The Coffin Club vk-5

by Эллен Шрайбер

  “Completely. It was a half-dead manor house.”

  “A manor house?” I asked. It couldn’t have been the one Alexander and Jameson had occupied last time I was here.

  “Yes,” my aunt replied.

  “Well, there must be a lot in this town,” I hinted.

  “Not too many. And not one like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It had been abandoned for years. The back lawn was completely overgrown, and I think the floors needed to be rehabbed, but the new renter didn’t seem to mind.”

  “Is it the one on Lennox Hill Road?”

  “Yes. How would you know?”

  “Uh…I remember seeing pictures of it in the paper the last time I was here,” I lied.

  “It does seem like a house you would love to live in. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was haunted.”

  If someone had rented the manor house, then where were Alexander and Jameson staying? And how would I ever find them?

  “Do you still have the key? Maybe they can give me a tour.”

  “No, the man who is renting it has the key.”

  “What does he look like?”

  My aunt appeared puzzled.

  “I was just wondering what kind of a man would rent a manor house. Perhaps a prince or a big-time executive,” I prodded.

  “This man wasn’t a prince but more of a gentleman. He did look creepy—in the ghoulish sense of the word. I guess that’s why he liked the house.”

  “Jameson!” I blurted out at the same time Aunt Libby tapped her horn and hit the brakes.

  A sparrow quickly flew off in front of us.

  “I brake for birds,” she said with a smile.

  I wondered why Jameson would rent the manor house. Did they plan on staying indefinitely? My heart sank. Then I remembered Alexander’s reassuring words: “I will return soon.” But what was keeping my boyfriend here?

  We turned onto Aunt Libby’s tree-lined urban street and she confidently, or foolishly, squeezed her Beetle into an anorexically small space between a truck and an orange scooter. Aunt Libby attached a lock to her steering wheel. She opened the entrance door to the 1940s row house apartment building, unlocked her mailbox, followed by her apartment door. Aunt Libby had as many keys as Dullsville High’s janitor.

  The smell of lavender incense bled through the cracks of Aunt Libby’s apartment door before we entered. Once inside, a waft of floral scents hit me as if I’d just stepped into a flower conservatory.

  Though Aunt Libby’s attire had changed, her apartment decor hadn’t. Besides a few stacks of real estate manuals sitting on her coffee table, the sixties and seventies still ruled the one-bedroom apartment. Beaded curtains hung from the frame of her bedroom door and half-melted candles lined every inch of available space, from the mantel to the floor.

  As I shed my rain-soaked clothes for dry ones in Aunt Libby’s dinky bathroom, I imagined what my life would be like on my own if I’d never met Alexander. Who would I grow up to become? Dullsville was way too dull for a girl like me. I’d probably end up in Hipsterville in an apartment similar to my aunt’s, only it would have dripping wax candelabras, black lace curtains, and a gargoyle headboard on my bed.

  But what would it mean if I couldn’t share it with Alexander? Living on my own and working perhaps as a bartender at the Coffin Club night after night. I felt a pang of loneliness for my aunt—she had eaten, slept, lived by herself for as many years as I could remember. Instead of being dragged down by her independent lifestyle, Aunt Libby seemed to thrive on it. She serial dated and had a wide circle of friends from her theater community. Aunt Libby was gorgeous. Someone as hip and cool as she could get any man she wanted.

  I reapplied my chocolate eye shadow and liner and towel dried my damp hair. I smelled teriyaki sauce and found Aunt Libby—the one I’d always known, wearing embroidered jeans and jeweled flip-flops, a halter top underneath a linen jacket—stir-frying in her wok.

  I sighed, relieved that my aunt had returned to her inner Deadhead.

  Aunt Libby served our healthy entrees. We sat down at her coffee table, on oversized mismatched fluffy pillows, surrounded by candles, incense, and a spicy Asian meal.

  “I think I’m getting married!” she suddenly announced. “I’ve been dying to tell you.”

