666 Gable Way

by Dani Lamia

  “My God.”

  “Oh, for the love of drama, just tell me already,” Phoebe demanded.

  “In my great-grandfather’s diary there is mention of an Alice Pyncheon. Cousin of Hepzibah, bearer of the mark of witches.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Holgrave arched an eyebrow. “Have you seen the birthmark on the back of your great-aunt Hester’s neck?”

  “Yeah. It kinda looks like a shamrock with a samurai sword stuck through it,” she said with a grin.

  “Are you also aware that you bear the same mark?”

  “I’ve seen some mark there, usually when getting my hair done,” she admitted. “I’ve never taken a close look.”

  Holgrave went to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a hand mirror. “Come here,” he directed, motioning her over to the full-length mirror next to the dresser.

  Phoebe did, though her feet felt heavy. Her steps were more of a shuffle. She faced the mirror and watched Holgrave’s reflection as he moved behind her.

  “Pardon me,” he said, and lifted her hair from her neck. He moved the handheld mirror into position.

  Phoebe gasped, for in the center of the reflection’s reflection, a twin of the slashed shamrock was on her neck. “Oh, my God. What does this mean?”

  Holgrave let her hair down and replaced the mirror to the drawer. “From what I gather, the Pyncheon family has an apparent genetic predisposition for psychic energy.” He returned to her and continued speaking gently. “Pyncheon women who bear such a mark are the most powerful.”

  “Alice, when she knocked me on my ass,” Phoebe recounted, “I was in the basement, but it was all wrong.”

  “How so?”

  “The laundry machines were gone. The walls were stone. The floor was dirt. It was lit by a gas lamp, at least I think it was gas, mounted on the support beam.”

  Holgrave grew thoughtful. “A vision of the house from the past.”

  Phoebe nodded. “And Alice was there. Standing against the far wall, pointing to the floor.”

  “Indeed,” Holgrave inserted. “Was there anything on the floor?”

  “Nothing. Well, it was darker, as if it’d been dug up recently.”

  Holgrave’s eyes widened. “Come with me,” he said and went through the door, leaving it open behind him.

  “Why not?” she murmured, certain he was too far away to hear. “Not like I had any plans.”

  The pair walked through the hallway, slowing as they arrived at Onenspek’s studio, which was still lit. They could hear no activity inside.

  Phoebe continued to follow Holgrave, who tried to tiptoe to the satisfaction of the floorboards beneath them. The storm outside droned along, assaulting the gables and roof tiles of the house. Holgrave and Phoebe creaked and popped along, through the quiet house, past the master bedroom where neither could hear if anyone was within.

  Down the stairs they went, proceeding cautiously, as if they could be discovered any moment. For Holgrave, he assumed nothing, as the chills on his spine convinced him they were being watched. He looked back at Phoebe and found a nervous expression on her face, and she was rubbing the back of her neck. Plainly, she was experiencing the same feeling.

  Once on the first floor, Holgrave stopped and listened. Phoebe did the same. Nothing could be heard over the rain and thunder. Holgrave moved to the basement door, opened it, and turned the lights on. He ventured down the steps and Phoebe followed, closing the door behind her.

  “Here,” Holgrave bid her follow. He went behind the curtain he had put up to shield his developing work from the ceiling lights. Phoebe moved around it as he did.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, watching him remove the screws from a section of wall paneling.

  “Showing you what I’ve been doing down here,” he explained.

  Holgrave deftly worked the screwdriver and pulled the white-painted wood from the wall and leaned it nearby. Phoebe could see that Holgrave had been busy digging his way through the drywall and the original stone wall. A hole large enough for her to get through in a crouch was there, but the darkness within was uninviting.

  Phoebe crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. “There’s no way you’re getting your security deposit back.”

  Holgrave grinned. “I rather thought I’d get away with it.”

  Phoebe leaned down to look inside but could see nothing. “All right, what makes you think the stock certificates are in there?”

  “Well,” he began and cleared his throat. “I, um, it was the last wall left to try.”

