Black Acres- The Complete Collection

by Ambrose Ibsen

  She spent the day telling herself that, because to entertain the alternative was simply too much.

  Six

  Julian slammed down the phone, red-faced. “Couldn't hardly hear a damn thing.” They'd settled for a landline in the new house, since cell phone reception was incredibly poor in the area, however like so many other things, it didn't work very well. The line was known to cut out from time to time, and even when calls did come through, there tended to be a good deal of interference, making callers hard to hear. He kept talking about getting the people from the phone company to look into it, but Kim didn't see the point. What could they really do about it? It seemed to her a consequence of living so far away from civilization.

  “Who was it?” she asked, looking up from her lunch. She'd fried up a few eggs with peppers and onions. Mopping up the yolks with a piece of toast, she leafed through a graphic novel.

  “It was the cabinet company. They botched our goddamn order. Scheduled the wrong product for delivery. Said they 'lost' our order, though how that's even possible in the twenty-first century is beyond me. They need someone to come in and pick everything out again. Have to sign the paperwork and whatnot. In-person, apparently.” He was fuming, pacing across the kitchen in his slippers as though he intended to burn a hole through the floor. He took a quick sip of coffee. “The manager wants to give us a discount or something, but I don't care about that. I just want my damn cabinets. The sooner we get them, the sooner we can tear this shit out.” He motioned to the kitchen around him. The old-fashioned cabinets, chipped and ruddy, were certainly in need of an upgrade. The shelves within them were so soiled Kim almost hesitated to store anything inside.

  “Well, it's not such a big deal. It's, what, two hours out? Make a day trip of it. Have some lunch, re-do the order and then come back,” she suggested, flipping a page and scanning it absentmindedly. She wasn't even reading it, but merely looking at the art. The colors were subdued, pleasing to the eye.

  Julian arched a brow. “What, you don't want to come with?” He scratched his head. “We could both go, you know? No need to just sit around here all alone. I know how you get about the house and I don't want you feeling uneasy. Maybe we'll hit up a good restaurant, or...” He stalled.

  At this junction, Kim gulped down a bite of food and peered up from her book. “I'd rather stay.” This, however, was something of a lie. She blurted it before she had time to truly weigh the implications, before the decision had a chance to sink in. Spending some time alone in the house was extremely unappealing to her, however it seemed about the best way to go about steeling her nerves. Go on, stay behind, she thought. Putz around the house for a day, on your own. That way Julian won't think you a scaredy-cat. And anyway, this will be a good way to get to know the place on your own terms, to prove to yourself that there's nothing weird about it.

  While Julian mulled it over she considered more excuses. There's a lot of laundry to catch up on, she thought. Could read without Julian interrupting. The 'me' time might be nice for him, and even though he's pissed off right now, he'll come back in a good mood. Listening to him bitch about these cabinets over the length of a long car ride sounds awful.

  Another voice rose up in her as she resumed her meal, mechanically picking up the fork and scooping up a bit of egg white.

  This is a bad idea, said the other voice. This is a stupid, shitty idea.

  “Well, if you're sure,” said Julian, the thought of spending the day goofing off in town solo apparently gaining some appeal in his eyes. “It won't take too long. And I'll be back in time for dinner. Don't worry about the meal, I'll cook when I get back. Sound good?”

  She nodded, putting on a brave face and donning a smile. Without her realizing it, her feet were twitching against the linoleum, rapping out a nervous cadence. “Have a good time.”

  Julian threw on some jeans and a sweater and, within a half hour, stepped out the door, giving her a kiss on the head as he made his way out.

  The silence that settled over the house as the sounds of the car died away was utterly pestilential. Kim bit down on her fork and shoved her plate away. “You got what you wanted,” she muttered to herself. “Time to walk the walk, I guess.”

  An hour passed. Then two. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred, and as a result Kim found herself feeling rather relaxed. Things were going better than expected. There'd been some settling in the upper story, a creaking of the floorboards. But she was used to that, and after being startled a moment, she'd settled back into her chair and forgotten all about it. She ran a bath and didn't think twice about the rattling of the pipes as the tap came on. When the odd thump issued from the attic, she reminded herself it was probably just the shifting of some air pocket or something similarly commonplace.

  For the first time since moving in, she felt at peace in the house. This didn't stop her from keeping the lamps on. Something about the darkness that perpetually gathered in the corners of each room unnerved her, but she did her best not to dwell on this and remedied it by keeping things well-lit.

  While sitting in the bath, the smell of lavender wafting through the air from her bath beads, she reflected on the move and everything that'd hitherto disturbed her and had a laugh. She was making a mountain of a molehill, causing problems where none should have existed. Here she was, living in a nice, secluded house with the love of her life. They weren't living paycheck-to-paycheck anymore. No, they had money now, could afford to do things, go places and upgrade their living space. She could spend as much time with Julian as she liked, not like before, in the city, when his work had kept him busy day and night. So, what was the problem? Why the fear? Why the jumpiness? Looking at it now, from a more sensible place, she had to admit it was unwarranted. So much had changed over the course of a relatively short time, and the transition had been jarring to her. That was all. She wasn't handling the move well, but only because she hadn't stopped to consider how good it would be for the two of them in the long-term.

