by Tom Hansen
The air down here was much too cool, like she had left a window open on accident. It had been a late night, so she wouldn’t put it past herself.
Either I’m going crazy or I’m hearing voices. Maybe both.
She spun around, catching a glance of her wild expression in the foyer mirror. “Who’s there?”
No response.
A sickly smell of tar and grass hit her nostrils. She turned up her nose and glanced at her front door. The silver handle glinted back at her in the morning light. The door was locked, which did nothing to calm Nancy’s escalating fear.
She shook with apprehension. “I will call the police!” Her voice held confidence, interrupted by only a thin waver of doubt at the end as her true emotions bled in.
She heard a noise, a slight erratic clicking sound down the hallway. She looked around for a weapon. She grabbed the black umbrella out of the bin next to the front door, holding it in front of her like a sword.
Her memories flashed to the dream she’d been having just before she awoke, of the giant tiger attacking her in an alleyway in the middle of the night while a woman in blue screamed at the sight. A shiver ran up her spine.
Nerves on edge and her vision red with anticipation, she rounded the corner, umbrella thrust in front her. Something moved in the shadow, sending her nerves into overdrive.
“Yaaaa!”
The roar was reciprocated, but only from a far smaller creature than what haunted her dreams of late.
It was Loki, the tiny kitten; fur bristling, tail erect, and claws extended. The noise was not one of anger, or malice, but of sheer terror. Its tiny claws searched furiously for purchase in the nicks and gouges of the aged wood flooring. It raced away from her and ran around the corner, out of sight.
Nancy stood for a long moment, umbrella outstretched, trying to catch her breath, soothing her nerves and heartbeat.
She dropped the umbrella and smiled, hand to forehead at the ridiculous turn of events this morning.
“Come here, little one,” she sang as she reached down, twiddling two fingers around the corner.
Meow.
The sound had some hesitation in it, but soon Nancy felt the soft, warm, and wet nose of the kitten against her finger.
“Which one of us is going to die of fright first?” She bent down to pick it up, soothing her own nerves with the kitten’s motorboat purring underneath her chin.
“How did you get in here anyway? Didn’t we have this conversation earlier? Miss Moon’s house is for people only. Now hold tight, let me get some coffee in me, and I’ll get you something to eat.”
Cradling the small thing in her arm, she rounded the corner to the kitchen through the butler’s pantry and froze when she realized her back door was wide open.
Rivulets of fear washed off her from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes. She couldn’t remember if she had left the door open or not. She looked to the phone, but the long cord was lying on the ground, disappearing into the parlor.
Tension mounted as she tried to figure out what to do. Call the cops or run out of the house? She was thinking about making for the front door when she noticed a hastily scrawled note in Edna’s handwriting.
“Forgot my purse, didn’t want to wake you, snuck in through the back. Call you tomorrow!”
The note was the largest relief to Nancy’s ruffled nerves.
Squawk!
She jumped at the noise. It had come from the parlor.
Forgot about that damned bird.
She backtracked into the hallway. Still clutching the kitten in one arm, she scooped up the umbrella in another. She peeked around the foyer into the parlor.
A large black bird whose wings bore bright white tips stood on the back of one of her Queen Anne chairs. Back to her, it continued its racket unabated.
Nancy scowled as she wondered if black birds were good or bad omens. Most likely bad. She would have to ask Edna about it when she got a chance.
She waved her hand at the bird from across the room. “Get on out of here. If you pooed on one of my chairs, I’ll be eating blackbird pie tonight.”
It didn’t move or turn around. A shrill squawk filled the air in reply. The kitten in her hand bristled, digging its razor-sharp claws into her arm.
“So that’s your response?” She lowered the kitten to the floor. “Go get it, Loki!”
The kitten’s legs were pumping furiously before she’d even set it on the ground, reminding her of a wind-up toy car whose wheels were already spinning before it was lowered to the pavement.
The tiny kitten ran up to her Queen Anne chair and tried to jump onto the cushion, but its tiny legs couldn’t reach and it slammed headfirst into the front of the seat.
Nancy stifled a laugh and pressed the button on the umbrella, springing it open and shoving it at the bird.
That got the bird’s attention, and it leapt from the chair up to the curtain rod above the front windows. The kitten was close behind it, jumping and attaching itself to the age-old tapestry curtains in an attempt to climb for its breakfast.
The next ten minutes were hell for Nancy. Trying to shoo the blasted thing from her home was a balancing act between being aggressive and preventing either it, the kitten, or herself from toppling some piece of furniture or antique. After opening nearly every window and door in the house, she finally managed to get it to exit through the kitchen door into the backyard. The kitten bounded along after it.
“Don’t bother coming back!”
Edna would probably be mad that the entire ordeal wasn’t caught on tape and played back with Benny Hill music.
Nerves under control, she was finally able to brew some coffee.
The warm black liquid flowed past her tongue, tickling her slightly with its acidic nature. It warmed not only her mouth but continued down her throat and spread out from her chest in a fractal pattern, slowly taking over her senses. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose, savoring the deep, rich flavor. She was at peace for a small moment before she had to deal with the rest of the day.
