Slowly, Claire closed the door behind their friends and locked it, leaving the light on as they walked up the stairs. Claire had looked around the foyer, the stairway winding up into the darkness. She had headed up silently, Noel following close behind. Their footsteps fell quietly on the threadbare carpet, the steps squeaking in protest as they ascended.
At the head of the stairs, they went to the left, ignoring the closed doors in the main section of the house. Claire had refused to choose one of those rooms, even though they were larger and closer to the functioning bathrooms.
When Noel had looked at her curiously, surprised by the vehemence of her refusal, Claire had only shrugged at her expression. How could she explain that she felt odd in the older part of the house? That standing in the foyer and gazing up the stairs made the back of her neck tingle like a ghostly hand was caressing the bare skin there? It had been years since those feelings of dread had disturbed her. That time, that slice of her life better erased from her memory. But as she grew older, the feelings became mere memories, and then fantasies of her imagination. She had fought to shake the image of a backward, mildly disturbed young girl, and she wasn’t about to let the facade slip now.
Taking a few of the remaining boxes into their rooms, they left the bulk of them in the hall. Each girl had packed a suitcase with the most important necessities in it. They went together down the hall and took turns in the largest bathroom, located in the main section of the house.
The bathroom was a glorious mix of retrofit pieces, originals, and beautiful reproductions. It was not totally finished, but the potential was there. And the water was hot, the tile cool beneath their feet, and the unstained sinks and unmarred mirrors a perfect contrast from the sad little place they had left by the campus.
Their basic clean up completed, they went back down the hall to their rooms. Claire closed her door quietly behind her, listening to the soft click of the latch engaging. She looked around the room slowly, her eyes gritty with fatigue.
Her sheets were neatly tucked around the mattress, her yellow comforter glaring against all the antique wood. She picked it up and flipped it, the cream side up. That was better. Next, she rifled through the suitcase to find her nightclothes. She had purposely chosen a set that was modest with a short sleeve top and matching shorts. The temperature in the room was slightly cool, so she hurried to crawl under the covers. She took a paperback novel with her, a mystery romance to keep her mind off her situation. To be honest with herself, she was trying not to think about the house. Avoiding the odd feelings the room gave her, as though the clever fairies were watching her with their shiny brown eyes.
She straightened her sheet and pulled the comforter tighter around her legs. Her eyes wandered around the room. The lamp beside the bed cast shadows on the page in front of her. She could almost laugh. Her belongings looked obscene next to the room’s lush furnishings. The table next to her had inlaid wood polished to a high sheen. Her yellow telephone sat atop it with a box of Kleenex next to it, her alarm clock sitting closest to the bed. Her Georgia O’Keefe poster, framed in yellow plastic, leaned against the wall beneath an oil portrait of a young woman in full formal dress.
Claire studied the portrait. The woman was attractive with a sharp nose and strong chin, which kept her from being a conventional beauty. Her dark brown hair was piled atop her head and secured with jeweled combs. A matching necklace was at her throat, the pearl locket glowing a soft pink. But most striking were her eyes, painted with such clarity she seemed to watch Claire with eerie directness from across the room.
Next to the portrait was the wardrobe and on the other side of the huge piece of furniture was an ornate mirror framed in heavy gold. The mirror was obviously old with lines and spots of black showing around the edges of the glass. It reflected the soft light and the wall behind the bed. When Claire moved she could see her shadow in the reflection. She wondered if she would ever get to sleep at this rate. But her eyes were getting heavy. She was almost nodding off when a tick tick sounded at the balcony doors.
“Is it raining?” she asked aloud, her voice swallowed up in the silence. She listened more closely, but realized it wasn’t any rain. She could hear the wind shushing against the glass, but it was a dry sound, like a breath from a skeleton’s mouth.
“Now that’s a creepy thought,” she said into the dimness. She slipped her legs out from under the blankets and tiptoes to the glass doors. She bent close, her eyes squinting with the effort to hear something.
