by Rachel Renee
Rusty barks, his tail wagging as he prances into the living room. There’s an old chest in the corner of the room, directly under a window. I remember Granny putting blankets in there and I’m hoping that I won’t be disappointed. After a good night’s rest, I pray I’ll be able to go upstairs again. If not, I plan to just tell Mr. Jones to just get rid of everything. After all, I don’t need any objects that are going to make me panic every time I glance at them.
After finding a couple of quilts, I make myself a relaxing place to sleep for the night. I know Granny would forbid this act, but she’s not here to stop me. Although at the same moment I have that thought, a cool breeze blows past my ear and I still. “I’m sorry, Granny. I can’t go upstairs tonight. I have to sleep here. Please forgive me.”
I don’t know if she’s here, but I’m protecting myself just in case all that talk of ghosts happens to be true. As my head hits the small decorative pillow in the corner of the couch, my eyes shut. My hand reaches down, touching the soft fur of my pup who has laid down directly next to me. I feel myself falling quickly to sleep as I pet Rusty’s fur in comfort.
CHAPTER FIVE
My eyelids spring open and my body bolts upright. Rusty is barking from the other room. I’m disoriented. Where am I? My head turns left to right, taking in my surroundings. Not home. Well, a place I once called home, but no longer. I toss the quilt to the floor as I hastily get to my feet, unsteady from the rude awakening. Rusty continues to bark and that alone has the hair on my neck standing on end. I want to call out to him, but if someone is in the house, I don’t want to alert them to the fact that I’m awake.
Tiptoeing to the sound of my dog, I move quickly, stopping only when I reach the threshold. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, my breathing ragged. What will I find on the other side of this wall? Slowly, I allow my hand to grasp the molding, my head follows, eyes peering around the wall until they land on my dog. His fur is puffed up, his bark ferocious. I continue looking, my feet moving slowly around the corner as I examine the area before me.
Rusty’s body is pointed toward the stairs, his eyes looking upward. Someone must be in the house. I summon my courage and yell out. I feel like I have the advantage, me being downstairs close to the exit, the perpetrator upstairs, at least a hundred steps away from me. “Who’s here? What do you want?”
Rusty stops his tirade, his head turning toward me. His tail wags slightly as he moves in my direction. “What is it, boy? Who’s here?”
There’s no answer, and no sound from the floor above. My legs carry me to the bottom of the stairs, where my dog had just been. “Anyone up there?”
Still, no answer. “Tucker? Is that you?” To me, that seems the only plausible answer. He knows this house, and maybe he came back to get something and didn’t want to wake me.
But why would Rusty bark? He knows Tucker. Spent the entire day with the man and didn’t bark once.
I don’t want to go up there, but I need to. I’ll never get any rest until I know what the dog was barking about. One foot in front of the other, I gently climb the staircase. After reaching the top, it’s only then that I realize I’ve nothing to protect myself, to fend off an attacker. My only hope is Rusty, who has followed me obediently like that guard dog he is, will save me from my demise.
“Hello?” I call out. I stand silent, ears hungrily listening for sound. Any sound from one of the rooms. It’s quite dark in the hallway, and my eyes try to adjust to the dim lighting. I move from the banister over to the wall in search of a possible switch to turn some light on. Then I think, maybe I should keep the light off and use the element of darkness to sneak up on the intruder. A small noise, like a clearing of a throat, from the first bedroom, halts my thoughts.
“Who’s there?” Of course, whoever is here is in my old bedroom. The absolute last place I want to enter. “I heard you. Come on out!” I don’t know where this bravery is coming from. Maybe it’s my desire to go back to bed, or the wish to not go into the bedroom is surpassing any possible fear of being attacked.
Rusty’s tail is wagging happily as he stands guard at my side. The two of us creep toward the room, listening for sounds, but none come. My hand reaches the brass knob, grasping the slick metal and I pause just a moment before it turns slightly. The mechanism clicks, the sound echoing through the empty hall. Here goes nothing, I tell myself. Releasing the knob, I thrust the door open, hopeful I’ll catch the person on the other side off guard.
