by N. M. Howell
The girls rolled their eyes and pulled away from each other as they picked up the fallen chairs and took a seat around the table.
"Oh, big scary beast," Jane said.
"Look at that fat little face," Rory cooed.
I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair, wondering how the heck I let myself get so worked up over something so silly. Mrs. Brody locked the door and came to join us around the kitchen table. She then proceeded to pace back and forth across the room, muttering to herself under her breath again, as if recent events hadn’t occurred.
I rolled my eyes at my landlady and turned my attention back to the little cat on the floor. Well, not so little, really. The guy was huge. I knelt in front of him and reached my hand out, and he immediately padded towards me and nuzzled his cute little face against my fingers. "Who are you, little guy? Why did you follow me home?"
The cat meowed and looked up at me, his green eyes sparkling in the overhead light. I felt around his neck, but he had no collar, and had no tattoo or identification in his ear, either. He was fat and well fed, but pretty scruffy around the edges. It looked like he was perhaps once a house cat, but had been living on the streets for a while.
"River, you really need to stop bringing cats home, Rory said.
"We’re not a shelter," Jane grinned.
I looked up at them and laughed. “Perhaps I can open my own cat sanctuary,” I finally said. “How many do we have now? One hundred?”
“I lost count after your Momma cat had her kittens.” Rory joined me on the floor and scratched the tabby behind his ears. I could feel him purring as he flopped against my leg happily on the floor.
I never in a million years would have thought myself a cat person, much preferring the loyalty and companionship of dogs. But since moving to Brimstone Bay, I seem to have managed quite the collection of the fuzzy little creatures. It all began with Soot, my grey little monster who followed me home last fall. Followed by Momma cat, who I found along with her kitten lost in the walls of our old Victorian home. Then Momma cat graced us with two more kittens, bringing the tally of my menagerie to five. I had become the honorary crazy cat lady of the house, and the damn animals to seem to flock towards me like a magnet. I guessed, as a witch, it was kind of mandatory. I’d have to buy myself a broom next.
You know that thing they say about how a cat always knows the one person in the room who is allergic to it, as that’s always the person they jump on at a part? Well, that person is me.
I crossed my legs on the floor and the cat jumped up into my lap and flopped on its back, his purring as loud as a jet engine. I rubbed his belly as I shook my head incredulously, finally allowing my nerves to calm and the stresses of the day to wash away.
“Are you going to keep him?” Jane asked. She was even less of a cat person than I was, and she kept her distance behind the kitchen table.
"I dunno, what do you say?" I asked the cat. He looked up at me and yawned. I rolled my eyes.
Rory reached over and rubbed his belly. “Looks like he’s made up his mind. What are you going to call him?
I shrugged, “not sure. Any ideas?”
“He’s short and fat and kinda goofy looking,” Jane said. “What about Goblin?”
“That’s a terrible name for such a handsome little guy,” Rory frowned. “Look at those fuzzy white toes. He looks more like a hobbit than a goblin.”
The cat reached up and batted a long strand of my hair that hung over him with his paws as I leaned forward to inspect him closer. He did sort of look like a hobbit. “What about Pippin?”
Rory beamed. “Pippin. That’s perfect.”
Pippin howled his agreement. He was obviously pleased with the name.
“He better not howl like that when we’re asleep,” Jane muttered. “This place has already become a zoo.”
“Oh hush, it’s not like he’ll stay in your room,” I said. Pippin twisted on my lap and began purring even louder if that was at all possible. “You sound like an engine, little guy. You’d better tone that down at night, or you won’t be sleeping in my room, buster.”
Rory laughed. “Kicking him out already? Where will the little guy sleep?”
Jane frowned. “He can have Bailey’s room.”
Rory looked as if she were about to cry, and I looked up at Jane as I fought back my own emotions. “Bailey couldn’t actually be thinking about leaving us, could she?”
Jane shrugged and crossed her arms. “People do stupid things for love. I just hope she thinks this through.”
