by V. J. Banis
She went along the front of the house, the grass beneath her feet still damp with the morning dew. She passed the tower, its base jutting out from the house itself. Glancing upward, she shivered as she saw the dangling remnants of the walkway that encircled the structure, the walk from which she had almost fallen.
She followed the path, rounding the corner of the house, and stopped abruptly. It was like stepping suddenly into the heart of the woods. The rolling lawn, the solid foreboding facade of the house, ended at the corner, to be replaced by straggly bushes, low-hanging trees, weeds, and sagging, unpainted walls. She was reminded, as she stared at the disorder, of pictures she had seen of movie sets, with their glamorous fronts that suggested a wholeness they did not in fact possess. She was behind the set now, and the illusion was lost. But why there should be a movie set here, she had no idea.
She looked around. It had been here, somewhere on this end of the house, where she had looked out of the window when she was lost in the house. She looked about for the tree she had seen, the big one just outside the window, but there were too many of them to be certain that she had found the right one.
The thought of trees brought with it an idea that lighted a faint spark of hope within her. Some of the trees must be fruit trees. It was late in the season, no doubt, but there might be something edible on the ground. She looked about, trying to remember when apples and the like ripened, but she was not very knowledgeable about such matters.
There had been an apple tree at home when she was a girl; not that she had changed homes since then, but the tree had long since gone. It had gone the summer that her mother had discovered that she played in the tree, that the tree had become a secret place for the young Jennifer. For one whole summer Jennifer had hidden in that tree when she wanted to get away from things, to escape into a world of her own. She had climbed the tree, and played in it, and actually grown to love its gnarled, patternless branches.
One day, however, some strange men had arrived in a truck and started cutting and sawing. By the time they left there was nothing remaining of the tree but a wounded and mournful stump.
Strange, she had not thought of that tree for years. She wandered on through the thick growth, wandered because the path she had followed had ended abruptly at the corner of the house. The trees, thick overhead, shielded her from the warm beams of the morning sun, and she was reminded of the coolness of the autumn morning.
She found a tree, an apple tree, and the ground beneath it was littered with old fruit. Most of it, to be sure, was rotted or dried up, but she looked carefully about on the ground, examining each apple she found. Even the best of them was none too good—knobby, wormy looking things that made clear the fact that the tree had gone wild. But she found a handful of fruit that would be, at least in part, edible.
She bit into one of the apples eagerly, savoring the bitter, sour taste of the pulp in her mouth. She greedily devoured the few she had found, gulping down what she could of them. She began to look for more, and when she found another, her impulse was to devour it as well. She checked herself, though. If this was all she found, it might be necessary to ration them. It was impossible to say how long it would take her to find the car, and as hungry as she was now, she would certainly be even hungrier after a few hours of walking.
There was another thought too that influenced her. If there was one tree with fruit about its base, there might be others, perhaps with better offerings.
She collected all of the apples she could find that might be edible, and put them in a neat little pile at the base of the tree. She would look first to see what else she could find in the way of food to carry with her; then she would try to find her way through the woods to her car.
The brush, as she moved away from the house, had grown even thicker, and once or twice she scratched her arms on the undergrowth. Watching the ground as she was, she failed to see a low hanging branch that slapped her smartly across the face. Her hand, when she brought it away from the spot, was stained with fresh blood.
Despite what must have been another half hour of searching, however, she found no more food. Discouraged, she decided instead to take what she had. She was tired, and before she set out she ought to get her sweater. Certainly she would need her purse, because the car keys were in it, and she had not thought to bring it out with her. There was nothing for it but to return to the house; but at least now she would have her little store of apples, so the morning was not completely wasted.
That was when she discovered that the house was no longer in sight. It should have been. She had been walking in a straight line, she thought, and the house should have been directly behind her, but it wasn’t. At least, it was not visible through the trees and the brush that surrounded her.
“I am not going to let myself become terrified again,” she insisted. She looked about, but nothing seemed particularly familiar. One tree looked pretty much like another, and she had failed to watch for any landmarks as she walked; her attention had been concentrated on looking for food.
Just to her right was a clump of bushes she had come through, she was certain. She held the branches apart and made her way through the growth, but instead of a small clump it proved to be a fair size patch. She found herself entangled in clinging branches and cutting thorns that added to the scratches on her arms and legs.
She was through it at last, and beyond it was a clearing; not much, but it did look familiar. If she went around that big tree...she did, without achieving anything. Her apple tree, and her little pile of apples, ought to be in sight, right in front of her there, but they were not. In fact, there was a stump there, and she didn’t remember any stumps at all. And she was lost again.
She sat down on the stump, dropping her head wearily into her hands. She wanted to cry, or scream, or some such thing. She seemed unable to manage anything. It was as if Kelsey House, and even the grounds around it, deliberately set out to frustrate her efforts to leave, even her efforts to survive. They seemed to have minds of their own, minds that were set against her. Even now, lost in the woods, she did not feel alone, she felt as if she were in the presence of something that watched her and brooded, something that would not let her escape, that never meant for her to leave here.