A cool breeze hits me square in the face and knocks me off my feet. My heart is practically beating out of my chest as my rear end hits the floor. The curtains, shredded and barely holding onto the rod, are swaying in the breeze of the wide-open window. I know it wasn’t open when I tried to come in earlier. Or, was it? Jumping to my feet, I race to the window, practically pulling the curtain remnants from their hanging place. My eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, search the grounds below. It’s a far jump and I can’t really imagine anyone making it without breaking a bone or worse. Would someone have risked it in order to not be caught?
Or, in my despair earlier, did I just miss the fact that the window was wide open? A bird could have flown in, or any sound under the window could have alerted Rusty as it floated through the opening. He doesn’t normally startle so easily, but maybe it’s just the new surroundings and he isn’t used to the noises here yet.
I turn my back to the window, scanning the room that I used to share with Samantha. I only knew her for a few years, but she was my only sister. She was good to me, my one true companion during my earliest years. My head pivots so that I can look at her bed. I try to picture her lying there. Before…before she got sick. We went to bed that night and nothing seemed amiss. She told me a story about a princess and her knight in shining armor as she tucked me into my covers, making sure not one patch of skin was uncovered. We said our prayers after she got herself settled into her bed, then took turns saying goodnight to one another. She whispered, “I love you,” like all the other nights before, as I was drifting off to sleep. Did I say it back to her? I can’t really remember.
My hand slowly brushes along her quilt, outlining the spot where she would be sleeping. I didn’t even realize I was at the bed until the feeling of cotton registered in my senses. Arriving at her pillow, I feel something hard, something wooden maybe, tucked underneath the thin cushion. I move the cover aside, lift the pillow, and pull it out. A frame. It’s too dark to see what’s enclosed in the glass, but I decide I’ll take it downstairs with me.
I’ve made it this far into the room, so I choose to venture to my old bed, crossing the spot where my grandmother and mother would have been kneeling over Samantha. I desire to ignore it, but I’m afraid it will always be there. It will always hide in the back of my mind, drifting in and out, unwanted. At this moment, I move past it and into a different memory. I grab my old pillow, wondering what it smells like. Would it still hold that light lavender scent Momma used to add to our shampoo?
Breathing the cool fabric in, the only smell entering my nose is musty. Dampness from the window being open, the weather cooling down, and the fact that this was the same bedding I used twenty years ago. When I start to put my pillow back in its place, I notice what looks like another frame. I know I didn’t sleep with anything like that, so maybe it’s something Granny put there. I grab the object and add it to the one I was already holding. Maybe they are pictures of Samantha and me. Granny wanted to pretend we were still here so she put our pictures in our old beds.
A chill running up my back alerts me to the fact that the window is still open. I walk quickly back in that direction, and immediately reach for it, grasping the handles and pulling the glass pieces together. The latch that keeps them closed seems to be broken, which could explain why the window was open. I’ll need to tell Tucker about it in the morning so he can get it fixed before we sell the place. For now, I do the best I can to clasp it so the window doesn’t open right back up.
Grabbing the two picture
s that were laid on the floor so I could close the window, I leave the room. I feel good about the fact that I went in there and didn’t fully panic. Things definitely look different in the light of day, so I wonder if I’ll be able to go in as easily tomorrow. Rusty waits for me just inside the living room, his eyes looking expectantly in my direction.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to go back to sleep just yet. How about some tea?” I’m talking to myself but the dog follows me into the kitchen. Once I’m awake, it’s so hard to get back to sleep if I’ve been active for any amount of time. I’ve learned over the years that if I drink some tea and let my heart and mind settle back down, it’s easier to get back into sleep mode.
