The Haunting of Bell Mansion

by James Hunt

  Sarah shivered once he was out of sight, but it wasn’t from the cold. It was the way that Dennis had said her name. There was a hint of adoration, almost as if he was tasting the words as he spoke.

  She ate a few more bites of the sandwich, but she’d lost her appetite. Leaving the crushed chips on the ground, she returned to work.

  By the time five o’clock rolled around, Sarah could barely stand up straight. She’d finished the room, or at least she thought she had until Iris walked into the room with a tornado of insults, exposing every dirty nook and cranny she had missed.

  “This crown molding needs to be replaced,” Iris said, looking down at the floor, then ran her finger over one of the cushions on the seat. “And these need a wash.” She flashed the dirty print toward Sarah. “It’s filthy!”

  Too tired to protest, Sarah kept quiet, focusing her energy on keeping her eyelids open.

  “You’ll start in this room again tomorrow, and give it a proper cleaning.” Iris pointed at the windows. “You didn’t even reach the top sections of the glass!” Shaking her head in disgust, she stormed out of the room, her grumblings trailing her.

  Sarah rubbed her eyes, smudging the dust and grime deeper into her skin, and left the cleaning supplies in the room, since she’d be back in the morning.

  She made a pit stop at the kitchen before retiring to her room, making herself a sandwich and snagging two bottles of water. Because she had practically skipped lunch, the sandwich was gone before she returned to her room.

  Sarah chugged half the water bottle and then turned on the shower to let the water start to warm. The pipes groaned, and the showerhead rattled, but the faucet eventually spit water as Sarah disrobed.

  She peeled the uniform from her body like a second skin, and as she wiggled out of her clothes, the scars etched along her back were revealed.

  The smallest of them was less than an inch and the largest no more than three inches. They crisscrossed along her back from the base of her neck all the way to her waist. She reached for a few at the top of her shoulders, feeling the raised keloids.

  They were much older than the bruises she’d received last week, and they’d be around long after the bruises were gone. They were tattoos of pain that she had never requested.

  At the time, Sarah was living with the angriest prick the world had ever known, and despite his repeated warnings for her to keep out of his personal food stash, hunger finally drove her to steal.

  The bastard had caught Sarah red-handed, shoveling crackers into her mouth to help ease the nagging ache of hunger in the pit of her stomach.

  But when he closed his bedroom door, locking the two of them in the room, there was no anger on his face. He simply pointed toward the dresser and told her to open the bottom drawer.

  Sarah had received the belt before, so she didn’t think anything of it as she trudged over toward dresser, keeping the box of crackers in her hand. She knew the belt would hurt, but the pain was temporary.

  She frowned, her mind transporting her back into that dingy, poorly lit bedroom, her feet crunching against the stiff carpet that hadn’t been cleaned in decades. She saw the dresser in her mind, the faded oak and the dirty brass handle.

  Except this time when she opened the drawer she didn’t find any belts or switches. And it was the first time in her life that she’d experienced real fear. A fear that no seven-year-old should ever feel.

  She dropped the box of crackers and then sprinted toward the door, pounding on it and screaming to be let out, but the coward scooped her up and tossed her back onto the bed.

  The sheets had wreaked of body odor and stale booze, and the man pinned her down, pointing the knife that had been in the drawer at her face.

  “It’s time you learn there are consequences for your actions, girl!” He spit the words at her face, and then flipped her to her stomach.

  Sarah screamed and cried as he cut open her shirt, but when the tip of the knife dug into her back for the first time the pain was so intense that her voice disappeared. She gasped for breath, spasming on the bed like a fish being descaled.

  Her entire body lit up with pain, but after a few the first dozen cuts her entire body went numb.

  By the time he finished, her back was slick and covered with blood. She felt nothing as he dragged her from the bed and onto the tile in the hallway.

  “Remember this, girl.”

  And the memory ended with the slam of the bedroom door.

  Sarah dropped her hand, shaking the bad memories from her thoughts, and checked the water, which had warmed, and then stepped into the shower.

