Gnarled Hollow

by Charlotte Greene

  “Why on earth would you do that?” June asked.

  “Have you seen my room?” Jim asked. “I’m in the nursery—probably the ugliest room in the whole house. You should see the yellow wallpaper. The least I can do is put some toys in there. For the kiddies.”

  “Like you?” June said, grinning.

  He stuck his tongue out at her, and she laughed.

  “Did anyone notice this?” Mark asked. He pointed at the door. Emily hadn’t noticed before, but it had several heavy locks on the hallway side.

  “It’s like a prison,” June said, shuddering.

  The words rang true, and Emily’s stomach dropped. She immediately saw more evidence of what June had suggested. The walls, which were made of blank, grayish plaster, had deep gouges in them, almost as if someone had clawed at them. Emily walked a little closer to try to make sense of what she was seeing. She stopped when she saw something imbedded in the wall.

  “Guys?” she said.

  “What?” June asked.

  Unable to speak, Emily pointed, and the others came closer. They all seemed to recognize it as the same time, as she heard a collective gasp behind her.

  “Are those—”

  “Shackles,” Mark said. “I think you were right on the money, June. At some point, this room was a prison.”

  June put a hand to her mouth, going pale. “Jesus.”

  “Christ,” Jim said. “What the hell? Who were these people?”

  Mark shook his head, sighing. “It wouldn’t have been completely unusual to have something like this in the nineteenth century.”

  “What? Why?” June asked.

  “Some families in that era, if they had a troubled child, might have decided it was humane to keep the child at home. Certainly, in some regards, it was better than sending a child to an institution—they were notoriously hellish. They also might have been afraid of the notoriety a troubled child would have brought them should knowledge of it become public.”

  “Monstrous,” Chris said, shaking his head.

  Emily was listening to this exchange, but most of her attention was elsewhere. Suddenly, despite the safety she’d found before in the company of the others, she could feel that same watchful sensation she’d had before the attack in the bathroom. She felt first hot and then cold, and then a strange, suffocating sensation squeezed her chest. It was difficult to breathe. She peered around the room, fearful lest she could see whatever it was, but nothing was there beyond the piles of junk and debris.

  “We need to get out of here,” she whispered. The others looked at her strangely, but her face must have suggested more than her words, as everyone immediately moved toward the door. Unlike the other doors up here, which they’d left open for the light, they closed this one behind them. She wished they had the keys so they could lock it.

  “Do you need to go downstairs?” Mark said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  Her heart was still pounding, but she felt better, and the air was moving in and out of her lungs with ease. Whatever had been watching her wasn’t out here with them.

  She shook her head. “No. But let’s finish quickly. I feel…” She couldn’t put the impression into words, but it felt again like a warning. The house was letting them snoop a little, but its patience stretched only so far.

  “I feel it too,” June said. She held up an arm. “Look—goose bumps.”

  The men shared a glance, and Jim shrugged. “I mean, I’m creeped out, but I don’t feel any different than before.”

  “I don’t, either,” Mark said, “but I’m with Emily. We should go back downstairs as soon as we can.”

  The remaining doors revealed a small bathroom with a tiny tub and toilet and two more empty servants’ quarters, identical in dimension and content to the others across the hall. Jim and Mark hurried to finish the measurements, and Emily stayed in the hallway, too shaken to go inside any more rooms. She knew her reaction was completely irrational, but she was terrified that should she go inside any of these rooms again, let alone the one with the bars and shackles, she would be locked up here forever. She was grateful when the final room was measured, and she could tell the others were likewise glad to leave this floor.

  Back downstairs, she didn’t wait for June to act as bartender. Instead, she went directly to the whiskey and poured herself a large measure, tossing it down in one gulp. She shuddered a little at the heat of the liquor and poured herself another glass before turning around. The others had watched her do this, but seeing her face, they looked away quickly, evidently embarrassed to be caught watching her.

  Mark sat down and began flipping through the notes she’d made. The longer he read, the more puzzled his expression grew.

  “Sorry,” she said, sitting down again in the extra chair. “Can you read my handwriting?”

  He gave her a quick smile. “Your handwriting’s fine. I’m just confused.” He shook his head again and set the notebook to the side. “I’ll need to measure the rest of the house before drawing any conclusions.”

  June sat down on the sofa nearest to them, and Emily saw that she too had poured herself a liberal, stiff drink. The attic had been unnerving on many levels, and not only for her. It was a relief, really, to see that someone else had been affected in the same way, though she wished for June’s sake she hadn’t gone up there. Regardless of what Mrs. Wright said, it wasn’t simply dirty; it was dangerous in the attic. No one should go there.

  Jim and Chris sat down, and she was a little relieved to see Jim seat himself next to June. He clearly didn’t seem to think it was an issue to take the second sofa seat, but she thought she saw Chris give him a dark look before he sat in the other armchair.

  “I’m not going back up there, I’ll tell you that much,” Jim said.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” June said.

  Mark sighed. “You’re right. Now that we’ve been up there, I think it’s best we leave it alone. At least that’s the impression I get now.” He made eye contact with her. “Would you agree, Emily?”