I nodded and stretched out my legs as Pippin jumped off my lap and sauntered towards Jane. He jumped up on her lap, to her dismay, and stared up into Jane’s unimpressed face. “I don’t know what we’ll do without her?”
Mrs. Brody’s muttering grew louder as she continued pacing the room. Bailey’s news was obviously putting our landlady through a bit of an episode.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. The events of the day were finally catching up with me. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Pippin let out a loud, booming howl of agreement.
Chapter 5
The next morning came way too soon.
I rumbled in bed trying to turn my alarm clock off for what felt like ages, thrashing my arm around like a blind lunatic, until I finally realized that it was my phone’s alarm that had woken me, and not the clock on my bedside table. I had managed to make a complete massacre of my blankets during a fitful sleep, and my phone had somehow managed to make its way under my pillow. The silence that followed when I finally turned the blaring noise off was heaven.
I heard a soft meow, and rubbed my eyes sleepily as I pushed myself up to a sitting position. Warm bands of sunlight lay across the foot of my bed, and I groggily reached over towards the window to pull the curtains the rest of the way open. The eastern sun blinded me, and I had to blink a few times before my eyes adjusted.
It was early. A low mist clung to the rear yard, and the sun shone brightly as it hung low in the sky, casting an eerie orange glow over the property. I’m not sure why I thought it was such a good idea to set my alarm so early, but at least I would have a head start to my day and could prepare better for my interview with Mrs. Hemingway.
Another soft meow sounded, and Soot jumped up onto my bed. He was followed by my new fat orange, Pippin. Compared to the tabby, Soot looked like a delicate little kitten. “Morning guys,” I said as I scratched Soot’s ear. He flopped over onto his back for a tummy rub, as he so often did.
Momma cat and her three kittens were still snoozing in the far corner of my room, on a pile of folded laundry. “Hey, those are today’s clothes,” I groaned. Soot purred as I scratched his belly, and I wondered to myself when I had become the kind of person who talks to cats.
I picked Soot up in my arms, despite his protests, and nuzzled my face into his fur. “Big day, today, little guy.” The cat meowed in response, then wiggled his way out of my grip.
I sighed and reluctantly convinced myself getting out of bed was a good idea. I patted Pippin on the head as I dragged my feet to the bathroom down the hall to shower.
The sun was higher in the sky when I was finally dressed after my shower. I flipped open my laptop and settled in on my desk by the window to get some work done. It didn’t take long before I had a series of well-researched questions to ask Mrs. Hemingway about her art collection. I realized how little I knew about art, and had I actually found her yesterday, the interview would have been pretty embarrassing, actually.
Time raced by, and before I knew it, it was ten o’clock. I figured that was an acceptable time to visit someone’s house unexpectedly. If anything, at least it was sunny and day time, so I wouldn’t be spooked by another silly shadow. A good night’s sleep had refreshed my mind, too, which helped.
As if reading my thoughts, Pippin sauntered over and jumped up onto my desk. He stepped up onto my warm laptop and flopped onto his side under the warm sun, completely covering the laptop
with his massive form. He looked up at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“That’s fine,” I said. “I don’t need it, anyway.” I scratched his ear and reached for my bag, then headed out the door towards Mrs. Hemingway’s mansion.
I left my bike at home, choosing to walk there instead. It was only a few minutes down the road, and the sun felt so good on my skin. It had been such a long winter, and I had grown so pale over the pasts few months.
I outstretched my arms as I walked and tilted my head back to bask in the warmth of the sun. I felt rejuvenated. Revived. As if I was only now coming out of a long, depressing hibernation.
I think a lot of it had to do with feeling a bit trapped. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Brimstone Bay. My life was so rich and I was happy. But I found myself growing homesick for the city. Even in the middle of winter, there were things to do in Manhattan. I was always off attending events, or meeting friends. In Brimstone Bay, I felt like I had just spent the winter cozied up inside. Which, to be fair, had been quite nice. I didn’t mind it, it was just… different.