  The room had fogged with steam by the time she finished, and Sarah trailed watery footprints toward the fireplace as she dried off with her towel.

  Steam rose from her skin as she stacked fresh logs over the ashes of the previous night’s fire. She lit another flame before the warmth from the steam faded and then dropped the towel to the floor on the way to bed, sliding beneath the covers.

  The sheets were cool but soft against her bare skin. She ran the bottom of her foot against her leg, feeling the stubble that had grown. She watched the fire as she rubbed her leg, waiting to drift into sleep, and her eyelids fluttered closed.

  But like the night before, this one was plagued with restlessness. The scars on her back revived the nightmares of her childhood. She was forced to relive the horrid conditions of her foster homes, and fight the monsters that had been charged with keeping her safe.

  Morning came faster than it had the day before. Sarah groggily slid from bed, donning the same uniform from yesterday and headed downstairs to meet with an already irate Mrs. Bell.

  “It’s ten after,” Iris said and then gestured at Sarah’s attire. “And you don’t even bother making yourself presentable!”

  Sarah smoothed her hair under the white cap and examined the dirt on her apron. “I didn’t think it mattered since I’m just going to get dirty—”

  “Save it,” Iris said, her tone snappy and mean. “You’re redoing the room from yesterday. When you’ve finished with it, and I mean really finished, come find me.”

  Iris stormed off, and Sarah had determined that after only five minutes of consciousness, she’d already reached her daily limit for bullshit.

  The cleaning supplies were right where she’d left them upstairs, and with her brain still half asleep she tried to think of where to start. She glanced up at the windows and remembered Iris’s comment from yesterday.

  Grabbing a rag and glass cleaner, Sarah pushed one of the chairs over to the window. On her tippy toes, she stretched as high as she could reach, barely able to wipe the top corners.

  Scrubbing decades’ worth of filth off the glass, Sarah reminded herself that she only needed to stay long enough to earn a couple grand, and then she was gone. And as she scrubbed she started to think about where she would go.

  California sounded nice. She had a friend in San Diego who told her it was always sunny and seventy-two degrees, no matter the time of year. It was stable, it was safe, and it was warm. But more importantly, it was far away from him.

  With the top panels of the window clean, Sarah rechecked her work on the other windows from the day before, giving them an additional wipedown to avoid further scolding.

  Still on the chair, Sarah dropped the rag and was about to turn away from the window when she saw Dennis emerge from the woods. He walked slowly, dragging a shovel behind him, and he was covered in dirt.

  Unsure if she could be seen, Sarah leaned to the side of the window, tucking herself behind the curtain.

  Below, Dennis dropped the shovel and then ran his fingers through his hair. He swiped at his eyes as if he’d been crying and paced back and forth very quickly. After a minute, he seemed to calm himself down, and then he headed toward the house.

  Sarah emerged from the curtain and then stepped down from the chair, processing what she’d seen. Her imagination ran wild, but she attempted to keep it in check. He was a groundskeeper, s
o being covered in dirt and dragging around a shovel was hardly anything to trigger accusations. She plunked the sponge into the bucket and returned to work.

  Everything was rewashed, and Sarah paid particular attention to the cushions, which she removed and cycled through with a load of laundry. While they washed, she ticked off a list of items needing repair to hand over to Dennis, and then she took her lunch break.

  She entered the kitchen warily, wanting to avoid any run-ins with Dennis, and when she determined that the coast was clear, she made herself a grilled cheese, which she paired with a can of tomato soup.

  But with all of the kitchen’s modern updates, she still found no microwave. “Of course.” She sighed and then turned on the gas burners and found a pot in one of the lower cupboards. She found an old wooden spoon to stir the red sauce in the pot, and she munched on some grapes while the soup heated.

  “What’s for lunch?”

  Startled, Sarah spun around, clutching her chest, finding Kegan smirking. “Is that just how you greet people? Scaring the shit out of them?”

