House of the Golden Butterfly

by B. Groves

  Pushing aside the thoughts of her odd dream the night before, Claire exited the room and made her way down to the door. She found another guest room, again, tastefully, but sparsely decorated.

  She turned around to head to the other side of the hallway. She was tempted to go out on the balcony and breathe in the fresh morning air, but that could wait. She had plenty of time.

  Not only that, this new house and this new life was bringing the waters of inspiration back to what she thought was a dried up well.

  An idea for a different, and brand new series was forming in her head. She punched notes on her phone so she wouldn’t lose the ideas, and kept going.

  The last guest room was at the edge of the staircase. Claire realized this room was decorated in a more masculine design with neutral walls, deep cherry colored dresser, and nightstands.

  Claire’s eyes scanned the room. Her gaze settled on the lamps sitting on the nightstands.

  The shaft of the lamp was carved in wood as a baseball bat, with a little wooden baseball sitting at the base.

  She looked around more and set her gaze on borders that divided the neutral beige of the wall from the wood paneling beneath it.

  The borders were decorated with sports symbols like baseballs, footballs, basketballs, and hockey sticks.

  This must have been David’s room, Claire thought.

  She realized that the bed was smaller than the other rooms she explored. It was only a twin size compared to the queen size in her room and the king size in Rose’s room.

  Claire then set her gaze to the left and found something that surprised her.

  Against the far wall near the dresser was a crib.

  A crib? Was this also David’s crib? It had to be because when Claire’s parents were killed, David was six months old.

  Claire hesitantly walked over the crib to look inside it. Her heart rate jumped, and her breathing became faster. She didn’t know why she expected to find anything in there.

  In haunted houses, weren’t there creepy dolls in cribs that talked? The ones that turned their heads 360 degrees and then their eyes would turn red because they were possessed by a demon?

  Claire laughed to herself, but it was a nervous laughter.

  Did she want to approach this crib and see if anything was in it? Anything left over from her brother, perhaps?

  Claire scoffed at her cowardly way of thinking. She made her feet move, marched over to the crib and looked down.

  With one eye closed, that is.

  A small blue blanket stared back at her.

  Holding her breath, she lifted the blanket and only found a baby sheet underneath.

  Claire went into a fit of laughter over her fear that she thought she would actually find a creepy doll and it would come to life and stab her in the neck… or something.

  “Come on, Santa was here,” the little girl said mischievously.

  The little boy with the big blue eyes smiled but didn’t understand. He jumped up and down in the crib in excitement.

  “Shh… you’re going to wake them up!” The little girl said putting a finger to her lips.

  The little girl tiptoed back into the hallway to make sure everyone was still asleep. The soft night lights of the hallway cast menacing shadows before her, but this time she didn’t care about those shadows.

  Santa had come, and he was good to them.

  “Everyone’s asleep. Let’s go,” she said.

  The little girl pushed a stepping stool over to the crib. She reached in coaxing the little boy to grab onto her.

  With all her strength she lifted him out of the crib but almost fell back onto the floor.

  “Boy, you’re fat,” she muttered.

  She kept her balance and set him onto the floor.

  “Cl—”

  “Shush,” the little girl said. “If they catch us, they’ll be mad.”

  The little girl grabbed the boy’s hand, and he followed her lead as they walked into the hallway.

  The little girl turned and grinned. “Let’s go see our presents.”

  Claire stepped back when the vision flashed through her mind. She turned away from the crib and hoped to conjure more memories, but nothing came after that.

  She looked back down into the crib. Another vision of David sad and broken came to her.

  She gasped and dropped the blanket back into the crib, and quickly exited the room, slamming the door behind her.

  What was going on with her? Was it a dream? Or was he real?

  Her hand grasped the doorknob for the longest time and she only let go when she realized her hand was going numb.

  She pried her fingers from the knob and walked further down the hallway, in a trance-like state.

  She needed to find out soon, but first, she needed to get settled and then sniff around.

  Another idea came to her. She might ask about her brother around town, too. Surely someone besides George knew her family well enough to give her some answers.

  She opened the next door and found another bathroom.

  She breathed a sigh of relief knowing it was right across from her chosen room all along.

  She peered inside and whispered, “Whoa.”

  The bathroom was as modern as they came. The black and white checkered floors hadn’t looked like they’d been walked on—ever. The tub was an updated modern tub with silver claw feet, and a curved stainless steel spigot with handles at one end, and countertop with vanilla scented candles at the other end.

  The tub was near the windows and one could see the rising sun as they took a bath.

  A stand-up shower was in the left-hand corner, with glass doors as squeaky clean as Claire had ever seen.

  The porcelain toilet sat in a cubbyhole with a snow-white throw rug in front of it, and on the other side was a wash basin with long countertops and an oval mirror sitting over the sink.

  Towels were placed on various racks, and Claire walked in, spotting a linen closet behind the door with more towels inside.

  She found expensive scented bath soap inside the linen closet and other essential toiletries.