The skittering clicking and clattering against the panes had her jumping back, her heart in her throat. She jerked open the heavy curtains to reveal a flutter of a shape outside the window.
“A bird,” she breathed in relief, seeing its escape into the wind. “It’s only a bird.” She put her hand to her chest as though to still the beating of her heart. “Nothing but a bird in the wind. Lucky, it didn’t kill itself against the glass.”
She pulled the curtains closed against the night outside and walked more slowly back to her bed. For a moment, she just listened, but there were no more unexplained sounds. She took one more look around and sighed with fatigue. Slowly she sank back down, burying her head in her pillow.
Chapter Four
The early morning light seeped through the heavy curtains covering the French doors. It drew straight lines across the wood floor until it reached the fireplace on the opposite wall. The chubby faces of the fairies were highlighted; the clever grins of last night replaced by serene smiles frozen on innocent faces. As Claire sat up, the mirror reflected the top of her head as she leaned over to check her watch. It was 8:30, far later than she had thought. She slipped out of bed and went immediately to the window. The sun almost blinded her as it streaked though the glass, setting the room ablaze with light. There were no signs of her visitor last night, no feathers or tiny birdie prints on the concrete.
She gathered her shampoo and soap, filling her bucket with all her toiletries, and hurried down the hall to the shower. The bathroom was four doors down in the main part of the house. The plumbers hadn’t completed all the pipes to the new bathrooms in the east or west wings so the only functioning ones were adjoining the master bedroom and the ones downstairs.
Claire ran into the nearest one, her feet chilled by the wooden floors. She immediately turned on the hot water in the tub and watched the steam rise in a sinuous cloud. As she dropped her clothes on the floor, she unbraided her hair and put her shower supplies in the tub.
Noel’s were already in place. Claire decided she must have gotten up early and was downstairs getting breakfast since she hadn’t heard any noise from her friend’s room. Hopefully Noel had slept more comfortably than Claire had.
Once the water was warm, Claire stepped under the spray, letting it rinse away her fatigue. She stood there for a moment, basking in the heat and letting the water run through her long hair, pulling out the tangles. Next, she lathered her hair vigorously and rinsed it, breathing in the sweet scent of the shampoo. As she soaped her hands to wash her face, she noted she had been showering for longer than usual. As she finished rinsing, she felt the water steadily growing colder. It surprised her to think they would run out of hot water in a building that size. Charles had mentioned all the utilities, the plumbing and heating, had been replaced to handle the load of a full house. As the water temperature dropped, Claire hurriedly rinsed her hair of the remaining conditioner.
Hot, scalding water suddenly hit her back, sending her flailing forward. An involuntary scream choked her as she stumbled, hands grasping the curtain. She fell hard on her knees outside the tub, tears in her eyes. Her back screamed and her knees throbbed as she turned over, sitting naked on the cold tile floor. Breathing hard she looked up to the shower head. No steam rose from the water and when she stretched her hand out, letting the spray trickle through her fingers, the water was ice cold.
She dragged herself to her feet and stepped gingerly into the tub, her back burning with heat. The initial shoc
k of the cold made her yelp, but the cold water gradually eased the pain from the burn.
After a few minutes, she finished rinsing her hair and turned off the water, trembling from the cold. Goose bumps pricked her skin and her back continued to ache, but the pain was less. She found her robe and towel. Carefully she dabbed her tender skin and pulled the robe over her still damp back. She stuck her head out of the door and seeing no one in the hallway, hurried back to her room. She dropped the robe from her shoulders to the crook of her arm and turned her back to the mirror, looking at herself over her shoulder. Her skin was an angry red but no blisters were evident.
A knock on her closed door made her jump and Noel peered around the door.
“My God, what happened to you?” she asked, looking at Claire’s white face and red back.
“The damn shower. It almost took my skin off.”
“What do you mean? It was fine this morning when I used it,” Noel said, coming into the room and closing the door behind her.
