Lure

by Deborah Kerbel

  I started walking. The floorboards creaked under my shoes with each step — my first reminder of just how old this place was. The second reminder came soon after. The smell. An overwhelming mix of musty and earthy scents hung in the air, which immediately brought back memories of my grandfather’s old greenhouse in Vancouver. The one with the broken windows, dirt-covered floor, the jungle of overgrown plants, and the basket of rusted, ancient gardening tools that he would never let us replace. Papa loved gardening and had made it his mission to teach me everything he knew about plants before he passed away. That was almost a year ago, now. But I still missed him just as much as if it had happened yesterday. Shaking the sad memories off, I peered around the library, half hoping and half dreading to catch sight of her.

  As I looked around, I was immediately struck by how much the inside of this place didn’t look like a library at all. It looked like an old house. An old lady’s house, to be specific. There was flower-patterned paper covering the walls, lace curtains lining the windows, plants perched on the tops of the bookshelves, and warm, rustic wooden furniture that gave it a cozy kind of feel. There was an old wooden clock in the entryway that had a fuzzy stuffed mouse running up the side. And on the opposite wall hung a series of ancient framed photos of Thornhill back from the times when Yonge Street looked like a dirt road and the most sophisticated mode of transportation seemed to be a horse and a carriage.

  Were cameras really invented before cars? Guess so …

  I walked in a bit farther and came to the reception area. The old lady behind the L-shaped desk had a puffy hairdo that rose several inches off the top of her head. She was curled like the letter C over a computer keyboard, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of bad work posture or one of those old-lady hunchback conditions that made her look that way. She was typing superfast and I could hear the ticking of her long nails with every stroke of the keys. I stood there waiting patiently for her to notice me.

  Click-click-click …

  “Excuse me,” I finally said after a long minute.

  She didn’t look up.

  Click-click-click …

  I stepped forward and dropped my backpack onto the desk with a heavy thud. Still nothing.

  Click-click-click …

  Either she had terrible hearing or I really was invisible!

  I cleared my throat. “Um … hello,” I tried again, much louder this time. It worked. The lady’s eyes rose off the screen and came to rest on my face. I took a step back, trying to contain my shock as best as I could. Her thick red lipstick was bleeding into the delicate wrinkles around her mouth, making her look like a geriatric vampire.

  “Oh, hello,” she said with a smile that revealed a too-large-for-her-face set of perfect white dentures. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, I’m looking for someone who works here. Her name is … ”

  “Max?”

  I looked up to see Caroline come striding into the entryway. Surprise was radiating off her face like a beam of sunlight.

  “Oh … hi. It’s, uh … Wednesday,” I said, unable to come up with anything better. Stupid, stupid, stupid …

  “Yeah, I know it’s Wednesday. But I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “Well, I um …”

  The sound of a fingernail clacking against the desktop interrupted my moment of brilliance. “Speak up, please, young man. Who was it you were looking for?”

  Caroline turned toward the old lady and patted her wrinkled hand, mercifully bringing the clacking to a stop. “It’s all right, Nana. I think he’s here to see me,” she said, yelling just a bit.

  Oh crap! This was her nana? How was that even possible? She looked like she had to be at least a hundred years old.

  I leaned in for a closer look — yeah, I guess I could sort of see it. The old lady’s eyes were the exact same sky-blue colour as Caroline’s. But that really seemed to be where any family resemblance ended. I forced out my most polite, grandmother-pleasing smile. “Thanks for your help, ma’am.”

  Her watery eyes scanned my face for a couple more seconds before dropping back down to the computer screen. “Crazy kids,” she muttered.

  Click-click-click …

  And just like that, I was invisible again. I sighed, suddenly wishing I hadn’t come this morning. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just leave and …

  A floor board creaked loudly to my left. I turned to see Caroline standing beside me, staring up into my face. Her gap-tooth smile was back. My stomach felt like it was being hit with a hammer.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Max,” she said. “I was hoping you’d come this morning.”

  “Yeah … I, well … me, too.” Idiot, idiot, idiot!

  “So, can I give you that tour now?”

  This time I just shut my mouth and nodded to avoid further embarrassment. Caroline stepped forward and motioned toward the room on the right.

  “Great. We can start with the parlour.”

  Like a moron, I just nodded again. Sweeping past, Caroline led me into a large square room lined with bookcases.

  “So, back when this was a house, this was the room where families would have received their guests and spent their social time. Playing cards, drinking tea, that kind of thing. And if they’d had a piano, it would have been here.”

  My eyes did a 360-sweep of the room. In the middle were a couple of small couches, some chairs, and a coffee table with local newspapers and magazines laid out in three straight lines. The inside of the red front door stood against the far wall flanked by candle holders on either side. More old-lady quaintness. It was quite possibly the most normal-looking room I’d ever seen in my life.

  “Okay … and this is where your friend’s dog went crazy, right? Because he saw a ghost?” It was the longest sentence I’d managed since I’d walked through the door and somehow, I was able to untie my tongue and get the words out without tripping all over them.

