by Sue Perkins
Next day her mother dragged her into town to enrol for school.
“I still don’t see why I couldn’t stay in Christchurch with Aunt Jemma and go to my old school. You treat me like a baby and seem to forget I’m nearly fifteen.” Fury stared out the car window as they drove home.
“I’m not going over it again, Fiora. We stay together as a family and if Dad has to come here for six months’ work, we all come with him.” Her mother turned into the driveway of the old house.
Fury looked up at the three-story building. The ground floor had a wrap-around veranda with a metal roof to protect users from the sunshine and rain. The next floor windows overlooked the veranda roof and the attic floor had dormer windows sticking up from the slate roof.
Her eyes were automatically drawn to the window where the figure had appeared. Nothing moved, and within moments her mother had driven up to the front of the house and stopped by the steps leading up to the front door, cutting off Fury’s view of the attic floor. They’d done some grocery shopping while they were in town and Fury helped her mother carry the bags into the house and down the hall to the kitchen.
“Mum, tell me again about the woman who left the house to your family. She was an ancestor of yours, wasn’t she?”
“I suppose you could call her an ancestor, despite it being more than one hundred years ago. The house belonged to a spinster called Ellen Mune. Her sister Margaret had married and had a family so their father left the house to Ellen. The father owned a lot of businesses in the area.
A short while after her eightieth birthday the old lady and her maid disappeared. The relatives searched the house but could find no trace of either woman or clues to where Ellen and the maid had gone. After seven years the courts declared her dead and Margaret’s family tried to sell the house, but Ellen’s will stated it had to stay in the family. Any of the descendants could live in it, but they couldn’t sell it.” Her mother put the last of the groceries in the fridge. “Margaret was my great, great grandmother on my mother’s side of the family. Over the generations the boys’ side died out and apparently I’m the last direct descendent of the Mune family, which means you and your brother will be the only descendants who can use the house.”
“Jonah’s welcome to it, it’s too far out of the city for me.” Fury turned and left the kitchen muttering to herself. “Who’d want to stay in this old place with its heavy furniture and gloomy rooms? I’m not allowed to even put my posters or artwork up on my bedroom walls.”
Curiosity drew her to the attic floor for another attempt to lift the tapestry.
Perhaps if I get a chair I can hoist the material up and drape it over the back.
Fury dragged a heavy chair from one of the other attic rooms across the landing to the tapestry. Heaving on the corner, she struggled to lift the bulky material onto the chair, then tugged a bit more up onto the sturdy back. After making sure the tapestry wouldn’t fall, Fury knelt on the floor and examined the wall behind it.
Not a wall. It is a door. Where’s the handle?
Half way up the door Fury saw a doorknob. Her hand reached out and tried to turn the handle.
“Drat, it’s stuck.”
Her words came out too loud and Fury shut her mouth with a snap. Her mother used sayings picked up in the past from elderly relatives and one Fury remembered was a thick silence. She’d never understood the meaning before, but this now became clear. The silence on the attic floor felt thick and menacing. Fury put her ear to the wood but couldn’t hear a sound on the other side. Maybe the door acted as a soundproof.
Fury rolled onto her hands and knees to get up from her position by the door, and her gaze automatically flicked to the floor. At the bottom, the door didn’t quite meet the floorboards and as she pushed herself upright a shadow passed along the gap on the other side.
There is someone in there? I wonder if it’s a ghost? Do ghosts cast shadows?
“Fury, Mum wants you.” Her brother’s voice bellowed up the stairs followed by the soft voice of her mother remonstrating with him for shouting.
As she dropped the tapestry into place, Fury decided to think things over before trying to open the door. What if the ghost – if it was a ghost – wasn’t friendly?
I guess it’s trapped in the attic room. Best make sure it’s not going to cause havoc before I let it out.
Now she’d made her decision, Fury felt much more at ease with the situation.
Wonder what Mum wants?
“You took your time,” her mother commented, when Fury walked into the kitchen.
“Sorry, I took a look round the attic floor. It doesn’t look as if the rooms have been used up there.”
“Probably not.” Her mother didn’t sound interested in what her daughter had been doing. “I want you to help me unpack the kitchen boxes. Saucepans, dishes, plates, etc.”
“How come Jonah doesn’t have to help?”
“Really. You have to ask? You know how clumsy he is with everything but a football. We’d be eating off paper plates if I got him to help. Come on, it won’t take long if we work together.”
SPIRIT STEALER
1
GRAND OPENING
Red eyes glared down at Fader. He shivered as a cloud crossed the sun, throwing a menacing shadow over the angry face.
The cloud moved on, and the true identity of the new library building shone through. The eyes became two large windows high above the porch hovering over the closed wooden door. The nose resumed its place as a plaque waiting to be uncovered. Fader shivered then grinned.
Too much imagination, that’s my problem.
He sat on the wall looking down at the crowded marketplace. The people had made an effort to look their best for the opening of the library. Long velvet dresses swished around the women’s ankles, while the men wore dark suits and brilliant white shirts.