She held her breath, listening. Was she imagining things again, or was that something moving nearby. No, this time she was definitely not imagining anything. There was somebody close at hand, someone moving about through the dense growth; someone, or something. Twigs snapped, and branches scraped against one another.
It could be someone from the house. By now they might have discovered that she had gone. She had not come down for breakfast, and undoubtedly they would have come to her room to investigate. Finding her gone, they might very well be searching for her now.
In that case, she ought to call out and tell them where she was. It was all well and good to want to be out of Kelsey House, but being lost and alone in the woods was not any better so far as she could see.
But she did not call out just yet. What if it weren’t a person at all, she asked herself, listening to the noises coming closer? What kind of animals lived in woods like these? She really did not know, but it was not hard to imagine any number of wild creatures prowling about.
The noises were closer, definitely coming in her direction. Should she run, or maybe try to climb a tree?
In the end, she did nothing but sit in fear and shiver, and watch in the direction of the crashing and crunching that moved steadily closer until the bushes parted and there in front of her was the hired man, the one who had found her on the road the night she had arrived at Kelsey.
He stopped, exactly as he had done that night, and stared at her. Whatever relief she might have felt at seeing a human being instead of some wild animal disappeared almost at once in his cold stare. It was not a pleasant look that he gave her, but one of unspeakable violence and ugliness, a look that combined dark thoughts with a bitter, just-beneath-the-surface laughter. He was amused
at finding her here, she thought, amused and for some peculiar reason angry at the same time.
As for herself, Jennifer sat quietly on the stump and returned his stare for as long as she was able, which was not long at all. Her mother had always accused her of being shifty-eyed, which was not far from the truth. She could never look anyone in the eye for long. After a moment or two, she had always done just as she did this time; she dropped her eyes to the ground. Without a word, the man started to go on.
“Wait,” she called after him anxiously. Like it or not he was her only means of finding her way out of this woods. And as much as she disliked Kelsey House, even that seemed preferable to remaining lost where she was. The next noise might be a wild animal after all.
He paused and glanced back over his shoulder at her.
“I’m afraid I’ve lost my way,” she explained, realizing that she sounded like a helpless child. “Can you lead me to where I left my car?”
He paused for a moment longer, without replying.
“Or back to Kelsey House,” she suggested. She had hoped he might take her to the car, but she supposed he was part of whatever conspiracy they had formed against her. She would take her chances at Kelsey House. From there, she thought she could find the path they had taken that first night
Still without a word, he started off again. She hadn’t the vaguest idea where he was leading or, if he was leading her at all. Of all the strange occupants of Kelsey, he was indeed the most flagrantly rude of the lot.
“Well,” she thought, “wherever he is going, it has to be somewhere.” If he was not going back to the house, perhaps after all he would lead her to the road, from which she could find her car. Or better yet, perhaps he was going to a neighboring house, where there might be ordinary people like herself, people who would help her. She jumped up from where she had been sitting and started after him, rushing to keep up with his rapid pace.
Another thought came to her as she hurried in his wake, and she called to him, asking, “Were you able to do anything about my car?” It occurred to her that for all she knew that might have been what he was attending to just now.
If he heard her question, though, he gave no evidence of it, but crashed silently onward, just as he had that other time. She knew better than to try slowing her pace, or begging him to wait. She must keep in sight of him or be lost. In directing her attention so firmly to his back, she failed again to see a low hanging branch that cracked smartly across her forehead. The sting brought tears to her eyes and she almost did come to a stubborn stop. But he was disappearing ahead of her, and she ran on to keep from losing him.
The house appeared suddenly, without warning. It was almost, she thought, as if the blasted thing were hiding itself from her, in order to watch her unseen, and then springing up when she least expected it. One minute they were surrounded by nothing but wilds, and she would have sworn there was no sight of the house before them; the next minute the house itself, grotesque and unseemly, loomed up ahead of her.
The man she was following disappeared. She turned once, looking up at the house with mixed feelings of relief and distaste, and when she looked back, her companion, if he could be called that, was gone. She could almost doubt that he had ever been there.
“Oh, do be careful,” a voice said.
Jennifer jumped, startled by the unexpected sound of a voice, and turned to find herself facing Aunt Abbie. The older woman stood on the opposite side of a small bush.
“You might crush the roses,” Aunt Abbie went on, indicating the bush with a protective wave of her hand over it.
It was a rose bush, Jennifer saw, or at least it looked like one, with thorns and thick stems. But there was no evidence of bloom on it, not even of buds. The flowers were as invisible as those Aunt Abbie brought to her room; as invisible as the food they served at meals in the dining room.
“I’m sorry,” Jennifer stammered, pushing her matted hair back with one hand. Now why on earth, she asked herself, should I apologize for almost crushing some nonexistent flowers? Why was everything here so infuriatingly unreal? If something, anything, would only make some sense—but nothing did. At least not anymore. She was no longer able to say with certainty what was real, if any of it was, and what was imagined. And if imagined, by whom? By herself, or by them?
