If the Broom Fits

by Sara Bourgeois

  If the Broom Fits

  by

  Sara Bourgeois

  Chapter One

  “No, no, no.” I chanted as the car sputtered and then died.

  Before the engine was completely dead, I managed to guide it off the side of the road. I jumped out of the car and ran to the back to make sure the U-Haul I towed wasn’t sticking out into the road. The last thing I needed was for it to get smashed. The optional insurance had been too expensive, and that meant if I got in an accident I’d have to pay for the damage and I’d probably lose all of my stuff too.

  Not that my stuff was worth very much, but it was mine just the same. Satisfied that the trailer and my worldly possessions were at least temporarily safe, I went back to the driver’s side of the car, opened the door, and reached under the steering wheel to pop the hood.

  The gesture was just for show and an attempt to make me feel like I was doing something. I knew nothing about cars. Still, I walked around, slipped my fingers under the edge of the hood and wiggled them around until I found the lever to release it. Once it was propped up and opened, I surveyed the cars guts.

  And sighed.

  Obviously, I still knew nothing about cars. Nothing under the hood looked remotely familiar.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t taken good care of you,” I said. “It’s only a couple more miles until Coventry. Please can you just make it?”

  As if the car could hear me, it roared back to life. I laughed and clapped my hands before putting the hood back down. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I didn’t question how the car had started again. I’d just assumed something had been clogged up and had rattled itself loose.

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I said and patted the car gently. “I promise I’ll get you the very best oil changes money can buy as soon as I have some money to buy one.”

  Not one to tempt fate, though at the time I didn’t really believe in it, I jumped into the car and checked my side mirror for oncoming traffic. There was none, so I pulled out onto the dusty country highway as smoothly as possible.

  A few minutes later, Coventry loomed on the horizon. One thing I couldn’t get over about the Midwest was how flat everything was. I could see for miles in every direction as long as I wasn’t surrounded by corn fields. Which I frequently was…

  As the car rolled into Coventry, I still wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d been in my fair share of small towns, and each of them held their own particular quirks and comforts. But, my grandmother, Eunice Tuttlesmith-Bridger, had spoken of Coventry with such loathing. On the other hand, my beloved great aunt, “Mad” Maude Tuttlesmith had loved Coventry. She’d spoken highly of the town all the way to her death.

  I ultimately decided that it didn’t matter. Coventry was a short layover in my life. It wasn’t as if I planned on spending much time there, so it didn’t matter how I felt about the town. I could adapt to anything for a few weeks or months. I had already had to adapt to the end of my marriage and the fact that I was childless. Whatever secrets and scandals Coventry held, I could acclimate.

  As I drove through town, I became keenly aware that everyone was staring at me. People would turn completely around from what they were doing to gape at me openly. After I quickly checked my hair and face for smudges or giant boogers, I concluded that my mere presence had been judged strange enough to warrant the glares.

  I’d passed through small towns before, but I had never drawn that much attention. “Must be the U-Haul,” I said to myself. One thing was evident. Living there was going to be far different that life in the city. In the city everyone tried hard to pretend not to notice anyone else. They certainly didn’t all turn around and watch people they’d never met the way the citizens of Coventry did. I felt like a criminal, but I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Not wanting to be inspected any longer, I checked the directions I’d written out, I’d been advised my GPS would be useless in Coventry because it was on some sort of magnetic anomaly or something, and then sped up.

  My first impression of Hangman’s House was underwhelming at best. As I parked the car in the narrow gravel driveway, I could only hope that the inside was in better shape. The outside was a decaying old Victorian with at least two stories. There was possible a third, or it could have been an attic space with windows. The paint was peeling, and some of the windows were boarded over. I hoped that was to protect them from the elements and not because they were broken.

  I got out of the car and retrieved my purse from the passenger side. After digging out the keys, I took a deep breath and crossed the patchy lawn to the weathered front steps.

  The first step was the scariest. The worn, gray boards looked as though they might not hold my weight. I winced at the groan the riser made when I stepped up and it bent slightly, but the old wood held.

  “I’m going to have to get this fixed or someone is going to hurt themselves and sue me,” I said to no one in particular.

  The rest of the steps were equally creaky as were the wood planks of the front porch. I figured that at the very least, it would be hard for someone to sneak up on me. Not that there was any reason for me to believe that someone would want to sneak up on me.

  I put the key in the deadbolt on the front door and turned it slowly. The door opened with a loud creak, and I stepped through gingerly. There was no reason for me to expect that something might jump out at me, but the fear lingered there in the back of my mind. I’d spent too many nights watching horror movies alone in my pajamas, and Hangman’s House looked like the epitome of every house in those films.

  I signed deeply, and it was as if the house sighed with me. The inside wasn’t any better than the outside. The scent of dust hung heavy in the stale air. I found the light switch next to the door and flicked it on.

  “Figures.” I grumbled and started across the room for the window.

  The power was on, but the lights were dull. Even with them on, it was still gloomy and dark in the room.

