by Skylar Finn
“I don’t know,” said Emily, gazing out the window at the mountains in the distance, her first glimpse of the Rockies. “Maybe our luck is finally about to change.”
After several wrong turns and a pit stop at a coffee shop advertising high altitude roasts, Emily pointed excitedly out the window at the street sign denoting the private lane that led to the Meade House.
“There!” she yelled, startling Jesse, who spilled hot coffee on his leg. “There it is!”
“Ow,” he complained. “Give a guy a little warning.”
“Sorry,” said Emily. “I got excited.”
Jesse flicked the turn signal on and drove the moving truck up the long, rocky incline leading to the house. It was steeper than Emily expected, and she held onto Widget so the dog wouldn’t slide out of her lap.
“It’s not that steep,” said Jesse.
“I’m not used to this,” said Emily. “I’m used to beaches and swamps.”
She watched the house approach through the windshield. It was sturdy brick, stone, and wood, with a chimney extending from the side and a wide front porch. The grass looked dry and dead, and there were no lush trees or tropical plants to shield the house from the glaring sun overhead.
Jesse pulled to a stop in the driveway and grinned rakishly at her. “Moment of truth,” he said.
Emily forced a smile. She suddenly realized how far from home they were, and it made her feel strangely isolated in a way she’d never known.
They jumped out the truck. Widget immediately leapt down and tore off, running around in circles and barking. Emily wished she could run in circles to release some of the nervous energy she felt. Her fingertips were tingling and in spite of the long drive and the fatigue she expected to feel, instead she felt keyed up, nervous, and wired. She stared up at the house. It was much larger and more imposing than the pictures had made it out to be.
Jesse, usually the one to lead the charge into the fray, paused beside her and looked up at the house the same way.
“It’s a little…spooky,” he finally said.
Emily shrugged. She didn’t want to agree and acknowledge that from the outside, the house was less than inviting. Not on top of all the uncertainty she already felt. To speak it out loud would make it real.
“It’s just old,” she said dismissively, setting off across the lawn towards the front door as Jesse followed. “A coat of paint, some walkway lights, more plants, maybe an archway over the front walk and it will feel like home in no time.” Jesse looked at her pointedly. “Temporarily, of course,” she amended.
They paused on the massive stone porch, in front of the imposing wooden door. An iron door knocker shaped like a lion roaring decorated the center. Emily studied it curiously.
Jesse looked at her. “Are you going to knock? Cause I don’t think there’s anybody to hear you.”
“I’m just looking at it. Hold your horses.”
She reached into her purse, rummaging for her keys, and pulled out the one for the house: FedExed to them last week, courtesy of one J.R. Watkins, Esq. “Are you ready for the moment of truth?”
“I kinda need to use the bathroom, so in other words, yeah,” said Jesse.
Emily put the key in the lock and turned it. The door swung silently inward, revealing only the inky black darkness within. Emily took a deep breath and stepped inside.
3
The first thing Emily noticed was the smell: there was something about the smell of an old house that was hard to define, specific to very old buildings. It was the smell of dust, brick, and stone, combined with the larger sense of the many lives who had passed through the walls.
Directly across from the front door, a large mirror hung on the wall, reflecting their tired faces. To the right was a coat rack. To the left was another door. Emily pushed it open and saw a living room with wood floors and massive windows. An old stone fireplace was situated at the center of the room. Matilda’s furniture, maroon tufted armchairs and a long navy couch, made the room seem even darker than it already was. Heavy drapes hung from the windows, blocking out the harsh light that shone through the thin mountain atmosphere. The center of the room was dark, too dark to see what was in it. Emily groped around on the wall and flipped the switch. A heavy chandelier blazed with light.
Over the fireplace, a portrait of Matilda hung, posed proudly with a group of solemn-looking children gathered around her. Jesse stepped closer to it, studying the portrait briefly, before turning to Emily.
