The Nothing House

by Cherie Mitchell

  “Father Lucerne,” I prompt. “Do you have a contact number for him?”

  He makes a funny noise, as if he’s rattling his teeth against the receiver, but I’m hoping he’s not really doing that. “Ah, here it is. Miss Lawson has been fiddling with my spinner.”

  I shove that mind-boggling image to one side and switch my phone to loudspeaker so I can type in the number he’s now reciting. I ask him to repeat it just to be sure because he says his threes strangely and my brain stops to decipher what he’s said and I miss the next figure. “Is this his private number? At his house?”

  “No, no, dear. That’s the number for the home.”

  Ah, so he is in a retirement home. I can’t say I’m surprised. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’ll give him a call now.”

  “You’re going to phone him?”

  “Um, yeah. That’s why I wanted the number.” What’s he on about now?

  “I doubt he’ll be able to hold a lucid conversation, my dear. He has advanced dementia. It’s such a shame.”

  Oh. My heart sinks. I didn’t expect this, not at all. I realize I would’ve felt more accepting of the news if the priest had told me Father Lucerne was dead.

  “Yes, he scarcely recognizes his own face in the mirror. I’m sorry to be the one to give you the bad news, Ellie.”

  “No, that’s all right. Thanks for your help.” I hang up from the call, wondering if it’s even worth calling the home. If what the priest has just told me is correct, Father Lucerne will have no idea who I am. Is there any point in making the call? I call it anyway. I am my stubborn grandfather’s granddaughter, after all. Fight to the end even if it seems as if all hope is lost.

  The woman who answers the phone is one of those brisk and efficient types, the shortness of her tone making it clear that I’ve interrupted her day by having the audacity to dial her number. “Sunnyvale Rest Home for the Elderly & Infirm. Please state your business.”

  I don’t let her curtness put me off. “Father Lucerne, please.”

  That pulls her up short. “Ah… can I ask who’s calling?”

  “Ellie Friedlander. Father Lucerne and I are old and dear friends.” Stick that up your starched hemline, lady.

  “He’s not in a good… ah… condition for a conversation at present.”

  “Can I talk to him anyway?”

  “Well…” That has to be one of the most doubtful “well’s” I’ve ever heard.

  “This is a toll call.” I have the feeling she’s the type to put a large amount of significance on costs and penny counting. I figure I might as well give this my best effort while I’m here and I’m not averse to playing on any weaknesses that she may have.

  She drops a heavy sigh down the line to show me just how much I’m putting her out with my request. “I can put you through to his nurse but I’m not promising anything.”

  I don’t bother to say thanks. She wouldn’t have heard it anyway as the line clicks angrily as soon as she’s finished speaking and I’m left with the tinny sound of elevator music.

  It’s a full five minutes later before a young female voice picks up. “Ward 12, Lily speaking.”

  I have to admit I get a wee twinge then, a visceral flashback. It always happens when I hear the name Lily. Sometimes I wonder what my sister would’ve been like if she’d lived. Would she be an Organza clone or would she be more like me? Perhaps she’d have a similar personality to Reece... or maybe she’d be entirely her own person. I’ve never spoken to anyone about what Dad and I saw down by the cedar trees and I doubt I ever will.

  “Are you there?”

  “Sorry. The line faded out for a few seconds. I’m looking for Father Lucerne.”

  There’s a long silence before she audibly swallows and says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I end up waiting a long time before Lily comes back on the phone but that’s okay. I leave my phone on the countertop, switched to loudspeaker so I’ll hear her when she speaks again, and I start wiping down the kitchen. I seem to spend half my life wiping down the kitchen. I have the sneaking suspicion that the messiest person in the house is Organza but I’ve never caught her in the act. The only thing she’s admitted to are the smears over the refrigerator door but I’m sure she’s responsible for a whole lot more than that.

  “Are you still there?” Lily’s sweet little voice sings out of the phone and I’m back over there in an instant.

  “I’m here.”