“So this strapping young man is coming over tomorrow to help you clean out your attic? Robbing the cradle, aren’t we?” Edna’s voice was staticky over the phone, something Nancy couldn’t remember it doing in at least a decade.
“I think I’ll be able to control myself.”
“Uh-huh.”
Nancy sighed. “He’ll be here most of the day. You want to come over while he’s bringing down the boxes and we can go through things?”
“Count me in. After telling you to do this for so long, I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll bring the taquitos.”
“Edna.” Her voice was somber. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to say. “You said you see some kind of a guru, right?”
“Nancy Codworthy Moon, are you feeling okay?”
“First off, that’s not my middle name, but yes, I … I think after seeing Linda die in my arms that night I might need to talk to someone.”
Edna’s tone changed immediately. Despite her playful nature and liberal use of sexual innuendos, she knew when things were serious and responded appropriately. Nancy needed both at different times, and Edna usually was correct in her decision. “Oh yeah. Guru is fantastic. She’s great to talk to. You okay, Nan?”
Nancy’s mind raced a mile a minute after finally admitting that she hadn’t fully processed the death of Linda. She had been so focused on staying one step ahead of the emotions. Finding Peter and learning more about him seemed to fill the void, but she knew she couldn’t rely on that forever. She also had other things she hadn’t told Edna about yet, like the statue, which was now sitting in her roll-top desk in the library, or parts of the conversation with Linda, including the detail about dying witches.
Edna had known about the dreams since Richard left, but Nancy hadn’t told her about any of the new ones. Nancy had always been a skeptic when it came to supernatural things, and she didn’t want to complicate their relationship.
Right no
w she wanted someone to confirm she was just hearing and seeing things, not someone who would instantly attribute these things to some kind of supernatural or paranormal activity.
Still, Edna was her best friend.
Nancy squeezed the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache coming on.
“Nan, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been worried about you the last few days.”
“Am I that obvious?”
Edna huffed. “You saw someone die in an alley after being mauled by a tiger. I’m a pretty messed-up individual, but even I have my limits. I’ve been holding back on you, because I know you need time to process things, but you really should go see someone. Don’t wait for two years before seeking a counselor, like you did with Richard. I mean, I’m glad you and I met, but you have to admit you waited too long for that.”
Nancy didn’t want to admit it, but her friend was right.
“Will you go see her, please, Nan? I’ll pay for the whole thing.”
Nancy sighed, feeling like she was giving up something of herself, even though the whole notion was ridiculous.
“I will think about it; not quite ready to make the call yet.”
“Yay!” Something bumped on the other end of the phone and Nancy heard Edna let loose a string of curse words to make a sailor blush.
Edna is Edna. No taming a wild beast.
Nancy chuckled to herself. “Have fun, but don’t enjoy yourself too much.”
“Noodles,” Edna said through gritted teeth.
Chapter Nine
"Well, come in, come in. I don't bite." Nancy beckoned the boy into her house.
Peter had his hoodie pulled down, exposing his shoulder-length mane. It looked soft and warm, and Nancy resisted the urge to touch it. Younger men with long hair did look good, something she would have abhorred just a couple decades before. Suddenly Anca's petting him back when they first met made sense.
Nancy pulled a large iron key off the wall-mounted stand from the spot labeled Attic.
"So you'll never guess where this goes."
"To the attic?"
Nancy snorted. "I guess I had that coming, didn't I? Yes, you are correct, but"—Nancy put one finger beside her nose—"the trick is to know how to find the attic.”
She stepped back and opened her arms wide. "You said you were impressed with the house, right? Well, prepare to be amazed. This house is really, really old. It’s been around, oh I don't know, longer than I've been alive, longer than my parents would have been alive. I think mid 1850’s, if I remember correctly."
She held up the key level with her face. "This ancient key isn't the only secret in the house, follow me."
She turned right from the foyer, toward the library, then another left down the hallway that led to the back rooms. She stopped at what looked like a blank wall.
Making sure Peter was watching, she put all five fingertips of her right hand onto the middle of the wallpaper-covered wall and pushed.
A seam that should not have been there suddenly appeared, forming a perfect rectangle in the wall. Behind it, blackness formed and grew as part of the wall swung inward on silent hinges.
Wooden stairs led down into the blackness, and a musty smell wafted up, stinging their nostrils. "Now I don't ever go down there, as you can smell." She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to dissipate the stench.
"Cool." Peter's eyes were wide with excitement. He stuck his head into the doorway and peered down. "Never go down there, huh?"
Nancy let go of the wall and let the door slowly close itself. "Oh never! Dreadful place. I really don't want to know what is lurking below, to be honest. The horrors of the deep are best left asleep, if you catch my drift. But you didn't come here to see the basement; you want the attic, right?"
Peter smiled faintly then pointed upstairs.
Nancy smiled back and, after a brief war in her mind over if she should say anything or not, stated, “It’s good to see you smile. Let’s go on the tour.”
Peter followed Nancy upstairs. She pointed to the left and counted off the doors.