  “At least I kept my distance this time.” Kegan stood at the kitchen’s entrance and eyed the spoon in her hand. “Think you could set that down before you decide to hurt me with it?”

  Sarah tossed the spoon back into the pot and then opened cabinets.

  “Bowls are at the end,” Kegan said, pointing to the last cupboard above the stove, then sat at the table. He smiled, that natural, easygoing charm on display. He reminded Sarah of the football players from her high school. All confidence and no substance. “So how are things working out for you here?”

  “Fine.” Sarah kept her back to him.

  “Good, good.” Kegan rubbed his hands together. “Any constructive feedback you’d like to suggest to management to improve your work environment?”

  Sarah poured the soup from the pot to her bowl, careful not to spill and burn herself. When she was done, she turned and lifted the pot so Kegan could see. “Get a microwave.” She tossed the pot into the sink and then grabbed her grilled cheese.

  “Good to know,” Kegan said.

  Sarah passed Kegan, and was almost free when he called out to her.

  “I’m sorry about the other night,” Kegan said. “I spoke to the maid who woke you up. It won’t happen again.”

  “How many people work here anyway?” Sarah asked.

  “What’s going on here?” Iris appeared at the kitchen’s entrance, her nose turned up at the sight of her grandson mingling with the help. But the sneer was made impotent by the seven layers of makeup on her face.

  “Morning, Grandmother.” Kegan spoke sweetly and smiled widely.

  Iris grunted and then regarded Sarah and her lunch. “Hurry up and finish that, so you can get back to work. Clock is ticking, my dear.”

  Sarah repressed the urge to respond and instead decided to take her lunch to her room. But before she made it up the staircase, she heard Iris and Kegan arguing. She stopped, curious to hear what they were saying, and crept back toward the kitchen’s entrance.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Iris asked, her voice an angry whisper.

  “I’m just being friendly, Grandma,” Kegan answered. “There’s no crime in that.”

  “I don’t want you getting close to her, understand? You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. The last thing you need is some tramp to slip into your bed.”

  Kegan laughed. “You’re being a little over—”

  A harsh slap ended Kegan’s reply.

  “You have a job to do, and she will only provide a distraction. You hear me?”

  At the sound of Iris’s shuffling footsteps, Sarah sprinted soundlessly up the carpeted grand staircase before Iris saw her.

  5

  The end of the day came quickly, and when Iris never showed up to assess Sarah’s work, she retired to her room.

  Once she was undressed and showered, Sarah caught a look out the window of the dying evening light over the mountains to the west. It was golden and beautiful, and a stark contrast from the old, stuffy house that she had been cooped up inside for the past two days.

  She needed a break.

  Sarah donned her Carhartt jacket, along with her scarf, before stepping out of her room. The bruises were still visible, and she didn’t want to call any more attention to herself.

  Outside, the air was crisp, and the temperature plummeted with the sunset, which left streaks of pinks and purples in the sky as the town of Bell transitioned into nightfall.

  Sarah flipped up the collar of her jacket, guarding her cheeks from the stiff wind blowing in from the north, reminding her of her disdain for the coming season.

  For Sarah, winter had always been associated with death. It withered everything that was green and turned nature brittle and skittish, weeding out the weak and old, burying them under freezing sheets of snow.

  And her parents had died in winter.

  But this winter, somewhere out in the growing cold, was a man who wanted her dead. He was as relentless as the Grim Reaper himself, and she’d be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her days.

  A few cars were still parked outside the buildings on either side of the street on Bell’s main drag. They must have belonged to people just finishing up their workdays.

  Sarah veered toward the burned-down church, kicking at an old piece of wood before peering through the windows of the small grocery and hardware store before heading across the road.

  The first store on the other side was the diner, followed by an accountant’s office, a doctor’s office, an antique shop, and finally, an empty building with a “for lease” sign hanging at an uneven tilt from the window.