  I grabbed hold of the thick velvet drapes and yanked them apart. Sunlight flooded the room, and made it look ten times worse.

  I wanted to yank them closed again figured that wouldn’t do any good. There was no point in hiding from the reality of the house. I tried not to think of the house as a metaphor for my life, but the idea didn’t escape me. Sometimes I wished I could pull the drapes closed and hide from the mess my life had become as well. But, just like with Hangman’s House, it wouldn’t do any good.

  The room next to the living room was a dining room with a large table. It was covered in a worn table cloth that had probably been very beautiful and expensive at one time. A large silver candelabra sat in the middle of the table. It needed a good polish as the metal was quite tarnished. There were half melted black candles in each of the candelabra’s cups. I thought that was a little odd, but I figured maybe my Great Aunt Maude had just run out of regular candles the last time she used the candleholder.

  The windows in the dining room were etched and the long white curtains looked moth eaten. Wallpaper peeled off the walls, and the floor groaned with every step.

  My next stop was the kitchen. It wasn’t dirty beyond a thick layer of dust. Inside the pantry I found shelves full of decades old cans and boxes of dry goods. Mice had gotten into the boxes and made a huge mess on the floor.

  The appliances were old, and when I approached the refrigerator to open it, I heard a disconcerting rattling sound. The stove didn’t appear to be in any better shape.

  “I won’t be able to cook anything in here without some major upgrades.” I said and turned to leave.

  As I did, a door caught my eye. It wasn’t the back door to the house. I figured the door I’d missed before had to lead to a basement o
r cellar.

  “No thank you. I’m not in the mood for a creepy basement just now. Maybe later.”

  I made my way back through the dining room and out into the living room. On the far wall from the dining room was a staircase. Nothing about the house made me believe it was going to be inhabitable without some major renovations, but I figured I should look around the upstairs anyway.

  The stairs leading to the second level were only slightly more robust than those outside. I figured they weren’t as weathered because being inside protected them. I stepped on the first riser to test it, and my theory proved true. It didn’t even squeak when I put my full weight on it. The ones in the middle did, but not so much that I thought I’d fall through.

  Upstairs was even dustier than the downstairs if that was possible. The hallway area was dim, but the three bedroom doors were open and light from the outside streamed in since upstairs someone had left the drapes open in all the rooms. The light didn’t quite make it to the hallway, and in fact, I noted that the light seemed to stop at the door frames as if it were afraid to leave the rooms. I thought that was curious, but reasoned that it must have been a trick of the light or something to do with the architecture.

  I looked up and saw that there was an attic door above me. It had one of those pull chains you used to pull the staircase down. I wasn’t any more interested in going into the attic than I was the basement. So, I checked out the bedrooms instead.

  The linens were all still on the beds. They’d need to be washed. If they could be saved. I had linens for one bedroom in my things, so at least if the beds weren’t in horrible condition, I’d be able to use one of the rooms as my bedroom while I stayed in Hangman’s House. If I could make one room livable, then I didn’t need to worry too much about having guest rooms. It wasn’t like I was going to have any overnight visitors.

  If I could get the biggest bedroom in shape, that was the one I’d wanted to use as my room. Not just because it was the biggest, but that was certainly a factor. It also had the most natural light because of the huge picture window and two side windows. There was also a lot of storage, which I thought was important even though I was fairly basic and didn’t have much to put in the closet, massive armoire, or oak dressers.

  I crossed the room to the door that I assumed was the closet. No sooner had I turned the knob and opened the door and I was running out of the room, down the stairs, and out onto the front lawn shrieking at the top of my lungs. Thank goodness there weren’t very many close neighbors or they probably would have called the cops on me.

  As soon as I was done pumping my legs while running in place and frantically running my hands through my hair while shaking my head, I began to laugh at myself. The bat in that closet had scared the ever loving snot out of me, but I’d terrified the little guy too. He, or she, was long gone and not in my hair.

  I decided at that point that it was time to give up on the house for the night. After I unhooked the trailer, I got back into the car and pulled it through the barest patch of grass and into the street in front of the house.

  In the city I never would have left a trailer full of my belongings just sitting out like that, even if it was locked, but I’d heard you could leave your doors unlocked in a small town without worrying. So, I assumed my U-Haul full of stuff nobody probably wanted anyway would be fine.

  I’d passed a place called Mama Hattie’s on the way through town. There was a sign out front that said “rooms for rent”, and I hadn’t seen anything else that resembled a hotel or bed and breakfast. I Googled the number and gave them a call.

  A woman answered the phone and confirmed that they did have an opening. I told my I’d be there in a few minutes. After that, I put the car in drive again, gave Hangman’s House a wave, and drove off back in the direction I came. I wasn’t looking forward to what I’d have to do to get Hangman’s House livable, but honestly, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

  Mama Hattie’s was a big house that I’d assumed had been converted into a bed and breakfast or at least single rooms to rent. When I walked inside to check in, I found a nearly empty room with just an old desk mostly blocking a door to another room. No one was around, but I decided to wait for a moment.

