by George Esler
hallway stretched out ahead of me, several doors to the left and right, all of them closed. Along the way, there were pedestals, six in all, supporting old-fashioned busts of men with curling mustaches. Drury ancestors, perhaps? Expensive tapestries hung from the walls, curious mixes of colors that suggested an eclectic taste.
But I was the sole occupant of the otherwise deserted hallway.
I shook it off, and turned to resume my trek toward the stairs, when the noise cut through the still cool air once more. It was the sound of something soft gliding effortlessly along something hard and firm, and my imagination conjured the image of a cold dead hand sliding along a polished bannister. And I noticed a second sound, more melodious than the first, a soft voice humming a tune in wistful, sing-song bursts.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I scanned the area again, unable to heed the voice in my head that admonished me to just get out of there as fast as my two feet would carry me. My head wanted to comply, but my legs turned to lead and would not budge.
There! One of the doors along the right side of the hall stood ajar. Had it been that way last time I looked? I could have sworn that all of the doors had been shut tight. I would have noticed if the door was open before, right? In any case, a thin beam of light crawled across the hallway floor from the slight crack in the doorway.
Now that I had a place to focus my senses, it was clear that the haunting melody that flittered through the air was coming from that same room. Several ideas popped into my mind. I thought of Trevor’s warning against exploring rooms of the house in which I did not belong. I also recalled that sinister gaze that telegraphed itself on me last night upon my arrival. There was also the matter of the young girl appraising me from the top of the staircase prior to dinner. Run! That was the thought that linked all the others together.
One idea silenced the others: What would my mother think of me if I turned tail and fled like that, after everything she had tried to instill in me? After all the lessons?
So I put one foot in front of the other, and cautiously approached the doorway. I strived keep the sound of my footsteps to a minimum, but it’s always when you’re trying to be the quietest that every little rustle seems magnified beyond normal levels. Consequently, I was sure that a herd of angry rhinoceroses stampeding down the hall would make less noise than me. Each of my individual footfalls was like a gunshot going off in my heightened state of alert.
One thing was certain, however. The closer I came to that cracked door, the clearer I could make out the sound of the tune. There was no doubt that the ghostly melody originated from that room. It was getting harder to breathe. Each slow breath I drew required more effort to inhale than the one before it. The door loomed closer, larger. My hands shook. A peculiar tingling sensation began in my thighs and coursed down my legs until it reached my feet. I should not be doing this. I should be going the other way.
The melody was a mournful one, wordlessly evoking images of sadness and love lost.
I reached toward the brass knob. It was slow going, the air itself felt like it was pushing back against me. Many hours seemed to pass as my trembling hand inched forward through dead space. I hesitated as time came to an utter halt. My abdominal muscles contracted uncomfortably. A small gnat buzzed past my ear.
Everything stopped.
And then the door flew open without me ever touching it.
I almost died on cue. But Helen looked just as surprised to see me as I’m sure I looked to see her. She clutched a feather duster in one hand, which she dropped at the shock of finding me standing in the doorway with my hand outstretched toward her.
“Heavens!” she cried. “Sneaking up on an old lady like that, in the middle of her chores!”
I fumbled for words as I regained the ability to speak. I finally managed a garbled, “I’m sorry.”
She evaluated me for a long moment. It was the first time she had held my gaze without looking away. I wondered what had changed from her perspective that made today different from last night, that she was willing to look at me now.
“No harm,” she said at last. She bent to retrieve the fallen duster. “Just cleaning up and singing my tunes. We might be getting another today or tomorrow.”
“Another what?”
“Another boarder.”
I was at once excited and burdened. Excited because if someone else was coming to stay here from the outside, then I might find a companion at last who was at least somewhat normal. That would be nice. But I was also burdened for the sake of this person, because I would not wish this house or its residents upon anyone except maybe a bitter enemy.
I mulled this over. “Another boarder. Like me.”