  “You are?” I asked, surprised. “Congrats! Dad didn’t mention…”

  “Well, okay, it’s not official or anything. In fact, we haven’t officially gone out yet. I just met him last night.”

  Aunt Libby’s face flushed bright red. She grabbed a brown hobo purse that was sitting on her paisley futon and pulled out a rainbow-colored beaded wallet. She opened it and presented me with a Renegades paper napkin. It had a man’s name and phone number written on it. “He has beautiful handwriting, doesn’t he?”

  “Devon. That’s a cool name.”

  “I can’t wait to tell you all about him.”

  “Tell me all!”

  “He has pool-colored eyes and salt-and-pepper hair.”

  “He sounds dreamy.”

  “I noticed him in the audience when I was onstage. I almost couldn’t see him because he was just outside the glare of the spotlight. He has the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Our eyes locked and I forgot my lines. I stood there, frozen, for what seemed like hours. He had this hypnotic stare.”

  I laughed. Aunt Libby was like a sixteen-year-old girl who had fallen in love.

  “When the show was over, he was waiting for me. We had this intense connection I’ve never felt before.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. That’s how I feel about Alexander. That’s why I had to come here….”

  “Come here?” she asked.

  “Uh…yes, for girl time.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m bursting at the seams to talk about him, but there’s not much I know—besides how handsome he is!”

  “I’m sure I’ll be calling him Uncle Devon within a matter of days. Can I wear black to your wedding?”

  “I wouldn’t want it any other way. We have a date in the next few days and you have to come.”

  “You are going out on your first date with him and you’re going to show up with me? Your vampire-obsessed niece? Even I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You have to come. I can’t wait for you to see him…and I can’t leave you here alone.”

  “Of course you can. But we can talk about it tomorrow.”

  We had just placed the dishes in the sink when Aunt Libby noticed the time.

  “I have a drumming class tonight. I was hoping you’d join me.”

  “Well…I…”

  “I don’t have to go.”

  “No, I don’t want you to miss it on account of me.”

  “It’s a master class tonight. Otherwise I wouldn’t think about going.”

  “Please go. I’ll be fine.” I wouldn’t be able to run across town and try to make contact with Alexander if I were stuck in a drumming class all night.

  “Think about it while I get ready.”

  While Aunt Libby prepared for class, I stretched my legs out on her futon and turned on the nineteen-inch TV with a leaning cactus on it. Her TV received only local channels and the color faded in and out at will.

  “How do you live without cable?” I asked, frustrated.

  I switched on the local news. Normally I would have turned the set off quickly and kept myself busy text-messaging Becky about my arrival. But something caught my eye.

  “Hi, I’m Anne Ramirez, reporting to you live. I’m standing with Fred Sears, a farm owner who discovered a crop circle in his wheat field. This is the second one reported in this county in less than a month, this one being a little more intricate than the last.”

  The camera panned to the wheat field, where stalks had been crushed against the ground in the shape of a fifty-foot circle, with several smaller circles in the center.

  The petite woman stood next to the black-haired farmer, who was thr
ee times her size. “When did you notice this?” she asked.

  “When I woke up. It just ‘cropped up,’” he joked.

  I rolled my eyes as I watched two preteens running around it.

  “I saw bats hovering over the area last night,” said one boy, almost breathless, to the reporter.

  “Those were crows, stupid,” the other admonished. “Flying away from the alien spacecraft that landed here.”

  “They were bats!” the boy insisted.

  “Anything interesting?” my aunt called from her room.

  “Just a crop circle with hovering bats.”

  “The girls at the agency were talking about that at lunch. They are convinced it’s all for publicity.”

  The video switched to an aerial shot from WBEZ’s helicopter. The circle was impressive.

  Then the camera was back on the reporter.

  “Spacecraft or just spaced out? You decide. Back to you, Jay.”

  “That’s so bogus…,” I called to my aunt. “I saw a report on TV once where kids confessed to creating them. They demonstrated to the reporter how in the middle of the night they used a stake, a rope, and wooden boards to press down the stalks and form a giant circle.”

