Black Acres- The Complete Collection

by Ambrose Ibsen

  But the closet was empty. As far as she could tell, there was nothing inside. Just a moment ago she'd been certain as she was of anything that there'd been someone or something inside. The faces of a thousand phantasms had flown through her mind as the door was opened, but none had greeted her there. It was positively empty. From a crouched position, Kim peered into the closet, only the blank wall inside meeting her gaze.

  Fifteen

  Kim dipped the brush into the bottle and dabbed another layer of pearly blue across her thumbnail. Pleased with the coat she carefully studied her fingernails and gave them a gentle blow. Julian could be heard to watch a movie in the next room while she was doing everything she could to avoid the journal on the counter. She hadn't touched it since the previous day, had slept in late and tried her best to put it out of her mind.

  It hadn't worked.

  She wanted to dive back into the volume, Dakota's smile in that picture haunting her thoughts ever since she'd laid eyes on it. But she resisted. She did just about everything else she could think of around the house. She'd cleaned the bathroom, finished the dishes, gone for a brief, unfulfilling walk around the yard. She'd even painted her nails. It wasn't something she did too often, and Kim didn't really like going through the trouble only for the color to chip off within a few days, but when compared to cracking open that journal and further acquainting herself with Dakota, it seemed a pleasant alternative. She'd picked her favorite color, a light, powdery blue with a pearl finish. She admired the polish in the fading light that drifted in through the kitchen window. It would be time for dinner soon. Then she and Julian would putter about the house a while longer and turn in. She wondered how else she might distract herself, if she could bring herself to wait another day to restart her reading. Maybe tomorrow you can check it out. It would be better that way. Maybe then...

  Her nails were mostly dry when a devilish idea crossed her mind. She took out her phone and searched through the contacts, remembering the three names and phone numbers Edwin had given her. She'd intended to call these people, to ask them questions about the Reeds. With all she'd learned from the journal, Kim thought it an excellent time to capitalize on these contacts. Perhaps one or more of them would be able to corroborate Dakota's obsession, which had been highlighted plainly in the writing, or they would have some other insights to share. It was getting late, but if she hurried and called soon then there would be no problem. Any later and she risked interrupting dinners or early bed times.

  She stopped a minute to talk to Julian, asking him what he wanted for dinner. He said he'd probably just fire up the grill and make steaks, before returning to the television and effectively tuning her out. From there she went upstairs and to the bedroom, pulling out her phone and searching for a good reception. It was a lot of guesswork and she could never really be sure that she'd find a signal. After a minute or so of trying, she finally got a few bars and stood near the window, dialing the first of three contacts. A woman by the name of Enid Ellison. Just one for tonight, she thought. You can always call the others later. Cold-calling strangers made her nervous, so for her own sake she decided not to contact all three of the individuals at once.

  Kim licked her lips as the line began to ring. She hadn't pre-rehearsed anything, hadn't come up with some sort of apologetic spiel to recite. She could only hope that Enid felt up to talking about her old friends the Reeds with a perfect stranger. Pacing slowly in front of the window, the curtains drawn and a weak light drifting in from their edges, she listened closely to each ring.

  Then, someone picked up.

  “Hello?”

  It was a croaking feminine voice, so positively ancient-sounding that the speaker seemed to Kim little more than a husk of an old woman. The Reeds, had they still lived, would have been quite old themselves, she realized. The same presumably went for their acquaintances. Edwin was showing his age certainly, but he remained lively, jovial. Not so with this woman. From the first word that much was clear. Kim instantly regretted calling her.

  “Hello?” the woman repeated, a hint of annoyance showing through.

  Kim cleared her throat and gave a hasty introduction. “Sorry to bother you today, I'm looking to speak to Enid Ellison. My name is Kim Taylor.”

  “Well, this is Enid speaking, but I hardly think you're bothering me today... from where I'm sitting it looks rather dark out,” the old woman was quick to reply. She sounded frail, weak, but her voice retained a fierce edge and she still had her wits about her.

