The Dark Hour

by K. J. Young

  Mark drives to the restaurant with Lisa in the passenger seat, while Alma and Roy sit in the back. Along the way, Lisa reads Roy’s handwritten directions aloud to Mark. Once they arrive at Duke’s Supper Club, Lisa helps Alma out of the back seat and guides her to the front door.

  The topic of Lisa’s appearance comes up again after they are seated. Alma says, “So beautiful in that dress. Just so beautiful.”

  Roy has requested a specific small, curved booth, and Alma insists that Mark sit next to Lisa. The atmosphere is romantic, with candles and linen tablecloths. Roy orders a bottle of wine for the table, but when the waiter comes to pour, Lisa places a hand over her glass. “No thank you,” she says. “Just tonic water for me.”

  Alma directs her attention to Mark. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  This has to be the forgetfulness Roy mentioned yesterday. Mark says, “I would have to agree with you. Lisa looks absolutely gorgeous tonight.”

  “Thank you, Mark. That’s very nice of you.” Lisa sounds vaguely detached, but then again, she’s been working for the Walgraves for some time and has probably heard enough of Alma’s repeated questions.

  Lisa is pointedly quiet during dinner, only speaking when asked a question. Alma, too, has little to say besides commenting on the food, which is delicious, although the portions are small. Mark feels the need to fill the conversational void, so he tells some jokes, the few he knows that are clean. He also does some impressions of the other passengers on the bus. Even Lisa can’t help herself and stops frowning at one point to laugh at a punch line. After dinner, they order the restaurant’s specialty dessert, apple tarts topped with scoops of vanilla custard. When the waiter presents the bill along with a tray of butter cream mints, Roy pays in cash, tipping generously. Speaking to Mark and Lisa, he says, “Thank you for accompanying us this evening. We rarely get a night out, so this has been a real treat.”

  Alma lifts her chin and says, “But we can’t go now. There has to be dancing.”

  “Dear, they only have bands on the weekends.” Roy pats her arm.

  “No.” Alma shakes her head; her face transforms into that of a willful child. “After dinner there is always dancing.”

  Roy explains to Lisa and Mark, “We used to come here in our younger days for dinner and dancing, so of course that’s what she’s remembering.” His voice is tinged with nostalgia. “Those were the best times.”

  “Can’t we just see?” Alma says, her small, trembling hand clutching his arm.

  Roy nods. “We’ll stop and show them on our way out.”

  As they walk through the restaurant, Roy’s cane leads the way, and Alma takes careful steps with Lisa at her side. Mark brings up the rear, painfully aware of how slowly they are walking. It’s all he can do to keep his impatience in check. Move it, move it, move it. Around him other diners notice them for all the wrong reasons. A mustached waiter cradling a pepper mill pauses to let them pass, and Mark shoots him an apologetic look. In return, the man says, “So nice to see young people out with their grandparents.”

  When they get to the hostess stand, they continue on, past the door where they entered, and into a dimly lit bar area, occupied by one lone bartender. The bar top gleams, empty except for heavy glass ashtrays in front of every third barstool. Small round tables surround what would have been a dance floor on a different night, and a small platform on the opposite side waits for a band that won’t be assembling tonight. “See, my dear,” Roy says. “There’s no band tonight. Just the weekends.”

  Alma’s mouth furrows in confusion. She looks around the room as if expecting a band to materialize. “But there has to be dancing.” Her voice quavers. “And there is music.” She points to the ceiling, where piped-in music resonates from round speakers embedded in the ceiling. “So there has to be dancing.”

  Roy holds up a finger to Lisa and Mark, indicating they should wait, then steers Alma over to the closest table and helps her to sit down. He leans over her, speaking quietly, one hand on her shoulder. Mark watches in silence.

  Lisa folds her arms and taps her foot. “I don’t like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When Alma gets like this . . .” She narrows her eyes. “I don’t know. I just get a bad feeling.”

