Help Wanted

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  “See that bell there?” Winifred jutted her sharp chin in the direction of a mahogany desk where a brass bell rested upon a small brass tray. “If you need me, just ring that and I’ll come.”

  “Thanks,” Robin said, shrugging out of her jacket. She tossed it onto a chair, and Winifred immediately picked the jacket up and folded it neatly over one skinny arm.

  “You look half frozen,” Winifred went on. “Can I bring you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Cocoa?”

  “Yes, cocoa would be nice.” Robin smiled gratefully, and Winifred left her alone.

  All of Lillith’s books had been transferred into here, Robin noticed at once. There were stacks and stacks of boxes lined along the shelved walls, and more boxes pushed discreetly back behind the overstuffed chairs. Robin wandered over to the desk, where tablets and index cards, pens and pencils were already laid out for her use. A long row of windows framed the cold, gray afternoon.

  Well, this is it. Time to get to work.

  She walked over, chose a carton, and opened it. The musty smells of damp and age washed over her as she pulled out several books, and then, on second thought, she dragged the whole box over to the desk. She felt like a little kid again, off on some treasure hunt, and as she began digging through the contents, her stomach gave a curious little twist of excitement. Look at all these books … they’re so beautiful … there’re so many of them … She was so intrigued that she hardly even noticed when Winifred brought her cocoa, and it was some time after that before she even thought to check the clock and realized she’d already been there two hours.

  This is wonderful.… I could spend the rest of my life here doing this.

  There were exquisite art books, volume after volume of prints, artists’ biographies, and lengthy art histories. Some of the books were positively ancient, and Robin suspected they might also be extremely rare. She handled them carefully, lovingly, afraid that a single breath or misplaced touch might dissolve them to dust. From time to time she came across books of other varied interests hidden among the dusty stacks—human anatomy, science, philosophy, nature—and these, too, she stopped to admire, all the time wondering about the mysterious woman they’d belonged to.

  “She could talk to the dead.…”

  “Lies, lies, lies,” Robin mumbled to herself. “All those mediums are fakes. Everyone knows that.”

  She looked up with a start as a muffled noise brought her back to reality. A door closing somewhere in the house? Glancing at the clock, she couldn’t believe what she saw—six-thirty? I’ve got to get home!

  There were only five books left in the carton. Robin lifted them out and began to scribble information on her tablet, when she heard the noise again.

  “Winifred?” she called out. “Is that you?”

  No one answered. Robin glanced uneasily around the room.

  She hadn’t realized how dark it had grown in here. The fire had burned itself down to glowing coals, and darkness had gathered thickly beyond the uncurtained windows. New shadows had crept into the room when she wasn’t looking, and now they hovered in corners and crouched among the furniture, giving the room a strange, distorted look.

  “Winifred?” Robin called again, but her voice trembled a little. “Are you there?”

  I must have imagined it … just the wind blowing through cracks … just those old noises that old houses make.…

  She stood up and began putting books back into the box. Then she folded the top down and marked it with a big X to show that she’d finished with the contents. She pushed it to one side and was straightening back up when she heard the sound again.

  It was closer this time.

  Robin didn’t know exactly how she knew, for the sound was so indistinct—more an impression than an actual noise—and yet a slow chill began crawling up her arms, and her heart beat faster in her chest.

  A creaking noise … not a door closing … something else …

  She stood there in the shadows and stared. She could see the door open to the hallway beyond, but no light showed past the threshold, and nothing moved. For one panicky instant Robin wondered if she was alone in the house, if Winifred had left her. Surely someone has to be here—Mr. Swanson—Parker—Claudia—Winifred—where is everyone? She took a cautious step around the desk, then froze as a voice seemed to float out of nowhere.

  “Help …”

  And she knew she hadn’t imagined it this time—the voice so faint and yet so desperate, crying out in the silence of the big, empty house—

  “Help me …”

  “Hello?” Robin called. “Who’s there? Where are you?”