  Caroline turned to examine my face, like she was trying to figure out if I was serious about the ghost thing or not. Hoping to look convincing, I beat back the cynical smirk that was struggling to come out and betray me.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” she said after a moment. “It was here in this room. And the dog hasn’t stepped a paw into the parlour ever since. It must have seen some wickedly evil spirit.”

  Trying to force a serious look into my eyes, I nodded like I believed her. “And I think you were going to tell me some new stories about the ghost this time, remember?”

  “Yes, that’s right … I did say that, didn’t I?” She pointed to one of the windows. “Well, recently we’ve smelt a strong scent of cologne in the parlour right over in that part of the room … but like, first thing in the morning when there’s been nobody in the library. It’s very strange.”

  I took another look around the room, trying to see if I sensed anything unusual about the place. I took a deep breath through my nose, but I couldn’t smell anything except for that musty damp odour that was everywhere. And there was no sound except for the ticking of the clock in the entryway. Really, it was just a room full of books and DVDs … nothing more. But I didn’t want to disappoint Caroline, so I stayed quiet.

  “Okay, let’s move on,” Caroline said, stepping out of the parlour. Her hair bounced on her shoulders with every creaky step. I followed close behind, hoping to catch a hint of that peachy smell again.

  “So, speaking of dogs, how’s Peanut doing?” I asked, enjoying how steady and cool my voice was sounding. This wasn’t so hard, after all. For a minute there, I was starting to feel like the old me again.

  And then Caroline laughed and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “He’s at home today. Probably curled up in my bed right now, the little devil.”

  Her bed? The mental image of her sleeping in it with her blonde hair fa
nned out across the pillow brought the hammer pounding back into my stomach again. Damn! There went my chill. But, thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice because she kept walking. A few more paces and we stopped in front of a narrow stairwell just to the left of the reception desk. There was a bunch of different warning signs hanging above.

  Staff only beyond this point … Caution low clearance … Notice: Authorized Personnel Only.

  “Are you guys keeping government secrets up there, or what?” I said with a laugh, pointing at the collection of signs.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nana glance up from her typing. But the clacking of her nails never once slowed down. Was she writing her life story on that thing, or what?

  “This is the original stairwell to the second floor,” Caroline explained. “A few years ago, one of the librarians was unloading a trolley of books right here where we’re standing. She looked up to see a pair of high-buttoned boots and the bottom of a grey calico skirt on the landing. She tried to scream, but her voice was missing … like it had been grabbed from her throat.”

  I swallowed back a lump that was rising in my own throat as my brain reached for an explanation. “And so? What happened next?”

  “A co-worker passed by and asked her what she was staring at. And why her face was so pale and frightened. But when she tried to point out the boots and explain what she’d seen, they were gone. The stairwell was empty again … just like how it looks now.”

  I stared up again into the narrow passage. There was nothing there but a tower of stairs covered with worn, grey carpet.

  “And there’s more,” Caroline said. “If you’re interested, that is.”

  “That’s why I’m here, right?” I replied, hoping she was still buying the act … that I didn’t come back just because I wanted to see her again.

  “Okay, well there have been a lot of reports about people smelling smoke in the house. Like there’s something burning. But not an unpleasant kind of smoke … more like something from a pipe or a cigar. And the smell seems to be especially strong right here in the stairwell.”

  “Have you smelled it?”

  “No, but Nana has. And so have a few other librarians. I don’t know what it means, or how it’s related to the ghosts. Whenever it happens, it always causes a lot of alarm because they’re worried there could be a fire somewhere. But every time people go searching for the source of the smoke they can’t seem to find anything.”

  I leaned forward and took a deep breath. I was just expecting to inhale more of my grandfather’s greenhouse memories. But there it was — the unmistakeable fragrance of burning tobacco filling my nose. And it wasn’t an old, lingering odour … it was as fresh and sharp as if someone was smoking right there beside me. My heart began to beat a bit faster. I turned back to look at Caroline. Could she smell that, too? Did I even want to ask? What the hell did it mean? Was there a ghost here now? Suddenly I heard a whisper of a sound … like a long, deep breath blowing through the stairwell. A shiver crept over my skin, but I shook it off, forcing myself to remember how ridiculous this whole thing was. I didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “So, let’s have a look up there,” I said, pointing up the stairway. It’s not as if I actually expected to see the ghost sitting on the top step waiting for me, dragging on a cigarette. Caroline glanced around to see if anyone else was watching. Nana appeared to still be absorbed with her computer. We were safe. “Um, okay … quickly, though. It’s supposed to be just for library staff, but I’ll show you if we go fast.”

  With a nod, I took a step forward and conked my forehead against the overhang of the stairwell.

  Ow! Damn it!

  I recoiled backwards, as if I’d been punched. Caroline was instantly at my side, peering through my mop of brown hair to find the injury. Her hands fluttered nervously around my head like a pair of butterflies. The smell of ripe peaches filled my nose, overtaking any lingering scent of tobacco. The room shifted slightly to the left.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry, I should have warned you about the low overhang. I guess you’re, um, pretty tall.” Her eyes dropped down to the floor.