  A bell on a door jingled behind her, and Sarah turned around to find a small man, bundled up in a jacket that looked far too big on him, stepping out of the tax accountant’s office.

  He kept his back turned toward her as he locked up, and when he turned around and spotted Sarah, he froze.

  The man was old, his face shriveled up like a raisin. A pair of thin-framed, round glasses magnified his eyeballs beyond their normal size. He blinked twice and then pocketed his keys.

  “Who are you?” His tone held more accusation than curiosity.

  “A new neighbor,” Sarah answered, throwing the same indignant tone back at him. “Who are you?”

  Raisin Face threw his hands in the air, shaking his head as he walked away. He waddled toward a rusted Cadillac El Dorado and struggled with opening the door. He put one leg inside and then stopped, looking at Sarah through those thick lenses. “I find anything broken tomorrow morning, I’ll know who to tell the authorities did it, understand?” He lowered himself into his driver seat and slammed the door shut.

  The El Dorado squealed when it started, and its dirty headlights flashed Sarah as the old man backed out of the parking spot and headed toward the highway, giving her a dirty look as he passed.

  “Don’t mind him.”

  Sarah jumped, spinning around to find a man standing behind her.

  “Old man Dunst doesn’t like anything that he can’t enter into a spreadsheet.” He smiled warmly, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he walked toward her. His hair was grey and peppered with spots of white, which gave the impression of old age, but the face that was underneath was smooth and taut. A few wrinkles appeared at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He was tall with broad shoulders, and he wore a long-sleeved black-and-red flannel shirt that was open and untucked, showing a white T-shirt underneath.

  “Good to know,” Sarah said, taking a few steps back to keep a comfortable distance between herself and the newcomer as he moved closer.

  “Pat.” He removed his right hand from his pocket and extended it, but when Sarah didn’t take it, he returned it. “I don’t have any ID on me, but, uh…” He gestured across the street.

  Sarah glanced to the other buildings across the street, finding a larger building with the name “Pat’s Tavern” painted above the door in bold white l
etters.

  “Best watering hole in town,” Pat said.

  “Not much competition,” Sarah said.

  Pat laughed. “No, there isn’t. You the new help up at the Bell house?”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a house,” Sarah answered, glancing past Pat and toward the five-story structure.

  “Well, I was just about to head over and open up if you’d like to have a drink. I don’t mean to brag, but I happen to be in cahoots with the owner. Could probably get you something on the house.” He added an exaggerated wink.

  “Are you always this awkward, or is it just when you’re meeting new people?”

  “Always,” Pat answered. “But after a while, people just stop noticing it as much. Like a mole they found on their back three years ago that just keeps growing.”

  Sarah laughed, relaxing a bit as she lowered her guard. It had been a while since she could afford a drink, and she wasn’t about to turn down a free one. She nodded and then followed Pat across the road and into his tavern.

  He flicked the lights on, illuminating an open space lined with square tables and chairs, a jukebox at the far end radiating neon yellows, pinks, and blues.

  While Sarah examined the décor, Pat rolled up his sleeves and stepped behind the bar. “So, what’ll you have?”

  “Whiskey,” Sarah answered, her eyes locked on the variety of hunting trophies along the wall. Most of them were deer, but Sarah stopped on a massive grizzly bear head.

  The bear’s mouth was open, the long, yellowed teeth exposed and sharp as daggers. Judging from the head’s size, the grizzly must have been huge. The head was half the size of Sarah.

  “Stood ten feet tall,” Pat said. “The paws on the bear were as wide as my chest.” He dropped some ice into a glass and then poured in a generous amount of whiskey. “Took three men to carry it back.”

  “It was killed in the woods around here?” Sarah asked, turning around.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Pat placed a square white napkin on the bar as a coaster for the glass. “We tried to get those Guinness World Record folks to come and look at it, but I never got a response. I read somewhere once about a polar bear around the same size, and it was marked as the biggest bear ever recorded.” He shook his head. “Shame we couldn’t get them to come up here. Might have been able to get some traffic coming into town.”