When she first moved in, I had thought she was a body builder. Not because of her physique, I had actually never seen her at this point, but because of the noises that came from her house. Grunts and pants followed by loud thuds that had to be from heavy weights filled my ears almost every night.

It wasn’t until I saw her outside walking her cat that I realized she was definitely not a body builder. She was old, at least 70, with a walking stick and a limp. She wore an overcoat that almost looked like a cape wrapped around her old timey dress and boots. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was straight out medieval movie.

The cat was a tiny little thing, fully black with bright, green eyes. It seemed happy to stroll down the sidewalk in the little pink harness and leash. This really should’ve been my first clue, but who am I to judge? If the old lady next door wants to walk her cat, so be it.

But then it was Thanksgiving and I was all out of thyme for my dish. I had already tried the other neighbors, a sweet young family, but they were off to enjoy the holiday somewhere else. I was already going to be late, so I definitely didn’t have time to run to the store, so that left me with only one other option.

I climbed up the four wooden steps and gently knocked on her door. No one answered. I knocked again and began to wonder if thyme was even necessary for my dish, I mean surely one ingredient doesn’t matter all that much. When still no one answered, I started to turn around and accept my fate when I noticed a door knocker on the side of the door. It was old, black marble with little cracks here and there, in the shape of a dragon head and claws forming the knocking piece. I picked up the claws and banged it against the door only once. A woman immediately answered.

“Hello?” She was beautiful. Young and lively, with rich black hair that fell to her waist, beautifully framing her dress and corset. I had never seen her before, but suddenly I was glad I had run out of thyme.

“Uh, hello! I’m Michael, I live next door. Happy thanksgiving! Um, anyway, I was cooking and I realized I was out of thyme and I was wondering if you had any I could borrow?”

She laughed and nodded her head. “Of course! Come on in, Michael.” She opened the door wider and gestured for me to enter. It was a quaint little house, a rocking chair and a couch sat in the living room facing an old tv set. The shelves around the room were filled with old trinkets, undoubtedly collected through the years. She walked past the living room through an open door which led to a small kitchen. There was a bit of counter space to the left with an oven and stove and a fridge on the opposite side. It smelled sweet, like chocolate chip cookies were baking all afternoon, but the oven was off.

“How much time do you need? Hours? Days? Weeks?” She looked at me expectantly. I laughed at her joke as I looked around the room.

“About two tablespoons should be enough, thank you.”

“That’s quite a lot. What do you need it for?” She began opening cabinets and taking out a plastic baggie.

“Is it too much? I’m just following a recipe I found online. I’m never quite sure what I’m doing when I cook.” I watched her as she took out a clear canister filled half way with a green powder that seemed to glow when she touched it. “What is that?”

“Time.” She looked at me as if I had asked a stupid question. She began to measure out two tablespoons and poured it into the bag.

“Sorry. I guess I’ve just never seen thyme look like that.” I said. She hummed in response, not bothering to look at me anymore. The awkward silence was getting to me, so I asked a simple question. “Do you live here with your grandma?”

She finally turned around to look at me. She had an eyebrow raised and the baggie of thyme in her hands. “No. My grandmother has been dead for centuries. I live here alone. Well, alone with Salem.” As of right on cue, the small cat I had seen before jumped up on the counter, nuzzling its head against the woman.

“Then do you hire a cat walker? I saw an older woman walking Salem a couple days ago, I guess I just assumed she lived here.” And the fact the old lady literally came out of this house, but I wasn’t going to say that.

“Oh, that was me.” She answered. She seemed so genuine I almost believed her.

“Right…” I tried to laugh it off, but she didn’t seem to be joking.

“Do you think I’m lying? You came here asking for time. If you knew I had some, why wouldn’t you assume I use it?”

And finally it hit me. I don’t think we’re talking about the same thyme.