by Zoey Kane
“No, no.” Zoey smiled brightly. “I just do this for free.”
“Well, have fun with that.”
“I will.”
Just then the truck’s lift came to life. Zoey hadn’t realized in the middle of the confrontation that she had stepped into the mechanism by accident. The strange motion she felt, from it raising her up, she thought to be the effects of her world metaphorically starting to crumble beneath her.
Penny’s eyes widened, and Claire burst out, “Mother!”
Zoey snapped out of it, and nearly toppled out in surprise. She reached down and gripped the sides of the lift in worry. “Max! Stop!”
Claire ran over to the driver’s side, but it was too late. Penny watched Zoey get dumped right into the truck’s heap of trash. Zoey popped her head up out of the stinky bed, a banana peel adorning her hair like a homeless woman’s barrette.
“That’s more like it,” Penny said, laughing, before snapping a photo with her cell phone.
“Penny Simcox!” Zoey growled. “You’ve crossed the line. We can’t be frenemies anymore.”
THREE
The 1980s Datsun bucked and sputtered as Zoey slowed and then parked the car. “It’s not the greatest, but neither was my van.”
Claire gave a sympathetic smile. “That Max guy is so nice letting you borrow it today. I just hope it doesn’t keel over while we’re using it.”
“True that,” Zoey said with an upbeat attitude.
In the distance, to their left, was an old and rusty industrial location. To their right were acres of weeds, a tall black iron gate sitting a few feet away, guarding the overgrowth.
They walked to the gate along a cracked and uneven sidewalk, watching their step along the way. Claire craned her neck to look up to the top of the rust-speckled barrier. Nothing else was in sight but the monstrous entrance and chaotic green growth. Although not feeling very optimistic, she decided to look like whatever her mom wanted to show her was wonderful in some sort of way.
“Surprise!” Zoey smiled with great energy.
“You bought Stephen King’s fence?” Claire touched the cold gate with a smirk.
“Well, and a bit of land.”
Claire slowly nodded. “How much land was that again?”
“Approximately eighty acres. It’s described as a hill.”
Claire couldn’t hold back the look of further disappointment, as her eyebrows raised and her lips stayed zipped tightly.
“Oh, now settle down.” Her mother playfully slapped her arm. “This is exciting. I haven’t even tromped through this land yet. You and I together will be the very first time. That is why I told you to wear long pants and sturdy shoes.”
“You don’t even know what it all looks like? Mother? This is on the east side of the river, the poor and unkempt area. Nobody ever has reason to travel to this side of town. It’s a ‘no-no.’ There are even horrible urban ghost stories about this area.” So much for the “wonderful” pretense. She immediately felt guilt wash over her, knowing that Penny and the others had already done a thorough job of making her mother feel miserable.
“Yes, I admit, I have heard those stories, too. And I do believe in ghosts, but I thought you didn’t, my dear.” Zoey arched a brow, smiling.
Claire cocked her head. “You’re right. I don’t, but—” She stopped herself, not wanting any more regrets.
Zoey unzipped a compartment to her faux-snakeskin purse to reveal an old, large key. “This is it, Claire. Let’s have some fun.”
They each struggled to turn the key in the lock, and then struggled to push each side of the gate open enough to squeeze through. The tangled weeds didn’t help at all. After closing it back up, they made sure to relock it … just because of Zoey’s protective instinct.
They continued their journey, following what little bit of broken-up, paved road they could perceive through all the fallen branches, brush, twigs, sticks and stickers.
Up along the way, Zoey’s eyes caught glimpse of several stone structures in the earth. They walked off the path to investigate. Claire pushed weeds down and away from the plots to see. “William Fillmore, 1847 to 1908.” Another read, “Julian Fillmore, 1840 to 1918.” There were other members of a Fillmore family as well.
Each of the headstones had been carved with so much care. A couple of them even hosting gracefully posing angels.
“Look at the beauty of this, Mother. I love old grave sites.”