The kettle is full or at least enough for me to have a cup, so I turn the gas on before looking through the cabinets to find those tea bags I saw earlier. I left them in place, along with most of the mugs, but Tucker must have moved them because they’re no longer where I remember seeing them. After searching all the cabinets, my body slumps against the counter, eyes scrutinizing the room. I spot the box of tea among the papers still left on the table. I certainly don’t remember them being there but I’ve moved so many items that it’s possible I just forgot.
The kettle whistles before I can get the bag into the mug. After pouring the scalding water into my cup, I choose to take it with me into the living room. The pictures from the bedroom are still on the counter, facing down. I grab them with my free hand as I leave the kitchen. Rusty is right with me, not leaving my side for a moment.
After sitting my mug down on the side table, it’s the first time I glance at what I was holding in my other hand. Behind each piece of glass is a picture. One of Samantha and the other of me. Samantha’s is from when she was younger, how I remember her and probably the last picture ever taken.
The odd thing about my picture is, it’s a recent photo. I remember the day it was taken, or, at least I remember what I was doing. I didn’t realize a photo had been caught of me. The diner was closed for the day so that we could enjoy the fair that was in town. Some of the other servers and I went together. We walked around and tried out a couple of games and ate French fries and a funnel cake. Someone even bought all of us cotton candy. There was also a photo booth with all sorts of props to use. I didn’t have any extra money, so I watched as a few of the girls got their pictures taken. I played around with a couple of the props while another girl was trying to figure out which to use for her photo. That must have been when this photo was taken. If it wasn’t weird enough that someone actually took the picture without me knowing, the crazier thing has to be the fact that Granny had the photo. How in the world did she get it? Was she there? No. I doubt that. Why would she have been?
I turn the frame over, unlatching the back, in hopes of some indication of how this picture came to be. Behind it, the photo that must have originally been in the frame is of me around the same time Samantha’s had been taken. After glancing over five-year-old me, I set that picture aside to inspect the more recent photo. There are no signs indicating where it was printed, nor who took it. No dates. Nothing. Not one clue as to the photo’s origin.
The photo and frame are shoved aside and I begin to sip on my tea. My mind is sprinting through different thoughts. Granny had to have known I would find it if I came back to claim the house. Is this her way of telling me she had been watching this entire time? The fact is, I don’t really know how that makes me feel. If she had been, why did she never come and see me? If Momma had been keeping her away, she could have come after she was gone; when I really could have used Granny around. If she wasn’t watching me, then who was? Tucker? The thought flows in quickly, as if it had been there all along.
Tucker? He would have had a much easier time spying because I didn’t know who he was until I arrived in Crimson Falls. He wouldn’t have even had to hide. I’m going to ask him when he comes over later. He said Granny had been preparing since she got sick, so it’s possible she needed him to check and make sure I was still around. My thoughts land on that and I decide that is the plausible explanation for this. Nothing else seems conceivable. Although, I know so little about Granny, I guess she could have been the one to travel to Georgia to check in on me.
The tea warms me as the thoughts of someone checking in on me without my knowing send more shudders through my body. I’m thankful for Rusty keeping me out of danger. Although I may not have really been in any, it feels like my privacy was invaded. Which leaves me feeling vulnerable. I sip my tea and pet my dog, trying to calm myself down from the early-morning events.
By six o’clock in the morning, I’m tired enough that I feel like lying back down. My eyes close as the sun seems to be peeking above the horizon. My heart rate is finally slow enough that I don’t hear it drumming in my ears. Breathing in and out, counting backward, my body relaxes and I sense myself drifting.
Thump, thump, thump.
My head is throbbing. Did I hear something? I listen for a moment but Rusty isn’t barking, so I turn over, pulling the quilt up higher around my shoulders.
Bang, bang, bang.
My lids pop open once more. I shift so I can look at the floor where my pup was lying, only he’s not there anymore.
Thump, thump. Bang! Bang!
“Rusty!” I hear him whimper from the front room. At least he’s not barking this time. The banging must be the door. Who would be calling at this time in the morning? My eyes adjust to the bright daylight as I stretch out my limbs before getting off the sofa.
