by Skylar Finn
Emily wrenched herself away from the desk, unhinged by the surge of emotions overwhelming her. They seemed to run all the way to her fingertips. Breathing hard, she stared at the page in front of her. Something bad happened…I couldn’t see their faces…I just want to leave…help me.
Emily felt colder than she ever had in her life. She huddled on the hearth by the fire and stoked it with the poker, tossing in rolled-up newspapers and pieces of cardboard from the nearby recycling can until the fire blazed high, warming her against the chill of the library. She almost wished she had never come downstairs to use the typewriter. It was too much. But now that she had, she felt like there was no way she could ignore the pleas of the little girl. Emily felt certain she was the girl from her dreams; the one she’d seen in the front yard. The one whose parents wept for, wanting nothing more than to have her back.
She didn’t think the ghost knocked over the armoire. This ghost was a child who just wanted help, and Emily couldn’t accept that she might have tried to hurt her. But if it hadn’t been Andrea, who had it been? Matilda? Cynthia? Or something else?
Emily suddenly felt more tired than she’d ever felt in her life. Widget jumped up and followed, her tags jingling, as Emily shuffled slowly from the study. It was all she could do to drag herself upstairs and collapse into bed, where she promptly fell into a dark and dreamless sleep.
The next morning, blindingly bright sunlight poured through the open blinds and fell across Emily’s sleeping face. Flinging a hand up to block the harsh rays, she rolled over and hid her head beneath the pillow. She would never get used to how brightly the sun shone here, as if living in the mountains were on par with building a home on the sun itself.
Emily heard Jesse’s truck start up in the front yard. She removed the pillow from her head and squinted at the clock: noon. She never slept this late at home.
Emily shuffled downstairs and into the kitchen like a sleepwalker. She was thrilled to see that Jesse had left a fresh pot of coffee brewing. She poured a cup and opened the pantry to see if there was any food or if she’d have to go to the store.
On the table, Emily’s phone buzzed. She kept it on vibrate so the inundation of calls from various collections agencies wouldn’t startle her throughout the day. She glanced over briefly, then went back to the pantry, unwilling to deal with them this early in the morning. The phone stopped. It immediately buzzed again.
Emily let the door fall shut with a sigh. She’d just have to put the phone on silent, that was all. When she picked it up, she saw the name across the top of the screen: three simple letters capable of inciting either utmost comfort or undeniable dread.
“Mom?”
“Emily, where have you been? It’s been two weeks since you moved out to that godforsaken house. I’ve called you countless times to make sure you’re alive, and what do I get in response? Text messages! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, texting is not an acceptable alternative to communication. I’ve been worried sick, and so has your father, of course—”
“How is Dad?” asked Emily, desperate to get a word in edgewise.
“Worried sick! Just as I am. And still building those infernal birdhouses, if you can imagine anything more lurid. What eyesores, my God. I’d love to sneak into the yard in the night and light them all on fire. But of course, he’d know it was me. Tell me, Emily: what on earth are you doing camped all the way out there in that hideous box of tinder?” She lowered her voice confidentially. “Is it Jesse? Are you having problems? Are you considering a…separation?”
Wouldn’t you love that, Emily thought. “No, Mom. We’re not having any problems.” Marital ones, anyway, she added silently. “When I found out Aunt Matilda left the house to me, we just wanted to come check it out and see if it was worth anything.” Emily felt guilty. Maybe her mother was upset Matilda had left Emily the house instead of her.
This, however, was not the case. “Oh my goodness, Emily, I can’t believe you went out there. I understand, of course, the property might be of some value, but honestly, your father would have gladly handled the sale remotely. That way, you could have avoided having anything to do with that crazy old bat.”
“Mom!” Emily was shocked. “She’s missing. I’m pretty sure she might be…dead.”
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I always knew Matilda would come to a bad end. She never wanted to settle down and have a family, at least not in the traditional sense; thought she was above getting married or even working a day in her life—it made my mother crazy. Especially when their grandmother left Matilda the house instead of her. And then she turned it into some sort of orphanage for wayward children? I can’t imagine how they must have damaged it. I mean, is it even worth anything?”
Emily was overwhelmed. She knew her mother had little idea of what had happened in the house to Matilda and the kids; even so, she seemed like the height of insensitivity at that moment. But maybe she could at least tell her why no one in the family spoke to Matilda anymore. That was one thing Emily had never understood, and maybe answering that would be the key to understanding Matilda and figuring out what happened to her. What was the terrible thing Matilda wouldn’t consider doing, the one that had seemed like the only way out?
“Is that why nobody talked to Aunt Matilda anymore?” Emily asked. “Because Matilda got the house instead of Grandma?”
Her mother snorted. “That was hardly the calamity you’d think it was. That house was in the family a long time; no one actually wanted to live there. We all assumed it was old and probably filled with mold besides. It was a well-known fact that Matilda would never marry, and so it was likely done to ensure she had some kind of property to her name. I don’t think my mother was overly broken up about it. She had simply grown tired of dealing with Matilda’s hardheaded obstinance. She always said you couldn’t have a conversation with her about anything. I assume that was why they drifted apart.”