“Well, this isn’t weird at all,” he said fake-brightly.
Emily, absorbed in the way a thin shaft of light extended from the window and hung in the center of the room, barely heard him. Widget ran ahead of her, skidding across the dusty wooden floor and nearly careening into a closed door that led off the living room. Next to this door was a set of French doors, closed to what looked like a dining room with a second (albeit smaller) chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
“Geez,” said Jesse. “What’s with all the doors?”
“Do you want door number one, or doors number two and three?” asked Emily.
Jesse glanced back and forth between the closed wooden door in the corner of the living room and the French doors.
“I’ll take doors number two and three,” he said, heading toward the French doors. “It’s kinda like the difference between swimming in a pool and swimming in a lake, you know what I mean?”
Emily watched him walk into the dining room. She headed to the opposite end of the room and opened the mystery door. It led to a hallway with more doors leading off of it. She stepped into the hallway. To her immediate left was a door leading back into the dining room; she could hear Jesse inside, exclaiming about the size of the windows. Down the hall lay the unknown. Emily chose the unknown.
The house had not been decorated for many years, that much was obvious. The garish linoleum in the hallway was a lurid advertisement for the seventies, and the kitchen wasn’t much of an improvement. The countertops were burnt orange and the walls were an unsubtle shade of avocado. A hideous fringed lampshade decorated the hanging light swinging gently over the old mahogany table. Through the window over the sink, the Flat Irons posed, stately and majestic. Emily paused in the doorframe to regard them as Jesse popped through a swinging door at the opposite end of the room.
“It’s like the whole place goes in a circle,” he declared. “Get a load of this interior design, though. This is gonna have to go. Was your aunt Mrs. Brady or what?”
“I kind of like it,” said Emily, going back to the hallway to continue her exploration.
“Are you for real? It’s like we came here in a time machine! Plus, we gotta sell it, not live in it forever.” He poked her in the back.
“I know, I know. No one’s going to make you live in Colorado forever. I promise.”
At the end of the hallway was a bathroom: antique claw foot tub, heavy old windows, and a little round mirror over the tall, stately sink. The floor was an alternating pattern of black-and-white squares, like a chessboard. The light was a large heavy bulb that hung from a chain. Emily turned to the door next to the bathroom. It was another old wooden door, this one with two doorknobs: one at regular height, the other set high in the door just above Emily’s head.
“Weird,” she muttered.
“Did your aunt have four arms?” asked Jesse.
“Jesse, she’s dead,” said Emily. “Please try to have a little respect.”
“Sorry,” he said, abashed.
“That is, presumed dead,” added Emily, turning the lower knob. “I mean, she could still be living in the walls, watching us as we speak…” Jesse was easily spooked by her off-the-cuff hypothetical scenarios, and she had learned over time that they were far more effective than nagging or criticizing him.
“Emily!” protested Jesse. “Knock it off!”
Emily stopped when she opened the door. The room was a library, the shelves lined with books, with a fireplace in the center of the room and a desk in the corner. Th
ere was a green-shaded banker’s lamp on the desk and a red leather armchair in the corner. Emily gazed at the room like she was in love.
“I think I just found my office,” she said.
“Yeah, that or a really sweet practice space,” said Jesse, going in and flopping down on the brown leather couch in front of the fireplace.
“You can practice in the basement,” said Emily absently as she approached the bookshelf on the far side of the room.
“Wow, thanks Em. That’s quite the consolation prize.”
Emily studied the dusty leather volumes on the shelf. They were all titles she didn’t recognize and had never heard of. She was just about to pull one down when a loud banging noise sounded from the front of the house. Emily jumped and dropped the book in her hand, which fell to the floor with a thud. She looked over at Jesse, who stared back at her.
“What did you say about your aunt living in the walls?” he said.
“I’m sure it’s just…the postman,” she said, going toward the front of the house.
“Or maybe it’s just the wind,” suggested Jesse, following her.