With a black boot, Zoey pushed back a bush, revealing words on a tall stone tablet. “The Fillmore family cemetery,” it read. She said, “I agree. It’s marvelous…”
That gave the journey a sense of awe, but, as they continued their walk, Zoey needed to rest several times. They had been hiking slowly uphill, and Claire would have to stop and wait for her to keep up. The more they walked, the sadder Claire became. She couldn’t stop thinking about what a waste this buy had been … how her mom could have invested money in something else, like low-risk high-yield mutual funds.
“How long have we been walking?” asked Zoey, squinting from the bright sun.
“A while. I’m not sure…” She glanced at her watch.
Zoey’s face now flushed red from exhaustion.
Claire pulled a water bottle out of her purse. “Mom, take this. Drink it all.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be okay.”
It seemed to get steeper the more they walked. Then the hill leveled out into a plateau. In the distance was what appeared to be, at first glance, nothing more than a grove of thickly overgrown trees.
“We should have driven, I suppose,” Zoey finally said.
“Not in Max’s old car. I’m not sure it could take the bumps.”
Zoey took a moment to put her hands on her knees and lower her head to deeply breathe, the long walk, and now hot sun, quickly taking a toll.
Claire turned to help. “Are you okay? Maybe we should turn back, go to the car and leave. I don’t think there’s anything to this land that we haven’t seen already.”
But when Zoey stood up and looked down into the mist below, a cloud swept away, revealing something dark and magnificent. “Oh, my!”
FOUR
Claire looked in the direction her mother was staring. She didn’t spot anything noteworthy. “What? What do you see?”
Zoey took binoculars out of her purse. She looked through them, smiling with an occasional “Oh!” Then she handed them to Claire.
Pressing them to her eyes, Claire slowly scanned the trees in the distance.
“A little to the right,” Zoey advised.
A ray of sun had filtered through the broad-leafed trees. Something glinted amidst the shadows. Claire zeroed in on the spot, adjusting the lenses. “A window?” she concluded.
Zoey burst, “More than one! Lots of windows are hidden deep within those branches. Keep looking!”
Claire did spot what appeared to be more windows. “What have we found? A… home?” The thought seemed absurd.
“Maaaaybe,” Zoey said with a laugh of someone winning big. “C’mon, hurry!” As if rejuvenated by the find, she quickened her pace, even beginning to jog.
Claire raised her dark brows, putting the binoculars’ cord over her head, like a necklace. “I’m coming!” she called, starting to run.
They soon approached the cool shelter of the canopy of trees. Zoey hurried between their thick trunks until she could place a hand against the peeling white paint of the enormous structure. Claire was by her side a few seconds later, and the two were looking high up, together.
What they both now determined was an estate, consisted of three stories of wooden panels, occasionally interrupted by the large windows they couldn’t peer through, as they were significantly clouded with dirt. Even the trees, of a deciduous variety, were leaning, weeping, and bowing over the place, as if protecting the residence from its intruders. Giving hope of entrance, however, hiding deeper in the shadows were tall black double-doors.
&n
bsp; “Mother, this can’t be yours. It can’t really be yours.”
With undying optimism, Zoey answered, “Well, of course it is. Why not?”
“How come no one told you it was here?” She shook her head in astonishment. “Didn’t they know?”
“Well, now, that is quite the mystery, isn’t it?” Zoey said. “Follow me.”
They warily approached the front doors, as if something evil were lurking behind its peephole, ready to pop out at them. Being the bravest, Zoey took hold of the icy brass doorknob. She went to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked. She sighed, then anxiously looked for a key around its cracked steps littered with layers of leaves. The gate key, of course, wasn’t an option.
Claire folded her arms with a chill. As if by supernatural means, a window’s shutter, high above, unhinged itself on one end. It creaked in a sudden wind, rapping against the estate with a perpetual clunk, clunk, clunk.
The sound was unnerving. Claire tucked her twirling, wind-blown hair behind her ears in concern. “Come on.” She was the first to accept defeat. “We’re not going to get in.”