“That’s it?” Emily asked. “They stopped talking because Matilda was stubborn?”
“Well, yes. Families are something you’re born into; when you get older and have a choice, you don’t always want to know them anymore. They were very different people, and they simply grew apart.”
“That’s so sad,” said Emily, imagining Matilda alone with her problems for no better reason than the fact that her sister found her annoying.
“Speaking of family,” said Emily’s mother, suddenly severe. “If you plan to have one, and Jesse’s not supporting you, you still have time to change your mind. Marriage is hardly the binding arbitration it once was, and I assure you, my girl, there are any number of men who would be overjoyed—”
“Mom, I have to go,” Emily said hurriedly, before the Divorce Jesse and Worthier Possible Suitors Shall Arise discussion could commence. “Jesse’s here, and he’s, um, starting a business. So, we need to discuss our, uh—start-up capital.” She didn’t know what it was about her mother that caused her to compulsively lie, but the need was irresistible all the same.
“Jesse? A business?” She could practically hear the raised eyebrow in her mother’s voice. “My, my. How…unexpected. What kind of business?”
“I have to go,” said Emily wildly. “He’s here with the home inspector, we’re selling the house and putting the money into our start-up. I’ll explain later.”
“Well, okay, dear,” said her mother, sounding taken aback. “Do keep me updated. And call if anything goes wrong in that miserable viper pit. I’m sure it’s riddled with rat holes and dry rot.”
“OkayMomthanksgottagoloveyoubye,” Emily said all in one breath. After she hung up, she sat at the kitchen table, sweating. Amazing how talking to her mother had the same effect on her as talking to a ghost.
“Our start-up?” said Jesse. It was late afternoon when he and Emily reconvened over lunch to recap that morning’s events. “What start-up?”
“I don’t know! She just kept talking about money and what were we doing
and I just wanted to invent something that might placate her—”
“You could sacrifice me to an active volcano and it wouldn’t placate the angry god that is your mother,” said Jesse. “Did anything else happen? Besides this imaginary start-up of ours?”
“Well.” Emily bit her lip and gazed down at the table. She was reluctant to disclose that she’d spent the previous night purposely communing with the ghost. It was one thing when she didn’t have a choice, but to purposely invite the very contact they’d been trying to pretend didn’t exist seemed like something that might not go over well.
“What’s up?” said Jesse, watching her closely.
“I used the typewriter again. To see if I could contact Andrea,” Emily said in a rush.
“What?! Why? I mean, why would you want to hear her on purpose? I get that we have some kind of poltergeist and some of this stuff is just unavoidable, but I don’t think you should invite it in for tea, you know what I mean?”
“I know. It’s just that I had another nightmare, and it was almost like I had to know what happened. I just want to help her, Jesse. I feel so bad for those kids. What if no one ever finds out what happened to them? How can Andrea’s parents live with that?”
Jesse ran a hand through his hair till it was sticking up. “I get what you’re saying. I definitely feel for them. I really do. I guess I’m more concerned about helping us. Who’s gonna help us if things get any worse? Probably not a ghost. And what are we going to do for this person, anyway? She’s not even a person anymore.”
“I know it sounds crazy. I do. I just have this feeling like if we can help her, and Matilda and the others, maybe all of this will stop.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Jesse.
Richard knocked on the back door. Emily and Jesse jumped, startled by his sudden and unexpected presence. Emily got up and opened the door.
Richard cleared his throat and chuckled uncomfortably. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to show up uninvited. Just wanted to see how you folks were doing.”
“Everything’s been pretty normal,” said Emily. “Just another day in the woods.”
“Mountains, in this case,” said Jesse.
Richard looked relieved. “Oh, good. You’re such nice people, I’d hate to hear that those crazies downtown were bothering you. You ask me, it was those lunkheads in gorilla masks, running around terrorizing folks and calling themselves anarchists. If it were up to me, I’d have them all thrown in jail.”
“What’s all that about?” asked Emily.
“Oh, you know. ‘Keep Boulder weird,’ that whole shtick. I’d settle for ‘normal but still affordable,’ but evidently, it’s not a choice.” Richard sighed, then immediately brightened. “I got something for you all out in the truck.”
Emily and Jesse exchanged a glance, then followed Richard down the back stairs and into the side yard where his truck was parked.
10
He threw the canvas cover off the flatbed, revealing rows and rows of neatly bundled firewood.
“Oh, Richard!” Emily was moved. “That’s so sweet of you to think of us.” Firewood was expensive, and Emily didn’t relish the prospect of excavating what remained of their savings account to buy more.
“First snow of the season’s on its way,” said Richard. “I can smell it in the air.”
