by Chelsea Fine
“They’re not an issue.” Scarlet tried not to shiver in the February weather. “I’ve just never been to a haunted house before.”
“It’s not haunted. It’s just…old,” Heather said.
Gabriel stepped beside Heather. “And the guy who lives here has a valuable collection of historic materials?”
She nodded. “He’s, like, filthy rich or something.”
The wind kicked and a broken shutter fell from one of the top windows, hitting the porch roof with a crack before breaking into pieces and dropping to the ground.
Nate said, “It doesn’t look like he spends his money on home repairs.”
Scarlet twisted her lips. “Where does he get his money?”
Heather said, “He used to own most of downtown Avalon. Everything from the bookstore to The Millhouse. But he lost his money somehow.”
“So, he’s not wealthy?” Nate jumped a little as a loud crack of thunder broke through the dark afternoon sky and a howl of damp wind swept past them.
Perfect weather for a haunting.
Heather shook her head. “The rumor is that he sold something pretty valuable a few months ago and got a lot of cash for it. So he’s rich again.”
“Huh.” Scarlet eyed the dilapidated house.
“Whatever. Let’s go.” After glancing at the dark clouds looming above, Heather lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, leading the four of them up a questionable set of steps to the front door.
The doorknocker was a gargoyle head with a ring in its mouth.
Not spooky at all.
Heather lifted the large ring and knocked three times, the sound reverberating up and down the rickety porch.
One minute, then two, passed in silence before the front door slowly creaked open, with no one on the other side.
Another crack of thunder boomed, this time louder than before, and the rocking chair began to rock faster as the wind raced past them.
Pursing her lips, Scarlet whispered to Heather, “Are you kidding me?” Goosebumps that had nothing to do with the weather rose on Scarlet’s skin.
Heather put a finger up to her lips and motioned for Scarlet to be quiet. “Mr. Brooks?” she called into the dark house, using her sweetest voice. “It’s Heather Baxter, sir. I brought some cookies.”
Scarlet saw Gabriel shift uncomfortably, Nate standing a foot or so behind him.
“Heather?” said a quick, sharp voice coming from the dark house. Without a face attached to the voice, it sounded like the old house was speaking to them.
Which wouldn’t have surprised Scarlet at all.
“Yes, sir.” Heather put on a big smile.
A head covered in wild tufts of thick, white hair popped out from behind the door.
Mr. Brooks.
He wore thick spectacles, which made his eyes look larger than they probably were and his chaotic hair stuck out from his skull in haphazard triangles.
He looked like a more frazzled version of Albert Einstein.
Or, at least, the head of Einstein. He had yet to slide the rest of his body out from behind the open door.
His big eyes searched beyond the kids on his porch, looking around the neighborhood suspiciously.
Like his house wasn’t the creepiest thing on the street.
“The storm comes,” he said quickly, his eyes darting to the four people standing on his porch. “You brought visitors. Three of them.”
“These are my friends. We’ve come to see if you would be so gracious as to let us look through some of your old town records.” She held out the plate of cookies in her hand. “I brought treats.”
Mr. Brooks shifted his eyes across Scarlet, Nate and Gabriel, before returning them to Scarlet.
He stared at her for a long time.
So…creepy….
Mr. Brooks released his gaze and swiftly stepped out from behind the door. His tall body was lean and covered in a thin, green bathrobe as he stood before them with a cane in his hand.
“What an interesting request.” Mr. Brooks didn’t look at the cookies. “Yes, a very interesting request.”
He was an older gentleman, but he moved like a mischievous kid, quick and sneaky, as he leaned out from the entryway and peered around. “Yes, yes. The storm comes,” he said again.
He spoke quickly, his words clipped and over-enunciated, and his big eyes—which, Scarlet realized, were naturally large and only made slightly bigger by his glasses—were very shifty.
And they shifted back to Scarlet.
Heather swallowed. “We would be in and out quickly, sir. We just wanted to see if you had anything from the town’s founding days. Maps…journals….”