Let’s just say, I was happy where I was, but wasn’t sure if I would ever settle down here. My feet were getting itchy, as they say. I wanted to see the world. Maybe start a travel blog or something.
I had been so lost in my head, I didn’t even notice when I arrived at my destination. It looked completely different in daylight, and what last night looked like a spooky haunted house, now looked like a gorgeous seaside Victorian mansion. It could have done without the windows being boarded-up, but it was stunning just the same.
I adjusted my bag over my shoulder and walked down the long windy driveway, retracing my footsteps from the night before. To my surprise, the front door was wide open. I paused at the foot of the front steps and took a deep, calming breath. My nerves were on edge again, for some reason. It’s just another typical interview, I thought to myself. You do these all the time.
I let out a slow, controlled breath and skipped up the steps two at a time. The inside of the home was still totally dark, and after being in the bright sun, my eyes couldn’t see past the front door.
In the day light, I noticed how intricate the doorbell looked. It was a massive cast-metal plate complete with floral design and a fancy letter H. I smiled and pressed the button, and listened intently as the sound echoed through the massive interior. The sound was far less spooky this time around.
To my surprise, a high-pitched voice responded from inside. “Yes, come in, dear. Just down the hall.”
Her voice startled me and my heart skipped a beat in my chest. I stepped inside and looked around, but couldn’t see any sign of the homeowner. “Mrs. Hemingway?” I called out.
“Yes, yes, dear. Come in. Come in.” Her voice squeaked and sounded as if it were coming from down the hall.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and went the rest of the way inside. I removed my shoes and hung my sweater on the coat rack near the door, and shut the door behind myself before slowly making my way through the front entryway towards the hall. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but, once I could see, I was amazed at the view in front of me. The space was beyond massive, and the walls were painted in a rich, deep purple. I traced my fingers along the wall as I walked down the hallway, leaving trails in the dust as I moved. The floors creaked under every step, and I could hear a light wind blowing eerily through the windows. I remembered back to the haunted house when I first moved to Brimstone Bay during the Shadow Festival and thought that this would’ve been a much better-suited location for it.
“Mrs. Hemingway?” I called from part-way down the hall. This time she didn’t answer, and I figured I would just have to find her myself.
I approached the room I thought the voice came from and came to a closed door. I knocked quietly and waited for someone to answer.
“Come in, dear,” the small voice answered. “I won’t bite, you know.” I offered her a courtesy laugh and slowly pulled open the door. I stepped into the room, but was surprised that it was completely pitch black. The lights were off and there were no windows to be seen. I looked into complete blackness, and couldn’t make out the old woman.
“Is there a light that I can turn on?” I asked. “It’ll be a lot easier if we could see each other.”
A strange noise emanated from the far corner of the room, followed by a light creaking of wood on wood as it sounded like someone adjusted a chair. “No, thank you, dear. The dark is just fine. You can turn the lights on in the rest of the house when you have a look around.”
“Alright,” I replied. I found it exceedingly strange that she was sitting along in a pitch-black room, seemingly waiting for me. But who was I to judge?
I bought out my phone and tried to see by the glow of the screen, but the light wasn’t bright enough to make anything out. “So, you know why I’m here, then?”
“Yes, dear. I figured you’re here for the same reason that anyone else comes to visit the house. They’re here to see my art collection.”
“Yes, exactly. Do you get many guests?”
“Oh, just enough to keep me company, my dear. I do get ever so lonely.”
Goosebumps appeared on my skin as a cold chill made its way up my spine, as if some sort of strange energy pressed against me from all sides. I squinted into the darkness, hoping I could get a glimpse of the woman, but all I could sense were dark forms in a black-shadowed room. I would have to try and convince her for a photo and an interview after I had a chance to look around the house. Maybe I could convince her to come out and stand next to one of the paintings, but I would tackle that challenge later.
“Are you here from one of the local schools?”
