by Matthew Fish
“I reckon I do not wish to know,” Mrs. Alice said as she placed a hand to Elise’s shoulder. “I would put it out of your mind if I were you. Let them handle it. Think no further upon it—it will only bring trouble if you do not let it go.”
“I will—“
Grandmother entered the kitchen, brushing away the rain from her shoulders and squeezing it from her large, long grey hair. Her long, stained, white day dress was soaked with both rain and mud at the bottom. She was barefoot, her wrinkled, pale feet a strange contrast of color against the wooden floors.
“Elise, may I ask something of you?” grandmother said as she looked down to her.
“Of course, grandmother,” Elise said as she awkwardly hid her gaze from that of her grandmother’s—although she did not know why.
“Did anything happen with Mr. Henry yesterday? When I asked of you to fetch him about the leak in the ceiling? Did he say anything or…,” grandmother began, although seemed to be at a loss for words for the first time that Elise could remember.
“Nothing happened,” Elise answered, lying mostly out of shame. “I just told him that you requested that he fix the roof. He was drunk, I believe, but he said he would do it and it I thanked him and went on my way to water the black-eyed Susans, and then helped Mrs. Alice with some string beans from the garden for dinner.”
“Thank you,” grandmother said somewhat awkwardly. It was as though giving compliments was usually against her nature. “Now I want you to forget what you’ve seen out there—I know that is a lot to ask.”
“Mrs. Alice has already bid me to do so, and I have done it,” Elise said.
“Good,” grandmother said, her eyes widened as though she was taken by surprise by the composed way that Elise was handling the death of Mr. Henry. “Thank you as well, Mrs. Alice.”
“I’ll just be glad when this is all over,” Mrs. Alice said with a heavy sigh.
“Elise,” grandmother said as she opened the kitchen door behind her. “Would you give us a moment in private, please?”
“Of course,” Elise replied. She nodded to grandmother as she passed by and exited the kitchen.
“Head up to your room now; Mrs. Alice will fetch you when we have finished talking.”
Grandmother shut the door behind her, all the while looking uneasily at Elise.
Elise, being one that usually did what she was told, did not follow grandmother’s direction that moment. Instead she walked off, thumping her feet loudly against the wood floor as though she was leaving. After the false display Elise rushed back over to the door and peered through the small keyhole. She could barely make out the form of grandmother and Mrs. Alice seated at the long kitchen counter through the limited view. She could, on the other hand, clearly hear their discussion.
Grandmother’s voice came first.
“Did she say anything to you about what happened?”
“No, she didn’t appear to know anything about what happened to Mr. Henry,” Mrs. Alice replied frankly.
“Let’s hope so…,” grandmother softly added.
“What do you mean? You do not suspect that she had anything to do with what happened—that would be impossible. You saw what awful way Mr. Henry was done. No girl could do such a thing, especially not our ’Lisey.”
“Of course not,” grandmother said confidently. “It was that Mr. Henry that I am worried about; he seemed to have truly let himself go both mentally and physically. He was always with drink. I should have had him fired long ago.”
“You think that man tried something on ’Lisey?” Mrs. Alice asked with deep concern.
“If he did, then…then there is no mystery to why he ended up in such a state,” grandmother answered with a heavy sigh. “If it is true…, then that would mean that she now owes Red Manor something.”
“Oh, enough with that superstition!” Mrs. Alice said, as though adding volume to her statement made it all the more true.
“All these long years you have worked here and you do not believe that there is any truth behind the fact that Red Manor is not an ordinary house?” grandmother asked, sounding very skeptical. “It gives and it takes. It even grants….”
A loud knock came upon the large arched white doors as Elise looked toward the atrium and saw the figure of a man standing through the frosted glass. She swiftly got to her feet and scuttled up the spiral stairs as fast as she possibly could, all the while trying to maintain a level of surreptitiousness. She reached the fourth floor and let out a heavy sign of relief as she peered down the length of stairs and saw grandmother heading toward the door.
“Ah, detective…,” grandmother said as Elise tiptoed down the long hallway to her room. She soundlessly managed to shut the door and slid to the edge of her bed, wrapping herself in her mother’s soft old quilt. She glanced out the window—rain was still falling hard against the glass. She imagined that it was helping wash away all the blood from the metal pole, like it was not an accidental rain, but a purifying one.
Elise grew restless. She did not wish to see outside the window despite a growing, twinging curiosity within her. She refused the tiny voice’s meek request, attempting to push it out of her mind as Mrs. Alice had instructed. She put a record into her player and listened to the opening tunes of “Für Elise”—the opening was always her favorite part, just as it was her mother’s. The opening tones were soothing like the wind of an approaching storm.
Elise wandered back and forth in her large room, looking into a large gold-framed body mirror with each passing. She thought about what grandmother had said—that she now may owe Red Manor something. If that were the case and the house were responsible for Mr. Henry’s demise then she was grateful to some extent. After all, given a long enough time what more might the terrible man had come to request of her? She knew very little about what adults did with their naked bodies, but she was not young enough to be completely ignorant of it. Back in school on the mainland she had heard how other girls would talk, about how far they would go with their boyfriends. Elise never had a boyfriend at school. She was always seen as an outsider—it did not help her situation that her mother was unwed and they had moved there from far South. Some of the kids would pick on her just for being from somewhere different. The idea seemed so foolish to Elise—to her, in essence, we all come from somewhere different.