“Hmm.” Mr. Brooks yanked his eyes away from Scarlet and looked at everyone else. “Such a request seems odd from so young a group.” He tapped his cane three quick times on the wooden floor of the house. “Very odd. Very odd.”
Heather laughed nervously. “Yes, well. That’s us. Odd.”
Rain started to fall from the heavy clouds above, lightly tapping against the porch roof.
Twitching his lips and shifting his eyes, Mr. Brooks said, “I will let you in and give you access to what you seek. But,” he raised his cane and pointed it right at Gabriel, “information can be deadly.” He poked the cane out a bit further, jabbing it a few times. “You remember that.”
Gabriel stepped back with raised eyebrows.
Swinging his cane back inside, Mr. Brooks tapped it on the floor again. “Hup, hup! Follow me.” He spun around and quickly disappeared down a black hallway to the right.
Hup, hup?
For a moment, nobody moved. The light tapping of rain on the roof turned to soft thudding as the storm picked up.
Nate leaned over and whispered to Gabriel, “Dude, this is the perfect setting for a murder. And Mr. Brooks doesn’t seem entirely…stable.”
“Shh,” Gabriel nudged him.
Heather stepped into the haunted house and looked back at everyone. “Well…come on.” She turned and headed into the house, following Mr. Brooks into darkness.
Scarlet went next, followed by Gabriel, and then Nate, each of them walking into the black.
***************
Gabriel had to physically restrain himself from swatting at the back of his neck. The nerves that kept crawling up his spine felt more like spiders than chills and he was almost certain a rat had just scurried across his shoe.
A rat.
Thunder sounded outside and the dark walls of the house rumbled in response.
The hallway they walked down was dark and dusty, and seemed to get narrower with every step. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling and dust covered the doorknobs of every closed room they passed.
Shelves lined the hallway, covered in more dust and cobwebs and…mounted owls? Gabriel looked closely at the figures on the shelves.
Yep.
Lots and lots of stuffed and mounted owls.
They looked alive. Their beady eyes and scaly talons were permanently frozen into place and strategically perched on fake sticks and clay rocks.
Their glassy eyes seemed to follow Gabriel as he moved forward behind Scarlet. He couldn’t make out much ahead except for Mr. Brooks’ big, white hair.
The hallway came to an abrupt end and Mr. Brooks whipped around, tapping his cane into the floorboards so hard Gabriel felt the vibration come up through his shoes.
Everyone froze, except Nate who plowed into Gabriel from behind with a yelp.
Gabriel pursed his lips as he looked back at a wide-eyed Nate and whispered. “What is your deal?”
Nate whispered, “I hate being last,” and nervously looked behind himself.
Gabriel shook his head as faced forward.
“What I’m about to show you,” Mr. Brooks began, speaking fast, “is my private collection of materials from the last few hundred years. I would appreciate it if you would handle everything with care. And be careful not to sneeze. Moisture is bad for books.”
&nb
sp; Sure.
No sneezing. Got it.
Mr. Brooks turned back around and, for the first time, Gabriel noticed a tall, thin, wooden door with a brass handle hidden in the dusty shadows at the end of the hallway.
Mr. Brooks really needed to invest in some light bulbs.
And a cleaning crew.
And maybe an exterminator.
With an ominous creeeak, Mr. Brooks slowly pushed open the door. A sliver of light spilled into the hallway and Gabriel strained his neck to see what was beyond the door.
A tall flight of stairs leading down into a lit room.
With Nate behind him, Gabriel followed Scarlet, who followed Heather, who followed Mr. Brooks down the stairs.
One at a time, they descended into the light, until all five of them had reached Mr. Brooks’ cellar.
Or, rather, the most impressive personal library Gabriel had ever seen.
***************
Scarlet could barely believe her eyes.
The cellar looked nothing like the house upstairs. Well-lit and vast, the room was delightful and not spooky at all.
Divided into three sections, it was separated by several thick pillars rising from the floor.
On the far left stood rows and rows of books. Old books, new books, big books, tiny books…books everywhere.
