by Dian Cronan
I jump back. “Liam, that’s disgusting! Get away from me!”
“Don’t be such a baby, Rosie!” He says. “I’m gonna go show Mommy!”
I watch Liam totter off the porch, but don’t follow him. He runs up to Mother, shoving the slug at her. Mrs. Carroll recoils, but Mother flashes him a placating smile and pats him on the head, then points toward the lawn. Liam shrugs and finds a patch of grass to sit on while he toys with the slug.
I turn away to avoid another burst of red-hot rage. I walk back toward the front doors, placing a hand on the porch railing. I feel the raised wood underneath my fingertips, but the design is no more discernible than it was from the driveway. Looking down at the spokes, I notice each is carved into twisting ivy. The leaves are especially delicate and many of them have broken off; some pieces lay in the gap between the deep grass and the muddy underbelly of the porch. I absently wonder if there might be a body buried down there.
The fresh blood red paint on the front doors makes them pop out from the gray background of the rotten wood siding. The doorknobs are old-fashioned crystal, and each has a large keyhole beneath that looks like it might take one of those old skeleton keys. I try turning them, but they’re locked. I snort; as if anyone other than a few kids on a dare would bother breaking into this dump.
A small placard beside the doors catches my eye. Some letters are carved into it, but it’s too dirty to read. I check to see if anyone’s watching, but Mother and Mrs. Carroll are still leaning over the paperwork and Liam is watching his slug slurp around on his arm. I spit into my hand and rub it into the sign with my fingers. Slowly, some of the letters appear: a W, an H, and an M. If I want to see the rest, I need something more abrasive.
I remember the rag and retrieve it from the gazebo. Using the rag, I continue to work my spit into the filthy sign. It takes several minutes of vigorous rubbing, but when I’m finished, I’m astonished to make out the words.
“Wolfhowl Manor 1851,” I read to myself and roll my eyes. “Creepy name for a creepy house. No surprise there.”
Suddenly, a low gravelly voice erupts from the shadows of the porch. “Used tah beah sign at the bottom ah the hill theyuh.”
Turning, I see the silhouette of a mammoth in front of the other gazebo. At first, my throat is so tight I can’t even breathe. Then I scream.
Chapter Two
Over the Cliff
I launch away from the doors and stumble backward off the steps. I land hard on one of the large stones making up the path from the driveway.
“What on earth – Rose?” Mother stands behind me. She has several papers gathered up in one hand and the other placed firmly on her hip. Next to her, Mrs. Carroll’s face is reserved in silent judgment.
“I uh, there’s a, I saw –” I stammer pointing toward the porch. As if in answer, the mammoth shuffles out of the darkness, and I realize the mammoth is merely a Neanderthal of a man. His large rough hands are jammed onto the ends of arms that hang almost to his knees, and his jaw is set in a pronounced under bite like a crumpled old bulldog. He wears a green flannel shirt under worn overalls, and two large work boots covered in red paint flecks. He pulls a dirty handkerchief from a pocket and wipes some sweat from his forehead as he shuffles toward the stairs, the floorboards of the porch protesting loudly beneath him.
“Ah said,” comes the low gravelly voice again, “theyuh used tah beah sign at the bottom ah the hill.” He speaks more slowly this time, but he’s no easier to understand. I stare at his face, set with wrinkles deep enough to drop a quarter in. Two deep emerald eyes with pinholes for pupils twinkle beneath the folds of his unruly gray eyebrows. Either he’s very old, or he’s lived a very tough life. I’m guessing the latter and put him somewhere in his sixties.
“Yes, yes, the sign, Derry, I know.” Mrs. Carroll snaps, and then turns to Mother. “There used to be a sign at the bottom of the hill reading Wolfhowl Mountain, carved out of an old oak tree. In fact, it was carved by the original owner of the land. It had some pine trees on it, the full moon, and a few wolves. It was very… unique shall we say? Some vandals carried it off several years ago. It’s a real shame,” she adds insincerely.
“I see... Get off the ground, Rose,” Mother snipes.
I get up, trying not to stare at this Derry monster. He stands deathly still, like a giant boulder, as if he’s waiting for something. He scares the heck out of me.