  Claire had only seen bathrooms like this in magazines. The weirdness in David’s bedroom forgotten, for now, Claire practically ran down the stairs to grab her suitcase. She’d never been so excited to use a bathroom in her life, but she knew she needed to get moving to as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  Her eagerness to take a shower in the stunning bathroom made her practically trip as she climbed the stairs towing the suitcase behind her.

  Great, she thought. Just what I need, a broken leg on my first full day here.

  Claire threw her suitcase onto the bed and unpacked new clothes. They were wrinkly, but they’d do for now.

  She undressed, wrapped herself in her own towels and walked over to the bathroom, flinching as her bare feet hit the cool, wooden floor.

  In her life, she’s never thought she’d enjoy a shower as much as she did her first one in Kinsey House.

  The water was a perfect stream to wash all her worries away.

  She didn’t use any of the fancy soaps yet, but she would try them out later, she stuck with her department store soap for now.

  Claire stepped out of the shower. She kind of hated tainting this perfect bathroom, but somehow she knew that Rose had remodeled this recently.

  For her? Did Rose know she would die soon and did a bunch of remodeling knowing that Claire would come here?

  Claire pushed away those questions. She had another focus today, and she had a long time to figure out what Rose’s motives were before she passed away.

  Claire walked over to the mirror and brushed her teeth. She ran her brush through her hair and tried to ignore the constant list of questions forming inside her mind, but she was failing.

  So much she needed to learn about Kinsey House. So much of her heritage remained a dark mystery.

  Claire went to plug in her hair dryer when she thought she heard a noise behind her.

 
She looked up and gasped. Her face went pale, her throat tightened, her body stiffened.

  Her whole body went cold. Cold as ice when she stared at the mirror. Her breath came out in frosty waves.

  She couldn’t move, she couldn’t scream. All she could do was stand there while eyes stared back at her.

  In the reflection of the mirror was her own dead brother.

  He stood solemnly on the tile floor gazing at her with no emotion on his face.

  One word came from his mouth. “Dig.”

  9.

  W illiam “Mac” MacIntosh awoke early in the morning to his alarm on his cell phone.

  He turned over in his bed wanting to go back to sleep but knew he needed to get his ass up and get ready for the day.

  He heard his coffee pot turn on from the automatic timer, and the bittersweet smell would eventually lure him out of bed.

  He sighed and turned over onto his back, forcing his eyes to open.

  A quick cup of coffee, a quick run, shower, shave, and then off to work to serve and protect the public for another day in Lingate, North Carolina.

  Mac wanted to turn over, throw the covers over his head, and let the public police themselves. He despised this time of year. The holidays did not make him cheerful or want to celebrate surrounded by family and friends. He didn’t give a shit about Christmas carols, wrapping presents, or decking the halls with boughs of holly. Mac wanted to sit in a corner by himself and wait for the time to pass until the ball dropped in New York City.

  Mac turned back over and grabbed his cell phone from his bedside table, cursing when he saw the text from his mother about making sure he visited his brother on Thanksgiving.

  I know, he thought. I always do.

  He made a mental note to call her on his lunch break. It was this time of the year she worried about her youngest son, although he always got through the holidays with no major catastrophes since he worked overtime.

  Soon, his ex-wife Julie would remind him about meeting sometime in December when their schedules coincided to mourn their mutual loss.

  They would stand at the small grave and place flowers there. Mac would stand alone while Julie would be there with her husband and young daughter, then they would part with a few exchanges of niceties and making promises to come back the following year.

  Mac sat up in bed and yawned, thinking he needed to stop being so grumpy. It would a bright and warm sunny day again in Lingate and he should enjoy it.

  They were due for some snowfall in the mountains soon and that would drop the temperatures in the surrounding areas.

  Mac always laughed at tourists who visited during the holidays.

  They expected a mountain town with snow covering the streets, with the usual winter activities that other mountain towns in the country may have held, instead, they were shocked to find the temperatures stayed in the mid to high 60s throughout the winter season.

  What did they expect? He asked himself.

  This was the south. It was always warm and humid here. The town wasn’t inside the Smoky Mountains; it was the gateway to the Smoky Mountains. The most they could look forward to was a few ice storms.

  The Great Smoky Mountains only gave a beautiful view of snow, but the town was lucky if they accumulated three inches during the year.

  Mac hoisted himself out of the bed and walked through his small two-bedroom house—not turning his gaze to a certain picture on his fireplace mantel—to the kitchen where he drank a glass of water and then poured his coffee.

  He sat down at the kitchen table and opened his laptop to check his emails and the news before he started his run.

  The officers worked nine-hour shifts with two days off, but because of department fatigue, the powers in charge were working towards another schedule of three twelve-hour shifts.

  It didn’t matter one way or the other to Mac. Work kept him busy. This job was his life.

  His brother, Kenny, had his family, and his sister—Holly—had hers.