  “I have Father Lucerne here beside me but,” she lowers her voice to a confiding whisper, “He’s not having a good day.”

  “Is he in pain?” I don’t want to hear this. Father Lucerne is an awesome human being and I’d hate to think that the last months or years or his life are an uncomfortable place for him to inhabit.

  “No, he’s not in any pain. He’s happy enough in his own way. He’s just not having a good day in the sense of recognizing people.” She lifts her voice, injecting even more sweetness and light into it, and I’m suddenly glad that Father Lucerne has a person like Lily looking out for him. “Father, you have a phone call from an old friend of yours. Ellie Friedlander. She’s calling you all the way from America.”

  “Who?” His voice is suddenly booming into the receiver and it sounds like Father Lucerne but it doesn’t sound like him, if you know what I mean.

  “Hello, Father. It’s Ellie.” I hold my breath and wait. I need him to recognize me.

  “Who? Who?” He booms again. He’s not Father Lucerne. Father Lucerne has gone forever and he’s been replaced by a hoot owl.

  I don’t say anything more and then Lily is back on the phone. “I’m sorry. He’s pushing the phone away. Perhaps you can try another day?”

  “Maybe. Thanks anyway.” I end the call with a sinking sense of dread. I’ve met with two complete dead ends so far with my calls to Mom and Father Lucerne and to be honest, there aren’t many more people who know enough about our life on Cemetery Hill to be of any use to me right now.

  “Ellie! Your friend is on TV!” Reece yells at me from the living room and I step into the kitchen doorway to look across at the television. It’s one of Dave’s foot model commercials, showing nothing more than his legs skipping across the screen in a pair of the latest tennis shoes. I see that Reece has built himself a pile of cushions on the floor and is sitting atop his tiny hill, the king of the castle with his notebook lying beside him forgotten for now.

  “Hey, so he is. Are you still feeling okay, sweetheart? You know that you and I have to expect to catch the measles. We can’t really escape it.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He gives me one of those lovely smiles of his that light up his entire face. “I’m glad we’re here with you, Ellie.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, too.” I return his smile as a tiny seed of an idea starts to take root in my mind. Dave, or Tubby Bayfield as he was known as a kid, and his family are direct descendants of Obidiah Wulfstan. That was the reason they were hounded out of Warren’s End by the unsympathetic townspeople, despite having no idea they were related to the Satanist until someone dug up the old records. Dave and I haven’t spoken too much about it over the past few years but we did spend some time discussing the connection in depth at one point and I have the niggling suspicion that Dave went ahead and did his own research after I told him I was tired of talking about it.

  I walk back into the kitchen and pick up my phone to dial Dave. He answers right away and I love him for it, especially after the disappointment of my phone call to Father Lucerne. “Hey, Ellie-Bellie.”

  Dave was the one who helped me choose my new name. I have to admit that I was a little reluctant to let go of the name Angel. It felt like it was all I had left after losing everything on the hill. However, Dave was so helpful. He suggested that I choose a name that would carry be forward rather than one that would pull me back. He told me to name myself after someone who I aspired to be and I thought that was a great idea. Not long after that con
versation, I read an historical article about a young woman named Ella Trout in England who, along with her sister Patience, gave up school to operate her father’s fishing boat business following his death. She was only 14-years-old at the time and she ended up rescuing nine men from a sinking boat during a storm. She was subsequently awarded the Order of the British Empire and yeah, I’d definitely aspire to be someone like her. I changed the end of her name and that’s how I ended up with Ellie.

  “Hey, Dave. Hey, a lot has happened lately and I really need to talk to you. About your, errrr, your family history.”

  Dave knows that we should try not to speak Obidiah’s name aloud too often. He’s also pretty smart and he can usually pick up on what I want to say without me needing to use too many words. That’s just one of the things I like about him. We’re good friends, the best, and we always will be.

  “It’s not a good time.” His voice sounds guarded now, almost defensive. “I’m with someone.”

  “Who?” I sound like Father Lucerne. Hoo-hoo.