Many more moments passed before Mrs. Alice rapped upon Elise’s door.
“’Lisey, would you like to come down now? Lunch is all just about ready.”
Elise walked over to the door, pulling it open to reveal Mrs. Alice’s smiling kind face. “Yes I would,” she replied.
“Good. Everything is being taken care of outside, so we will just stay indoors today. After all, with the rain it is not fit for man nor beast out there,” Mrs. Alice said as she led the way down the long red hallway.
“Why do they call it Red Manor?” Elise asked as she ran her hand against the smooth red walls of the hallway, dropping her hand just as she came upon the spare guestroom door. As they passed she swore that she heard a noise from inside the room—something small, like the fall of a thimble onto the wooden floor.
“Been called that as long as I can remember, probably even as long as grandmother can remember,” Mrs. Alice answered with a hearty chuckle as she navigated the spiral staircase. Her breath became heavy and labored as she carefully took each step with a slow, cautious pace. “Always a pain taking this confounded thing. Always makes me dizzy by the time I get down to the bottom.”
“Is there something strange about this house?” Elise asked as she followed behind, thinking that the trip would take nearly forever.
“What?” Mrs. Alice said as she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. “Grandmother’s been filling your head with all that superstitious nonsense, hasn’t she? It ain’t right, spooking a girl like that over something that’s not real.”
“But Henry…”
“Now listen to me ’Lisey. That Mr. Henry was into all sorts of bad thin
gs: gambling and the what-not. He made a lot of enemies back in the city,” Mrs. Alice said sternly as her usually happy tone turned to one of deft seriousness. “What happened to him was a damned shame, a shame for something like that to be gone and done to anyone, but Red Manor had nothing to do with that awful business.”
“All right, Mrs. Alice, thank you for making me feel better.”
“Ain’t right for you to worry about it in the first place—wasn’t none of it your fault. Like I said before, put it out of your mind, there’s no point in filling it with dark things or superstitions.”
Elise finds herself alone in the third-floor hallway. Her fatigued body is slumped forward, her rear against the rough paint-peeled wall. The black mist is gone and, to her dismay, her lantern is as well. She can make out a faint light from somewhere off towards the spiral staircase. She panics for a bit, being so far from her light, which she has come to rely on and is angered that someone has placed it out of her reach like some cruel prank. She stumbles back to her feet, still reeling from the memory.
“Where is it…?” Elise whispers to herself as she uses the cracked dark walls for support as she makes her way to the dim light. As she reaches the spiral stair she notices that it is coming from up above her, back on the fourth floor.
She lets out an annoyed sigh and shrugs her cold shoulders as she begrudgingly ascends the staircase. She wonders what the purpose of backtracking is at this point—shouldn’t she be moving ahead, searching for answers? She reaches the fourth floor and finds the lantern conveniently sitting right by The Guestroom door.
Elise stands before the door, attempting to remember if this room holds any significance to her. In the memory she believed that she heard a faint sound as she passed. Perhaps that sound was a sign that there were answers to be found within this room. Elise reaches down and picks up the lantern, comforted by the fact that it is in her possession once more. She looks to the old, scratched wooden door.
“I wonder…,” she says to no one in particular.
She reaches down to the doorknob and to her surprise it gives in easily; without even a creak the door swings open upon its hinges and the guest room is revealed.
The guestroom is clean. The red walls surrounding her give off a warm feeling, the paint looks pristine and untarnished by time. A small cot is set up in the corner of the room adjacent a writing desk which conceals an old leather chair with silver wheels.
As Elise steps into the room she marvels in its warmth—compared to the rest of the house this room is an oasis. She is taken by surprise as the gold-and-green electric lamp on the writing desk flickers on, illuminating the room much more than her lantern. She places the lantern down on a nearby antique dresser, confident that there is some comfort to be found here. This room does not feel as overbearing as the rest of the house has felt thus far. There is a strange comfort, as though this room has not changed in the slightest all these years—a strange sense that perhaps this room is still inhabited and cared for.
Elise heads toward the window and places a hand against the cold glass. The freezing rain has caused so much ice to form that nothing is visible. A small noise from the dresser near the door causes her heart to jump—a key has fallen from the dresser to the floor. Elise heads back toward the dresser by the entry as she notices a small forest-green suitcase propped against the base of the dresser. She wonders why she has not noticed it before. The name ‘Ryan’ is written in cursive with black marker on the top near the ebony handle.
“Ryan,” Elise whispers. The name is somehow familiar to her although she cannot quite place it.
A small golden lock sits beneath the ebony handle of the suitcase. Elise figures this must be the container to which the key belongs and retrieves it from the floor. She picks up the suitcase, which has some significant weight to it, and sets it upon the cot. She readies the key in her hand but is interrupted.
“I had a feeling you’d be coming this time,” Elise says as the swift footsteps come up from behind her.