  Holly was a homemaker with his mom helping her out whenever she could, and Kenny worked for the phone company supporting his own family.

  At thirty-three years old, Mac had only his job to keep him company most of the time.

  It was by choice, although his parents took their little jabs every so often about trying for more grandchildren soon.

  Mac scoffed. They lived in Charleston with Holly’s family, and even if Mac wanted to try for another baby, they were too far away to visit a grandkid all the time.

  Mac looked at the time and thought his parents would be awake now, so he answered the text.

  “I’m working Thanksgiving, but I already told Kenny I’d be over after my shift.”

  Mac knew his mother’s reaction before she would even type back. This was the south. Everyone got married young, stay married, and had children before they were twenty-five.

  This view was changing, but his parents would never change. They didn’t understand why their youngest son threw himself into his job instead of trying for another family.

  Mac rubbed his eyes not wanting to dwell on the subject too long.

  Mac had been an officer for over eight years. He loved his job, and he loved patrolling the streets.

  He loved his position in the department and the perks that came with it.

  Most officers that patrolled were barely out of their rookie years, but Mac had many choices because of his seniority.

  That gave Mac and his friend Elijah the advantage of picking their shifts by hand, choosing holidays off, and whatever hours they wanted.

  Elijah was a great officer, but he worked as little as possible. It’s not that he was lazy, it was just he knew he had it made in the department.

  Mac worked longer hours when he could on holidays but always took his Sundays and Mondays off.

  After checking all his usual sites, Mac turned to Facebook to read the local news articles.

  He smiled when his sister posted her latest picture of her daughter. She was the spitting image of his sister with her long, curly brown hair and wide brown eyes.

  He scrolled through the newsfeed when a story from the local gossip column caught his eye.

  He clicked on the link and read that Kinsey House found a family member and that person—according to them, a granddaughter—would be moving into the house any time now.

  Mac shook his head. The gossip column was written by a woman who was older than dirt, and who stuck her nose into everyone else’s business. She used to work at the post office when Mac was younger and still thought he was twelve whenever he bumped into her.

  Mac rubbed his chin in thought. He tried to remember any living relatives of Rose Kinsey but came up blank. It’d been so long since the tragedies of the family occurred.

  Mac’s eyebrows raised in confusion when he read the next paragraph. The article said she was the sister of three-year-old David Westcott who drowned in 1994.

  Mac remembered little about the case. He heard his chief—Joseph Biggs—talk about it in the past. The authorities searched the Three Forks River tirelessly and never found that boy’s body. Only a shoe was found weeks later.

  It was weird. Mac attended the funeral and he didn’t recall any family members attending the service. There was a huge crowd that day because of Rose’s status when she was alive, but the family had been absent.

  Mac shivered thinking of the day he found Rose. He saw a lot in his career, but finding a person dead for days never left you.

  Mac closed the laptop not giving the story a second thought and changed into his running clothes to keep with his usual morning routine.

  “I hoped you would have taken the day off.” Mac rolled his eyes when he checked his mother’s answer.

  He loved his parents but sometimes they could be a royal pain in the ass about their children’s lives.

  There was more than one phone call from Holly complaining about how much they’re spoiling her daughter, but she knew if she confronted them there’d b
e drama and she said she was too tired for that shit.

  Mac smirked and placed his cell phone in his pocket.

  Mac always enjoyed his runs early in the morning. It was a way to clear his head and get his mind back on track from the thoughts clouding his mind.

  Darkness still hovered over the town as Mac did his usual run on a greenway near his home.

  It was a five-mile trail of boards and dirt. Most of the time he was alone early in the morning.

  The cool, crisp morning air penetrated his skin making him feel alive and ready to tackle the usual business of his duties.

  After Mac returned to his house, it was a quick shower—he would pick up some food this morning on his way in—and off to work.

  He drove over to the station and changed into his uniform in the locker room.

  “You look happy today,” his friend Elijah Walker said as he sauntered into the locker room.

  Mac did a quick check of his equipment. He would look through his paperwork, inspect his vehicle, and hit the road.

  “What else would I be?” Mac asked with a smile.

  “Oh, the usual brooding cop who takes this job too seriously,” Elijah said with a grin.

  Yeah, he guessed he brooded too much.

  Elijah Walker was a good cop but could be overzealous about his job. He was investigated for slamming a perp’s head onto a table once when the guy wasn’t cooperating and gave him a concussion. Elijah was placed on administrative leave until the investigation ended. Chief Biggs didn’t play around with his officers. Elijah kept his job because of his father. His dad was a local politician who threatened to pull funding for the department if he was fired. Joe had no choice but to keep Elijah on the force. Elijah and Joe only talked when necessary, otherwise, there was a constant tension between the two ever since that incident.

  He had a wife and three kids, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the company of other women.

  Elijah loved his kids but complained about his wife all the time. He wasn’t afraid of much, but when fought with his wife, he turned into a kitten cowering in a corner trying to hide from a predator.