling, but his head felt… foggy, like he was drifting in and out of focus.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a young man near the corner of the room, probably around his own age, dressed in pressed slacks, a tucked-in collared shirt, and a yellow cardigan. The young man stood there, hands folded primly in front of him, smiling serenely at an elderly man as he patiently waited his turn in they're game of chess. There was something unsettling about his gaze—it was empty, placid, like he wasn’t quite… himself. Just like… Kayden!
Wyndham’s eyes flickered around the room, picking out more young faces scattered among the residents, each dressed in similarly neat, old-fashioned attire. A girl his age wore a pale blue dress and a pearl necklace, her hair pinned up in gentle curls. She sat beside an elderly woman, listening intently to her story, her smile polite and her posture rigid. Like Harold, these people looked… off.
“K… Kayden,” Wyndham muttered, feeling his pulse quicken as he leaned toward his friend. “What… what’s going on here?”
But Harold only smiled, his expression perfectly composed. “It’s Harold and I don’t know what you mean, William,” he replied, his tone calm and patient, as though addressing a small misunderstanding. “We’re just here for the dance tonight but we decided to come spend some time with our grandparents and friends.”
Wyndham’s stomach twisted as the fogginess in his head thickened, a weight pressing down on his thoughts. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words felt sluggish, like they were trapped somewhere between his mind and his mouth.
“Come along now, dear,” Ruth cooed, standing up and motioning for him to follow. “Why don’t we take you to Harold’s room? He has something nice that you can change into, don’t you, Harold?”
Harold nodded, extending a hand to Wyndham with an encouraging smile. “It’ll be more comfortable than what you’re wearing now,” he assured gently. “Trust me.”
Every instinct told Wyndham to back away, to run, but his body seemed to respond to their words like they were gentle commands he couldn’t resist. His legs felt heavy, his vision blurring slightly as he stumbled to his feet, still clutching the half-eaten cookie.
They led him down a hallway, the walls decorated with faded paintings and patterned wallpaper that seemed to close in on him with every step. The place smelled faintly of lavender and something else. It was a strange medicinal smell that made his head feel even foggier.
At the end of the hall, Harold opened the door to a small room that looked like it hadn’t changed in decades. A bed with a floral quilt was tucked into the corner, and on the dresser lay a neatly folded set of clothes: a tan pair dress pants, a purple dress shirt, and a silver necktie, eerily similar to what Harold was wearing.
Wyndham shook his head, trying to fight the heaviness that had settled over him. “I don’t… I don’t need new clothes,” he managed, his voice sounding distant and faint, even to his own ears.
“Oh, nonsense,” Ruth said, patting his shoulder in a way that felt both comforting and trapping. “You’re practically family, dear. We just want you to look your best.”
Wyndham’s mind spun as he took a step back, but Harold’s hands were gentle yet firm as they guided him forward, closer to the bed, closer to the neatly folded clothes waiting for him.
“Go on,” Harold urged softly, his eyes strangely bright. “It’ll be alright. You’ll feel so much better when you’re dressed properly.”
Wyndham blinked, momentarily confused, but his body obeyed before his mind fully registered. He lifted his arms, feeling the soft fabric slide over his shoulders and settle around him as Harold showed him how to button it up with practiced ease, each button fastening his resistance a little tighter.
“H-Harold,” Wyndham stammered, his voice sounding unsteady, “I don’t… what’s going on? They’re not… they’re not your grandparents, are they?”
Harold’s eyes flickered for a brief moment, a trace of something almost familiar surfacing in his gaze, but it quickly faded back into a serene smile. “What are you talking about, William?” he replied, adjusting the collar and straightening the shirt with gentle care. “They’re family. They take care of us, help us be our best selves.”
“But… you’re Kayden,” Wyndham insisted, trying to grasp onto the threads of reality slipping through his fingers. Only to be corrected once more.
He noticed some photos of his friend wearing a God awful suit with brown high waisted pants, an ugly beige, red and yellow plaid jacket, and a brown and gold skinny bowtie tightly around his throat. The photo had an old timey filter to it that sat with care next to the bed. The other had three different photos in a frame of him in the same getup but different pictures posing with each of his grandparents before the big one with him sitting in front of both his grandparents. Each photo showed him smiling happily but with soulless eyes. The corner had an embossed print that said “The McGladdery Clan” in fancy print with a tagline “Family is Forever”.