I’m wearing my best clothes. Fader looked at his tattered trousers and grinned. His jacket and shirt weren’t much better. They barely covered his body. My best clothes; my only clothes.
Fader glanced around the stalls at the edge of the square. The tables groaned with goods, but the crowd showed no interest in buying. People from the big houses on the edge of town had donated money to pay for the single storey library building. Now books filled the shelves, and the excited crowd discussed what they would find inside as they waited for the doors to open.
They won’t let me in there. Fader knew the way rich people looked down on the rest of the community. The orphan school had taught him basic reading, but those in charge didn’t think it necessary to give children too much of an education. I wish they’d hurry up and get on with the opening. When things get back to normal I might earn a few pennies.
Fader ran errands, helped the market people set up their stalls, and take them down at the end of the day. He stayed honest, knowing if people considered him reliable, he would get more jobs.
The crowd stirred and swayed toward the library. Fader got to his feet to stand on top of the wall so he could see over the heads of those in front of him. He leaned against a pillar and watched as the library door swung open, and several town dignitaries approached the podium on the top step.
The crowd clapped so loud Fader couldn’t hear the Lord Mayor’s words. The man stopped talking, raised his hand, and pulled a rope attached to the velvet cloth over the plaque. A great cheer rose as the cover fell away, revealing the engraved brass plate hidden beneath it. A uniformed doorman flung the library doors wide, allowing the well-dressed crowd to move forward and enter the building.
Temptation took over, and Fader hurried around the square, pretending to check and see if anyone needed his services. He reached the area on one side of the library and waited for a chance to cross the alleyway. The plaque caught his attention, and he spelled out the engraved words:
Opened by his Worship the Mayor on this 7th day of November 1908.
A wagon drove into the alley; and he darted behind it, raced up the steps, and
hid behind one of the huge pillars supporting the porch above the main door. When a family mounted the steps, Fader used the group as a shield between him and the doorman. Once inside, he faded to the left, into the shadows between the bookcases. His name had been well earned.
He took a deep breath. The lofty ceiling captivated him. The smell of leather and newly printed books tickled his nose making him smile with pleasure as he reached up to touch the gold lettering on the bindings. He stroked the spine of the book and a feeling of awe passed over him. Eagerness overcame caution. He grasped the book to lift it from the shelf.
“You boy! What do you think you’re doing?”
Fader let go of the book and spun around. A furious, stout man, so angry his white moustache bristled above his thin lips, advanced on Fader like an out of control steamroller. Survival instinct took over. Fader turned and ran for the entrance as fast as he could.
“Stop! Someone stop that boy!”
People turned to stare as Fader darted through the crowd. The doorman reached out for him, but Fader dodged the grasping hands. He wove left and right, avoiding his would be captor.
Out through the open doorway he went and scooted to the right where he jumped from the top step. Still running, he left the marketplace by a side road and changed direction many times as he passed through familiar roads and alleyways. Fader didn’t stop until he knew he wasn’t being followed. He leaned against an empty cart and gasped for air. As his breathing returned to normal, anger rose inside him.
They shouldn’t have shouted at me like that, he thought. The library’s for everyone, not just rich people. The books had such a lovely smell, and they felt nice. Why should they keep it all to themselves?
The angry man reminded him of the beadle at the orphanage. Fader couldn’t forget the strict rules they’d drummed into the orphans: don’t steal, don’t answer back, and do as you’re told. As his twelfth birthday loomed, he knew he could take no more. He needed to find his own way in the world before the beadle apprenticed him to an awful job. Fader’s idea of a good job and the beadle’s idea were miles apart, so he ran away.
Hunger pangs forced Fader to return to the market square. The stalls were back in the centre, and a stallholder hired him to help him set up his wares. As he worked, he kept looking at the library. One day he’d wear the long coat and high starched collars worn by rich gentlemen. The ladies’ and children’s clothes were expensive looking as well. His irritation rose again when he saw the women pull aside their long skirts as they neared some scruffy children sitting on the steps. A fussy assistant librarian came and shooed the ragged group away.
At the end of the afternoon, Fader earned several pennies helping the stallholders pack up for the day. The setting sun glinted off the upper windows of the library, and he remembered his earlier thoughts of the face superimposed on the building. The shadows at this time of day made the face seem more real, more evil. The red eyes and shaded lower levels now looked angry and sinister.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sue Perkins emigrated to New Zealand in the 1980s. A few years later she took a creative writing course, then started writing novels and short stories. Despite rejections from several publishers, Sue persevered and in 2006 she won the Pacific Region of the Commonwealth Broadcasting Short Story Competition. The following year her first romance novel was published.
In the intervening years Sue has had ebook and paperback novels published for middle grade, young adult and adults, main in the fantasy genre. Dragons and magic are her favourite subjects in fantasy, but ghosts are also making their appearance in her young adult books.
Although mainly published in America, Sue is hoping to increase her New Zealand following.
http://www.sueperkinsauthor.com