Claire explained what had happened and let Noel have a closer look at her back. Noel immediately went to her room to get an aloe cream to ease the pain.
Together they went downstairs after Claire was dressed. They met John on the stairs as he was headed back up to his room. Noel indignantly told him about the accident as Claire stood silently at her side. He was surprised and told them he would immediately speak with the plumbers.
“That’s so strange. The whole system is brand new and top of the line. As a matter of fact, the water heater’s temperature is being kept very low so no one does get accidentally burned.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. This is totally unacceptable,” he declared. “One more thing going wrong,” he muttered darkly more to himself than to the girls. He continued to look frustrated as he made his way up to his room, his feet heavier on the steps.
Breakfast was cold cereal and milk, and the rest of the morning was spent organizing their rooms waiting to be told further instructions. By the time they were finished, Noel had set up her futon on the platform with her new comforter in neon colors, and propped her funky beaded lamp on an old dresser they had found in the room next door. Colorful scarves of crimson and orange were draped on the wooden mantle above the fireplace, and candlesticks shaped like giraffes adorned a junky old bedside table Noel had painted yellow. Noel stepped back, satisfied by her decorating. It was an odd mix that expressed her personality perfectly.
Claire’s room was next. With the bed made in soft cream, a desk procured from the room next door, and some pillows thrown in the chair and on the bed, her room was a reflection of how she wanted her life. Serene and controlled. Framed photos of her family with her collection of glass paperweights sat on the deep mantle above the huge fireplace.
Claire borrowed one of Noel’s more conservative scarves with rose and cream stripes and wound it on the canapé frame. She stacked her books neatly on her desk and used her porcelain bookends, delicate flowers sprouting from a heavy base, to hold them up. She dropped a braided rug in soft colors on the floor to protect her bare feet. Lastly, she checked out her framed poster propped it up under the portrait, waiting to hang it later. By the time the rooms were done, it was time for lunch.
John was below, eating a sandwich in the kitchen when they went down the stairs. He seemed to have calmed down since their meeting on the stairs that morning, and they talked with him as they ate. It appeared the architect was a font of interesting information. The renovation had been underway for almost a year with difficulties interrupting the work on several occasions. The snow of last winter had caused problems because of the drive, and continual freezing and melting had been hard on the old stone. Immediately after, the spring rain had arrived with a fury and seeped inside the house from badly sealed windows, doors, and a little from the storm damaged roof. The heat had gone out in the coldest weather, and the air conditioner, newly installed, had choked on the hottest day of the season. Work had stopped and started in sputtering attempts at consistency. Structural problems had been attended to first, although the house was stable considering the neglect, John explained, trying to add a happier ending on a string of bad luck.
“How long was this place empty?” Noel asked curiously.
“It was cared for by a small staff until the ‘60s. After that, the money ran out, and the house was boarded up. By then it had acquired such a reputation no one would touch it.”
“Reputation,” Claire said, looking closely at John’s face.
He laughed slightly but avoided her eyes, looking down at his feet. “Nothing,” he said quickly, “It’s nothing really. Just rumors and ... well, old ghost stories.”
Noel looked fascinated, “Tell us more about it.”
John sighed and looked at them directly. “Look, we’re not supposed to discuss this. Charles stated it at the start of this project, and apparently that comes from the top. Since this is supposed to be such a public attraction, Charles doesn’t want any negative publicity.”
“Oh,” Noel looked deflated, but Claire suddenly felt relieved, then angry with herself for her own cowardice.
Slamming doors from outside drew their attention and they moved into the foyer in time to see a small convoy of trucks drive up. The workers moved quickly, nodding briefly to Claire and Noel as John performed a hurried introduction. They carried boxes of tools, extension cords, and materials. Soon, the building was alive with the noise of heavy boots and power tools.
Claire looked at John curiously. “Why are they starting so late?”
John looked surprised. “Charles asked them to wait. He wanted to make sure you had enough time to settle in. I thought he told you that.”