Panic overtook him as he tried to still reach his friend as he started tucking the shirt into his dress pants as he tried to reach his friend. “No… you're Kayden Hyatt! You’re from San Diego… You like to party, drink, smoke weed, you like to play Apex and Call of Duty and do long night bingers trying to grind for points? ”
Harold chuckled softly, like Wyndham had made a harmless mistake. “Oh, William,” he said, almost pityingly, as he loosened his gray necktie and taught Wyndham how to tie it around his neck. “You’ve always had such a funny imagination. I think you’re just a little tired from the long drive here.” He carefully tied the knot, his fingers moving deftly as he tightened the tie with a final, reassuring tug.
“Snap out of it, Kayden,” Wyndham whispered, his eyes widening as he looked around the room, desperately trying to piece together the truth, as he fastened a pair of suspenders to his pants. “They’re doing something to us. This isn’t… this isn’t right.”
But the fog pressed down harder, muddling his thoughts, making it harder to hold onto his sense of self as he finished tying his black leather dress shoes completing the outfit. Harold stepped back, his expression as calm and warm as ever, seeming completely unfazed.
“There we go,” Harold said, surveying Wyndham's work with satisfaction. “You look very nice, William. Grandmother and Grandfather will be so pleased.”
Wyndham’s heart raced, a final flicker of clarity sparking within him. He opened his mouth, one last attempt to break through whatever hold these people had over Harold. “Kayden… please… don’t you remember? You’re not… you’re not Harold. These people aren't your grandparents and I can prove it.”
Wyndham pulled out his phone and went to find his Facebook but it had been deleted. In a panic he checked other social media only to find the profiles missing. In one last ditch effort he searched his own Facebook and there he found it amongst photos from last year's end of semester party. There Kayden was with his long shaggy hair, scruffy beard, a backwards baseball cap, torn jeans, and a much larger black T-shirt with some rapper on it.
Harold hesitated as he looked at the photo, a faint crease forming between his brows, but the moment passed, and he shook his head slowly, his smile returning, placid and unshakeable. “My name is Harold,” he repeated, as if reaffirming it to himself. “My grandparents love me and I love my grandparents. They take care of me, guide me and discipline me. I am to be polite and respectful, follow the rules and obey my elders and be here for my grandparents and take care of them in their old age. And I like it this way. Now, why don’t you finish your cookie, William?”
Wyndham glanced down at the half-eaten cookie in his hand, a strange compulsion urging him to take another bite, even though he felt queasy, almost as if he was losing more of himself with every crumb. The softness of Harold’s voice coaxed him, each word melting his remaining resistance.
Ruth and Paul returned, their faces bright with delight as they saw Wyndham dressed and seated obediently. Ruth handed him the cookie, smiling as she held it just inches from his mouth.
“Finish up, dear,” she encouraged. “It’ll make you feel better. You must be exhausted from all that running around.”
Too dazed to argue, Wyndham took another bite, the sugary taste spreading a warmth through his body that made him feel… safe, as if all his worries were drifting away.
As he chewed, Paul crossed the room, lifting the needle on an old record player. With a soft crackle, the smooth, calming notes of an old jazz tune filled the room, wrapping around Wyndham like a lullaby. The melody seeped into his mind, lulling him further into a drowsy, contented state.
Ruth gave his shoulder a gentle pat. “Now, why don’t you lie down, William? Take a little nap. It’ll do you good. You can sleep in Harold's bed for now and tonight Paul will place an order for your bed.”
Wyndham’s eyes grew heavy, his gaze drifting toward Harold, who stood nearby with a placid smile, watching as he slowly leaned back onto the bed. Wyndham ran his hands down to straighten his necktie so it laid flatly against his shirt before allowing Ruth pull the blanket over him and tuck him in and his hands folded nearly across his chest. Tears built up in his eyes as Ruth lent in to give him a kiss on the forehead but he was having a hard time remembering why he would tear up. The music enveloped him, its soft, repetitive rhythm blurring his thoughts until he could no longer tell where they began or ended.
As his eyes fluttered shut, Wyndham’s last coherent thought was a hazy, distant question, a final thread of doubt about who he was, about why he was here… but it was quickly drowned out by the warmth, the comfort, and the gentle, insistent tug of the music pulling him down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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Special thanks to unfrmed for the inspiration with his images as he provided half the images here in the story. Check him out!
