Rancor: Sinister Attachments, Book 1

by Connie Myres

  Debbie did not answer as she walked to her apartment.

  Maggie closed the door. What could she do? Report Debbie for possible child neglect? But Susie was up walking and shook her head to the affirmative when asked if she was okay. Maggie did not want to cause trouble and besides, Susie was fine when she walked out the door and Debbie knows about her so-called spells.

  Enough thinking about it, she thought. Might as well get a shower and do laundry. After she showered and dressed, she took the sheets off the beds and put them into a garbage bag since she still did not have a laundry basket. She was about to walk out the door when the cell phone on her nightstand rang.

  It was Nora Bella. “How’s that manuscript coming along?”

  “It’s coming along, don’t worry.” However, Maggie was worried because she was behind schedule.

  “Can you send it to me by the end of the week?”

  Maggie hesitated answering. “Sure.”

  “You sound tired, are you okay?” Nora’s speech slowed; she sounded as though she was actually concerned about Maggie more than the book.

  Maggie shrugged for no one to see. “It has been a little hard adjusting to everything that’s happened.”

  “If things are too difficult I may be able to convince the publisher to postpone things a bit, but for now, let’s stay on schedule, okay?”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

  “Awesome, I expect to see the draft in my inbox by Friday afternoon. Chop, chop.”

  When Nora hung-up the phone, Maggie decided that she was self-publishing when the contract ended. No more pressure from a bossy agent and no more having her profits gobbled up by greedy publishers. She picked up the laundry and detergent to continue where she had left off.

  This morning she decided she would take the elevator, once again, to the basement laundry room. She pushed the button and waited, listening to the motor grind as if the wire cables were being stressed to their breaking point. Maggie was about to walk away when the elevator door opened. Why not?

  She walked inside and chose the basement for her destination. The dingy cab shuddered and then descended. It clanked to a stop, and the door slid open. She stepped into the dampness and began walking toward the laundry room. When she walked past the storage room, she noticed the last room on the right, which was previously locked, was slightly ajar.

  Maggie remembered Ethel’s talk of holding séances in the old hospital’s basement years ago. Could that be the room, the scrying room? Before looking inside, she would get her clothes washing and then see what was inside the room.

  With the rhythmical sound of water swishing in the background, she walked to the partially opened door.

  “Hello.” You never know, someone could be inside.

  There was no answer, so she reached inside and felt for a light switch. When she found it, she flipped it up and down. It did not work, so she opened the door as far as it would go so that the flickering fluorescent lights from the corridor would illuminate at least part of the room.

  “This is the room,” Maggie whispered as she stood in the doorway.

  Inside the darkened room was a round table with spent candles in the center, their hardened wax had dripped onto their holders. There were wooden table chairs scattered about the room, some were lying on their side on the dark concrete floor. It was difficult to see, but on the far wall was a drape covering something similar to a painting hanging. Maggie wondered what could be underneath it. She needed more light. Next time she came down here, she would bring her phone to use as a flashlight.

  Something touched Maggie’s shoulder. She jumped and screamed. When she turned around, she saw Bruce standing behind her.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He smiled unapologetically. “What are you doing?”

  Maggie walked out of the doorway and stood in the hall. “I’m doing laundry and thought I’d look around.” She looked toward the room. “Do you know anything about that room?”

  “That room?” He glanced at it and then back at Maggie. “Why? Did you want to go inside?”

  “I was just curious.” She crossed her arms. “The light doesn’t work, so it’s hard to see what’s inside.”

  “Stay here,” Bruce said. He walked into the laundry room and returned with a candle. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it. The flame flickered. “Want to see?”

  Maggie was not sure she wanted to go inside anymore. Bruce seemed a little too eager to show her around, but she had to know. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Bruce walked into the room. The candle’s flame flared and grew larger, casting dancing shadows on the black painted walls.

  When they walked up to the table, Maggie noticed the tabletop looked like a rounded Ouija board. Symbols of the zodiac were in the outermost perimeter circle, followed by the alphabet, numbers, more symbols, and ending with a pentagram in the center. “A Ouija board?”

  “A witchboard.” Bruce ran his fingers along the dusty board, leaving a two-finger trail behind.

  “Does anyone still use this room?”

  Bruce looked at Maggie and smiled, while the candle glowed on his face, casting shadows that gave the impression he had deep-set eyes. “People used to use it.”

  Maggie was not sure she should ask the next question, it was rather personal and none of her business, but she decided to ask it anyway. “Did you ever use it?”

  “Once upon a time,” he said. “Why? Do you want to use it?”

  “No,” Maggie said, shaking her head; remembering what Ethel had told her. But Ethel never said anything about a witchboard. She looked at the back wall and the object that hung from the wall with a purple velvet cloth draped over it. “What’s behind that cloth?”

  Bruce smiled at her and held the candle toward her. “Here, hold this.”

  Maggie took the candle and watched as Bruce removed the velvet drape, revealing a large oval mirror with the strangest frame she had ever seen. At first, she thought it was vines carved into the wood but on closer inspection, she realized they were snakes, snakes intertwined into a coiling mass around the mirror. Reflecting from the black glass was the image of her and Bruce. “What kind of mirror is that?”