Bang, Bang, Bang.
“I’m coming!” What’s the problem? Is there a fire or something?
I pat Rusty on the head, passing by to get to the door. I fling it open and Tucker’s eyes widen at the sight of me. “Did I wake you?”
“You did. Why are you here so early?”
“So early? You city folks must sleep in late. It’s nearly noon.”
It’s my turn for a shocked expression. “I didn’t realize. I…” How do I say it without looking crazy? “I was awoken during the night because a window was left open and it must have knocked something over, which woke the dog who woke me with a start. It took me some time to get back to sleep.”
“A window open? Did you get hot?”
“I didn’t open it. I figured you must have when you were tidying up and forgot to close it back.”
“I don’t think so.” He scratches his head. “I checked them all before you arrived. Sealed them up for the winter.”
“Well, the one in the upstairs bedroom was wide open.”
Tucker’s eyes lower. “I’m really sorry about that. I could have sworn I took care of them all.”
I shrug but don’t comment. Everyone makes mistakes, no sense rubbing salt in the wound. “What brings you by?” I open the door wider, allowing Tucker to enter the house.
“I went to get a few things from the store and they said you hadn’t been by yet. I got to worrying that maybe you skipped town.”
That makes me chuckle. “No. I’m still here. You came to check and make sure?”
“Yes. Figured you still had unfinished business. Wasn’t really looking forward to taking on this house by myself.”
“Well, I think I’ll finish up today and hand the reins over to Mr. Jones. He’ll be able to help you with everything else.”
“That’s a shame. You really should stick around for a while longer and see what this town has to offer.”
“I’ve got to get back to work. They’ll be expecting me.”
“A few more days for a death in the family should be anticipated.”
“I wasn’t really…” I stop myself. It doesn’t matter what I say to this man. To him, the fact that I wasn’t close to my granny won’t matter. “Planning to stay long. I told them I’d be gone a couple days and that’s it.”
He wrings his hands as he stares past me. He’s still looking up the stairs when he answers. “I hate to hear that. I know your granny was hoping you’d give this old place a chance.
”
I want to say that is never going to happen, but I bite my tongue. “Hey. I have a question to ask you.”
Walking to the sitting room, I grab the photo frame and take it back to the awaiting Tucker. “Do you know who took this picture of me?”
I stare at him as he looks intently on the picture. His eyes open, then he squints. He turns the frame over like he’s going to find the answer on the back. “No. Should I know who took it?”
“You’ve never seen it before?”
I never leave his gaze, wanting to see the truth when he answers. “No. Looks recent.” He peruses my face, then looks back to the frame.
“It was recent. And I found it here, in this house. Did my granny check up on me?”
His head is shaking from side to side. “No. She didn’t drive.”
“Then she had someone check in on me?”
“Maybe your mother sent it?”
“My mother was dead before this was taken.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I feel my face redden at his accusation. I know when and where it was taken, even though I didn’t realize that act was being committed. “Besides, you said yourself this was recent. My mother has been dead for three years. This was taken over the summer.”
“I don’t know the answer. I’m sorry.” He deadpans.
If Granny didn’t drive and her right-hand man didn’t take the picture, who did?
“I’m so confused. Where could it have come from?” My feet move back to the sitting room and take me over to the couch. “Who else did Granny talk to?”
“What about Jones? Maybe he was the one who checked up on you? He was taking care…well, he’s still taking care of the estate holdings.”
Jones! “Yes! I’ll ask him when he comes by this afternoon.”
Tucker’s eyes lower at my statement. I don’t really understand why he wants me to stay. We don’t know each other. It must be Granny’s doing. She must have told him he needs to convince me to stick around for a bit. Hoping I’ll fall in love so the house will stay in the family. It was built for the Duponts and I seem to be the last one in that succession line. I don’t want this small-town life. Especially since everyone but my Momma died here.