Liam runs up behind us. “Look Mommy,” he points. “A giant!”
“Shh, Liam!” Mother smacks his finger away.
“Mrs. Delaney,” Mrs. Carroll says, “This is Derry O’Dwyre. He and his son are the caretakers of Wolfhowl Mountain.” Her carefully controlled accent is much less pronounced than Derry’s, whose accent sound like some overdone impression from Saturday Night Live.
“The O’Dwyres tend the grounds,” Mrs. Carroll continues. “They’ll be available for anything you need, including repairs. They’ve made quite a few already in preparation for your arrival.”
I’m unable to stifle a snort and Derry’s eyes flick from Mrs. Carroll to me. His gaze is intense and I can feel him sizing me up.
“As stipulated in the sale of Wolfhowl Mountain and the agreement with the Port Braseham Historical Society, the O’Dwyres’ services are the equivalent of rent as long as they live in the small cottage on the side of the hill,” Mrs. Carroll finishes, gesturing to the right side of the house, where the hill drops sharply. I can just glimpse the roof of the cottage.
“Yes, of course,” Mother says. Her smile falters when she meets Derry’s gaze. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Dwyre.”
Derry gives an apelike grunt, as though he’s not happy someone is moving in. Probably makes more work for the lazy elephant. He tips his dirty ball cap to us, gives me one last lingering glare, and turns to leave.
“Derry,” Mrs. Carroll calls before he gets far, “we were actually getting ready to take a quick tour of the interior. Would you like to join us in case Mrs. Delaney has any maintenance requests?” Her voice is lighter all of a sudden, sounding almost hopeful, and I wonder why this delicate flower would spend any more time with this big ox than she has to.
Derry pauses in his retreat. He keeps his back turned until she finishes her question, and then shuffles into the shadows of the porch.
“Well!” Mother’s hand flies to her chest.
“Uh,” Mrs. Carroll’s voice falters, “don’t take it too personally, Mrs. Delaney. Derry just has one of those gruff personalities. I assure you, he’ll be most helpful to have around once you get settled, which reminds me, your belongings arrived the other day as anticipated. The O’Dwyres placed the items in their proper rooms based on your labels.”
“I see. Thank you.” Mother follows Mrs. Carroll to the front door, Liam and I close behind.
To my sheer glee, Mrs. Carroll pulls out a set of skeleton keys.
“Now, there are four keys to the house,” she says. “They’re quite old, but sturdy, made of iron. The previous owners appreciated the antique design of them, but you can have them replaced with something modern if you’d like. There are two keys each for the front, back and side doors; one key for the attic, and one for the basement.” She holds up each key as she indicates its purpose, but they all look the same to me.
“Awesome!” Liam says, hopping up and down. “Can I open the doors? Can I do it?”
“Sure, sweetie,” Mother reaches for the keys, but Mrs. Carroll jerks the keys out of her reach and says, “I want to stress to you, Mrs. Delaney, this must be a quick tour. I have a pressing appointment in Bar Harbor.” Her voice is stern, like a parent issuing a new household rule. “A quick tour, do you understand?”
Mother and I exchange a quick glance.
“Sure, that’s fine,” Mother replies. “We want to get settled in for the evening anyway. We’re exhausted from the trip.”
“I’m sure.” Mrs. Carroll relinquishes the keys to Mother, who sticks the key for the front door into the keyh
ole and lets Liam turn it. There’s a loud and heavy click as the lock releases. Liam turns the crystal knob impatiently and throws himself through the door. Mother and I follow, but Mrs. Carroll hesitates.
Once my eyes adjust to the darkness within, I’m awestruck all over again.
The double doors open onto an oval-shaped foyer exposing the second floor. The sides are framed by large staircases straight out of Gone with the Wind, each lined with faded, dusty red carpet. Beneath each staircase, an archway leads into a room beyond. The colored light from the stained glass windows glows on the weathered floorboards. Straight ahead is a short hallway with a closed door at the other end and another small door to the left. Centered above the front doors, and three times the size of the other stained glass windows, is another stained glass portrait. From the kaleidoscope of dark blues, reds, and bright yellows on the floor, I know it’s a portrait of the Virgin Mary.