“Or that,” agreed Emily.
“I was actually implying that it’s probably a crazed murderer, which is usually what happens when people say it’s just the wind, but whatever.”
“Can you at least pretend to be positive about the situation?” asked Emily. “You know, the one where we live in this giant house for free?”
“I’m sorry, Em,” said Jesse, catching her from behind and wrapping his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair. “From now on, I’ll pretend this place doesn’t utterly creep me out. Deal?”
“Deal,” said Emily.
The banging sounded again and Emily jumped, startling Jesse with her reaction even as she realized it was the ornate lion’s head door knocker.
“Who would be knocking at the door?” she asked. “We don’t know anyone here.”
Jesse shrugged, apparently committed to his vow not to rag on the house or its possible weirdness. Emily stopped in front of the mirror in the foyer and peered through the peephole. A man in a forest green polo and glasses stood squinting at the door. She opened it.
“Who are you?” he said. He looked mystified by the sight of her.
“Who are you?” said Emily, offended. “We live here.”
“I’m the property’s handyman, Richard,” he said. “Been coming out to this place for the last twenty years. I’ve never seen you before. Nobody’s lived here since—” he stopped, as if recalling a painful memory. “Well, since Ms. Meade disappeared. I didn’t think anyone would.”
“I’m Matilda’s great niece, Emily,” she said. “This is my husband, Jesse.” She glanced down as Widget squeezed between their legs and sniffed Richard’s shoe. “And this is our dog, Widget.”
“Well, hello there,” said Richard, giving Widget a much warmer reception than he had Emily. “Aren’t you cute.”
Emily stepped outside and Jesse came out after her. Widget took off in the yard. Richard watched her chase a squirrel.
“Careful about letting your dog outside without a leash,” he said. “There are a lot of wild animals out here you folks aren’t used to, depending on where you’re from.”
“Animals?” said Emily, alarmed. “What kind of animals?” Jesse whistled for Widget and she ran back to the porch.
“Bears. Coyotes. Deer, mostly, but a few predators here and there. Sometimes pets go missing. Just keep an eye on her and don’t let her wander too far.” Jesse took a treat from his pocket and tossed it inside the house for Widget.
“Didn’t know Ms. Meade had a niece, even a great one,” said Richard, regarding Emily curiously. “She never did talk much about her family. I assumed she didn’t have one.”
Emily felt uncomfortable, as if she was the one responsible for Aunt Matilda’s estrangement from her mother and grandmother. “I only met her once. I just found out she left the house to us a couple of weeks ago.”
Comprehension dawned on Richard’s face. “Oh. So, you don’t know then.”
“Know what?” said Jesse immediately. I told you so, she could practically hear him thinking.
“About what happened,” said Richard. “The night they disappeared.”
“They?” asked Emily.
“Well, her and the children. And another young woman about your age who helped her out with the kids.”
“Kids? What kids?” said Emily. “I thought she didn’t have any children.”
“She didn’t. The town’s children were her children. The ones nobody wanted, or had and couldn’t afford to keep. She took them in, gave them a room and space to play. Made sure they went to school and ate well. She gave them a home.” Richard shook his head. “Makes it even more terrible, what happened here.”
“But what happened?” asked Jesse, exasperated. “Is this place built on a sacred burial ground, or what?”
Richard sniffed, displeased. “Not sure what you mean by that, but to be honest with you, nobody’s entirely sure what happened. One morning, I had some extra firewood I brought up to the property for Matilda and the three kids, and that assistant of hers—never could remember her name—and the house was just as dark and cold as could be. That’s when I called the sheriff.” Richard gazed at the Flat Irons in the distance, looking pensive. “When he got here, there was no sign of Matilda or the kids. That assistant of hers was also missing. Searched the house from top to bottom, but there was no sign of them anywhere.”
“They just vanished? Two women and three kids?”