In the center, there was a giant square table made of wood, with thick legs, a glass top, and enough room for three chairs to fit comfortably at each side.
And on the right side of the cellar was a collection of maps. Some hung on walls, some were laid out on podiums and others were rolled up and shelved like books.
Hundreds of bare light bulbs were strung from the ceiling at different heights. All different shapes and sizes, each bulb gave off a different glow making it look like the cellar was lit with hundreds of unique, round stars.
It was…sorta beautiful.
“Can I have your names?” Mr. Brooks’ voice was loud and crisp.
Heather blinked apologetically. “Oh, yes. Of course. This is Nate,” Nate waved, “and Gabriel,” Gabriel did not wave, “And this is Scarl—”
With lightning fast movement, Mr. Brooks was in Scarlet’s face, his nose an inch away from hers. He spoke low and precise, his spectacled eyes examining her. “I don’t know what magic this is,” he looked her up and down, “but if you have come for the Bluestone weapons, you have wasted your time. I no longer have them.”
Everyone stared at Scarlet with parted lips and confused expressions.
“Uh….” Scarlet took a small step back, severely perplexed. “I’m not sure I know—”
“What did you do with them?” Gabriel asked with a curious look.
Mr. Brooks spun around. “They are gone! Out of my hands. I sold them to the red woman.”
“The red woman?” Gabriel asked carefully.
“Yes, I made a fortune!” Mr. Brooks tapped his cane a few times.
“Who was this red woman?” Gabriel tilted his head.
Mr. Brooks leaned in to Gabriel. “Her shoes were tall and almost as red as her hair. And she smelled like…like….”
Scarlet swallowed. “Like cinnamon and coffee?”
Mr. Brooks whipped around, his bathrobe sailing in a circular motion. “Yes!”
Laura.
My guardian bought weapons from this guy?
Gabriel didn’t seem fazed. “Did you sell all of the weapons?”
Nate shifted his weight nervously.
Mr. Brooks pointed to a nearby podium with a glass case resting on top. “All but one.” He muttered, “I can’t very well deplete my family’s most precious collection in one transaction.”
The podium was too far away to see what was inside, but no one moved to get a closer look.
“No worries,” Gabriel said casually. “We’re not here for the weapons.”
The old man eyed him skeptically. “No?”
Gabriel raised a brow. “Not today, anyway.”
“We’re just here for information,” Nate clarified, his eyes drifting to the podium every few seconds.
“I see.” Mr. Brooks nodded as he gestured about the room. “Well, you are welcome to view my collection. As you can see, I try to keep things organized and I’d appreciate if you’d do the same. You have one hour.” He looked at the four of them pointedly, swinging his cane in their direction like he was going to poke them each in turn. But he didn’t.
His voice was thick with warning. “Explore carefully, children. Knowledge can be deadly.” Mr. Brook’s green bathrobe flew out behind him as he rapidly ascended into the darkness above.
Once the hallway door had shut behind Mr. Brooks, Heather looked at everyone. “Is it just me, or did the person Mr. Brooks sold his weapons to sound a lot like Laura?”
Gabriel marched over to the podium, everyone else right on his heels.
Laying inside the case was a single knife. The handle was dark and solid, without any markings, and the blade was made of blue stone.
Sharp and polished, the blue blade glinted in the light of the dozens of bulbs above, looking like marble.
Gabriel threw his eyes to Scarlet. “What are Bluestone weapons?”
Scarlet’s mouth fell open as she pulled her eyes away from the weapon. “How would I know? You’re the one talking about them like you’re an expert.”
“I was bluffing.” Gabriel sighed and looked back at the knife. “You really have no idea what Bluestone weapons are?”
“No.” Scarlet shook her head. “But it sounds like Laura does.”
Gabriel rubbed the side of his face.
Heather mumbled, “I guess now we know what Mr. Brooks sold that made him wealthy again.”
“Maybe Bluestone weapons are collector’s items.” Nate looked up from the podium. “Maybe Laura has a knife fetish that we don’t know about.”