“We haven’t talked to Charles since Wednesday when we scheduled moving day,” Noel explained. “It was nice of him to wait for us.”
John nodded, distracted.” I’m going to go up and check on Joe. He’s working on remodeling for bathrooms. I need to talk to him about the water heater. Charles said he’d be in tomorrow to get you guys started.” He grinned at them, suddenly looking boyish, “Better enjoy today while you have it easy.”
By 6:00 the workers had cleared out, taking with them the incessant noise of power tools and conversation, but leaving some of their tools around to stub unsuspecting toes. The mess, if anything, had gotten worse with their presence. Bits of plaster and spatters of paint were generously spread throughout the hallway and down the stairs. The kitchen and bathrooms all bore the distinct handprints of the men, cast in dirt, concrete or dust, depending on what each person had worked on for the day. Claire began wiping up the bathrooms while Noel started dinner. By the time Claire had finished with two of them, Noel had a spaghetti dinner ready and was choosing a wine.
The sauce was canned, and the pasta dried, but eating in the dining room with the lights dimmed to lend it atmosphere and cover the wear and tear of time, made the food seem almost gourmet. Or maybe it was just the fact they were moved in and excited about the new job. And the wine was honestly good, dry with a hint of oak flavor.
John was out for the evening and the two girls sat in the comparative quiet, nursing their drinks and looking around the room.
“This place could be beautiful,” Noel said softly, her eyes skimming the wood paneling.
Claire looked up to the ceiling. In the dim light, a painted pattern was barely visible. Her eyes dropped to the shrouded furniture against the walls. When they peeked beneath the sheets, they had been able to discern a tall china cabinet with glass doors and a long, low buffet. With some work, this room could easily be the central showplace of the house with seating for a good number of patrons. Claire had a sudden vision of the room as it once had been, the table buffed to a high gloss, matching carved chairs with rich red cushions, and the silver trays on the buffet mounded with rich food, the odor sweet and savory. Dishes and silver laid out artfully on the table glinted in the light of a huge crystal chandelier.
In a blink, it wa
s gone and Claire was looking back at the scarred surface.
Her wine started to bubble.
Unaware, she looked slowly at her slender hands in her lap, devoid of rings with neatly trimmed, unpainted nails. Idly she thought of sketching the scene she had just imagined. What a rich and textured image it would make. Weird thought. Everyone knew she couldn’t draw more than a stick figure.
The pop caused her head to jerk up as tiny pieces of glass and ripe red wine splattered her bare arms and white tee shirt.
Noel yelped as Claire jumped back.
“Oh my God, what was that? Are you all right?”
Claire stared at the shattered remains of her glass, sparkling like rubies in the dim light. Wine seeped into her napkin and dripped onto her light-colored pants like blood. She shoved away from the table, her chair scraping the wooden floor. “Yeah, yeah, I think I’m fine,” she said slowly, sliding her fingers down her arms. Apart from a few scratches, she was unharmed. She stumbled to her feet and carefully used her napkin to stop the flow of liquid from reaching the center of the table. Slowly she wiped away the scarlet droplets, catching Noel’s eyes on her.
“Are you sure you’re fine?”
Claire crumpled the napkin in her hand and nodded. Clasping her hands over the red stained ball, she walked into the kitchen, trying to put some space between her and the table. “Let’s just clean up. I think I’m ready to go back upstairs.” She felt suddenly anxious to get out of the old section of the house.
“I’ll get the glass; you take the dishes in.” Noel gestured Claire further into the kitchen. In the bright light, it all seemed to make more sense. She must have tipped the glass over. She could have hit it with her hand without realizing it. The wood of the table, the thin glass, it was a pure accident.
“Okay, I’ve got it,” Noel broke her reverie with her words. “No harm done, so I guess we’re okay. It’s not like any of the dishes here are the expensive type. I guess they’ll add fine china later. They must have expected some accidents.” Noel stopped talking and looked at Claire more closely. “Are you sure you feel alright?” she asked.
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