Elise places both of her hands upon the cot and takes a deep breath in to steady herself for the oncoming memory. Just as so many times before—the light consumes all in its cold brilliance. Like the purifying ambit of a nuclear blast all of existence is torn away in blinding white.
Elise was playing in a wide field of short grass just past the oaks of the walkway, chasing fireflies barefoot. Tonight was the night of their first arrival upon the island and she was elated with their appearance. Two weeks had passed since the murder of Mr. Henry and life on the island had pretty much returned to its normal state. A new man, named John Watts, now took home in the old quarters of Mr. Henry. He was a kinder man, much older, and used a cane to get about properly. He was a man without family and was more than pleased to take the position of handyman, although the details of the sudden job opening were spared him. No one on Black Tern Island spoke of it further, it was as if time had washed all memory of Mr. Henry away the same way it would grains of sand in a receding tide. Not even the detective who hung about for a few days returned. This truth gave Elise a strange sickening sense of justice—for she still kept secret what transpired between her and Mr. Henry and felt that no matter how gruesome the punishment, it was dealt out fairly in her eyes. She wondered if feeling this way made her cruel, yet felt a strange sense of disconnect for she found no empathy for feeling as such.
Elise had her hands cupped around a firefly as she watched its light dim and then glow pale green in her hand.
“’Lisey!” Mrs. Alice shouted from the walkway as she made a frantic sweeping gesture with her hand as though she could sweep Elise into her arms through the action.
“Coming, Mrs. Alice!” Elise yelled as she released the firefly to the open air once more— watching for a moment as it disappeared from view. She covered the distance to the walkway in a short sprint, the cool evening air gentle against her face as she took in the breaths of air that smelled heavily of flowers.
“Grandmother has requested your presence,” Mrs. Alice said as she ushered Elise along, her breathing heavy as she fanned herself with an open hand.
As Elise passed into the atrium of Red Manor she saw a suitcase sitting at the edge of the spiral staircase. It was a large dark green suitcase with an ebony black handle and a golden lock. Written in cursive upon the top of the suitcase was the name “Ryan”.
Elise slowly walked into the dining room. Grandmother turned and looked somewhat concerned for a moment and then flashed a short smile.
“We have a visitor,” grandmother began as a teen rose from his seat at the long dining room table.
The teen was tall but wiry; he had short dark black hair and unusual grayish eyes. He was dressed in a brown suit jacket with matching brown pants and wore a pair of very shiny black dress shoes. He walked over to Elise and extended a hand.
Elise returned the handshake and smiled. It had been quite a long time since she had been in the company of anyone close to her own age.
“Ryan,” the teen nervously said as he released Elise’s hand. “Ryan.”
“Elise.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Ryan added.
“Likewise, of course,” Elise said as she smiled.
“Ryan will be staying with us for a time. His father was a great friend to me— so any will always be welcome here,” grandmother said as she turned to Mrs. Alice. “Would you kindly take our guest up to his room?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Alice said as she rushed off to gather the suitcase.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Morgan,” Ryan said to grandmother as he followed behind Mrs. Alice, nodding once as he passed Elise.
Elise was surprised at the fact that someone had used grandmother’s real name. Since she had arrived on the island everyone had just referred to her as grandmother, even those who were her equal in age. Even still, she was more taken with Ryan. He seemed a very handsome and well-spoken boy. Not at all like those she had gone to school with back in the city—the o
nes that would tease her and pull on her long dark hair and make fun of her for being an outsider.
“Well then,” grandmother said somewhat nervously. Her hand trembled a bit as though she was hiding some amount of fear that she did not want to show to Elise, but was however unable to completely do so. “A boy your age should be great company.”
“Is he my age?”
“Fifteen, I believe,” grandmother said as she nodded. “You’ll be fifteen next week, right?”
“Yes, in five days to be exact,” Elise said happily.
“We shall have to celebrate,” grandmother said as she eased herself into the seat of the arched wooden chair behind her. She steadied her hand and briefly smiled.
“Is there something amiss?” Elise asked.
“What?” grandmother replied, her eyes glazed over as though she was deep in thought. “No, child, I was simply… I was thinking about his father. He reminds me so much of his father it is rather uncanny.”
“You were friends?” Elise asked.
“We were,” grandmother said as she looked away to an open window and gazed off toward the oncoming waves in the far distance.
“Were?”
“He is no longer,” grandmother said.
“I am sorry,” Elise whispered. She had her fair share of encounters with death, her mother being the central part, so she knew pretty well firsthand how it felt to lose a loved one.
“As am I….”
“Our new guest is all situated,” Mrs. Alice said as she carried on as though she was about to have a heart attack. She collapsed into the empty seat across from grandmother and let out a heavy set sigh. “Those stairs are certainly going to be the death of me one day soon, I swear.”
“It is a product of your own good cooking, and a measure of ability in avoiding it,” grandmother said, changing the subject at hand and turning it toward a rare moment of compliment.
“Ain’t got any reason to be avoiding it,” Mrs. Alice chuckled heartily. “It’s been many a year since I last felt the need to impress a man—besides I’m pretty impressive as it is, what with my many assets.”