  In the city she'd worked part-time as a bartender to help with the bills. Now their finances were in order and she could afford to hang around the house, reading or doing whatever she pleased. It was an ideal life, really. An arrangement to be envied.

  Things are looking up. Don't ruin them by being a Negative Nancy.

  Upon draining her bath, Kim toweled off and sought out some comfortable clothes to wear. Pajamas, hooded sweatshirts and sweatpants had been her go-to garments for the past several days. With nowhere to go and no one to impress she was free to dress however she pleased. It was liberating. She tugged her black hair into a ponytail after giving it a thorough brushing. Then, picking up the hamper of dirty clothes in their bedroom, its lid refusing to close for the bourgeoning load within, she carried it down the stairs and to the basement door, setting it down with a thud that rang out like a gunshot.

  At the sound, the warmth she'd cultivated during her bath withered and gave way to a slight chill. “Damn, it's quiet,” she said aloud, in an effort to offset the prevailing silence. She paused at the cellar door, giving the hamper a nudge with her foot and pondering the quietude. There isn't another person for miles around. There's the main road out there, but hardly anyone ever drives down it. She licked her lips pensively. You could go outside and scream at the top of your lungs if you wanted to. But no one would be around to hear you. Her chest began to grow tight as she considered this, her heart breaking into a steady gallop. If something happened to you, there'd be no one around to help. Just like the previous owners. Something happened to them and no one was around to see it. She glanced over at the phone on the kitchen counter, the corded thing looking like an antique to her. She chuckled to herself. A corded phone? A landline? Did people even use such things nowadays?

  Her grin faded. Somehow it seemed in poor taste to mock the object that might serve as her only lifeline in the event of an emergency.

  Kim picked up the hamper and held it precariously in one arm while simultaneously throwing open the cell
ar door and swiping the cool wall for the light switch. From the moment the door opened she was struck by the smell of dampness. Something earthy, like decaying autumn leaves, reached her nostrils as she steadied the load in her arms and took the first few steps. It was an awful little basement, easily her least favorite space in the house. The stairs were rickety, their porous boards groaning and squeaking. Though she was probably imagining it, she thought she could feel the whole stairway swaying as she descended, as though it were a tightrope. The handrail was there mostly for effect; it was bolted the the white brick wall in just two places, and looked too thin to support even her weight.

  She recalled with equal parts amusement and frustration the way the deliverymen had struggled to get their new washer and dryer down into the basement some days previous. Julian had supervised the process, and had eventually acted as a spotter for the big guys who grunted every step of the way, arranging and rearranging the massive metal boxes in the narrow passageway. They got them down there by some miracle, but the stairs had trembled the entire time, threatening to send the trio, along with their thousand-dollar payload, to the concrete floors below.

  Setting foot on the cool concrete, her toes writhed and she suddenly wished she'd had the foresight to put on her slippers. The two of them had mopped up the damp, dark floors with a good soap, but still they felt somehow unclean. She walked on the balls of her feet, passing a stack of unsorted boxes as she went, and dropped the hamper in front of the washer. She paced before it for a time, catching her breath and studying the silver buttons on the front. “Let's see how to work this thing,” she mumbled, wrenching open the door and tossing a few clothes in.

  Using the new washer proved to be more difficult than she'd expected. First, she had to seek out their laundry detergent, which had been placed by Julian on a high shelf in the opposite corner, perhaps as a cruel joke. When she'd referenced the instruction manual no less than five times, she finally managed to hit the right configuration of buttons and start the thing, but then realized she'd forgotten to add the detergent. She dumped a cup of the blue liquid into the tray on top of the machine and then took a few steps back, watching the small window grow sudsy. “Might've added a little too much.”

  She took to pacing about the cellar, the familiar churn of the washer providing an agreeable backdrop despite her unpleasant surroundings. She walked away from the washer and dryer, past the metal shelving unit, and around the stacks of cardboard boxes. Surveying the walls with some closeness she did her best to appraise them open-mindedly, hoping to banish the discomfort she felt. She wanted to get to know the space, to rid herself of the apprehension she felt towards it by fostering familiarity. You'd better get used to this basement. You'll be spending time down here from now on whether you like it or not.

  The walls were made of brick, painted white, except for one wall which was covered in the tackiest blue wallpaper imaginable. Wallpaper in a damp old basement? What were these people thinking? It featured a hideous flower design and seemed to house a spot of mildew on its reverse, if the splotches on the peeling edges were any indication. She frowned, looking it up and down in the scant light. There were two lights in the basement, rudimentary things composed of single sockets sticking out of the beams in the ceiling and featuring one lightbulb apiece. They didn't do much to light the room, and like the other parts of the house, this space seemed to possess the unusual tendency to gather shadows in the nooks and crannies to a ridiculous degree. More than once she startled herself, catching peripheral glimpses of things in those shadow-nested corners. The sight of a simple mop or a shop vac, when transformed by the veil of subterranean darkness, was ample cause for alarm. Kim tried to laugh it off, but each subsequent scare only left her laughter more and more hollow.