“I can see it on my phone,” said Jesse, studying his screen. He glanced back up at Richard, looking vaguely troubled. “How much does it snow here, anyway?”
“Oh, it’s not near as bad as you would think. It’ll drop below freezing some nights, but those are the nights it doesn’t snow. And when it does, it may seem like a lot, but a Chinook wind will come through and melt it all away the next day. If that doesn’t do it, the sun will come out the next day and take care of the rest.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” said Jesse.
“It does get awful cold at night, though. And it must be a nightmare trying to keep this whole place heated. I figured it might just be easier for you to build a few fires till the snow passes.”
“We really appreciate it,” said Emily. “That’s so kind of you.”
“Sure thing,” said Richard as he hefted the bundles off the truck and set them in the driveway. “You need help carrying these in the house?”
“I got it,” said Jesse abruptly. Emily glanced over to see the obstinate expression on his face and sighed. Here we go.
“All right. Hope it keeps you warm. You have my number, if you need anything.” Richard waved as he climbed into his truck.
Jesse practically had smoke coming from his ears. “Does he think I can’t get enough firewood for the two of us? I know how to collect wood. I can cut down an entire tree!”
Emily bit her lip. She was actually holding back a smile, but there was no way she wanted Jesse to see that. “I think he was just trying to help.”
“I don’t need his help! I’m going out to the yard. Have you seen how many dry sticks and branches there are out there? There’s enough kindling to last us the winter!”
“Okay, Jesse,” said Emily. “Whatever you say.”
Jesse stormed off, disappearing around the side of the house. Widget ran after him, barking merrily at what she thought was a rousing game. Emily surveyed the bundles of wood lying in the driveway.
“Well, I guess I’ll just take these in, then,” she said to no one.
Jesse returned triumphantly with an armful of branches he found in the yard. It was nowhere near as substantial as the supply Richard left them, but he seemed so pleased with himself Emily never would have said anything to that effect. Instead, she helped Jesse build a fire in the living room with his newly gathered tinder, discreetly noting the nearby proximity of store-bought firewood. Then she went to the kitchen to boil a kettle of water for tea.
“This isn’t so bad,” said Jesse an hour later. After his foray to the hardware store, he’d stopped by the supermarket, purchasing graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows. He had speared one with one of his sticks from the yard and roasted it with the studied carefulness of a master. “You want a s’more?”
“Obviously I want a s’more,” said Emily. “Do you even have to ask?”
Jesse made her an especially gooey one. They split the remainder of her flask and pulled out the sofa bed. It was so warm and cozy Emily could almost forget all the strange and terrible things that had happened.
“I wish it could always be like this,” she said as they gazed into the fire.
“I know what you mean,” said Jesse.
They drifted to sleep as the cuckoo clock chirped midnight.
Emily awoke near dawn. It was still pitch black outside. Her eyes were half closed, and through them she saw that the door connecting the living room to the hallway had drifted open in the night. Emily sat up, rubbing her eyes. The fire had dwindled and a cruel draft wafted in through the open door.
She sat up and steeled herself to dash across the room, shut the door, stoke the fire, then dive back into bed. Next to her, Widget sat like a sentry: still as a stone, staring at the door. Emily followed her gaze and froze.
Framed in the doorway hovered a tall shadow. Emily felt as though it had been there, watching them, for some time.
It was her first impulse to scream and wake up Jesse. Her second impulse was to promptly bury herself under the covers and hope it would go away. Widget will protect us, she thought wildly. But something else told Emily that neither action would do her much good.
“What do you want?” whispered Emily. Her breath was visible in the icy cold room.
The shadow was silent. Emily had a terrible feeling she knew just what it wanted.
Wrapping herself in the topmost quilt, Emily shuffled toward the door. The shadow glided down the hallway. It paused at the foot of the stairs. Emily swallowed her fear and followed it.
It slithered up the stairs and glided to the door at the end of the hall. It paused outside Matilda’s room before sliding in.
&n
bsp; Emily, terrified but determined, followed. She saw the shadow lingering in front of the old steamer trunk at the end of Matilda’s bed. She didn’t want to go any closer. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands in fists at her side. When she opened her eyes, the shadow was gone and the trunk’s lid stood open.
Frowning, Emily approached the trunk and peered inside. On top of a neat row of blankets, nestled on a chenille throw, was a small black laptop.
Emily was surprised. She assumed when she found the typewriter that Matilda had shunned all technology.
She tucked the computer under one arm and hurried down the stairs. She closed the door tightly when she got back to the living room, then stoked the fire. Jesse rolled over and sighed in his sleep. Emily curled up under the blankets as the sky lightened from navy blue to gray. The snow continued to fall.
She opened the laptop.
The computer prompted her for a password, and Emily stared blankly at the screen. She realized she didn’t even know Matilda’s birthday. She tried her mother’s, then her grandmother’s. She even tried her own. None were the correct password. Beyond that, Emily was stumped. She realized how little she actually knew about the woman whose house she lived in.