“Oh, from what I hear, there’s none quite like you,” Helen said, and she winked at me.
Something about that shrewd expression. Did she know too? About me? This was too much. I turned to go.
“One more thing,” she called after me.
I turned to look back at Helen. She wore black pants and a frilly white top, with an apron tied about her waist and neck. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun.
“That Trevor boy means well, but you’re going to need to watch out for him.”
“I kind of thought so,” I said.
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Talk to him, spend time with him, whatever you want. But never, ever, under any circumstances, should you allow him take you into the nursery.”
She leaned closer. For a moment I thought she meant to kiss me. We were almost nose to nose when she stopped. Her eyes blazed. Her lips pressed together into a tight, grim line.
“Don’t go into the nursery,” she repeated.
And then she glided past me and disappeared from view down the hall, leaving me to wonder at the meaning of this latest warning.
6
Breakfast was served on the same linen-clad table at which we dined the night before. When I entered the room, Esau was seated in his place at the head of the table, sipping coffee from a heavy porcelain mug. A newspaper was spread open before him, and I wondered briefly if a paperboy made the long trip up the twisted drive just to toss that one paper. More likely, I figured, Jacob drove into town to fetch it as part of his morning duties.
We were the only two people currently in the room, and Esau did not look up as I entered. I seated myself in my previous night’s chair, leaving one empty seat between Esau and I, which was the one Uncle Milton had used. I felt like a fool just sitting there and saying nothing, but I did not have to wait long.
As if on cue, a young lady I had not yet met entered the room, and poured some coffee into an empty cup near my left hand. I did not drink coffee, but having not been asked my preference, I thought it would be rude to decline. I waited until the cup was full, and, after adding the cream and sugar which the young lady offered, I sipped, hating the bitterness of it.
The girl must have read my expression, because she offered me more sugar. I added this as well, and the liquid tar in my glass became somewhat more bearable. Soon after, my actual breakfast was delivered to me: poached eggs with toast, roasted potato wedges, a bowl of diced fruit, and a side of hollandaise sauce.
I guess they never heard of Froot Loops in this place.
I started to eat, finding the eggs particularly and unexpectedly good. The yolk ran when my fork pressed through the thin membrane that sheathed it, and it mingled with the toast, saturating it. My thoughts of sugary children’s cereal vanished. Esau folded the paper and put it aside. He favored me with a studious expression.
“And what do you have planned for today?”
I put my fork down to answer him. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I don’t typically get to make my own decisions.”
He made a snorting sound down deep in his throat and leaned back in the chair. He looked at me over the brim of his coffee mug, which he brought to his lips and sipped from, making the gesture look somehow elegant and refined. Whenever Uncle Milton stared at me like that, I could be su
re that I was in for some form of berating. He had always been so sure that I would eventually lead his precious Amelia astray, causing her some form of harm in the process. I guess, in the end, I had proven his fears to be valid.
Esau surprised me by not answering the way my uncle would have done.
“Well, we’ll have to restore your free will, then, won’t we?” He put his mug down and used his fork to break off a small piece of a buttered croissant that rested before him on a gold-trimmed saucer. I wondered why I didn’t get a croissant. Esau savored the bite, swallowed, and then continued speaking.
“Consider today a free day then. Walk around. Go exploring. Do whatever you choose. We’ll see about assigning you some chores soon enough. It wouldn’t do to have you grow lazy in my care. Perhaps Jacob can delegate some of his jobs to you. He’s not getting along as well as he once did, and I’m sure he could use the help.”
The mention of the butler reminded me of the night before, when he had taken my bag and hoisted it without question. I had a feeling that relieving him of some of his chores would mean performing meaningless tasks at the whim of Esau Drury.
“Is there someone else coming here?” I asked.
Esau’s expression became confused. “What do you mean?”
“Another person coming to live here?”
“Wherever did you get that idea?”
“Helen told me-”
When he laughed, his whole body shook. “Helen again? Boy, you’ll