  Phoebe straightened and stared at him, her mouth open. “You mean—”

  “Yes, I’ve tunneled everywhere,” he admitted, looking sheepish.

  Phoebe chuckled and shook her head. “Did you find anything?”

  “Actually, yes,” Holgrave said. He grabbed a flashlight from the worktable next to them, turned it on, and squeezed through the hole he had made.

  “Um, dude,” Phoebe said, again crouching so she could keep her eyes on him. “I’m not going in there.”

  His face reappeared from the hole. “Come on, be sporting. I did all the work, after all.”

  Phoebe cussed under her breath and placed her foot beyond the remnants of the thick stone wall. The earth there was soft and damp, giving way gently to her weight. She stepped in the place where Holgrave shined the light and remained crouched as he was. Looking up, she saw the ceiling was low. Thick wooden support beams stretched from east to west, and all around them were stone pillars, set a few yards apart, upon which the weight of the house rested. Cobwebs were everywhere.

  “Ew,” she mumbled.

  “That’s the spirit,” he offered with a drip of sarcasm.

  “Bite me. I hate spiders.”

  “In that case, I promise you won’t care for this,” Holgrave said, panning the light to a pile of objects at her right.

  Phoebe bent her knees, coming to rest on her heels, and peered closely. Collected there were items of jewelry, strips of cloth, remnants of leather goods that may have once been belts, a small women’s handbag, and a shoe. Among these items was a metal box and a stack of papers. Everything there was thickly covered in dirt, while the box showed rust, and the papers mold.

  “So, whose stuff is this?” she asked in a whisper. The personal belongings were quite old and certainly had been buried beneath the house for such a long time that the owners must have been long gone.

  “It’s mostly newspaper, but I’ve found some letters, both personal and business. Hardly any of it legible. There are pocket watches . . . very, very old. As is the jewelry. That shoe,” he said, thrusting his thumb toward the hole behind him, “is a woman’s ankle boot. When I handled it, it nearly disintegrated. The other leather goods are in similar shape. It takes many decades to reach that point of decay.”

  “And the other places you’ve dug?”

  “Similar items,” Holgrave stated with a nod. “They’re everywhere down here.”

  Phoebe was silent for a moment. She walked away, around his curtain. Holgrave turned off the flashlight and followed.

  “Where did you say Alice was standing?” he asked.

  “There,” Phoebe answered, pointing toward the washing machine. “The place on the floor was just under the table there. That beam,” she said and traced the wood support beam above them, “leads right to where she was pointing.”

  Holgrave walked up to the table and verified it with a glance to Phoebe, who nodded. He went to the other end of the table and dragged it to the side. “Do you have a load of laundry to run?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “It may help to cover the noise I’m about to make,” he said and returned to the hole in the wall, within which he had hidden the tools she had brought down.

  “Ah,” she said and began loadin
g the washer with items in the laundry bin.

  Holgrave returned with the tools as Phoebe prepared the load. She turned it on once it was ready, and the basement filled with the groaning, screechy sounds of the antique machine.

  He handed Phoebe the shovel and took a hold of the pickaxe in both hands. “Right. Are you certain this is the spot Alice pointed to?”

  Phoebe nodded, wide-eyed.

  Holgrave brought the pick upward, as high as he could without hitting the low ceiling, and swung it down. Its tip struck the cement floor near the wall. Phoebe jumped at the sound of metal clanging against the hard surface.

  Holgrave struck again and again, chipping away at the floor. At first, pieces the size of pebbles came free, but as he went, the damage became pronounced. A whole section came loose upon his next strike, and he paused to pull it clear.

  Phoebe nervously looked back at the basement door, certain that the noise he was making could be heard by anyone on the first floor. Anyone on the second or third that happened to wander near the dumbwaiter or the laundry chute would be able to hear it, though the sound would be masked by the washing machine.