  She seems like the kind of girl who often has bad feelings. From what Mark can see, there’s no need to worry. Roy has it under control. “She’s a confused old lady. I’m sure it will be fine.”

  Lisa lifts her eyebrows. “Really? Day two and you’re telling me what’s what?” She sighs. “You’ll find out there’s so much more than meets the eye.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’ll see. This is not an easy job. It can get to you sometimes.” Her voice is tinged with sadness.

  Mark is usually adept at sizing up women, but he finds Lisa to be a puzzle. She doesn’t fall prey to his charm, for one thing. Even more baffling is her dour outlook. Frankly, she has the personality of someone being led to the gallows. A real glum Gus.

  Roy makes his way back to them and asks beseechingly, “May I impose on the two of you?”

  Lisa’s smile is a thinly disguised grimace. “Of course. What do you need?”

  Roy exhales in relief. “Would you mind dancing a song or two?” He glances back at his sister, who watches them expectantly. “It would make Alma so happy.”

  “The two of us?” Lisa asks, gesturing between herself and Mark.

  “Please?” Roy asks, his eyes begging. “She’d love to dance herself, but obviously, that’s out of the question. Poor thing can barely move anymore.” He smiles at Mark. “If the two of you wouldn’t mind dancing just to humor her, I would be grateful. Afterward we’ll call it a night and then drop Mark off at home on the way back.”

  Lisa shakes her head. “No. I don’t think that’s—”

  “We’d be happy to dance,” Mark says, extending a hand. Lisa reluctantly places her hand in his, and he pulls her to him in one smooth move, then begins to sway to the rhythm of the music. Glancing back at the table, he spots Alma, her face lit up in a bright smile. He whispers into Lisa’s ear, “See, it’s fine. Just a dance to make an old lady happy. Not a big deal.” One song ends and another starts. He presses against her, moving to the strains of the music playing softly through the overhead speakers. A Barry Manilow song that he vaguely recognizes from a cassette tape favored by a former girlfriend.

  “You think that’s what this is? A dance to make an old lady happy?”

  Mark shrugs. “Sure. Look at that sweet face.” He points with his chin. “Alma’s overjoyed. She probably thinks she’s started something. That now we’ll fall in love and wind up getting married, having twin babies that of course we’ll name Roy and Alma, and that it all began here, on the dance floor at Duke’s Supper Club.” He’s willing to play along. Whatever it takes for him to work his way into becoming Roy’s main man.

  Lisa leans in closer. “You could not be more wrong. This is part of something else. Something that’s . . .” She stops to think a minute, as if searching for the right word. “Brewing.”

  Mark raises one eyebrow. “What, exactly?”

  She raises her chin defiantly. “I’m not quite sure, but the longer I’m in that house the more I feel like something terrible is going to happen. Something is wrong with that place.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Lisa shakes her head. “Nope, not kidding at all. Something’s definitely off. Alden Manor, it’s . . .” She blinks back what looks like the start of tears, then takes a deep breath and says, “At night, sometimes it feels like the walls are breathing and putting thoughts in my head. I get the most awful dreams too.”

  Mark looks back at the small café table, at Alma with her head in her hands, a dreamy smile on her face, and Roy, his hands folded as if in prayer, and all he can think is that Lisa either has the weirdest sense of humor ever or is batshit crazy. He’s willing to bet money on the latter. Finally, he says, “No way.”


  “You don’t believe me? You think I’m making it up?”

  As diplomatically as possible, he says, “I think it must be difficult working in an old house and interacting with two elderly people every single day.”

  “No,” she says emphatically. “There’s more to it than that. The first few months, I was fine. It’s just lately that things feel different.”

  He has a question of his own. “If you honestly believe something terrible is going to happen, why do you keep working for them? Why not just quit?”