  “Help …”

  A woman’s voice …

  And as it spoke this time, it seemed to echo there in the shadows of the hallway … hang there, suspended … begging Robin to follow.…

  “Where are you?” Robin called again, and she felt her feet moving her toward the door, even though she didn’t want to go, even though she was suddenly so afraid—

  The hall lay in pitch blackness.

  “Winifred!” Robin pleaded. “Answer me!”

  Her words faded to nothing. She took a cautious step out into the passageway and stopped. An icy draft stirred softly around her feet, and she thought she heard another faint, faraway sound of a door closing.

  “Winifred …”

  Every instinct told Robin to run, and yet she knew she couldn’t. Suppose Winifred was hurt … suppose she’d fallen somewhere … Robin couldn’t just go off and leave her.

  Reaching along the wall, Robin felt for a light switch but found none. She had no idea which way to go, where to look, where to even start. She strained her ears through the darkness, waiting for the call to come again, but there was only silence.

  “Winifred!” Robin shouted. “Where are you!”

  The air moved restlessly around her … like a breath. And when the voice came this time, it seemed to come from everywhere, curling along the shadowed passageway, weaving around Robin like an ice-cold web—

  “Help me … Claudia …”

  “It’s Robin!” Robin called back. “Please tell me where you are!”

  But something was happening now … she could see it in the distance, far ahead of her down the hall, and she was so terrified she couldn’t move. She could see the strange pale glow shimmering near the floor … and she could hear the slow, endless creaking of a door.…

  “No,” Robin whispered.

  And yet she began to walk toward it.

  She began to walk toward it as one hypnotized, fascinated somehow by that widening crack of light—until she realized that it had been glimmering at her from beneath a door, and now that door was standing wide open, waiting for her to go through.…

  Robin stood at the threshold and squinted into the gloom.

  Shadowy outlines towered high above her … indistinct shapes looming up and up, then ending in a hazy burst of light.

  Stairs, Robin thought suddenly. And is that a light bulb hanging up there? It didn’t seem the sort of staircase to lead to an upper level of rooms in a grand old house like this, she argued with herself. Then it must be an attic.… I bet it’s an attic or storeroom or something.…

  “Winifred?” she called softly. “Are you up there?”

  She thought she heard something move … a restless stirring on the floorboards overhead, and her heart leapt into her throat.

  Someone is up there—and whoever it is must be hurt and can’t answer—I’ve got to go and see.

  Again she searched in vain for a light switch. An image of old Mr. Swanson flashed into her mind, and she imagined him lying up there at the top of those stairs, imagined that he might have been there all afternoon without anyone even knowing. She put her foot on the first step and kept her eyes on the fuzzy light above. And then she began to climb.

  The space was narrow and rickety. She could smell dampness and dust, and as she moved cautiously forward, it sounded as if tiny scurrying things moved around her in
the walls. The stairs were steep and very long. As Robin finally neared the top, she saw that there was indeed one bare light bulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling, but it was so dim she could hardly make out anything beneath.

  “Hello?” Robin called softly, and her voice came back to her mockingly—Hello … hello … hello …

  She reached the top at last and squinted into the dark.

  She didn’t know what she expected to see.

  Old Mr. Swanson, perhaps, or Winifred, lying there with a broken leg …

  But certainly not what she did see—there in the corner—floating facedown in the claw-footed tub—

  The lifeless figure in its long pale dress—hair streaming like wet ribbons … and the dark frothy water … and the dark trickles down the side … and the dark spreading pool on the bathroom floor.

  It seemed an eternity that she stood there.

  Robin opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She stared and she stared and the room throbbed around her in a dreamy fog. And then, as the limp body seemed to move—as it bobbed slowly from side to side—only then was Robin finally able to react—

  “No!” a voice shrieked.