  Holgrave worked up a sweat as he smashed the pickaxe into the floor over and over again. Phoebe watched silently, anxious to get things over with. She considered tapping Holgrave on the shoulder and saying goodbye, but she shunned the idea.

  As Holgrave chipped away at the floor, Phoebe thought about where she could possibly go on the half tank of gas and sixty bucks. Anxiety welled up within her, bringing a sting to her eyes. She pictured herself sleeping in the back of the Caprice, parked on the street somewhere in some tiny town, out of gas and out of options.

  Something will work out.

  “Ah-ha!” Holgrave announced eventually. He leaned the pickaxe against the wall and took the shovel from Phoebe’s hand. He thrust it into the hard earth and stomped on it, pushing it in further.

  Phoebe moved around him to watch his work. Holgrave dumped the dirt on top of the broken chunks of cement. As he went deeper, the dirt became dark with moisture. This made the job harder for Holgrave, who doubled his efforts, grunting with every shovelful. His shirt became soaked with sweat, and it dripped freely from his brow.

  The pile of muddy earth and cement grew higher, and Holgrave was required to step into the very hole he had created to continue digging. He stopped a moment and looked up at Phoebe.

  “Are you quite certain that Alice was pointing here?” he asked and again wiped his brow with his sleeve.

  Phoebe was at a loss for an answer. Doubt filled the space left over from her suddenly misplaced certainty. She tried to picture Alice standing and pointing at the floor, but she could not.

  “Phoebe?” Holgrave tried again.

  Phoebe put her hand to her forehead. She had become lightheaded, and her knees weakened. In the very spot she stood, she sat hard and crossed her legs.

  Holgrave launched himself from the hole he had made and went to her side. Crouching, he took her hands in his. “Are you all right?”

  Phoebe looked up into his face and smiled. What a handsome fellow. Fellow? What a word to use, she mused. The face of Dzolali entered her mind at that moment, taking the place of Holgrave’s. Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut and yanked one hand away. She tried to retreat, scooting along the cement floor. The groans and squeals of the washing machine grew painful, and she felt as if she were losing her mind.

  Phoebe opened her eyes, and the smiling face of Dzolali remained. Phoebe looked left and right while still trying to pull back, but Dzolali’s grip tightened. Phoebe grabbed the medallion that Holgrave had given her. She shut her eyes again, and suddenly, a dark-haired woman came to her.

  It was Alice. Be calm, Alice said. The voice came not to Phoebe’s ears but to her mind. It is a ruse.

  “Please, make her go away,” Phoebe pleaded.

  “Make whom go away?” Holgrave asked her.

  Phoebe opened her eyes and saw him there, her hand still in both of his. Dzolali had gone. “What the hell is happening?”

  “What? What did you see?” he pressed.

  She told him.

  “Dzolali?” He looked to the basement door, knowing he wouldn’t find her there. The glance was instinctive. “She might be looking for you,” he proposed.

  Maule is correct, said the voice of Alice. Phoebe’s eyes looked for the voice before she realized that Alice Pyncheon was in her mind, and only she could hear the ghost’s words.

  “Is he?” Phoebe asked.

  Confused and concerned, Holgrave gave Phoebe’s hand a tug. “Phoebe? Are you with me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Am I digging in the right place?”

  Yes! Tell him yes! He is almost here! Alice’s voice screamed.

  “Yes, she says yes,” Phoebe said to Holgrave.

  He must hurry!

  Holgrave stared into Phoebe’s face, doubt mixed with worry.

  “Hurry, Holgrave,” Phoebe begged of him.

  Holgrave let her go and returned to the hole.

  Phoebe felt Alice’s presence, plainly and powerfully. She thought the question, What do you mean ‘almost here’?

  Alice Pyncheon’s spirit did not answer.

  Holgrave dug feverishly, and the dirt flew from the shovel, scattering across the floor. Pebbles and rocks in the dirt clicked along the cement and bounced off the north wall of the basement.

  The shovel clinked.

