by Carol Weekes
“I’m sure there’ll be more of you.” She regarded the old mirror. It was four feet high and five feet across, expanding over most of the wall. It had a heavy, ornate gold painted frame common to turn-of-the century fare. It could use some cleaning, but she liked it enough. She saw a scattering of fingerprints on its glass. She used the palm of her hand to smudge them away, then noticed that some of the fingerprints seemed to be in the glass itself…as if someone had pressed from the other side.
“Strange,” she muttered. Must have been a manufacturing defect from all those years ago. She’d have to point it out to Robbie. Maybe they wouldn’t keep the mirror, heritage or not. “We can probably get a good price for you,” she murmured. She left the bathroom, and never saw the shadow that stepped across the glass the instant she left, its fingers touching from the other side.
* * *
She became engrossed in tidying Cole’s and Chris’s rooms and forgot about the baby’s cry and melodic chimes. It must have been sound traveling from a nearby house, the effects probably more immediate because of the direction of the wind. Robbie came upstairs and popped his head around the corner.
“Up for a tea and a sandwich?” he asked.
She tossed a stray hair from her eyes. “Sounds good. You making it?”
“I can do that, m’lady,” he bowed. “Cory took his bike up to the corner store to get a treat. Poor kid doesn’t know what to do with himself.”
She placed some items on Chris’s dresser, then walked towards Robbie. “I know.” They walked towards the stairwell together, then descended to the kitchen.
“I know it’s not quite ‘home’ yet, but by the end of today we’ll have the basics set up in each room. By next week, I’ll have curtains up and will have painted at least two or three rooms.” She set the teakettle on to boil. “It’s going to be cozy. Funny…I went into the spare bedroom, just to take a look and decide how I might want to fix it up for the boys—I let some flies out through the bathroom window and noticed fingerprints all over the big mirror. I went to rub them away, then saw that some prints are actually on the other side of the glass. Isn’t that odd? Someone must have touched the glass just prior to it being coated all those years ago.”
Robbie, who had been casually laying out slices of bread along the counter, stopped in his movements. “Inside the glass?”
“Yeah. I rubbed and rubbed, but they’re actually on the other side of the glass.” She saw the look of horror on his face and stopped. “What’s wrong? You look as if I’d said I saw a hand waving at me from the other side.”
He shivered. “I don’t think I want the boys using that room as a study. I don’t like that damned room. It just doesn’t have a good feel. I hate that mirror.”
Tanya laughed now. “Oh, come on, Rob. It’s the only room in the house that’s still completely empty. You were just shaken up because we couldn’t find Cory yesterday. He crawled out from under a bed or something where he’d fallen asleep.”
“We don’t know where he went,” Robbie cut her off.
Tanya sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with the room, hon. It’s this big empty cavern, but once it’s painted, with nice blinds and furniture and homey things, it’ll get a lived in, good feel to it again. I can make that bathroom really cute, too. I’m just not convinced I want to keep the antique mirror. It’s too big and gaudy and I’d actually like to modernize the area.”
“I’m thinking of taking it off too,” Robbie said. “Maybe we should just keep the room as a guest bedroom, for when our parents or friends come to stay with us. The kids can each have a desk in their own room, or for that matter, up in the attic, away from the rest of the house.”
“I suppose,” she said. “Hurry with those sandwiches. I’m hungry!” She laughed at him again. “We do almost have more house than we need, but better than being cramped. Especially when grandchildren finally come along.”
They ate their sandwiches.
“I suppose part of the attic would be a better study area for all of them,” she agreed. “We could turn it into a whole recreation area in that one spot, with a loveseat and a games table and such. Funny, but while I was cleaning Cory’s bedroom, I swore I heard a baby cry for a few seconds. That, and what sounded like a music box or chimes.”
Robbie coughed hard, almost choking on his sandwich. His face turned red and his eyes watered as he fought to catch his breath. Tanya, half concerned, half amused, rubbed his back.
“Are you going to be okay? What did I say? I said I thought I heard a baby, not that I wanted another one.”
He shook his head and took a long moment to regain himself. He stared at her.
“What?” she implored. “You’re looking at me like I’ve said something insane. I figured it was just the sound of a neighbor’s baby carrying along the breeze. The room does look like it was for an infant, though…that pale pink paint.”
“They lost their baby,” Robbie said, his voice flat. “Hawkins mentioned it to me on the phone this morning. I’d called him with a few questions about the place.” He decided to fib. “I’d asked him if the former owners had had kids and if they knew of any kids Cory’s age who might live along the street. He said they’d had a little girl, and they’d lost her. Crib death. She was only a few months old.”
“Jesus,” Tanya said. She placed her half-eaten sandwich down on her plate. “That’s terrible. How sad. Was that the baby’s room?”
Robbie nodded. “Yes. We’ll get it painted and fixed up for Cory. It’s sad, but it’s something in the past. We can’t let a sad memory affect our future here.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Time for happiness in this house again.”
“I agree,” Robbie said. He clinked the edge of her tea mug with his. “Cheers to that!” They laughed again, but it felt strained.