  “I’m working on it,” she says quietly. “I’m leaving as soon as I can.” The hand that is draped around his shoulder goes to the gold cross hanging from her neck, as if reassuring herself it is still there. “Did you know that they don’t even go to church?” Her lips press together in disapproval.

  She sounds like a religious fanatic, making him wonder if she’s the type who anticipates wickedness around every corner. Or maybe she’s just crazy. It’s also possible that this is her idea of a joke. He whirls her around the dance floor and looks to the old people for approval. When he meets Alma’s eye, she sits up and blows Mark a kiss. In response, he winks, and she practically swoons. He totally has it. He, Mark Norman, is a ladies’ man, even if the lady in question is barely hanging on to life. Meanwhile, the girl in his arms is not quite as enthralled with him. Lisa moves like a fifth grader being forced to slow dance with the nerdiest boy in class.

  Well. If he is going to become a valued member of the Walgrave household, he needs to gain her trust. “Relax,” he whispers, tightening his hold on her waist. “Just let yourself go. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ve got you covered.”

  Chapter Five

  The next day after exiting the bus, Mark rounds the corner to find the side street devoid of traffic, the only sound the cawing of birds. Looking up, he counts eight of them—seven crows perched on a telephone line and another one on top of a nearby pole, wings flapping. He shakes his head. Such ugly, filthy birds, the kind that would pick at roadkill. Vermin in the sky. Their discordant squawking grates on his ears. “Shut up,” he mutters under his breath.

  When he reaches Alden Manor, Mark finds Lisa on her hands and knees crawling around the porch. She’s wearing jeans and a plain sleeveless blouse; her hair is pulled up into a grandmotherly bun. She doesn’t notice him until after he comes up the stairs and steps forward into the shade of the covered porch. “Can I help you?” he asks, a smile in his voice.

  “I don’t think so.” She scrambles to her feet as if he caught her doing something wrong. “I was looking for my necklace. I thought it might have fallen off when I was shaking out the rugs, but it’s not here.” She brushes off her knees.

  “Your gold cross?”

  “That’s the one.” She puts a hand up to her throat. “It doesn’t feel right not to have it on.”

  Mark nods. “That’s how I feel when I forget to wear a watch. I find myself looking at my wrist all day.”

  Lisa gazes up at him with her brown eyes and nods. There is something different about her today, he thinks. Less guarded, perhaps? She is an odd one, with her pale skin, big eyes, and serious countenance. She has the potential to be gorgeous, but it’s as if she is deliberately downplaying her looks. He’s used to the women who frequent bars, the kind who toss their Farrah Fawcett hair and flirtatiously lick their glossy lips. The bar women are nearly always giddy, dancing and laughing. Lisa, on the other hand, gives off an air of unhappiness.

  “After what I said last night, you must think I’m ridiculous,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. “Either that or you think I’m crazy. But I assure you, I am neither.”

  “No. I don’t think either of those things,” he says, although of course he does think she’s being completely ridiculous with her talk of the walls breathing and putting thoughts in her head. “We just got off on the wrong foot. Since we’re going to be working together and I’ll need you to help me figure things out, I’m thinking we should get along.” He sticks out a hand. “Friends?”

  “Sure, why not?” She shakes, her hand small in his. “We can pretend to be friends.” Tilting her head to one side, she adds, “But don’t get too attached to me. I won’t be here much longer.”

  “So you said.” He lets his smile fade and gestures to the door. “I should probably report for work. I don’t want to be late.”

  “No. They’re with Dr. Cross right now. When he comes, they always send me out of the room. We probably have a few minutes before we need to go inside.”

  “Their doctor makes house calls?”

  “Every week,” she says. “That’s what money gets you. When you’re wealthy, you don’t have to go into a nursing home. The nursing home comes to you.” While they’re waiting, she explains that besides meal preparation and housekeeping, one of her duties is to help Alma get bathed and dressed. “I also clip their nails, and last week Roy asked me to trim his ear hair.” She shudders. “He said it was driving him crazy.”