  “Jennifer.”

  Jennifer? Who the fuck is Jennifer?

  “Ellie? I’ll call you back when I have some more time, okay?”

  I don’t answer right away. There’s nothing romantic between Dave and me, never has been, but I’m a bit pissed that he has someone there who he’s putting before me in terms of importance.

  “Ellie?”

  “Of course! Talk soon!” I hang up before he can say anything that will annoy me further.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I feel like waffles. I’m actually craving waffles, which is weird ‘cos you’re the one who loves them the most. Can you phone Dick’s House of Waffles and see if they’ll deliver?” Liam has woken up feeling a lot better. He had a shower and got dressed and now he’s starving. He’s sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blanket and he’s covered in spots from head to toe, although he says he feels more like himself and less like an invalid now that he’s dressed.

  “You call them.” I toss him my phone to him on my way over to the window. There was another cop out the front of the house with Officer Leonard before and I want to see if they’ve swapped around. Part of me is hoping they’ve grown bored with the whole thing and have decided to stop guarding the house.

  He raises his voice so that Organza and Reece, who are both in their bedrooms, can hear him. “Anyone want waffles?”

  “Yeah!” The kids’ responses are unanimous as I lift the edge of the curtain and peer out. Dammit, the other cop is out there. He looks bored out of his brain and as if he’s wishing he was anywhere but here. I drop the curtain back down and listen as Liam starts to argue with the person on the other end of the phone about why they should deliver waffles. We are deja voodoo, we know more than you doo.

  He hangs up angrily and throws the phone down onto the sofa cushions in disgust. “They refused to deliver once I gave them our address. That’s discrimination!”

  “Yeah.” I don’t have anything more to say than that. I’ve been there, done that, and I’ve got the t-shirt, unfortunately.

  “I really wanted waffles,” he says sullenly, pooching out his lower lip like a little kid.

  “I can make pancakes. Or Organza can. She likes making a mess in the kitchen.” The house suddenly feels too small. Claustrophobic. I have a pressing need for something to happen, anything, to break the unseen cords that I can feel wrapping themselves around my body. This happens to me every now and again. Dr. McIntyre says it’s my body’s physiological response to my childhood traumas.

  “Ellllliiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.” Seems I got my wish.

  Liam almost beats to me to the hallway door, but not quite. I’m through that door and pounding up the hallway to Organza’s bedroom with him hot on my heels. Organza’s door is shut and I’m kind of expecting it not to open when I wrench at the door handle but it opens easily. However, my sister is nowhere to be seen. “Organza? Where are you?”

  Liam reaches past me to flip the light switch, as if that’s going to do anything. We’re both staring at an empty room, at Organza’s rumpled sheets, and at quite possibly every item of clothing she’s ever owned strewn across the bed and floor. But there’s no Organza.

  “What the hell?” Liam shoves his way into the room and yanks open the closet. Nothing. I can’t even get my feet to move and it takes all my strength to force them forward, by which time Liam has dropped to his knees beside the bed and lifted the bedcover to peer underneath. “She’s not here, Ellie.”

  My feet are moving now but they feel as heavy as blocks of concrete. I drag myself over to the window and open the blinds, driven by some kind of sixth sense or something. Organza’s bedroom looks out over the backyard, out over the garden that Liam is already so proud of despite the fact there’s nothing in it yet except for weeds. I shut my eyes for the briefest of seconds then open then again, already knowing what I’m going to see. “There’s nothing out there.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?” Liam runs back into the bedroom after checking the bathroom. “Where is she? She can’t be anywhere else. We would’ve seen her walk into the living room if she’d left this part of the house.”

  “There’s nothing out there,” I say again, unable to tear myself away from a sight that is at once awfully familiar and terrifyingly new. Congratulations, you have won a second ride on the horror rollercoaster. Hold on tight and don’t look down.

  Liam strides up behind me and I hear him gasp. “What the shit? Is this a joke?”