Chapter 12
Cory pedaled. A high, white cumulus cloud banked to the southeast, promising another banger by early evening. A couple of little kids about three years old stood on the sidewalk and watched him as he rode past, one with a finger thrust into his nostril, his booger-picking stance stilled as he observed Cory with curiosity. Cory dismissed them: they were way too young to even think about hanging out with.
He reached the corner store, a small wooden structure that reminded him of a local fishing shack his father used to bring him to back at their old town, and leaned his bike against the side wall. A few adults lingered about, one in front of the magazine rack, another choosing lottery tickets, another trying to make a decision over various jars of jam. A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter, her hair dyed a florid red. She glanced at him. “Hi, son.”
“Hi,” Cory said. “Do you have comic books?”
“Over there, by the magazines. Lower shelf.”
Cory perused the contents for a minute. He decided upon a new Spiderman comic. He walked back to the counter where a bunch of loose nickel, dime, and quarter candies waited in open cardboard boxes.
“You want candy?” the lady asked him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. She handed him a small brown paper bag. He spent another minute deciding over the selection. The bell over the door jingled. Cory saw a girl of about ten or eleven years old walk into the store. She was pretty, with shoulder-length dark hair and freckles over her nose. She walked up to the red-haired woman and asked for a paper bag.
“You look like you’re out of breath, Gina,” the woman told her.
“I ran here,” the girl said.
“Why? We’re open all day, honey.”
The girl giggled. “Nothing better to do.” She looked at Cory who flushed at her attention and looked away. He saw the lady smile.
“You new in town, son?” the lady asked.
Cory felt his face heat up more. “Yes, ma’am. We just moved in yesterday morning.”
“Ah, the big house at the end of the road,” the lady said and her smile kind of faded. Suddenly, it seemed as if he’d caught both of their focus.
�
��Yes, ma’am,” Cory repeated. His parents had insisted he refer to adults as ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir’; not that his brothers did it anymore, much to their father’s angst.
“That’s the—” the girl started, but the lady gave her a sharp look and shook her head. The girl shut up.
“What?” Cory asked.
“She wanted to say that’s the house that took a long time to sell,” the lady added quickly. She gave Gina a look of consternation. “Big place. Not everyone wants a house as big as that, but obviously your family did. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
The answer seemed logical enough to Cory. “I have two older brothers, ma’am.”
“You can call me Mrs. Rideout,” the lady told him. “You can even call me Anna, if your parents allow you to refer to adults by their first name. I’m easy, son. You do whatever’s comfortable for you. Gina lives just up the road too. I’d say you’re both about the same age and likely will be in the same class this autumn.”
“Maybe,” Cory said. Gina studied him for another minute, clearly not shy like he was, then began selecting her candy.
“I’m ten,” she said with authority, as if being of an age that commanded two numerals instead of a single digit somehow provided her with the right to flaunt more audaciousness.
“I’ll be ten in August,” Cory said softly.
“Cool,” Gina said. “You like these little licorice balls? They change colors.”
“I took some of them,” Cory said.
“Good taste,” Gina told him. They both laughed. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.
“What are you doing after you buy your stuff?” she asked.
Cory felt his face go warm again. “I dunno. Ride home, I guess.”
“You want to come over to my place? We have a swing set in the back yard.”
“Sure. I’d have to let my parents know where I am.”
They paid for their candy and Cory followed her outside.
“You have a bike?” he asked her.
“At home,” she said.
“I’ll just push mine and walk with you.” He strode alongside her, not sure of what to say next.
“That house you live in has been for sale a lot,” Gina said. “The last people were only there for a year. My parents talk about it all the time. Everyone around here does. Something bad always happens to each family that moves in. Anna didn’t want me to say anything.”
“Then why are you saying it?” he asked. “What do you mean something always happens? What’s happened?”
Tina bit into a chocolate bar. “The last people lost their baby. It died in its bed. Before them, the father fell from the loft in the barn and broke his back and neck. He died a few days later. I don’t remember stuff before that, but I heard that the house has had lots of families. Fires, accidents…someone killed themselves there. People got murdered.”
“That’s gross,” Cory said. He gripped the bars of his bike, feeling unease push into him. He thought of Jeffrey and made a note to ask the man about this stuff. Given Jeffrey lived so close by, he’d know about these things.
“Every family who’s bought that house always ends up selling it soon after,” Gina continued. “People around here take bets how long they’ll last. Some say six months. Some say less. My mother says that’s wrong; it’s like playing with bad luck or something.”
Cory wasn’t sure what to say. “My parents love it.”
“I’ve never been inside it,” Gina said. “I’m almost too scared to visit it.”
“So, you’ll never come over to play then?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I’m curious about it, though.”
“My father’s going to clean up the barn and turn the loft into a clubhouse for me. It’ll be cool. I can’t help it that some man fell. You have to be careful climbing ladders.”
Gina kept walking. “Yeah, or hang onto them when someone pushes you.”
“Who?”
She stared at him. “Do you believe in ghosts? Dead things that maybe aren’t completely dead?”