  “It’s used for scrying,” Bruce said, staring at the reflection. “Want to try it?”

  Bruce knew too much about the sinister looking things in this room. Snakes were not the same as vines, and a witchboard was not the same as a decorative tabletop. “I think I’d better get back to my laundry.”

  Bruce looked at her from the reflection and she looked back. He smiled at her, but she did not smile back. “Sometimes things are not what they seem to be, Maggie.”

  What was he talking about? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He talked to her through the reflection in the mirror. “Come closer, stand next to me.”

  The mirror was strange. It had a feel to it, a pull to it. She walked closer and stood next to Bruce. He put his arm around her and pulled her even closer. “Just look into the mirror, let it take you away.”

  She would play along. She looked at Bruce’s reflection; he was no longer looking at her but rather staring off into a void as if he were in a trance. She noticed her breathing increase as if she was becoming short of breath from a heaviness in the air. The reflections around the room looked like robed people moving about. Oh, how the eye can play tricks on the mind, she thought. But one shadow, one hooded shadow was standing still; it was not dancing about like the others. Oh my god, there is something standing behind us. She pulled away from Bruce and turned around. Then she looked back at the mirror. It was gone. “Bruce, I saw something standing behind us. Let’s get out of here.”

  Bruce followed Maggie out of the room. “Did something scare you?”

  Maggie could hear the washer still agitating. She wanted to take the laundry out of the washer and never go back down in the basement ever again. But what was she going to with a loa
d of wet clothes? She walked quickly toward the stairs. “I thought I saw something standing behind us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bruce said, climbing the steps behind her. “But you did want to know about the room.”

  When they got to the second floor, Maggie turned around. “I’m sorry. I guess my imagination ran away with me.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Why don’t you stop over for supper tonight, Debbie is going to be stopping by.”

  “Thanks, but I should get work done tonight. I’m terribly behind.”

  “You still have to eat, don’t you?” He walked toward his apartment. “We eat around six, I’ll be expecting you.”

  Maggie watched Bruce walk into his apartment and close the door. She then went into hers. Why can’t I be better at saying no? Now he is expecting me for supper.

  SEVENTEEN

  She picked up her cell phone and walked down to the basement to get her clothes. The lights flickered as usual as she walked down the corridor to the laundry room. When she looked at the scrying room, she was relieved the door was still closed. She did not want inadvertently to see inside. Could that black-robed person be what was scaring people out of this place when it was previously opened as apartments? Ridiculous, she thought, it was just her imagination, and the fact she was looking into a mirror in a creepy room.

  Maggie sat her phone on top of the washer and began taking her clothes out of the tub; she had decided she would take them to the Laundromat to dry them. No more coming down to this basement, she decided. While she was putting the damp clothes and sheets into the garbage bag she heard something drop, it sounded like a chair. Like someone had lifted it into the air and let go. Chills spread instantly throughout her body. She could not move, all she could do was listen. There were no further noises.

  Maggie refocused and crammed her laundry into the bag, picked up the laundry detergent, and walked out of the room. She was unable to resist the urge to look toward the scrying room. When she did, she noticed the door was open. She ran. When she got to the stairway, she realized she had left her cell phone lying on top of the washer.

  Shit. She sat the bag down and quietly began walking back toward the laundry room; she did not want to let anyone know she was coming back. When she reached the laundry room, she picked up the phone and stepped back out into the corridor. When she looked over at the open door of the scrying room she saw something move inside and a lit candle on the witchboard table. Was it Bruce? Was it Ethel? She was not sticking around to find out. She sprinted down the corridor, grabbed the bag of laundry, and ran up the stairs.

  When she got to the first floor, she slowed down and listened for something following her. Nothing was; she had made it to safety. She sat the bag by Mr. Zimmerman’s office and went up to her apartment to get her purse and car keys. After getting her things, she tested the door, making sure it was locked before leaving. She walked down to the lobby, retrieved her laundry, and walked out to her car.

  As she drove down the driveway, she looked at Sandpiper Bluff through the rear-view mirror. The building’s reflection in the small mirror seemed to be in disrepair as she drove away. The rear-view mirror was deceptive, she thought. But it sure felt good to be away from the place.

  When she drove into the village of Black Water, she was relieved to see a hardware store next to the Laundromat. While her laundry dried, she would go next door and get a lock, fan, and laundry basket.

  The Laundromat was bright and cheery, just what Maggie needed. She dumped the wet clothes into a dryer and walked over to the hardware store to get what she needed while the clothes dried.

  A bell jingled when she walked into the home improvement store. She walked past lawn and garden products to the aisle with locks. When she found the deadbolt locks, the kind she wanted, she realized she was not going to be able to install it without Mr. Zimmerman’s help. Leaving the aisle empty-handed, she looked for a laundry basket and a small box fan. She found them a couple aisles over.