  It was so close that Robin jumped back against the wall. Above her the light bulb swung in a crazy arc, and she caught just a glimpse of Claudia’s stricken face as the girl rushed from the stairs into the room.

  “She’s come for me! I knew it! I knew it!”

  Claudia screamed again and pointed to the corpse as Robin looked on in horror. It was bobbing gently up and down … up and down … and the dark pool of water was creeping toward Robin’s shoes.

  “I told you she’d come for me! She won’t leave me alone until I’m dead, too!”

  “Claudia!” Robin gasped. “Oh, my God—”

  “Now do you see?” Claudia spun toward her, sobbing. “Now will you believe me?”

  Before Robin could stop her, the girl bolted for the stairs. Robin threw one last horrified look at the thing in the corner and then raced down behind Claudia.

  The hallway was empty when Robin got there. As she turned toward the study, the lights flickered once and then went out, plunging the hall into sudden and complete darkness.

  “Claudia! Claudia, where are you?”

  The police—I’ve got to call the police—

  Frantically Robin groped her way along the corridor, trying to find the study. She knew the passageway was long, but now it seemed interminable, and as her hands slid over door after door, she tried every knob and found them all locked.

  “Help! Somebody help! Please!”

  She could still see that horrible thing upstairs—could still see it moving—trying to sit up? Oh, God, what if it really was someone hurt and still alive—and I ran away and I didn’t even try to help—

  She wondered if she was losing her mind. She couldn’t even think anymore, she was trying so desperately to hurry, her arms out feeling along the walls. Without warning she touched empty air and pitched forward into the dark. She gasped as she fell against something solid, and then she was stumbling, crawling, crashing into furniture as she tried to find her way to the door again.

  “Help!” Robin cried. “Oh, Claudia, where are you?”

  “What are you doing?” a voice demanded.

  Screaming, Robin spun around and saw a shadowy silhouette on the threshold. As it started toward her, she stepped back, groping behind her, and miraculously found the telephone. Robin could only think of one thing now. She jerked up the receiver and started punching 911.

  A hand clamped over hers and pulled the phone away.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Parker asked again, and as he shone a flashlight into her face, Robin shielded her eyes and tried to draw back from him.

  “Let go! I’ve got to call the police!”

  “The police?” Parker sounded bewildered, and his hold tightened around Robin’s hand, prying the receiver loose.

  “You don’t understand!” Robin cried. “There’s someone upstairs! Up there in the bathroom—drowned—”

  “I told you!” Claudia sobbed, and as Parker’s light swiveled to the other side of the room, they could see Claudia framed there in the doorway. “I told you, but you wouldn’t—”

  Her voice broke off as she took an unsteady step forward. Robin saw her grab for the doorframe and miss, and in the next instant Claudia crumpled slowly to the ground.

  “Claudia!” Robin started toward her, but Parker was quicker. He scooped Claudia up in his arms and laid her down on the couch.

  “Is she all right?” Feeling queasy herself, Robin backed away toward the door. At that moment Winifred stepped in from the hallway, holding a candle in front of her, her face ghostly and anxious.

  “What is it, Mr. Parker? I thought I heard—oh, my Lord!” The woman crossed herself, and her face seemed to go whiter. “Is she dead? Has Miss Lillith come back for her, just like she said?”

  “She fainted,” Parker said impatiently. “And don’t talk about Lillith in front of Claudia—or me—again. Do you understand?”

  Winifred gave a frightened nod and disappeared, but was back again in a second with the water. Claudia had roused a little, and as Parker held the glass to her lips, she coughed and weakly pushed at his arm.

  “I’m all right,” she mumbled. “Go away.”

  “But—upstairs—” Robin pointed helplessly toward the foyer, but nobody seemed to be listening. “What are we going to do? We’ve got to do something!”

  Parker stepped away from the couch. Claudia leaned into the cushions, and as Robin heard more footsteps approaching from the corridor, Mr. Swanson came shuffling in waving another flashlight.