Zoey looked at her daughter with a determined glint in her light-brown eyes. “I’m not leaving here before we can somehow find some way to get inside.”
That meant they had to navigate their way through more of the jungle to the backyard, pushing branches aside with every step. An orderly row of cracked pots, amidst ivy-covered sculptures, hinted at a time when the side yard was once a well-manicured garden.
“This is so much fun, don’t you think?” Zoey asked, taking a large step over a sufficiently cobwebbed rake.
“Suuuure,” Claire said, humoring her. She had to admit, however, it was very exciting—as long as any and all possible apparitions kept their ghostly “Boos” to themselves.
Distracting them from their objective, they spotted another building, long and wide. A few yards away, it too was successfully camouflaged within the overgrown brush, especially because of its green paint.
Zoey walked over to it, and Claire followed. There were windows, but they were too high up for them to look through. Even if they could, they realized they were masked in layers of old dust. Claire clutched a large lock to its set of garage-like doors. “What do you think is in there? Storage?”
“Sure, that could be it.” Zoey pressed a palm to it. “Maybe a workshop?”
“We could probably break through this lock, if we had the right tools.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to break anything,” Zoey said. “Let’s hurry and see if we can first get inside the house. Then, maybe, we can think about how else we can enter this place.”
They came to one of the estate’s back doors, a torn screen guarding it. Claire tried her luck this time at the knob. To her surprise, it turned. She quietly stepped inside to a mudroom. The floorboards creaked as they bowed underfoot. “Be careful. It’s not steady,” she told her mother, nearly tiptoeing into the kitchen. She glanced back at the weak spot on the floor. For some reason, it had been crudely patched with a different color wood. Zoey decided to walk around it.
The kitchen had a couple gas ranges, and there was even a rotisserie set-up between them. There wasn’t just one sink but three, right next to each other. Three small refrigerators stood side-by-side on legs, making even the simplest of today’s appliances look rich. Large pots and pans hung above the center of the kitchen stoves, and other than being dusty, they looked to be clean and in good condition. The Kanes had fun going through the many drawers, finding real silverware, china and heavy crystal glasses.
Zoey took a moment to open a little ornate bowl that sat on a counter by itself. Three little sugar cubes greeted her. “How would you like some tea with these three little hundred-year-old sugar cubes?”
“This place must be well over a hundred years old, Mother, and yet everything is still in its place. It’s amazing.”
Zoey’s eyes were wide in excitement. “Let’s keep looking. I want to see the rest of this place!”
They pushed open the swinging, double kitchen doors to meet the grand foyer. There was so much space around them the air felt unreal. Tapestries climbed the tall walls toward a large crystal chandelier, glittering with its thousands of cut beaded crystals. It was so beautiful.
Zoey gripped the mahogany stairs’ banister in excitement. “Hurry. Let’s see the upstairs.”
They quickly climbed to the second floor. To the left, a bit of light successfully beamed through a stained-glass window, coloring the wide hall’s runner in a rainbow of hues. The hall to the right was narrow and dark.
Claire whispered, “I feel like the beast from Beauty and the Beast is lurking somewhere in those shadows.”
Zoey said, “You would make a lovely Belle. Follow me.” She didn’t know what lured her to the east wing first, but she went with childlike anticipation, nevertheless.
A shiny spider lowered itself by a thread down to the wood floor, before scurrying away under a wall, adding to Claire’s goosebumps. She whipped out her cell phone and turned on its flashlight.
Zoey opened the first door to her right. In the darkness, with the help of Claire’s phone, they found it was a small room, meagerly furnished. It had a single twin-size bed in a corner, neatly made with dark sheets and one pillow. In the opposite corner of the room sat a lamp on a small dresser. They exited. After opening a few more doors, they realized the ten bedrooms lining the left of the hall identically matched each of the ten rooms lining the right.
“Maybe servant quarters?” Claire said.
“I am assuming so…”
After discovering a community restroom, Zoey led the way to the west wing, opening the first door to their right.