Mrs. Carroll sneezes daintily. “Oh, bless me! Um, it’s a little musty, but nothing a good spring cleaning won’t fix.” She laughs nervously. “Now, where is that light switch?” She lifts a thin finger and a French manicured nail trips along the wall until she finds the switch.
The foyer illuminates in a soft yellowy light. Above is a large crystal chandelier with several tiers of sparkling jewels. The crystals catch light from Mary’s window and throw rainbows around the hall. My eyes follow the colorful splashes down the walls. The pine green wallpaper is peeling and patchy. Spring cleaning… suuuure.
Liam starts running toward a staircase, but Mrs. Carroll lurches out and grabs him by a shoulder.
“Just a minute, young man!” She grips him tightly with her manicured claws. “Do not go roaming around this house alone, do you hear me?” When all he does is stare back with wide, frightened eyes, she shakes him. “Do you hear me?”
I jump forward and smack Mrs. Carroll’s hand away from Liam. I consider cussing her out, but refrain, afraid the shock will be too much for such a high-class woman. Besides, her wide eyes and open mouth at being smacked by a Texas redneck is clearly insulting enough.
Liam starts crying, a little simper at first, but before long it’s a full on tantrum. Mother reaches for him, but he ducks away from her and buries his head in my side. I hold a hand protectively on his head and glare at Mother. “Do something,” I mouth to her.
Mother looks at the realtor, but doesn’t know what to do or say.
Mrs. Carroll recovers quickly. She shakes her head as if trying to rid it of a stray thought and looks at Liam apologetically. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to scare you. It’s just –” She forces a smile. “It’s just this is an old house and there are a lot of places one might get hurt. Stick close to your mother until you’ve familiarized yourself with the house, alright?” When the silence persists, she gestures toward the stairs and says, “Shall we?”
Mrs. Carroll clasps her hands together and throws herself back into realtor mode. “This is the main foyer,” she says, pronouncing it pretentiously as foi-ay. “As you can see, it has two grand staircases leading up to the open hallway on the second floor. There are four rooms off of the foyer.” Mrs. Carroll points to each door, beginning with the one on the right. “The dining hall, a hall leading to the kitchen, the drawing room, and the living room. Now, as I told you over the phone, this house is very old and the original owners were quite eclectic in their tastes. It might seem a little odd to have a drawing room, for insistence, but you might find the extra space useful for cocktail parties and the like.”
I suppress an eye roll. Does anyone actually throw cocktail parties outside of Hollywood?
“Now if you’ll follow me, Mrs. Delaney, I’ll take you through the upper floors.” Mrs. Carroll walks as quickly as she talks.
“Oh,” Mother says disappointedly, “I was hoping you could take me through each room, explain the history a little?”
“As I said, Mrs. Delaney, I have another appointment and I really am in quite a hurry.” I believe her; she doesn’t even pause to turn around and continues up the stairs. “All the information on the history of the house is included in those documents I gave you. If you have any other inquires, the head of the Port Braseham Historical Society, Mr. Quinn, can surely help you. Now come, come.” She snaps her fingers.
Mother shrugs at me and starts following Mrs. Carroll up the stairs. “Are you coming, honey?”
I shake my head. “We’re just gonna poke around down here.”
“Well, kiddo,” I say when we’re alone, shaking his shoulders slightly. “Whaddya say? Wanna take a peek around? Maybe we’ll see some ghosts.”
Liam looks up at me with wide eyes, his mouth agape. “Ghosts?”
I shrug. “You heard that evil woman. It’s an old house. Who knows? Maybe it’s even built on top of a graveyard!”
“Cool!”
“Now, I bet,” I say, trying to distract Liam from his sour mood, “if we snoop around, we might be able to find some cool things from the previous owners.”
“Like dead bodies?” Liam asks and I laugh.
“I was thinking photo albums and trinkets, but you never know…”
“Let’s look in here first!” Liam flings himself through the archway into the dining room.
It’s shaped strangely; a rectangle with an oval cut in one corner from the foyer’s curved wall, and half an octagon in the opposite corner from the gazebo. A small door allows access to the gazebo. There are two stained glass windows at the front, and a set of French double doors open onto the wraparound porch.
