Rifling through my late mother’s things was not exactly how I planned my Sunday afternoon, but I couldn’t bear

the
wait any longer.

Her old room was filled with boxes. It always had been. She couldn’t ever stand mess. Her boxes were often
bejewelled, sparkling even into the night. But now, the boxes littering her room were different. Big and brown and
boring. The colour of dead, decaying leaves, with a strange sense of finale. She would have hated them cluttering her
space like this.

I finished looking through the box in front of me and moved to the next one. I still hadn’t found what I was looking
for and the sun was setting, turning the blue sky a blood orange as it sunk lower and lower towards the horizon,
gilding the empty driveway. I’d have to hurry up if I didn’t want to walk home in the dark.

I opened the box in front of me, hoping with all my heart that this was the one. But as I lifted the scarf acting as a
cover over the objects inside, I was met with something quite different. My eyes sparkled as I lifted out a camera
case, dotted with stickers and country flags. I turned around to the bed, placing the sacred object there before
returning to the box and tipping out the contents across the floor, scattering a messy blend of colours across the
carpet.

My mother had been a photographer, once upon a time, but she had quit once she had children. I had asked to see
her work, but she had only patted my shoulder and assured me that one day, she would bring it back down so we
could look through it together. And here I was now, alone, without her breath on my cheek as she gave me a little
kiss, encouraging me to delve further. I picked up a photo, holding my breath as if one movement would shatter this
moment entirely.

An elephant stood proud, its dark silhouette stark against the sunrise behind. It was side-on, its trunk lifted at the
pinnacle of its height, towards the tree branch above. I could imagine my mother, her eyes as bright as the rising
sun, watching on with her camera in her hand. The thought made me smile, and I put the photo to the side, reaching
for the next one eagerly.

This one was of a dog in a field of sunflowers. The dog was looking elsewhere to someone behind the camera, but
that only added to the mesmerising beauty of the moment captured. Clouds danced in the sky above, fluffy white
masses suspended by nothing in a deep sea of blue. The dog itself was bathed in sunlight. I grinned at the photo
despite myself, before turning it over and putting it to the side. As I did, I caught sight of some words, written along
the back of the photograph. I frowned, picking up the picture of the dog once more and reading.

My playfulness in your eyes. 19. ------

I picked up the elephant photo and turned it over too, tracing my fingers over my mother’s beautiful scrawl.

My strength in your trunk. 10 /

As I set the photo to the side and picked up another one, I was suddenly aware of the strange numbers on the back
of each card after each sentence, along with a different type of line. My eyebrows hugged closer to my eyes as I
turned all the photographs over, one after the other, to find that they all had the same pattern.

My wit in your sharp laughs. 23 __

My gentleness in your delicate wings. 45 |

My dedication in your buzzing wings. 2 \

My mother was always fond of riddles, but I had never thought that she would be making one herself. My heart rate
sped up. A puzzle. I had no idea if it was meant for me. But something deep inside me nodded in approval as I
shuffled through the photos for the inscribed number one.

As I picked it up, immediately I knew that I couldn’t step back now.

The sun hung lower and lower in the sky, gently kissing the horizon as I worked my way through the photos, ordering
them numerically. There were 200 photos in total and as I looked out to spot the moonbeams painting the tops of
houses silver, I was only on the 30th one. My eyes stung as I forced to keep them open, the words and numbers
blurring together into one. Hazy lines and smudged colours made up my vision and I had to fight to keep the
comforting lull of sleep away. Dreamland seemed ever so enticing but I couldn’t give in just yet. Not now, not ever. I
had to figure out my mother’s last riddle, her last puzzle. I could smell her shampoo in these photos, feel her soft
fingers brush my cheek. Her voice rang in my ears, urging me on, further. Better. More.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, but I didn’t have any dreams. By the time I woke, the sun was poking its
head through the window, golden sunlight dripping down over my hair and spilling over the photographs on the
floor. A car engine sounded in the driveway, the sound making its way to my ear uncommonly slowly. It was only
when the front door opened that I realised this wasn’t my house and I should not have been here in the first place.
Anxiety swirled around in the depths of my stomach. My whole body was on edge, the hairs on the back of my neck
prickling up.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase, and I glanced around at the bare room. There was nowhere to hide. My heart
pounded so hard against my ribcage that I was partly afraid it would make a bruise. The footsteps were on the
landing now and I had to think fast. Blood rushed in my ears as I spotted the bed, just slipping under as the door
handle turned and someone stepped into the room. I held my breath.

A pair of feet made their way across the floor, towards the boxes at the back of the room. They stopped short of
themselves, halfway there. I watched intently as they stepped closer to my ordered photographs. A hand reached
down, picking up a random photograph. I heard their breath catch before they set the photograph down again and
spoke.