  She felt her face color. “Why are you asking me?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know. It seems like you’re more…attuned to the house somehow.”

  June nodded, but Chris and Jim also seemed puzzled by his statement. She shrugged and shook her head.. “I wouldn’t say that—”

  “But it’s true,” June said, her voice grave, her face pale. “It’s like it’s talking to you or something.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. Her heart was beating faster, and she felt like standing up and leaving the room. She didn’t want to hear this.

  “Take that room upstairs—the prison,” Mark said. “You were affected by it more than the rest of us. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, but I—”

  “You were the one who suggested that we leave. I found it odd, but I wasn’t particularly bothered. You were. How about you guys? Jim? Chris? Did it affect you?”

  Jim shook his head and then lifted his hands. “Well, no, not really. Not at first, anyway.”

  Chris thought about it. “Yeah, not really. Not until—”

  “Not until we left the room?” Mark suggested. Everyone nodded, and her body clenched with fear. Again, she wished she could plug her ears to avoid what he was saying.

  “When we were in the hallway, I felt relieved,” June said. “I was glad when Mark closed the door.”

  Jim and Mark nodded immediately, and Chris, after a slight hesitation, agreed.

  Mark looked at her again. “It was worse for you. I could see it in your eyes—we all could.”

  Her heart was pounding now, and a hot flash of rage swept through her. She didn’t want to be special, and she certainly didn’t want to be the one everyone turned to for an explanation. “But what does it mean? Why am I being singled out?”

  Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if it means you’re more sensitive to whatever is happening here, or if it’s chosen you somehow, singled yo
u out. What I do know is that you seem to pick up on it more clearly than the rest of us. You talked of warnings before, but I think you might be our best warning. You seem to be able to translate whatever the house is saying more clearly than anyone else.”

  She jumped up, her drink falling to the floor. She clenched her fists and felt a momentary thrill when Mark flinched.

  “I don’t want any of this,” she hissed. “Can’t you understand? I don’t want to be singled out. I don’t want to know more than any of you! I just want to be left alone!”

  Mark grabbed one of her fists. At his touch, her desperate rage disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, and she opened her hand, taking his. She sat back down, covering her eyes with her other hand. “Why is this happening?”

  “I don’t know, Emily. But I do think you’re in danger here. If you’re going to stay—”

  She looked up at him sharply, and he paused before going on. “Sorry, since you’re going to stay, I think we need to be more careful. That goes for all of us. I’m starting to think we shouldn’t be alone in this house or on the grounds. Ever.”

  They were all silent, considering the implications. So far they’d managed a kind of in-between in terms of safety, where they stayed together most of the day, but of course, except for June and her, they went their separate ways at night. But Mark seemed to be suggesting something more.

  Jim laughed. “No way I’m taking a crap with anyone else in the room. Certainly not you, Mark.” He gave June a wink. “Though I might make one exception—”

  She hit him with a sofa cushion. “Ew! Gross!” She looked at Mark. “You don’t really mean all the time, do you Mark?”

  He frowned. “It would be best.”

  “Well, I’m not going for that, Mark,” Jim said, getting to his feet. “And I’m not sleeping with any of you, either.” He grinned at June again. “Unless—”

  She flipped him off, and he shrugged. “Well, can’t say I didn’t try to follow the rules.” He walked over to the corner bar to get himself another drink.

  Mark’s expression was troubled, but eventually, he shook his head. “Of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested it. No one could expect to be with someone every moment of the day.”

  Emily felt eyes on her and saw June grinning at her. June patted the vacated spot on the sofa next to her, and her heart rose with relief. She got up and sat down next to her. June scooted closer, taking both her hands in hers. Emily saw Jim’s face as this happened. He blushed and then rolled his eyes, sitting down in the chair she’d left. She was happy now and avoided meeting Chris’s eyes, sure she’d see that same dark look from before. Instead, she met June’s eyes, and June winked. Neither she nor June had said anything about what was happening between them, and they weren’t demonstrative in front of the others, but their relationship wasn’t exactly a secret, either. Chris knew about it, at the very least, and she was fairly certain Jim and Mark suspected. She and June didn’t hide the fact that they spent their nights together, after all.

  Emily looked back at the others and saw Mark watching her steadily, his expression grave. Mark, seeing her gaze, gave her a quick smile before his face grew serious again. “I don’t want to upset you, but to tell you the truth, it’s mainly you, Emily, that I’m worried about.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “I don’t know. If you can somehow pick up on what the house is saying, it might get, somehow…” He seemed unsure how to finish.

  “Louder?” Jim suggested. They all looked at him in surprise, and he grinned. “Isn’t that the word you wanted, Mark?”

  Mark’s face was troubled. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

  “If what you’re saying about Emily is true,” Chris said, “how do you explain what happened to me?”

  Mark leaned toward him. “I can’t—not exactly. But Emily was attacked first, in the bathtub. She told us earlier today that she thinks it was a warning—a warning we didn’t heed. Then the house became more violent, and you were hurt, too.”