  Holy crap, was she blushing?

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” I replied, struggling to keep a respectable amount of cool in my voice while my head throbbed with pain.

  “I don’t think people got to be as big as you back in those days,” she continued after a moment. “You know … what with malnutrition and diseases and all those things. So doorways and ceilings were lower. And stairwell overhangs, too …” Suddenly, her fingers stopped fluttering and she lowered her hands back to her sides. “Okay, I saw it — it’s just a small, red mark, no blood or anything.” But I could tell that she was still worried. Her blue eyes searched my face for signs of trauma. They were practically glowing in the dim light of the stairwell. “So, are you all right?”

  I think I nodded.

  She sighed and her shoulders sank with relief.

  “Could you maybe just try to duck a bit so we won’t have to take you to the emergency room?”

  And then she smiled. The gap reappeared, taunting me like a glimpse of a secret passageway to another world. All I could do was nod stupidly.

  Just like the idiotic, girl-obsessed social leper I’d clearly become.

  7 - John

  In the summer of 1885, I was eleven and William was thirteen. My cousin was still coming to stay with us every summer and that heavy chip on his shoulder was still firmly in place. But, naive as I was back then, I wasn’t able to understand that doing harm to me was the only way William thought he’d be able to knock the chip loose.

  “Hello, John,” he’d said simply as I greeted him at the train station. Father had sent me in alone to fetch him while he waited in the stagecoach outside. “Are you really old enough to be here by yourself?”

  William’s voice was almost unrecognizable and the mere sound of it caused me to take a small step back. It had deepened in the past year. And there was a faint shadow of a beard hiding under the skin on his chin. For a split second, I was afraid of him. But, of course, I didn’t let on. I knew to do so would invite a level of mischief and taunting that I’d surely never before had to endure.

  “Father’s outside in the carriage,” was all I could manage to say in reply.

  The visit started out smoother than any previous year. I thought perhaps William had matured over the winter because he seemed to be on his best behaviour. Until, that is, one day in mid-July.

  It was my parent’s twentieth wedding anniversary. Mother surprised all of us by presenting Father with a bottle of French cologne for the occasion. Of course, Father complained bitterly about how ridiculous it was and how men shouldn’t act like women and put on airs, and how the smell of a good, honest, hard-working blacksmith was surely better than any foolish high-priced bottled water from France. But in the end, he agreed to put it on just as I knew he would. Mother almost always got her way with him (when the matter didn’t involve me, of course). I could smell the musky cologne lingering in the parlour air for a while after they’d left for lunch at the Yonge Street Hotel.

  Of course, William tried to convince me to put on some of the cologne myself before we left for our fishing trip over at the nearby Don River. “Don’t you know? Cologne helps keep the mosquitoes away.”

  But in the three years since William had started visiting, I’d finally learned not to fall into his traps. I wasn’t a gullible child anymore.

  Or so I liked to think.

  That was the first indication that William’s good behaviour had come to an end. The second came later that night when he first stole the pipe. I was sleeping at the time.

  “Look what I’ve got,” hissed a voice beside my head.

  I opened my eyes to the sight of William shaking me awake. I stared through the blackened room until my eyes adjusted and I co
uld see his face. I knew by the depth of the darkness that it must be the middle of the night … what did he want now?

  “What is it?” I mumbled, my mouth full of feathers.

  “Look … let’s have a smoke.”

  He thrust an object into my face. It took me a few seconds to recognize that it was my father’s pipe. The carved ivory bowl glowed like a ghost in the darkened room. White bone emerging from wet, black soil.

  “We can’t smoke that,” I gasped. “Father will whip us if he finds out we took his pipe.”

  “Come, he’ll never find out. We’ll do it away from the bedrooms. And I’ll put it back on the mantle as soon as we’re done.”

  Somehow, through the darkness, he must have sensed my fears. Like it was a smell seeping out of my pores.

  “Don’t worry, the pipe will have cooled completely by morning. There will be not a trace left of our transgression. I promise.”

  Transgression. That word had always possessed a strange power to make me feel guilty — the sound of it was like a priest breathing down my neck. I rolled over and pulled the quilt up over my ear.

  “Leave me alone, William,” I begged.

  For a brief moment, there was blissful silence and I truly thought he was going to go away and leave me be. My eyes closed with relief. But an instant later, William was yanking the quilt from my shoulders and spitting venom into my face. His voice was a cruelly pinched falsetto:

  “Little John, always so afraid. You should have your mother sew you a dress and a bonnet because you’d get on much better in this life as a girl.”

  My stomach twisted into a hard knot. When had William begun to sound just like Father? An owl hooted somewhere outside my window. Hoo-hoo-who will prevail? My eyelids drooped with exhaustion. Dear God, all I wanted was to roll over and go back to sleep. But my pride was at stake. Damned pride!