“You can come out, Nevaeh.”

The words were enough for me. I rolled out from under the bed with a sigh and met my brother’s eyes. Usually, I
would have been overjoyed to see his face after he moved away for university. But now, I was only annoyed. He
seemed to read my expression and let out a sigh, moving to sit next to me on the bed. He didn’t waste any time,
cutting straight to the point.

“Why were you here overnight?”

My heart sunk into my stomach. He already knew.

“She left me a riddle Ezra,” I pointed to the photographs, “I need to solve it.”

“No, you don’t,” Ezra urged gently, “Just walk away Nevaeh.”

I gave him a hard look. He knew who I was. He knew I couldn’t just leave. He was my brother, my best friend, my one
pillar in life. He had been there through every turbulence I’d been through and supported me no matter what. So
why was he telling me to walk away?

Ezra ignored my glare and continued, “Isn’t this unhealthy, Nevaeh? She’s dead and gone. Solving her ‘puzzle’ won’t
get us anywhere. You’ve already spent one night here. Who’s to say that this won’t happen again? You cannot get
yourself so deep into this.”

“I am not,” I argued, “You’re not the boss of me, Ezra. I can do what I please.”

“You’re a child,” Ezra countered, “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“I do!”

“You’re ending up just like dad.”

My heart stopped. He didn’t just pull that card. But as I glanced up to his face, he didn’t look sorry. I opened my
mouth to respond, but nothing came out. It was like a dam broke inside of me, releasing the emotions that I had
fought so hard to keep back. Waves of sadness and grief and disappointment washed over me, over and over again,
knocking me down each time I tried to get up.

I didn’t look to him for comfort. Instead, I moved to the photographs, finding the next number and continuing. He
didn’t say anything. My eyes stung with my hot tears, leaving my vision swimming. I blinked them back and located
the next photo, and then the next. A pair of hands joined me at my work, adding onto the pile. In surprise, I looked
to Ezra, only to see his face concentrated and his hands working twice as fast as mine, not held down by the barrier
of too little sleep. He met my eyes, and an understanding passed between us.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of victory wash over me. I knew that he could never say no to me. The sun moved
across the sky slowly, illuminating the different parts of the room.

By midday, we were a little over halfway through. By the time that other cars in the neighbourhood pulled up the
road on the return from work, we were done. My brother and I stepped back from our work. My heart raced. Finally,
we did it. We were done. Mother’s last clue had been solved.

However, something was wrong. The more I looked at it, the more I realised that the lines all joined up, but they
were meaningless. They weren't letters or numbers. They were just squiggly lines, crossing the room. Anger sparked
deep inside me. I couldn’t believe it. Ezra said nothing, only moved around the room, glancing at it from all different
angles.

“It’s no use,” I told him. My voice was sharper than a knife, but the disappointment reverberated around the room.
“You were right. There was nothing.”

My whole body sagged in exhaustion. I couldn’t believe it. I was so certain that there was something here. The box
that the photographs had been in was sitting innocently to the side and, frustrated, I gave it a little kick. It topped
over slowly, as if it had all the time in the world, before lying on its side like a wounded soldier. I rolled my eyes.

What the hell was this game for, Mother?

I glared up at the ceiling. I wondered if she lay here like this often, looking up at the ceiling, plotting out this ever-so-
fun game.

“Nevaeh.”

I didn’t even look at my brother, “Don’t even try, Ez.”

“Nevaeh!”

“I said, don’t even try!” I turned my head to look at him, daggers in my eyes, until I realised he wasn’t even looking at
me. His gaze was firmly locked elsewhere, and I followed it towards the box which I had tipped over. I was about to
ask him why he was suddenly so interested in the boxes when I realised what was written on the bottom of them.
My breath caught.

It was a code.

Ezra shrugged. “All yours.”

I worked swiftly, all my exhaustion left behind. It didn’t take me long to decode it. When I finally stepped back, I read
through my decoded text. I read it a total of ten times, my eyes widening more and more each time. My emotions
were a complete mess. Ezra noticed my constantly changing expressions and walked over. I handed him the piece of
paper wordlessly.

By the time he was done reading, his face had singlehandedly gone through all 5 stages of grief. I decided not to
make fun of him. I had felt the same way when I read it. Finding out that your supposedly dead mother wasn’t dead
at all really did mess with your head.

“Find me in the place where the shrews dance and the giraffes graze,” he repeated the last sentence under his
breath. He looked up at me, “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” I gave him a weak smile, “We’re going to have to go to church.”

My mother had never been religious, and neither had our family. But if there was one hymn I knew, it was the one
my grandmother would sing every Sunday morning.

Ezra’s eyes widened, and he nodded in realisation.

“All creatures great and small.”