“My bedroom, bathroom, and another bedroom along the back wall.” She turned around and gestured down to the other end of the hallway.
“Now, at the end of the hall is where we are going. Come.”
Nancy hardly ever came down to this end of the hallway; there really was no reason to.
Nancy had not been up to the attic once since Richard left, and she was curious to see what was was up there. She had tried once, but the door was stuck, and what better person to get it unstuck than a strong young man?
At the end of the short hallway was a shallow cherrywood desk, ornately carved with thin spindle legs that fluted out at the bottom with claw feet. The grain was fine with a deep red stain, though not as dark as the mahogany flooring throughout the main floor downstairs, something she constantly received compliments on but had never installed herself.
“We’re looking for a door like the one I showed you downstairs. See if you can find it.” She took the large iron key ring from her hand and hung it on the end of a finger. She started to twirl it but quickly stopped once she remembered not only how loud it was, but also that she wasn't dexterous enough anymore to do so with such a heavy ring. She clamped down on the keys feeling older than she really was.
Peter set to work pushing on walls and squinting at corners, but nothing seemed to budge. He shrugged his shoulders and took a step back.
“No idea, ma’am.”
Nancy pointedly ignored the ma’am comment. She placed the sole of her slipper on top of the claw-foot furthest from the wall, and pushed down.
The claw detached itself from the bottom of the table, rotating down, exposing a metal rod behind. An audible click signified something mechanical had changed state. She then placed her splayed fingers on the wall and pushed for a moment before releasing.
Just like with the hidden doorway below, this one seemed to melt out of the wall. Seams suddenly appeared around the door, and it sprang outward, covering up the small table.
Peter, openmouthed at the contraption, simply said, “Magic.”
Behind the hidden door was another, slightly smaller door. This one wasn’t covered in plaster and lath and fancy turn-of-the-century wallpaper. This door was made of solid wood, set in a frame that looked like it had been constructed two-hundred years ago, complete with hand-casted square-headed nails lovingly pounded by human hands rather than pneumatic tools. The boards were old and gray from age, dusty and drying, but everything was as solid as the day it was made.
“This is mainly why I needed you to come over. Well, this and the box lifting. I’ve tried to pull this door open before, but never been able to get it to budge. I was hoping you would be able to get it unstuck.”
Peter looked over the doorway, through each seam. He tugged on the door a couple different ways then shrugged. “Looks like it’s crooked. Do you have a crowbar?”
“I think down in the garage. Tell you what, I’ll leave you to this, garage keys are on the ring by the door, and I’ll make you some breakfast while you work on getting this door unstuck. Oh, and be careful. Don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
Peter smiled. “Not to worry; my dad had me do a lot of construction growing up. I won’t hurt the house.”
“I was talking about you.”
Nancy turned but remembered something. She pulled some green bills from her pocket. “Oh and before I forget, here is your money.”
Peter took it with a blank stare. “But I haven’t finished the work. I haven’t even started.”
Nancy snorted. “Nonsense. My friend is coming over here soon and she and I are going to start going through the boxes that you bring down to the living room. Once you are done, then you can just leave, and I won’t have to remember to pay you.”
Peter still looked confused but took the money.
Nancy pointed to the upstairs portion of her house. “Now get on out of here and start earning
your keep, young man.” She winked and waggled her eyebrows. Peter smiled and turned.
“Oh, and Peter.”
He stopped and turned back, an inquisitive look on his face.
“Be a dear and get the table in the center of the parlor moved. You’ll have to pile everything right there in the center. I’ll get the other chairs moved away. Oh, and scoot the loveseat back as well.”
Peter gave a curt nod and took the stairs two at a time.
Nancy watched him go, wondering if she should get the figurine from the library and have it sitting on the table when he got back. “No, now’s not the time, Nancy,” she mumbled to herself. “Don’t want to scare him off too soon.”
Her mind wandered back to the night Linda died, remembering the pleading words of a dead woman. Nancy was pretty sure that Linda had meant this Peter, but what good would a jade statue do for a nineteen-year-old college kid?
She had a lot more questions, but she didn’t want to burden the poor boy or back him into any corners.
She was finishing breakfast when he came down to report the unstuck door. She hurried up after him to check out the attic.
The stairs leading up were small and narrow, and given that it had been at least a decade since she had gone up these stairs, Nancy worried what she would see at the top. What had Richard been storing up here for this long? Of course she had asked him, but his answer had always been one of a shrug and a single-word response: "Books."
She thought about the basement, with its mold and mildew. She was pretty sure there had to be goblins—or worse, rats—living down there. Did crocodiles live this far north? She knew she had seen Richard take old furniture, and other stuff down there, but she had hated that place.
Peter got to the top before she did and let out a low whistle. "Man, it's dirty."
Nancy could smell the room before reaching the top of the narrow stairs.
It smelled of neglect, and timelessness. Of forgotten mementos and grandma’s attic, but luckily, no mold.
A thick carpet of dust lay over everything, which Nancy expected, but what she didn’t expect was everything looking so neat and organized. She had expected piles of boxes, heaped on top of each other and cobwebs filling the nooks and crannies from wall to wall.