They both stopped walking.
“How can they be dead if they aren’t completely dead?” Cory wanted to know.
“They don’t go away to wherever they’re supposed to go,” Gina continued. “They hang around. Yours isn’t the only house in town that’s called haunted. There are a few others too. I don’t understand how that can be. I wonder what they do?”
“Who?”
“Ghosts. I don’t know what they’re supposed to look like.”
“I don’t know either,” Cory said. He’d have to ask Jeffrey about that too. He couldn’t mention such a thing to his parents, especially with his father so uptight about that room.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he told her.
Gina stopped in front of a small farmhouse, its front yard bordered in a dark brown wooden fence. “This is where I live. It’s old, but it isn’t haunted.”
Cory sighed and glanced down the road at his house.
“I’ll come over,” Gina promised him, “but I don’t know if my parents will want me to. I can say that you live on another street.”
“What happens if they find out where I really live?”
“I’ll say that I got mixed up with your address,” Tina decided, “but that we’d become such good friends, I wanted to visit you, and that your house is really okay.”
“I think it’s okay,” Cory said. “You don’t think the house is going to eat you up, do you?”
Gina laughed at this. “No, silly!”
* * *
Gina had him wait on the sidewalk. “I’ll tell them that I’m going with you to play at the park. I’ll just say you’re a new boy at school. It’s not a real lie because you will be new this autumn, right?”
Cory shrugged. “I guess so.” He waited, his thoughts taken with her words while Gina went inside. He stared at his house in the distance, high and square and dark in the sun, its stone walls looking mossy from here. Nearby, the old red barn. Fell from the loft. Broke his back. Dead.
“People slip,” he whispered. Gina reappeared, followed by her mother, a thin, blonde-haired woman with a tired, but gentle, face.
“This is Cory,” Gina said.
“Hello Cory,” Gina’s mother said. “I’m Mrs. Dewar. When did you move to town?”
Cory hesitated. Gina widened her eyes at him.
“Uh, just a little while ago,” Cory said.
“Where do you live?” Mrs. Dewar asked.
“Over there, behind those houses,” Cory nodded down the road. “Not too far.”
“That big stone house up the road that just sold?”
Cory’s mouth fell open. He didn’t want to lose Gina as a friend, but he felt afraid to lie. He shifted his feet. “Yes, ma’am.” Gina’s face curled in irritation at him.
Mrs. Dewar’s expression changed. It looked part irritated, part nervous. She looked at the house, then back at him. “You’re welcome to play here, Cory, but I don’t want Gina going to that house. It has nothing to do with you son. I just don’t like the house. Mind my words, Gina.” Mrs. Dewar turned and went back inside, leaving Gina on the porch. Gina strode towards him.
“What’d you tell her that for?”
“What did you want me to do? Lie? She’d really not like me then and never let you play with me.”
“I want to see the inside of your house,” Gina insisted. “Now I’m really curious…”
“It’s just a house.”
“I’m going to have to sneak over,” Gina continued. “Maybe I’ll try to stop by tomorrow. I’ll just tell my Ma that I’m going over to the library. There’s a reading group there in mornings.”
“You’d lie?” he asked.
“I want to see that house,” she said. “I’m a bit scared, but you’ll be there. And your parents, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It should be okay then. I’ll come over tomorrow morning.”
“Okay. I’ll see
you then.”
He got on his bike and rode away, feeling excitement at having made a friend, but unease over her stories. Before he left the vicinity of her house, he looked over his shoulder and saw Gina’s mother standing behind a set of sheer curtains, watching him go.
Chapter 13
Cory rode his bike over to the barn. It was empty, his father back inside the house. He glimpsed at the old wooden ladder leading up to the barn’s loft. Its rails were thick, but uneven. A person would have to grip the sides and hang on as they rose up to the loft that sat at least eight feet above the barn floor. Miss one rung and it would be easy to slip, your hands coming loose in a moment of panic.
He set his bike against the wall and approached the ladder. He reached out with one hand to touch it. The wood felt warm, dry, and splintery in spots. Cory gave the ladder a shake. It didn’t budge; it was anchored to the barn floor, and thick bolts secured it to the edge of the loft. He saw chunks of hay spilling over the loft and sunlight trailing through a dusty window. Cory pushed himself onto the first rung. He didn’t think his parents would care if he explored here. The rung felt solid; he jumped a little, still feeling safe. It held firm. He relaxed and brought his opposite foot up to the second rung, then the third. Now four feet up from the barn floor, his stomach turned at the prospect of falling. Distance winked at him, the floor cool and dark, promising that, should he plummet, he’d be guaranteed a good bruising, if not a sprain or broken bone. Six more rungs waited. He took another step up and wondered where on this ladder the man had slipped. Cory stared at the floor, looking for any signs of old dried blood.
Finally, he reached the edge of the loft and peeked over, his mouth open with anticipation, wondering what he might find up here: the face of the dead man waiting for him, grinning his dead skull grin, asking him if he, Cory, might like a game of checkers? He thought of Jeffrey again and wondered if the man could somehow sneak into his parents’ house?