  Kim loosed a nervous laugh. “Yes, I am sorry about that. I should have called sooner.”

  Enid was not amused. “My, Kim Taylor, how very much you have to apologize about. What is it I can help you with? Do try and be quick about it. Anymore I haven't much time to spare for chit-chat with perfect strangers and seeing as I don't know any Kims or Taylors I can only assume that you're calling to ask something of me. So, out with it.” The line crackled as Enid doubtlessly waited with a crease-ridden frown.

  “Right, well, my husband and I are living in the Beacon estate. I understand that you were acquainted with the previous owners, Marshall and Dakota Reed? I was calling in the hopes that you might be willing to tell me about them.” There was no sense in beating around the bush with this woman. Kim got right to the point, digging her heel into a floorboard and waiting with bated breath for a reply.

  The quick-witted Enid did not respond at once, however. The line went silent for a time, and then the woman could be heard to draw in a deep sigh. The names of her old friends, probably, had roused dormant memories. It'd likely been a long time since she'd thought of the Reeds, of the Beacon estate. When finally she did speak, it was in a quieter tone of voice. It was kindlier in a way, perhaps more feeble than before. Her words lacked the venom they'd boasted only moments ago. “The Reeds? Yes, old, old friends. Why, it's been some time since I've heard their names uttered. Your request has taken me off guard, but I'll see if I can't help you. What is it you wish to know about them?” Then, she quickly added, “I hope that everything is all right in the house, of course. You and your husband are... faring well there, yes? Nothing has... happened?”

  Kim hesitated. Did Enid know something about the house? Something that she didn't know? Were the two of them in danger for living in it? That was the way Enid made it sound, anyhow. “No, I mean... nothing has happened, really. We're getting along fine in the house, moved in a few weeks back.”

  “That's good to hear,” replied Enid. “The Reeds, you know, disappeared from that house some years ago. I had no idea their house was on the market again after all those years. Must've been nearly a decade now.”

  “About eight years,” Kim corrected. “They were... recently declared dead in absentia and the executor of their estate put the house on the market. A man by the name of Edwin?”

  “Edwin, yes, I know him.” Enid paused. “Declared dead, were they? I had no idea...” she trailed off, her croaking voice marked with a hint of melancholy. “Well then, what is it I can help you with?”

  Kim had lost the plot, was unsure where to begin with her questioning. Holding the phone to her ear clumsily so as to avoid the smudging of her nail polish, she thought back to what she'd read in the journal, to the photograph. That was the best place to start. “The Reeds... did they have any children?”

  Like Edwin before her, the woman was quick to respond, and she did so with a finality and firmness that demonstrated utter certainty. “No, none. They were childless, the two of them. I know they always wanted children but they never did manage to conceive.”

  “A-are you sure?” stammered Kim.

  “Sure as I am of anything in this world, dear.”

  Kim had to fight the urge to bite her fingernails. That's two people now who say they didn't have any kids. But then... whose kid was she holding in that picture? “I see...” She searched for some other question, opting to ask about the house's construction and how long the Reeds had lived in it before their disappearance. Though sh
e didn't appear to be so well-acquainted with the house's history as Edwin had been, what Enid told her more or less meshed with the earlier details she'd received. “And the two of them... were they religious?” she asked, thinking back to the mass of religious statues and objects in the hidden chamber. She was curious to know how well Enid had really known the vanished couple.

  “Were they devout?” asked Enid with a little snort. “My heavens, no. Not while I knew them, anyway. They never attended church, never spoke much of those matters, I'm afraid. Fond they were of poking fun at the faithful, in fact. I recall Dakota being rather averse to any such talk, in particular. Had a rough upbringing with a devout family. I reckon that turned her off of the faith. And as the years went on I never did see them much of anywhere unless I invited them over. They took to spending too much time in that house. When they were finally declared missing it came as quite a surprise for that reason; I figured they'd just been in the house doing who-knows-what all that time. It never occurred to me that they might've vanished. It was all so very queer, that.” Enid sighed. “I've always wondered what happened to them. It's almost as if that house ate them up, isn't it?”