Liam crawls around underneath a large dining table. It’s long and skinny with one wing-backed chair at each end, the cushions lined with the same blood red fabric as the stairs. The wood is stained so dark it’s almost black. The simple dining set looks out of place with the rest of the room. There’s an ornate fireplace and crown molding around the high ceiling and chair railing. I wonder if these detailed touches were carved by the same skilled hands that carved the ivy into the porch railing.
I walk to the double doors, which are covered in sheer, moth eaten curtains. Peeling them aside, I see the hill drops severely on this side and I can just make out the roof of the O’Dwyres’ cottage. The porch itself is blackened, a large section missing entirely, as if it melted away. I assume it has something to do with the fire and then, remembering Derry’s intimidating form, reach down and make sure the doors are locked.
“Don’t go out these doors, Liam, okay?” I say. “It’s not safe on this side of the porch.” I turn around, but Liam has disappeared. I check under the table, in the fireplace, and back in the foyer. “Liam?”
“I’m in here!”
I notice a small skinny door in the back corner of the room that I at first took for a closet. Pushing through, I find a massive kitchen. To the left of the door is a fireplace identical to the one in the dining room. Peering into it, I realize it’s the same fireplace, accessible to both rooms. Cool.
There are two windows on the right, similar in size and shape to those on the front of the house, but with normal panes. Popping out of the back corner is the pantry, in the same shape as the gazebos on the front of the house. So there’s a turret back here too. I find Liam in the pantry – no surprise – poking around some items on the shelves.
“What’d you find?”
“Nothin’ really.” He’s nosing around several old and dusty cans of food at eye level. “What’s this say?” He asks, thrusting one of the cans at me.
I wipe the dust away, revealing a familiar green and yellow label. “It’s green beans,” I say, and then laugh, “from nineteen eighty-one!”
“Gross,” Liam says and continues poking around. We find several more old cans of vegetables, a loaf of bread that’s turned into a moldy green rock, and a bag of old sugar full of ants.
“You know what I wanna know, Rosie?” Liam asks as I pull him away from the dust and bugs.
“What?”
“Why’d they leave without food?”
“Th
ey were in a hurry I guess.”
“That’s crazy!” My portly brother can’t wrap his head around such an idea. He walks off, looking into every cabinet he can reach.
A door in the opposite corner from the pantry leads into the drawing room. Next to it is a doorway to another staircase. I wonder if this is one of those houses that used to have servants, and if this was the access to their quarters.
I turn to the dingy glass of a small window above the kitchen sink and drink in the view. Mrs. Carroll is right about one thing: the view is astounding. The grass lies tall and un-mown, bending this way and that as the breeze speeds up from the cliff where the land suddenly drops away. Old pines line the edge of the property up to the dropoff and part perfectly so the sun is visible along the edge of the water, just beginning to dip below the horizon and sending up a rainbow of colors along the skyline. I feel my lips curling into a smile, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t fight it. For a minute, it feels like my happy place has come to life, only it’s more perfect than I dreamed. I feel the urge to go outside, kick off my shoes, and twist my fingers in the grass.
Above, the heavy floorboards creak as Mother and Mrs. Carroll tour the second floor. Looking up, plumes of dust and dirt slip through a crack in the ceiling and hit me squarely in the eye.
“Ack!” I clutch my eye and bump into the counter, blindly searching for the faucet. My fingers find the faucet and I throw my head under the water, prying open the afflicted eye and flushing it out. “Liam! See if you can find me a towel or something!” I start coughing as the coppery water hits my nose and slides down my throat. “Arg! Liam!” He must’ve wandered upstairs in search of Mother.
I pull myself out of the sink and rub my stinging eye vigorously, bringing pinpoints of light to my eyelids. I feel along the counter until my hand slides across something soft and dry. Without caring what it is, I grab it dry off my face. I cautiously open my eye, blinking several times. When it doesn’t immediately start burning, I sigh with sweet relief and look down at the towel in my hands. It’s surprisingly clean, pale pink, and embroidered with the initials E. L.