“You weren’t in your room this morning when I brought the roses,” Aunt Abbie said with a sly little grin, as if they were sharing a secret.
“No, I was walking,” Jennifer told her. “I was looking for my car.”
“Your car?”
“Yes, you see....”
“Why?” Aunt Abbie seemed genuinely puzzled.
Jennifer took a deep breath, and in a patient voice, said, “It got stuck in a stream the night I arrived, and I would like to get it out. If only someone would help me find it. It’s in the stream that crosses the road, I’ve forgotten the name....”
“Why do you want your car?” Aunt Abbie looked as if she really was trying to understand what she was being told.
Jennifer hesitated, not sure she should risk repeating that she wanted to leave. It might make them more determined to keep her here. She said, calmly, “Because all of my things are in the car, and I’m afraid they might be stolen if I don’t bring them to the house.”
“If you promise not to tell the others,” Aunt Abbie said, leaning closer across the rose bush, “I’ll do something special for you.”
Jennifer’s heart jumped. Aunt Abbie was offering to help her. She had understood, finally, and now she was going to show her the way to her car.
“Yes, yes, I promise to keep it from the others,” she said quickly, dropping her voice instinctively to a whisper. “Please, will you help me?”
Aunt Abbie nodded. “I’ll do something very special for you.”
“Will you lead me to my car?”
“I’ll bring you some peonies,” Aunt Abbie said.
Jennifer was struck dumb. She stared in disbelief at the pleasure written on her aunt’s face.
“Peonies?” she echoed finally.
“They’re so lovely this year,” Aunt Abbie said with enthusiasm. “I swear it, blooms the size of watermelons. But Christine doesn’t like for me to bring them into the house. She doesn’t like the smell of them.”
“Of course,” Jennifer said in weary agreement. Her hopes had faded and died. It was useless trying to get any help from them, any of them. They were all mad, and all against her. The only person who had helped her at all had been the man in the woods, and although he was rude, he had at least found her twice and led her out of the woods.
“That man,” she said aloud, abandoning her previous discussion with Aunt Abbie, “the hired man. Can’t he talk at all?”
“Wilfred?” Aunt Abbie was fooling with her nonexistent roses again. “He can, but he so seldom does. Not for the last twenty years. He’s still angry with me, of course. He’d leave if he could.”
“So would I,” Jennifer thought. But she examined this new bit of information. If that man wanted to leave, perhaps she could after all make an ally of him. She would certainly give that some thought.
“Angry?” she repeated aloud.
“He was my husband, you know,” Aunt Abbie said. Jennifer wasn’t sure if that was meant to be an answer, or not. She could well imagine that being Aunt Abbie’s husband would be enough to make one angry. She could almost feel sorry for poor Wilfred.
“I think I’ll go to my room,” Jennifer said, completely disheartened. She was feeling the effects of her sleepless night. Her limbs felt leaden, and she knew that before she attempted to find her way again through the woods, she would have to rest.
“You missed breakfast, you know,” Aunt Abbie called after her.
Jennifer continued on her way without answering. She made her way back to the front of the house. It was more than infuriating, it was maddening. Her senses were literally reeling from all that had happened. She was scratched and bruised from that headlong rush thr
ough the dense woods. And although she had found some little bit of food, it had hardly been enough. She still knew nothing about her car or its location, or for that matter, her location. She was tired and she was hungry. She was also angry, and more than a little frightened. She might have died in the woods, just as she might have died in the tower above the house.
Finding her way back here was little comfort. She could die in the house yet, the way things were going. Judging from what she had seen of the occupants of Kelsey House, no one would much care; if they even noticed, which was not likely. People who could make a meal of empty serving dishes, or watch as she fell and broke her neck, could just as easily carry on conversations with her empty chair while her starved corpse lay rotting in her bed.
CHAPTER TEN
It was evening when she awoke. The light that managed to find its way through the window of her room was all but gone. Jennifer’s first realization was that she had slept through most of the day, after collapsing in exhaustion across her bed. She had not, she realized to her disgust, even taken the necessary time to pull back the spread, with the result that the front of her gray suit was now dismally black from the dirt that still clung to the spread.
“It can’t matter much,” she said unhappily, looking down at the suit. It was already so crumpled and torn that it would never again be restored to good looks.
After a moment’s consideration, she decided she did not feel much better as a result of the extended nap. Her head was splitting and her hunger had developed into gnawing pains that began at her stomach and spread through her entire body. Even sitting up in the bed as she did now was an effort that sorely taxed her vanishing strength.
She looked again at the darkened window. Her spirits sank still lower as she realized she had slept the day away. The daylight was gone and she had intended to do something about her car. Now she would have to spend another night in this crazy house. And by morning, unless she found something to eat, her strength would be even further diminished. It seemed unlikely to her that she could even manage the walk back to her car, assuming she could find the way.