  A long minute later, a young woman emerged from the room behind the desk. “Hello,” she said and opened a book that sat on the desk. “I’m Cassidy, welcome to Mama Hattie’s.”

  I was about to tell her that I’d just spoken to her on the phone when someone called out to her from the back room. “Cassidy, I swear to Pete, you are using too much soap in the towels again. I’ve told you it’s waste and that half a cap gets them clean enough. I swear you’d forget your own head if it wasn’t attached.”

  Cassidy’s cheeks colored with embarrassment, and I flashed her a sympathetic smile. “We spoke on the phone a few minutes ago. You said there is a room available.”

  “Oh sure. It’s seventy-five per night. If you want it, sign your name here,” she said and pointed to a line in the ledger book she’d opened. “We take cash only. If you don’t have any on you, there’s an ATM at Mann’s Gas & Grocery.”

  “I have it, but really? Seventy five per night?” I said.

  “Yeah, there aren’t any other hotels around,” Cassidy said with a shrug, and I got her meaning. Mama Hattie could get away with that price because out of town visitors had no other choice.

  “Okay,” I said. “Maybe if I can manage to only stay one night it won’t blow my budget too much.”

  “Great, sign here,” Cassidy said and pointed at the line in the ledger again. “I’ll get the key.”

  Cassidy came back with the key and motioned for me to follow her. We walked through the kitchen to a door that lead downstairs. I sneezed twice because the scent of lavender and baby powder nearly overwhelmed me.

  “The room’s in the basement?” I asked as I rubbed my nose. “Don’t you have anything upstairs?”

  “Both rooms are in the basement. Yours is the one on the right. Let me know if you need anything else. Dinner is served in an hour. It’s included in the price of the room.”

  “Thank you,” I said and took the key.

  I wanted to say that free dinner didn’t make up for a seventy-five dollar basement room, but I figured I should just keep my trap shut. Complaining wasn’t going to do any good. It was what it was.

  I let myself into the room and found myself completely underwhelmed again. The exposed concrete brick walls of the basement room had been painted yellow, but the paint was chipping and flaking. The space was cramped, dark, and the air was heavy with dust and humidity. Not a good combination.

  I put my bag on top of the small dresser that was just inside the door and then sat down on the bed. It creaked and grown, and I got poked in the butt cheek by a spring. If Mama Hattie’s was the only place to rent a room in Coventry, I needed to get Hangman’s House livable ASAP.

  What I needed was a plan. No, scratch that, what I needed was a group of big strong men who would work for free. No, scratch that too. What I needed was to not have been let go from my job. And not to have gotten divorced. And not to have had my ex get remarried a few months later. And for my ex and his new wife to not be expecting a baby after three months of being married when he and I had tried for years.

  “No,” I said and stood up. “Stop doing this to yourself, Brighton.”

  I didn’t have a plan for Hangman’s House or my life. Winging it was the best I could do.

  After a shower and some clean clothes, I felt somewhat better. Having dinner with Mama Hattie and whoever was staying in the other room didn’t sound like my kind of night, but again, I didn’t have many other choices. I couldn’t cook for myself until I moved back into Hangman’s House, and springing for a meal at a restaurant when dinner was included in my room price was completely irresponsible.

  I put my hair, still damp from my shower, up in a bun on top of my head. If I didn’t, my wavy chestnut locks would probably go rogue on me. It was
normally well behaved, but the humidity in the basement was enough that the frizz had begun to take hold.

  Hattie, at least that’s who I assumed she was, was already seated at the table when I got to the dining room. Cassidy was running around trying to get the food on the table.

  “Can I help you, Cassidy?” I offered even though I was a guest. I hated seeing her look so flushed and flustered.

  “She can handle it,” the woman at the table said. “Can’t you?”

  “Yes, Hattie,” Cassidy said.

  I realized the overwhelming smell of baby powder and lavender was coming from Hattie. I sneezed again, but at least I knew she couldn’t sneak up on anyone. Not that I had any reason to believe she’d be sneaking up on people, but she kind of gave off a vibe. Plus, she was the kind of person who chastised her employee for using too much soap to clean the towels. I for one, after having taken a shower, was happy with the amount of soap Cassidy had used, and I vowed not to stay long enough to have to use one cleaned to Hattie’s “standards”.

  After a couple of minutes of awkward silence, and man came up from the basement and glared at me. “I usually sit there,” he said coldly.

  “Oh sorry,” I said and stood up.

  I could of sworn I heard Hattie chuckle, but I couldn’t be sure. I started to move to another chair.

  “No, that’s fine. You’re there now. I’ll just sit at another spot,” he said and sighed.

  “Really, I can move,” I said.

  “No, it’s fine,” he said and plopped down into a chair two down from Hattie. “I’m already comfortable.”

  “Okay,” I responded and swore I heard Hattie chuckle again. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

  “Well, now you do.” He scoffed. “I’m Professor Max Harkin,” he said in a tone that told me I was supposed to know who that was.

  But, I didn’t. I had no idea who he was.

  “I’m Brighton Longfield,” I said. “What are you a professor of?”