  “What’s all this?” he barked. “Someone sick? Someone hurt? You’d better tell me—I’ll find out soon enough! Winifred? Blast it, turn on a light, will you?”

  “I can’t turn on the lights, Mr. Swanson—there aren’t any lights to turn on!” Winifred babbled. “Tell him, Mr. Parker!”

  Robin rushed over and grabbed the old man’s sleeve.

  “Mr. Swanson—please! You’ve got to do something!”

  “What’s that? What are you talking about?”

  “Upstairs! Please—hurry!”

  “Never mind.” Claudia looked at Robin, her voice weak and dull. “It won’t do any good. It’s not you she wants.”

  “We’ve got to call the police!” Robin begged.

  “What is she talking about?” Mr. Swanson erupted angrily. “Blast it all, Robin Bailey, I hired you because I wanted someone sane in this house for a change!”

  “But I am being sane,” Robin pleaded, “if you’d just listen to me!”

  “You listen to her!” Mr. Swanson ordered Parker. “Go with her and listen to her and see what the heck she’s so upset about!”

  “Okay.” Parker sighed. “Show me.” Even in the dim light Robin could see him exchange looks with his grandfather, who in turn promptly glared at Claudia.

  “More of your nonsense, I suppose. Can’t I get a moment’s peace around here? People yelling—lights going out … What’s the problem, Winifred—did you forget to pay the electric bill? For God’s sake, Parker, take another flashlight so you don’t fall and kill yourself.”

  Parker nodded and pulled one from the desk drawer. Then he followed Robin back down the hall.

  “There!” Robin pointed to the door at the end of the passageway. It was shut now, but as Parker swung it open, she could see stairs going up into the darkness.

  “There’s nothing up there,” Parker told her. “It used to be a bathroom, but now it’s just an old storage—”

  “There is something!” Robin said fiercely. “I saw it!”

  Parker hesitated, as if to speak, then seemed to change his mind. Slowly he started up. Robin followed at a safe distance, her hand over her mouth to hold back a scream. She saw Parker reach the top of the steps, saw him stand for a long moment, saw the slow shrug of his shoulders.

  “What are we
going to do?” Robin whispered. “We’ve got to do something!”

  “About what?” Parker said.

  Robin looked at him blankly. He turned and held out his hand.

  “Come up here. I want you to see.”

  “No, I can’t look at it again—I—”

  “Come on,” Parker said firmly, and he took Robin’s hand and pulled her up beside him.

  He aimed the flashlight against the opposite wall.

  Robin felt her blood go cold.

  In the glow of Parker’s flashlight Robin could see the old-fashioned bathtub with its claw feet. She could see the straight-backed chair beside it, practically invisible pushed back into the corner, and she could see the dripping mound of wet draperies hanging over the back of the chair and flowing down across the floor.

  No body. No spreading pool of blood.

  “It—I mean, it can’t be! I mean—I saw her!”

  Parker groaned. “Saw who?”

  “A woman!” Robin turned frightened eyes to Parker’s narrowed ones. “I’m not lying—you’ve got to believe me! She was lying there in the tub and there was all this blood! She had a white dress and long hair—like—like the woman in the painting!”

  “A white dress,” Parker repeated.

  “Yes!”

  “About the length of those curtains?”

  “Well … but it wasn’t curtains! I … at least, I don’t think …” Robin’s voice trailed off in confusion.

  “Was Claudia here with you?” Parker asked.

  “Well, yes, I mean not at first—well, yes, she might have been at first—she was behind me—”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said, and Robin stared at him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go back down.”

  Robin was dumbfounded. As she followed Parker back to the study, her mind raced in a hundred different directions. They reached the study, and Mr. Swanson looked questioningly at Parker. Parker shook his head, and the old man’s face darkened.

  “All this commotion!” he sniffed. “Can’t an old man take a simple nap anymore? Idiots! I’m surrounded by a bunch of total idiots!”