  There was one thing that caught her eye as she studied the wallpaper and silently criticized the taste of the former owners. In one of the corners, the paper seemed to bubble up in the most peculiar way, and when she finally rummaged up the nerve to poke at the wall, she found the mildew-encrusted paper did not give. There was something solid beneath it; metallic, seemingly. Running the tip of her pointer finger against it gingerly, she tried to divine what it was. Above it, and to the side, she counted three other such bumps, each of them possessing similar qualities. Perhaps the previous owners had clumsily wallpapered over some bolt or screw sticking out of the wall.

  But then, maybe it was something else. Unless she could see it with her own eyes, there was no telling what was hidden behind the wallpaper.

  Propelled by an intense curiosity she couldn't fully place, Kim found a loose edge and gave it a tug. The wallpaper didn't even make a ripping sound, but fell away in a soggy strip. She dropped it like she'd been burnt, but then continued her work, tearing away another piece, then another, till she realized what she was looking at.

  The first bulge she'd found in the wallpaper proved to be a metal piece with a key-shaped hole in its center. The others, hinges, were meaty and flecked in orange rust. Running her hand against the exposed wall, grey in color and a bit sticky, she realized herself to be looking at a door.

  There was a small slit in the wall with a dimple large enough for one or two fingertips, perhaps, that answered for a handle. She traced the door's seam carefully for a time, furrowing her brow in the process. “A door. Down here?” She gave a little tug on the handle but it wouldn't budge. “Where do you lead?” she asked.

  A door could be heard to slam shut somewhere in the upstairs. The sound made her jump, and even as she gave herself the usual pep-talk, citing Julian's earlier explanation of warped door frames and worn-out closures, she couldn't help but shiver. Kim looked back at the concrete door in front of her and appraised it affrightedly. It looked like the door to a bomb shelter, calling to mind military bunkers and the like.

  Frowning, she began up the stairs, wiping her hands off on her pants and shutting off the light. She was no longer curious about the strange door or where it led. As she closed the cellar door and shuffled across the kitchen to the sink, she was beginning to wish she'd never found it at all.

  Seven

  He set a plate in front of her with a sheepish grin. It was roasted pork with asparagus. In an effort to make it extra special, he'd caramelized some pineapple rings, however the yellow fruit had gone crispy and black on one side. She turned the pineapple rings over gently, inspecting them with amusement. Their stove was in need of replacement. While it may have been a good machine back when the house was first built, its coils had been warped over the years, which made things cook unevenly.

  “Sorry,” he said, sitting down and pouring them each a bit of wine. “It's that damn stove.”

  She thanked him just the same, starting into her asparagus and eschewing the burnt pineapple. “How was your trip into town?” she asked.

  Julian shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Had a cheeseburger, stopped by the book store in town and then took care of the cabinet business. Grocery store, too. Wanted us to have some decent food to eat. Sandwiches are fine, but I'm damn sick of them. They had a sale on coolers, so the meat didn't spoil on the drive back. Traffic was light so it made for a pleasant drive.” He chewed a bit of pork thoughtfully, looking up at the light fixture in the ceiling. “It was nice to get out, I suppose.” He then glanced at her, trying his best to hide a smirk. “And, uh... how did you fare in this house of horrors?” The dam broke and a small laugh escaped.

  She dismissed him with practiced nonchalance, carving up a cutlet and spearing a piece with her fork. “It was fine, actually. Caught up on the laundry and had a bath. It was peaceful around here, without a certain someone getting in my way.”

  The more she spoke, the more she just wanted to blurt out something about the strange door she'd found in the cellar, however.

  Kim had withheld this information up to that point, had kept it close to the chest in the hopes that she wouldn't come off as jumpy or over-eager. The last thing she wanted was for Julian to pick on her again. And so she
bided her time. She'd gone for a nap while he cooked dinner and hadn't so much as touched on the subject of the basement, except to say that she liked the new washer and dryer.

  “So,” she began, licking her lips and setting down her utensils. Kim pressed her hands together and leaned in a little. “I found something down there. In the basement, that is.” She motioned to the cellar door across the room, her gaze shooting towards it for an instant. When she continued, her voice quivered with a noticeable energy, betraying her excitement. “There's a door in the basement, built into the wall across from the stairs. I dunno where it leads and couldn't get it open to save my life. It's locked something fierce, but I thought it interesting.”

  Julian arched a brow and appraised her incredulously. “A door? I don't believe it. Where would it even go? The two of us were down there cleaning up and we never found it then. Are you sure it's a door?”

  Recalling the dark cellar, the smell of dampness and the mold-encrusted wallpaper, she drew in a deep breath and feigned composure. “Well, actually, do you remember that ugly wallpaper down there? It was hidden behind that. It was peeling in places and I just decided to give it a tug. Behind it was a door. It's got hinges, a lock and some little handle pressed into the concrete.”

  Narrowing his gaze, Julian worked over his food in silence for a time. “Huh,” he finally said, apparently unimpressed. “Well, it's weird that Edwin didn't say anything about it when he sold us the house. But if it was hidden behind the paper, then perhaps he didn't know about it. You say it's locked?”