I shook my head, then realized she probably couldn’t see me through the darkness. “No, the local paper, actually. My name is River.”
“Oh, how lovely.” The creaking grew louder, as if she were rocking in a wooden rocking chair of some sort.
“I’ll just take a look around then?”
“Yes, dear. Make yourself at home. I’m going to enjoy your company.”
I raised my eyebrow as I felt that was a very strange thing for her to say, but I put it in the back of my mind. I had a lot of questions and really hoped she would cooperate for a decent interview. It was the first time in weeks that I’d actually had something interesting to write for the paper, and I hoped the woman’s reluctance to come out of the shadows wouldn’t hold me back.
I lifted my hand for a small wave, but quickly dropped it as I realized the woman in the room probably couldn’t see any more of me than I could of her. I turned and walked slowly out of the room, holding my hand out in front of me to prevent myself from walking into the wall. I stood outside in the hallway for a moment as my eyes adjusted before embarking on my solo tour.
The house was even more massive on the inside than it looked like from the outside.
I walked awkwardly down the hall as I searched for a light switch. As the windows were all boarded up, barely any light made its way inside. There was an eerie glow from the daylight that seeped in around the cracks in the windows at the end of the hallway, but apart from that, the entire place was black.
As I neared the end of the hallway, I noticed a metal light switch gleaming in one of the thin bands of light that filtered in from the window. I felt relieved as I walked towards it and immediately flicked it on. Unfortunately, the light didn’t turn on. Not even a flicker. I narrowed my eyes and tried to see down the hall, but it didn’t look like there were any lights, anywhere. My heart sank as I realized I would be doing the full tour of the house in the dark by myself. Another shiver crept up my spine as I could still sense that strange tingle of magic on my skin, like a light electric buzz that made its way from my fingertips to my toes.
I tried to shake off the feeling, convincing myself it was just nerves from being in the spooky house.
The room was dark, big surprise, but a soft glow emanated from a closed window on the far
wall. I walked towards the window to pull back the curtains, revealing a dust-covered, yet non-boarded up window to the outside. I pressed my palm against the glass and moved it in circles, clearing the dust away so more light could come in. It had a successful, yet eerie effects on the space, as the daylight light shown in one long band and landed on the far wall, revealing a painting of an old man.
I slowly approached the painting and stared at it for a long moment. The man was sad and must’ve been in his eighties or nineties when it was painted. He had combed-over grey hair, droopy skin under his eyes, and a slight frown to his face. He was dressed in formal wear that looked like it dated back to the 1800s, and he sat rigid in a chair, staring right back out at me.
I stared at him for a long moment, his face illuminated softly by dusty the band of light. He had a kind face, and I wondered who he could be. There didn’t seem to be any labels or information near the painting, but I guessed he was most likely somebody close to Mrs. Hemingway. Her grandfather or great grandfather, perhaps.
I lifted me camera and snapped a quick photo and smiled briefly at the painting. “Hi, my name is River,” I sang to the portrait and laughed to myself. My smile quickly turned into a frown as I swore I sensed an increase in the electric energy I felt buzzing on my skin. I shivered as the hair on my arms stood on end, and I glanced around nervously to see if anything in the room had changed.
It was an old house, and it could literally be the electricity I was feeling. I had a feeling that wasn’t it, though. I closed my eyes and extended my senses out around the room. My skin prickled with a strange and unfamiliar energy that I recognized as magic, although a magic I had never experienced before. Huh, so it’s not electricity. I wondered if the house had belonged to witches at one point in its history. Mrs. Brody hadn’t mentioned anything about any other witches living in town, but I supposed I had never asked her about it.
I opened my eyes and glanced around the room, noticing there were no more paintings on the walls. In fact, the entire room was empty apart from a single chair that sat on the opposite side of the room facing the painting on the wall. The set up made me sad, as I imagined Mrs. Hemingway sitting there alone, staring at the painting on the wall in silence. I couldn’t imagine living in a big house live this all alone. Another shiver crept up my spine at the thought.