  Kim pursed her lips. She didn't like the mental image those words conjured up. The house ate them up. More than that, she was disturbed by the fact that the Reeds were not known to be religious. That didn't jive with the numerous examples throughout the house of Christian paraphernalia. The bannister with its carved cherubs, the mess of religious objects in the cellar. What were they doing in the house? In the journal, Dakota had talked about “praying” and “God” with frequency. Perhaps her indifference to religion had been just a ruse she'd worn in public life? Maybe she'd kept her faith hidden for some reason? Kim was going down the rabbit hole again, her imagination thrumming along at full speed and coming up with other, more frightful scenarios. Here a former friend of the couple was claiming that the pair wasn't religious, but then where had the heap of Virgin Mary statues in the basement come from? Something wasn't adding up, and Kim didn't like it.

  After a bit more back and forth, Kim said goodbye and let Enid go on her way. She couldn't hope to learn more from the woman; it seemed clear that she only knew an aspect of Dakota, an aspect made digestible and proper for public life. But Kim knew, thanks to the journal, that there were other dimensions to Dakota's personality, things that she likely never aired. Lowering the phone and tucking it into her pocket, she made her way back downstairs.

  The journal. She needed to read it.

  Only in its pages could she possibly find the answers she sought. The other contacts Edwin had given her would likely end up the same, recounting only cutesy anecdotes and expressing their condolences. None of them would be able to offer anything of substance because none of them had actually known Dakota. None of them knew the Dakota that Kim knew.

  Passing through the living room, she saw that the television was off and Julian was gone. He'd probably gone into the back yard to fire up the grill. All the better, she thought. That way, he wouldn't be around to interrupt her reading. Rushing into the kitchen, she grabbed up the journal from the counter and dropped it onto the table with a thud. She switched on the ceiling light and plopped into a chair, eyeing the book cautiously. Her fingers twitched as she reached for the cover, her neckline was dotted in sweat. She slipped her finger into the book, opening to the page she'd marked with the photograph. She flipped it over, the sight of it turning her stomach for reasons she couldn't explain, and set it aside. Perhaps, when she'd pieced this thing together, she'd show it to Julian. It wouldn't prove anything, of course, except that Kim's fascination with the previous owners had increased by a considerable degree. But if he saw it, picture proof that the vanished couple had had a child despite all reports to the contrary, then perhaps his curiosity would be piqued and he'd agree with her that something strange was afoot in the house.

  She began to search for a readable passage, glancing over the open, water-damaged page and quickly flipping to the next.

  She didn't have to look far.

  Sixteen

  It finally happened, read the first line of the next page. The passage that followed was unmarred, crystal clear to an almost suspicious degree. Kim felt as though some outside force had acted on this journal and preserved this page in particular for her to read. The writing had returned to its former, neater style, and Dakota recounted something that happened in the woods outside the house that made Kim's stomach revolt.

  The entry continued. I have my baby. Today, in the woods, Marshall and I were going for a walk. It was a chill day, somewhat overcast. We thought we heard something approaching from the distance and we both paused against the trunk of a large tree. Some moments later we were faced with a curious sight. A mangy wolf approached us, its fur falling out, its eyes bulging and its body shuddering atop four stick-like legs. The creature was in a bad way. Ordinarily I may have been scared by such a sighting, however I showed no fear, for I realized quickly that the mongrel carried something in its mouth. Something I delighted over at first glance.

  A baby.

  Bundled in white blankets, the wolf walked over to us, standing some few feet away, and set down the baby on the forest floor. Then, staggering away a few paces, wheezing and weak, the creature collapsed and drew its last breath. I picked up the baby at once; the child was unharmed. From whence the wolf had brought it to us we could not say; there are not many people in this area and none that we are aware of have recently given birth. This child was very young however, and it was clearly in need of a home...