  While she was walking toward the checkout counter, she noticed a department labeled LOCAL HISTORY. She walked over to it. Local history books, pictures, and souvenirs were displayed on shelves. She sat down the basket and fan when she saw a book with a picture on its cover that resembled Sandpiper Bluff. Its title said History of Lake Shore Sanatorium and Psychiatric Hospital: Legends, Lore, and Myths.

  She picked up the paperback book and began skimming through it. The timeline began in 1899 when it was built as a sanatorium for people with tuberculosis and ran to 2012 when its life as an apartment building ended. She was definitely buying this book.

  Maggie put the book in the basket with the small fan and walked up to the counter to pay for them. The old man at the cash register kept looking at her as he rung up her items.

  “Forty-seven fifteen,” he said. Then while Maggie paid, he asked. “Do you have family around here?”

  “Not in this area,” she said, feeling uncomfortable by his gawking.

  “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” the man said, rubbing his stubble beard, “but you look familiar to me . . . can’t quite place it.”

  Maggie thanked him and walked back to the Laundromat. She put the fan and book into the car and took the basket inside to gather her dried clothes. The thought of going back to Sandpiper Bluff was bringing her down. Maybe she would need to look for somewhere else to live.

  EIGHTEEN

  Maggie kept looking over at the local history book she bought from the hardware store earlier. She resisted the urge to pick it up while she worked on her novel. If she were not so far behind writing the manuscript, she would sit down with a cup of coffee and read it. But learning about the building’s history and lore was going to have to wait. Especially when she had to go to Bruce’s for supper shortly.

  Maggie heard an apartment door open and close, and then another. Debbie must have just gone to Bruce’s, she thought. She looked at the clock; it was almost six. Time to get ready and go.

  She closed her laptop and took a bottle of wine from the refrigerator; she would use it as a host gift for Bruce and Debbie. She had no ribbon or wrapping paper for it but did it really matter?

  Maggie walked toward the door, pausing in front of the full-length mirror. She looked at her reflection for only a moment, just long enough to check her appearance, and if someone was standing behind her. Things were fine.

  Not bothering to lock the door behind her, she walked to Bruce’s and knocked. Bruce opened the door while Debbie stood at his side.

  “Come in,” he said, motioning for her to enter. “I wasn’t sure you’d come or not.”

  “I’m happy to be here, thanks for inviting me.” Garage rock played softly in the background while the aroma of something cooking in the oven made her mouth water. “Smells good in here.”

  Debbie took the bottle of wine from Maggie and handed it to Bruce. “It’s meatloaf. Bruce is the best cook around. He’s a better cook than my mom was. Aren’t you babe?”

  Bruce opened the wine and poured it into three glasses. “How’s that hangover?”

  Maggie shook her head. “It’s long gone. I’ll have to remember your cure . . . If I ever need it again.”

  “Have a seat at the table, you two,” Bruce said, pulling the pan of meat out of the oven.

  “So Maggie, Bruce tells me he helped you out in the basement, earlier.” Debbie’s bubbly personality was only cooking at a simmer.

  “Help me?” She sipped her wine. “He just showed me that room in the corner.”

  Bruce brought the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, bread, and butter to the table. “She thought she saw something.”

  Maggie was about to respond to Bruce’s comment when Debbie said, “Blessing?”

  “Sure thing,” Bruce said, straightening his posture as he sat down.

  Bruce and Debbie held hands and extended their hand to Maggie. She could not help but think about the witchboard table and séances. She t
ook their hands.

  Bruce cleared his throat and said, “Lord, we know without a doubt that you’ll bless this food as we pig out.”

  “Amen,” Debbie said, loudly.

  Maggie looked at Debbie and then at Bruce, who was staring at her. She did not think that meal blessing was quite appropriate, especially since it seemed they made fun of it. And the way he was still holding her hand, not letting go, was a little disquieting.

  “Dig in,” Bruce said, finally releasing Maggie.

  “How’s your writing coming along?” Debbie asked as she spoke with a mouth full of meatloaf.

  Maggie took another sip of wine. “Fine.” She looked at Bruce who kept glancing at her between bites of meat and potatoes.

  “Eat, Maggie,” Bruce said. “You came her for supper didn’t you?”

  Maggie nodded and put small portions onto her plate. Who knew what ingredients he used when making the loaf; it could have an eye of newt and toe of frog for all she knew, especially after how he acted in the scrying room. Then she realized Susie was not there. “Where’s Susie?”

  “She’s sleeping in Bruce’s bedroom,” Debbie said, seeming unconcerned.

  “Is she okay?” Maggie forced a bite of meatloaf into her mouth and down her throat.

  Debbie frowned at Maggie. “What? Do you think I can’t care for Susie?”

  “No, absolutely not.” Maggie was caught off guard by Debbie’s reaction. “Sorry.”

  “Babe, she didn’t mean anything,” Bruce said, resting his hand on her arm. “No worries, it’s all cool.”

  Debbie smiled and nodded. “No, I’m sorry. I’m going to check on her now.”

  When Debbie left, Bruce scooted over into her seat so that he was close to Maggie. He moved in so his legs touched hers, just like in the dream she had.

  Maggie did not know what to do. Was he coming on to her, and with Debbie in the next room? How bizarre this whole situation was, she could not move.