  Chris laughed. “How do you know? It could be completely random! It sounds like you’re making the evidence fit the theory, not the other way around.”

  Mark wrinkled his forehead. “You might be right. All I have is a theory. But I do know—and I think we would all agree—that Emily is somehow involved in all of this in a way the rest of us aren’t.”

  Her momentary happiness faded at his words. She was dimly aware of June’s hands squeezing hers for reassurance and heard the others making plans for dinner, but mostly she was looking inside herself, considering. Ever since Mark had singled her out, she’d been angry and afraid. Now that she’d had a few minutes to absorb his conclusion, she was starting to accept it.

  Mark was right—she knew he was. She was different, and the house knew it, too. She could either accept that position fully, or she could continue to deny it and stay frightened and angry. The others continued to talk as she made her choice, and by the time she focused on their conversation again, she knew something else: it was up to her to stop what was happening. Now that she’d accepted her part, she realized that deep down she’d known this all along.

  But this was only half of it. She knew something else now, too—the house needed her. All the things that had happened had been a warning, yes, but also a kind of plea. Some part of the house was calling for her, begging her to do something.

  The question now was not whether she would help it, but how.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day was ostensibly a workday, but Emily couldn’t make herself sit down with the Lewis papers again. After yesterday, she was too hyped up to stay still. Jim didn’t seem to mind her taking the morning off. In fact, before she left him to work in her room, she thought she detected a little relief in his eyes. It seemed like he didn’t want to be around her.

  She spent the first part of the morning helping Mark finish the measurements of the rooms inside the house. Mr. and Mrs. Wright were back for the day, and Mrs. Wright let them into the final, unused bedroom on the women’s side so Mark could finish measuring. This last bedroom was larger, a little like Emily’s, but it hadn’t been completely renovated yet. The canopy was tattered and old, for one thing, and the walls were unpapered.

  Back out on the balcony, Mark was studying his notebook, flipping back and forth between the pages for the attic, ground floor, and bedroom floor.

  “Strange,” he said.

  “Hmmm?”

  He shook his head. “I have to sit down with this for a while to figure it out. And I should measure the outside before making any conclusions.”

  “Do you need help?”

  He shook his head and then gave her a quick grin. “No—I’ll be fine. I’m going to use a measuring wheel.” He glanced at his watch. “I should have time if I do it now.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That’s right. I forgot you were taking a trip today.”

  “At least overnight. My GPS says it takes a few hours to get to Plattsburgh from here, so I want to leave by noon at the latest. I might stay another day, until Sunday, but maybe not. Depends on what I find at the university there.”

  He must have seen something in her face as he touched her shoulder. “Hey, Emily. You might think of taking a break, too. You could stay in town or head to your sister’s for a couple of days.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the house. “This place is a little…trying, even for me.”

  She shook her head, firmly. “No. I’m staying.”

  He sighed and didn’t argue, as if he’d expected her to say this. “Okay. But be safe. You hear me?”

  She followed him downstairs. She thought of going outside to the gardens to see what Chris was working on but spotted June in the sitting room. They’d taken to propping open both of the double doors to this room with heavy objects, so these doors were always open now. Earlier today, June had gone to her bedroom to do research on her computer, but she was here now. She’d taken one of the larger pai
ntings off the wall and propped it up on an easel. She was examining it with a magnifying glass.

  “Find anything?” she asked.

  June jumped a little and then turned around, smiling. “Yes and no. I’m telling you, I’m almost completely baffled.”

  Emily sat in one of the armchairs and leaned forward onto her legs. “What do you know so far?”

  “Besides the Turner, I have nothing, and I mean no clue. I did a little more digging online this morning and sent out some inquiries a couple of days ago. I hoped someone would be able to track the sales of at least one of these paintings to give me some kind of idea as to their origin. So far, there’s nothing, which is really strange.”

  “Why? Weren’t they bought in the nineteenth century? Would records be around for that long?”

  June laughed. “Actually, yes. That’s one of the easiest ways to track the origin of a piece of artwork. Auction houses, especially in big cities like New York, keep detailed records and have for centuries. But normally, even if you can’t find something in the auction logs, you should be able to find insurance records, at least in the twentieth century.” She gestured around the room. “But I haven’t located anything for a single one of these paintings, not even the Turner.”

  “That’s strange.”

  June shook her head. “It’s more than strange—it’s unheard of. Most of the time people buy artwork as an investment, especially when an artist is well-known. The value rises astronomically over time with some artists.” She stood up and walked over to the largest painting in the room. “Take this Turner here. If a Turner—almost any Turner—were to go on the market today, you’re talking a sales price of tens of millions of dollars. The last time a private Turner went on the market, it sold for almost thirty million.”

  “Wow.”

  June held up her hands. “Who wouldn’t insure something worth that much money?” She gestured again at the room. “Let alone the rest of the work in this house! Even if, as I’m starting to suspect, the artists for every other work in the house are unknown, that doesn’t negate the fact that these are incredible pieces in their own way. Every painting in this house is a masterpiece, even the portraits.”