  Trimming ear hair is something that has to be done? “Oh God. They won’t expect me to do that, will they?”

  She crosses her arms. “Well, what did you expect? For ten dollars an hour you had to know it wasn’t all going to be funnel cakes and Ferris wheels.” A gust of wind sends some air in their direction, but it is too hot to provide any relief.

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think about it too much.”

  “Better start thinking about it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smirks.

  “I mean it. Think seriously about why they’re offering so much money. It’s not because you’re all that. It’s because of what they expect.”

  There is a defiance in her voice he hasn’t heard before. He doesn’t mind. A woman giving him the business is easier to take than one who is depressed. Lowering his voice, he says, “Tell me more about your experience working here.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  “Okay.” Lisa takes a deep breath. “After I first started the job, everything was fine. It was fun, even. Roy was driving then, all the time, and Alma—well, she wasn’t like she is now.”

  “How was she?”

  She speaks softly, like she’s letting Mark in on a secret. “More with it, for one thing. She and I used to have long conversations. I swear, both of them have gotten ten years older in just a few months.”

  Mark nods. He’s heard of this before: elderly people who have health issues and age as a result, seemingly overnight. Suddenly the things they did before to stay young—exercise, dye their hair, dress smartly—is too much trouble. It’s not so much that they look older; it’s that they can’t keep up with whatever they previously did. He had a great-aunt who had a stroke and went from being a golf-playing, peppy lady to an invalid crone. Just like that.

  “You believe me?” she asks.

  “Of course.”

  Relief washes over her face. “So, that’s one thing. They’ve gone downhill. And around the same time, I started to hear things at night. Whispering and noises, like the walls are breathing. It’s like it’s trying to tell me something. You know?”

  “Sure,” he says, but he’s really thinking that what she’s describing is not all that uncommon for an old house. Even his childhood home, a suburban trilevel, made odd noises at night, especially when it was windy. Anyone with an imagination could find themselves spooked under the circumstances.

  “And then one night, I went up to the second floor to look around.” Lisa leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “We’re not allowed up there, but I was curious.” She exhales audibly. “I should have never done it. I wish I hadn’t seen what I did.”

  In her voice, Mark hears the weight of someone who has taken on more than they can handle. “What did you see?” he asks.

  “Old photos and some other things. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll show you sometime. You have to see it to understand how creepy it is.” She continues. “After that, I star
ted having bad dreams. Terrible, disturbing nightmares. I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing. One of the worst parts is that the dreams begin with me waking up in my bedroom in this house, so I feel like it’s real.”

  Mark nods. He’s had those kinds of nightmares. The dreams themselves are terrible, but equally bad is waking up the second time and not being able to discern subconscious hallucination from reality. It can feel like you’re losing your mind. “This sounds really troubling. Have you thought about getting a new job?”

  “Of course. But I’m trapped for now.”

  “But you’re not. You can leave anytime you like.”

  She shakes her head, a look of misery crossing her face. “No, I can’t. I literally have nowhere else to go.”

  “Your family?”

  She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t send my worst enemy to live with my family,” she says, a bitter tinge to her voice.

  “That bad?”

  “Worse than you can imagine. Getting this job was a godsend. Dr. Cross knew my doctor and arranged for me to get the job. The timing couldn’t have been better.” She smiles ruefully, remembering. “I couldn’t believe my luck. When I arrived and saw that it was such a gorgeous old house, and that I’d get my own room and bathroom, I felt like I won the lottery. Roy and Alma were a little odd, but nice. They even had all new clothes custom-made for me. Not what I would have picked out, but they meant well.”

  “Like the dress you wore last night?”

  “Exactly. I refused to wear most of the clothes, saying I didn’t want them to get ruined, and Alma was fine with that. Like it was no big deal that they spent all this money on a whole wardrobe that I’d never wear. Then I wanted to get my hair cut, but they said I could only get it trimmed. No more than half an inch.”