Yeah.
Or maybe Laura was plotting to destroy the earth.
“What if they’re not collector’s items?” Scarlet put her hands on her hips. “What if they’re more important than that? I’ve never seen a single weapon at my house, let alone an entire arsenal of knives.” She shook her head. “I have to believe Laura wanted them for a different reason.”
“If it was Laura at all,” Nate said. “We don’t know for sure.”
“Ooh!” Heather’s face brightened. “Maybe that’s what Laura had in her suitcase. Maybe she bought Mr. Brooks’ weapons to take to a road show…or something…and that’s why she was so weird about you touching her luggage. She didn’t want the valuables inside to break. Or fall out and stab you.”
Gabriel paused. “Maybe.”
Scarlet bit her lip.
“Here’s what we’ll do.” Nate clasped his hand together. “After we’re done searching for apple tree stuff, we’ll talk to Mr. Brooks and find out what is so special about this knife.” He nodded. “Until then, we need to stay focused on Scarlet’s drawing.”
Gabriel nodded. “Where should we start?”
Nate turned around in circles for a moment, trying to take it all in. “Okay.” He pointed to Gabriel. “You look for maps; anything that has a fountain or an apple tree on it is ideal. You,” he pointed at Scarlet, “go through journals. Maybe Mr. Brooks has a crazy uncle that liked to write about trees or something. And you,” he pointed at Heather, “stand guard at the stairs in case Mr. Brooks returns with a magic wand and tries to turn us all into stuffed owls or something. If you start hooting, we’ll know to run.”
Heather glared at him.
“Okay, fine.” Nate sighed. “You can look through the maps with Gabriel.”
She smiled, looking proud to have a job.
“What are you going to do?” Scarlet asked Nate.
He looked around. “I’m going to find any and all city plans and drawings from the 1500s. There might have been a significant apple tree somewhere in Avalon’s history.” Raising his voice a tad, Nate said, “And chop-chop everybody. Apparently, there’s a time limit to being down
here. Mr. Brooks said an hour and I’d rather not find out what happens to meddling kids who spend more than an hour in his cellar.”
Scarlet turned and headed to the journals. They were old and dusty, and most smelled of mildew and dirt. Running her hand along the first shelf she came to, Scarlet tried to determine where to begin. But it was hard to find a starting point when she didn’t really know what she was looking for.
Pulling journal after journal from the shelf, Scarlet eyed authors and pages, but nothing spoke of the fountain or apple trees.
Time passed slowly and Scarlet grew frustrated.
She turned and started walking back to find Nate, when a journal on a low shelf caught her eye.
The journal itself was bland and severely weathered, but on its cover was a drawing of a beautiful woman with dark hair and exotic eyes.
Instinctively drawn to the picture, Scarlet carefully removed the old journal from the shelf. Inside the cover was the author’s name.
William Jacobs.
Click.
Scarlet’s eyes began to burn.
Scarlet was a little girl, watching a man—her father—give a box to a beautiful woman. The same beautiful woman whose picture was on the journal. “For you, my sweet Ana,” he said.
Scarlet’s mother.
Ana opened the small box and smiled at the sight of the silver brooch inside. She pinned the brooch to her dress and kissed William gratefully.
“Scarlet, my love,” the woman said. “Did you see what your father gave me?” She pointed to the brooch as Scarlet ran up to her and eyed the shiny object.
“It’s pretty, mama!” Scarlet smiled. “Daddy loves you.”
William smiled at Scarlet and crouched down beside her. “I love you too, my little red rose.” He kissed Scarlet’s cheek.
Exiting the memory, Scarlet’s hands began to shake as she looked down at the journal. This belonged to her father. This was another piece of her past.
Trying to calm her trembling hands, Scarlet turned through the journal’s pages, finding most of them ruined by water. The ink was blurry and indecipherable, and the pages themselves were torn and wrinkled.
But near the end of the small book, a page remained untouched by water or age, and the ink, though scrawled in inconsistent lettering, was sharp enough to read.