  My aunt came back into the living room dressed in an off-the-shoulder cotton top and pea green yoga pants. “I believe we aren’t the only ones in the solar system. They could be aliens. No one has disproved their existence.”

  “Are you kidding? You really believe in aliens?”

  “Do you really believe in vampires?”

  She had a point. “Yes, but they are real,” I blurted out without thinking. “Uh…I mean, no one has disproved their existence.”

  “I’m just saying,” Aunt Libby argued as she added some final touches to her hair, “it could be the markings of an alien aircraft—or a signal for other aliens. Aren’t crop circles meant to be viewed from the air?”

  “The boy on the news swore he saw bats last night. Maybe it could be vampires signaling other vampires,” I suggested.

  “Hmmm. I like your theory better. Aliens are kind of odd-looking and have green heads. Vampires are sexier. I’d prefer to see them invade our town.”

  I gave my thought pause as the anchor turned the focus to weather. “Our five-day forecast calls for rain and fog.”

  Curiosity getting the best of me, I couldn’t shake the farm boy’s claim. After all, who better to go undetected in the night than vampires? They could easily see the circles as they fly in bat form over the horizon. There was no way to confirm my theory by sitting in my aunt’s apartment, and it wasn’t like me to not poke around for some clues.

  “Do you mind if I check my e-mail?” I asked.

  “Sure. The computer is already on.”

  I searched the Internet on my aunt’s iMac for vampires and crop circles. I scrolled past various movie and book sites until I came to a small website that specialized in paranormal sightings in North America. All the entries detailed unearthly bright lights, alien abductions, and hoaxes. Just as I began to click out of one such site, I spotted something of interest. Instead of green-headed monsters, one blogger claimed that the night before he spotted a crop circle, he’d seen a swarm of hovering bats.

  I thought I’d stumbled onto something big. The entry had to be posted by a Harvard scholar, a scientist, or a Nobel Peace Prize winner. Instead it was signed Bob from Utah.

  Bob could have been a crackpot like any other, a bored kid in study hall posting erroneous entries on websites, or, like me, a vampire-obsessed mortal with an overactive imagination. But I took his single entry as a sign.

  There was one way to investigate my theory further. I had an advantage that Bob in Utah didn’t—I was dating a vampire.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” my aunt asked as she picked up an African drum lying next to the fireplace.

  “I’m beat—no pun intended,” I teased, shutting down the computer. “Do you mind if I just crash?”

  Even if I wasn’t preoccupied about reuniting with Alexander, the thought of amateur drummers learning how to bang on instruments for two hours was enough to make me mental.

  “There’s plenty of tofu patties in the fridge and soy pudding in the cabinet. I’ll call you on your cell at break to check in.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Libby,” I said, giving my dad’s sister a hug. “I really appreciate your letting me visit you again.”

  “Are you kidding? I love having a roommate. Just bolt the door behind me and don’t buzz anyone in. And please, don’t get abducted by aliens. Your father would kill me.”

  3

  The Manor House

  Once again I found myself waiting at a bus stop. This time I hung outside Aunt Libby’s apartment in the drizzling rain anticipating the arrival of the number seven. I paced back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for it to turn down my aunt’s street.

  I had to admit I wasn’t overly excited to be boarding another bus, having just ridden one for several hours, but it beat borrowing Aunt Libby’s bike and cycling across town in the rain. It was imperative that I reach the manor house before sunset, otherwise Alexander might be out for the evening and my surprise reunion would be delayed.

  Finally I saw a bus lumbering around the corner and almost cheered when I saw it displayed a yellow seven digitally. I shoved my money in the change receptacle and quickly grabbed the cold aluminum pole. Though the bus was half empty and many seats were vacant, I chose to stand for the duration of the ride. Having missed the Lennox Hill stop the last time, I refused to have anyone or anything blocking my view and further delay reaching Alexander. My heart beat faster with every stop and acceleration. I thought I’d caught a break since there weren’t that many passengers on the bus, but twice as many were waiting to board the number seven at the next stop. After what felt like the span of summer break itself, I spotted Lennox Hill Road. I remembered that to notify the driver of my desire to disembark, I needed to pull on the white wire that ran above the windows. I repeatedly tugged on the cord like I was signaling an SOS.