  No, it’s not a joke. At least, I’m not laughing. When we lived up on Cemetery Hill, Dad stapled all the curtains against the window frames so we couldn’t see out but I still knew what was outside the house. I went out a couple times to do the mail run and what I saw out there is burned into my minds’ eye for all of eternity. I’m looking at the same scene now, only this time the lurching, undead zombies aren’t adults. They’re little kids.

  Liam hangs over my shoulder and bangs on the window before I can stop him. “Hey! What are you doing out there?”

  “Don’t!” I grab at his sleeve and tug hard. “Don’t let them see us!”

  “Why not? They shouldn’t be in our yard. Anyway, what are they doing? Why are they wearing those weird clothes? And how have they managed to dig up the ground so quickly?” He shakes off my hand and angrily raps his knuckles against the glass again. “Hey!! This is private property!”

  I might as well be talking to myself. He’s making such a fuss and noise that there’s no hope now of us remaining unseen. Several of the zombie kids swivel around, their eyes staring and their mouths hanging open, and start to stagger over toward the house. Seriously, none of those undead children can be any more than 11-years-old.

  “Fucksters. This is insane.” At least Liam has stopped banging on the window. I think he might be in shock. I know I’ve told him all about my childhood and I know he thinks he understands it, but I also know it’s an entirely different can of bait worms when you see the undead for the first time with your own eyes. “Do you think Organza is out there with them?”

  I hope not. “No, how could she have gotten out there without us seeing her?” Something else registers in my own slow moving, zombie-fied brain and I spin around from the window, the tip of my nose almost grazing Liam’s sweatshirt in my haste. “We have to check on Reece!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Organza is sitting in the middle of Reece’s bed looking dazed and flustered as we barge into Reece’s room. Reece, bless him, is sitting beside her and rubbing his hand in little circles on her back.

  “Organza, how did you get in here? You screamed out my name from your bedroom and now suddenly you’re in here.” I think I’ve left my heart in the other room because it seems to be taking its own good time to catch up with the rest of my body and start beating regularly again.

  She glares at me, as if I’ve had a hand in this, as if I’ve purposely done it just to make her life difficult. “This is fucking stu
pid. I never asked for this. I never wanted to be dragged into this cunty shit. You were the one who chose to buy this fucking fucked-up house.”

  Great, Organza has chosen now to bring out her most argumentative and rebellious evil twin.

  “Watch your potty mouth, Organza.”

  She death stares at me. “Says who? You cuss all the time.”

  “Yeah, so? I’m older than you.” Worst reason ever.

  “Stop. Stop right now.” Liam steps in as referee, clearly uninterested in playing silent audience to a sisterly squabble. “Organza, how did you get in here without us seeing you?”

  She shuts her eyes and I see for the first time how pale she is. Even her measles spots have blanched. “I don’t know,” she says in a small voice.

  “Reece? Did you see what happened?” I’m hoping he can tell us something, anything. I still have to break it to them that we’ve somehow inherited a tribe of zombie kids along with this house but first things first. We can’t have people randomly teleporting around the house. That could get incredibly messy.

  Reece wrinkles his nose and tips his head to one side, making a show of thinking hard. Reece doesn’t generally fancy up his actions so it is sort of cute. “She just… arrived. Landed on my legs when I was napping.” He grins at his sister. “I thought you jumped on me to give me a scare.”

  “No. I didn’t come in here by myself. I was half asleep on my bed and…” She stops, remembering. “Something touched me. Something cold. I think that’s when I screamed. Then it felt as if I was rushing even though I wasn’t moving. Next thing I know, I’m sitting on top of Reece.”

  I’m positive this is Obidiah’s doing. He hasn’t physically touched any of us before, except for the time he hung Reece (who was little three-year-old Timmy back then) on the back of the bathroom door, and this latest advancement makes me feel ill. He’s definitely getting stronger.

  “This doesn’t make any sense.” Liam rakes his hand through his hair as he attempts to apply logic to a situation that defies logic in every way, shape, and form. “She can’t have got in here without us seeing her walk past.”