Spooked by the estate creaking in the wind, Claire dropped her phone inside the mystery room. It caused an unnerving clatter, making both ladies yelp. They were back to being in the dark.
Claire swept the dusty floor with her fingertips in search. “Where can it be?” she said, frustrated. “How could its light just suddenly go out?”
Zoey felt her way around the small room. “Look for a window with me,” she said.
Claire gave up the search for her phone. Reaching around blindly, she dropped something else to the ground, shattering it. “Oops. I wonder what that could have been…”
Zoey found a window, but it wasn’t one that she was used to—the kind that you just push up to open. She found that she instead had to unlatch a lock and push it outward on hinges. Caked in dirt, that bit of an opening cast enough light to tell where they were. “Another bathroom,” she said.
“A very nice vanity and bathroom,” Claire added, soon spotting beside its door an open wicker hamper. Knowing her phone must have fallen into the old lump of clothes inside, she quickly found it atop a suit coat.
Zoey was beside a gorgeous brass bathtub, the antique kind that sat on four intricately carved legs. There was so much to look at. Tempting her away from the tub, and rivaling her own back home, she stepped over to a vanity in awe. Above its marble countertop, hung an oval mirror of black iron designs winding and whirling around. A mauve velvet stool awaited them. Perfumes of different sizes, with and without atomizer pumps, decorated the vanity.
There was a broken glass compact on the ground. Claire picked up the pieces, sniffing at powder that was still intact. It offered a gentle gardenia scent.
Zoey gently lifted the perfumes, smelling each fragrance. They weren’t like any of the baby powder or musk scents that are so popular today; these perfumes captured the scents of different blooming flowers. She snuck one of her favorite perfumes into her pants pocket.
Claire noticed. “Mother, what are you doing? If this is truly your place, why do you feel like sneaking that perfume like you just did?”
“I couldn’t resist. I could wear it around town. Besides, getting an estimate by an antique dealer couldn’t hurt.”
“Well, just don’t look like a burglar while you’re doing it. Wipe that guilt off your fac
e.” She added, “You know, there should be a certain reverence for all the items in this estate. Every inch of this mansion has antique value. I don’t know how much of this stuff we should even touch. Let’s be very careful.”
“You’re right, Claire. Reverence is bliss.”
“I thought it was ‘ignorance’ that was bliss.”
“Why would ‘ignorance’ be bliss?” Zoey said. “Come on, let’s continue our hunt.”
There were just three more rooms in the west wing, but it was just as long a hall as the east wing. This told Zoey and Claire that they were in for a real treat—much larger, more grandiose rooms.
They proceeded in order, opening a door beside the bathroom. The tobacco scent—not overpowering, but distinct—told them it was a man’s room. Claire pulled back some curtains, letting in more light than her cell phone could offer. On one side of the room was a full-size bed next to a rolltop oak desk. Above the desk, was a map of the States pinned up.
On the other side of the room, sat a black barber chair. The weight of it sunk an imprint into a patch of checker-patterned linoleum. Like a professional hair salon, there was a chest of drawers and hanging mirror in front of it.
Everything was dusty—just as the rest of the mansion—but in good condition.
Zoey opened a door beside the chair, which she thought belonged to a closet. Surprisingly, it was heavy and had suction, like opening a refrigerator. “Here’s where the tobacco scent is coming from. Ever seen a walk-in humidor before?”
“Oh, my goodness! Look at that! You cannot really own this house!” Claire walked inside.
“I told you I do. Lock, stock and cigar barrel!”
“Cuban! Care for a cigar?”
“Maybe … later. Come on out now, or this door might close and we could find you a hundred years later, well preserved with moist skin. Come to think of it, maybe I should spend a few hours in here a week.”
Another door was opened.
“A closet! My oh my, the era of hats!” Zoey tipped a fedora over one eye with silly drama. “Men dressed so much more elegantly back then. I would like to see more of this, today. I am sick of sweatshirts!” And just like that, she set the hat down, her attention being drawn by rows of shoes beneath them. “Oh, see the brown and bone white Oxfords?”