  “I heard you!” the driver shouted back.

  The rain had ceased. I hurried up Lennox Hill Road, scurrying through puddles and jumping over slimy but cool earthworms.

  Rain-soaked estates lined the street. The pristine grass lawns were drenched and several branches and leaves were scattered in the asphalt driveways.

  Then, at the end of the cul-de-sac, plain as a stormy day, sat the monstrous manor house. The gruesome estate appeared to be even more overgrown and unkempt than the last time I’d visited it.

  Steam seeped into the air, creating a spooky fog around the palatial home. Moss and wild vines overtook the house like a giant spiderweb. Stone gargoyles sitting upon the jagged wrought-iron gates seemed to smile at me as I approached. Sticking in the half-dead, weed-filled lawn was a Happy Homes sign. I hurried past the broken birdbath and up the cracked rock path. My heart pounded as I reached the familiar arched wooden front door.

  The dragon-shaped knocker that had fallen into my hand upon my first visit had not been replaced. Perhaps it was still hidden in the untamed bushes where I’d tossed it.

  I knocked on the door.

  I waited. And waited.

  Jameson didn’t respond. I pounded my hand against the door again. Still no response. Not even a torn curtain rustled.

  I turned the rusty doorknob and pushed against the door, but it was bolted shut.

  I raced through the soggy grass, past the servants’ door to the back of the house. I darted up the few cracked cement stairs and eyed the back wooden arched door. There wasn’t a bell to ring or a knocker to knock. I pounded my hand on the door. When no one answered, I looked around for another door.

  I was becoming concerned that it wasn’t Alexander and Jameson who had rented the place after all. There were no signs of my boyfriend or his butler’s presence. I peeked in a basement window and it appeared to be in the same vacant state.

  I spotte
d the tree I had once climbed to see into Alexander’s room. I might have been able to confirm once again that he was inside, but climbing the rain-soaked tree was not a viable option.

  I peered around the backyard to see if I saw Jameson’s Mercedes. The cracked asphalt drive was vacant of cars. I saw a concrete bench and a wrought-iron arched trellis overrun with creeping vines. A circular rock bed where a pond must have once been was now filled with rainwater. I spotted a decaying one-car detached garage that appeared as though it might collapse with a gentle nudge. I headed straight for it. My heart raced as I darted toward the garage. I noticed a lock on the door. It was brand-new.

  Though I was an expert at sneak-ins, I was lousy at picking locks. I’d need the help of Billy Boy’s nerd-mate gadget whiz, Henry, but he was obviously miles away. The dilapidated garage was sturdier than it looked. With all my strength, I couldn’t move any of the paint-chipped wooden boards.

  I examined the outside of the garage. There wasn’t a window on any side. I did notice a skinny crack between two boards about hip height from the ground on one side. Light from the setting sun illuminated the skinny space. With my best vision, I could barely make out a white sheet covering what must have been an old bike or lawn mower. And next to it, something sparkling in the light. On further inspection I noticed a Mercedes hood ornament.

  I raced back to the manor house. I placed a discarded box underneath the kitchen window and stepped on it. I teetered on tiptoe, doing my best to see inside. The window was dusty, so it was almost impossible to see indoors. I tapped the glass pane relentlessly and peered through a hole the size of a quarter.

  Suddenly a bulging eyeball gazed back at me.

  Startled, I screamed and fell off the box, back onto my bottom in the wet grass.

  I heard the sound of locks being unlocked and the door being opened.

  I froze. What if I’d been wrong when I’d spotted a Mercedes ornament that I was so certain had belonged to Jameson? I was so excited to see it, I hadn’t even considered my discovery. The stored car could have been any make or model, or white for all I knew. At any moment I would be caught trespassing, thrown in Hipsterville’s juvie jail, or forced to return to Dullsville.