  Holgrave froze and set the shovel to the side. He bent low, and only the top of his head could Phoebe see.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  Holgrave was too busy scooping damp earth away from his find. In a moment, it was clear. Against his instinct to leave it alone, and in fact, to flee from the House of the Seven Gables forever, he reached his hands around the object and lifted it for Phoebe to see.

  It was a skull, darkened with the permeation of earth and age. The jawbone had detached and was still somewhere at Holgrave’s feet.

  “Oh, my God,” Phoebe groaned.

  He’s there! Alice rejoiced in Phoebe’s mind.

  Holgrave reverently set the skull on the undisturbed section of floor and dug further with his hands. Phoebe wished to look away from the skull, but the empty eye sockets held her in place, unable to move.

  A moment later, Holgrave lifted the remains of a garment. Holding it to the light, he gently swiped away clumps of clay-like earth.

  “That’s Alice’s gown!” Phoebe called out. She covered her face in her hands, and the tears flowed freely. Hot and quick, the drops slid through her fingers and down her cheeks.

  Holgrave sighed. Without question, he took Phoebe’s words as fact. He lifted the garment further, gave it a shake, and more dirt came free. He felt something strike his feet. When he looked, he found bones on and around his shoes.

  “Dear Lord,” he murmured.

  Phoebe grimaced as she took a long look at the gown. From her memory of the first possession by Alice, Phoebe recalled the image of Alice’s own sister, Hepzibah, drawing the knife across Alice’s throat and the blood flowing. As Holgrave held the gown in its decayed state, Phoebe could discern blood from earth.

  She forced herself to look away and dried her tears.

  Holgrave bent down and swiped at the dirt and bones further. A glint of gold caught his eye. “There’s something else here,” he called over his shoulder.

  Phoebe brought herself to her feet and, with her eyes avoiding the skull’s empty stare, approached the edge of the broken floor. She watched as Holgrave carefully extracted a gold chain from the dark, stony ground.

  “Almost have it,” he grunted as he dug further. “It’s attached to something . . . rather substantial.”

  His dirt-stained fingers pulled the object free. He held it in both hands, his thumbs rubbing the excess from its surface.
Quite soon, it was clear enough to decipher. It was a pendant, and a fairly large one. The centerpiece was a circle with a raised pentagram, and mounted on either side were slivers of moon, their points set outward.

  Holgrave moved his hand up and down, feeling its weight. “I think this is solid gold.”

  Take it, Phoebe, Alice commanded. It’s yours now.

  Phoebe reached around her neck and took Holgrave’s borrowed charm from it, passing it over her head. Holgrave watched her do it and took her meaning. He had no qualms over the unspoken transaction. He handed the heavy necklace to the young Pyncheon and accepted his in return.

  Phoebe took the heavier chain and continued wiping it free of mud. She stared at the charm in awe and realized that the pentagram, as a symbol, no longer inflicted feelings of taboo within her.

  Quickly, put it on.

  Phoebe did so, paying no mind to the item’s condition or its previous resting place, around the neck of a decaying body. She stood and stepped back from the hole, clasping the pendant in her palm.

  Holgrave draped his necklace over his head and climbed out of the hole. “Well, it’s a certainty that my stock certificates aren’t to be found here.”

  Phoebe turned to him. “Is that all you were after all this time, Holgrave?”

  “Certainly not,” he assured her, though his hopes had been high.

  At that moment, the washing machine silenced. It was finished washing the load of bed linens inside. Phoebe and Holgrave cast their eyes to the ear-menacing machine.

  “Ah,” Holgrave said. “That’s better.”

  “Is it indeed?” a strange female voice called from the stairwell.

  20

  Discovery

  Phoebe spun around so quickly she lost her balance and fell into Holgrave, who instinctively grabbed her and held her up.

  Three women had arrived at the foot of the steps, unheard. The two on the left were unknown but familiar to Phoebe, while Dzolali stood smiling at her from her place on their right.

  “Who the hell are you people?” Phoebe shouted. Her hands were on her chest, and she could feel the newly recovered pendant beneath her t-shirt.