“Up in smoke. Into thin air, like they were here one minute and gone the next. Folks couldn’t believe somebody would hurt that sweet old lady and the kids she took care of, especially after all she’d done for the town. We formed search parties, put up posters. Local news aired broadcasts, asking for information. A few of the wealthier ones put up a reward. We went up into the mountains and looked for them there. But they were nowhere. It was almost as if they’d never existed.”
At these words, Emily felt a deep chill that had nothing to do with the setting sun or the rapidly plummeting temperature. Beside her, Jesse was motionless. For the first time, Emily considered what death in absentia might mean.
“They never found any sign of them?” she said. “And they have no idea who might have been responsible?”
“None whatsoever,” said Richard. “Then people started asking questions: just what was she doing up here with those kids in the first place? Who else could have hurt them? I think people got suspicious. After that, the standard myth was that if anyone was behind it, it was probably her. Not that I believe that. But you can see why I was so surprised to find anybody here. I didn’t think anyone would want to live here after all that.”
Seeing the shock and fear on their faces, he hastily added, “That was then, of course. I’m sure whoever might have been responsible is long gone from here. I expect you two will be safe as houses.”
Richard’s tone was less than convincing, and judging from the expression on Jesse’s face, he was clearly unconvinced. And if she was truly honest with herself, neither was Emily. She knew Matilda had vanished, but she just assumed that maybe the old lady fell down hiking and her body hadn’t been recovered. Things like that happened all the time out here, didn’t they? But to disappear with three children and another adult—that seemed like something else altogether.
“Sun’s going down,” said Richard abruptly, changing the subject. “You folks probably aren’t used to it yet, but it gets real cold at night, even in the fall. You might want to build a fire at night to keep warm till it’s time to turn the heat on for the winter.”
“Thank you, Richard,” said Emily. “We’ll do that.”
“Stay safe,” he said, before retreating from the porch to the sanctuary of his pick-up truck in the yard. Emily thought he pulled out a little more quickly than normal.
“‘Stay safe’?” echoed Jesse. “After he tells us everybody who
lived here got sucked into another dimension or eaten by cannibals? I’m less than reassured.”
Emily wrapped her arms around her more tightly, shivering. “Let’s go in and build a fire, like he said. I’m not used to the cold.”
They went inside and approached the fireplace and stared at it.
“Um…have you ever actually built a fire?” ventured Emily.
“No. Why, have you?”
“Definitely not,” said Emily.
Jesse shrugged. “Have no fear, dear. That’s what YouTube is for.”
Twenty minutes later, after looking up How to Build a Fire, Emily and Jesse had created a modest but pleasant blaze. The only food they had was from the cooler they brought across country, so they had a makeshift meal of salami, crackers, cold Coke, and iced tea. It was actually kind of cozy, in spite of the unspoken words hanging between them.
“So…” Jesse finally said, clearly cautious after their earlier exchange but unable to keep it in any longer. “Are we gonna talk about what Crazy Richard said? Or pretend that it’s not, like, unusual at all that everybody who lived here before us disappeared, never to be seen again?”
“What makes you think he’s crazy?” asked Emily.
“That’s what you took from my question?”
“I’m just saying, he seemed kind of normal to me. Unless you think that he’s a suspect.” Emily could feel the cogs in her creative wheelhouse spinning. As bad as she felt about whatever happened to Matilda, maybe this was the chance to finally overcome her writer’s block.
“A suspect? In what?” Jesse glanced around like he expected a murderer to come flying out of the old cuckoo clock on the mantel.
“The disappearance,” said Emily. She was careful to label it the disappearance and not the horrible murder whose perpetrator is still at large. It had been hard enough getting Jesse out here in the first place.
Jesse shrugged. “I dunno, spooky guy, weird house, bunch of missing or possibly dead people? Seems like basic arithmetic to me.”
“Yeah, but if he did something, why would he hang around after? Wouldn’t he leave town?”