  I had Marshall take a picture to commemorate the occasion and then the three of us walked home to start our new life. I was beginning to feel certain that I would live out my days without ever becoming a mother. I can see now that my prayers were answered. I have decided on a name--

  The start of the next page was incredibly blurred so that only a jumble of words could be made out. Stunned into silence, Kim read and reread the passage, trying to visualize what was described. It was simply beyond imagining however. “It's something out of a damn fairy tale,” she murmured, placing a palm to her forehead and trying to stymy an emerging headache with massage. How could it be that some wild animal had brought them a baby from some far-off place? It was ludicrous, and Kim wondered if Dakota hadn't fabricated the entire account. Perhaps the child had been kidnapped from some remote house and she'd written up the fanciful story in the woods as a cover.

  Or, she thought, perhaps it really did happen that way.

  Kim furrowed her brow, working over the words, the description of the wolf. This sounded like some sort of ancient myth; a messenger sent by the gods to deliver some reward to humankind. But at the same time, it didn't read like a cheery Greek myth to her. What kind of god sends a couple a child by way of a mangy, dying wolf? Not a good one, that's for sure. She pawed at the page, her heart convulsing in her chest. Was it possible that this really occurred? If so, where did the child come from, and how was it that neither Edwin nor Enid knew about it? Was the child a boy or a girl? What had happened to the baby? She felt her mouth go dry, her tongue sitting heavily against her teeth. She needed a drink.

  Flipping the journal over, she decided she would call Julian inside and show him both the photograph and the entry. This was simply too weird not to share. She wasn't sure how he'd react or if he'd even give a damn, but this was something she needed to tell someone about. If she kept it inside she'd simply burst. Perhaps this was one instance where Julian's no-nonsense explanations could come in handy. His perspective on the matter might actually prove valuable.

  Walking to the sink, she took a clean glass from the drying rack and filled it with cold water. Gulping it down, she looked through the dim kitchen window for Julian. She spotted the grill, saw a bit of smoke escaping from beneath its lid, but saw no sign of him.

  There was something else, however. Something that made her stagger back a few paces and drop the glass of water, half-filled. It shattered against th
e ground with a riotous clatter, dampening her socks, but she didn't even notice.

  Someone was standing in the yard, perhaps ten feet from the kitchen window in the dusk, looking straight at her.

  And it wasn't Julian.

  Seventeen

  The face was bloated and white, grotesque. It was highlighted in the fading light, its features exaggerated, its eyes reduced to two pinholes and the skin appearing patchy as though made of plaster. The body was slender, darkly outfitted so that it blended well into the dusk. A wide, sloping smile accosted her, lending the face a stiff and static appearance.

  Like a mask.

  Kim staggered back, knocking into the table and almost falling to the ground. Even as she did so she could feel those eyes on her. They never once strayed from her. It was just like the night she'd seen this same figure standing at the edge of the woods, looking up at her through her bedroom window. The figure had come back. Why it'd come she couldn't say, but it was standing there, a few steps from the outside of the house, unmoving and simply staring her down. The effect was far more potent at this distance and there could no longer be any doubt; the figure was wearing an almost identical mask to those she'd glimpsed in that old photo. Kim cradled herself instinctively, cast a terrified glance out the window as she straightened herself and leaned against the wall for support.

  The figure was gone. The window was clear, filled only with the dying glow of the day.

  The gasp of relief in her throat dribbled out into a moan in the next instant, however. To her right, she could hear the sound of the back door being tried.

  And then, to her horror, it opened.

  She let out a scream as the door swung open, dropping to her knees and cowering near a chair. The figure wasn't simply going to stare at her this time. It was letting itself in and would be upon her in an instant. She closed her eyes, kicked off of the floor until she was squeezed into a corner and shrieked like mad.