Dread and Breakfast

by Stuart R. West

  It was so dark she couldn’t see where the stairs ended. At the top, her foot lifted and came down hard. Clump. She froze, making sure she hadn’t been heard. Then she continued down the hall. More sconces — she thought that’s what Christian had called them — lit the walls like glowing crystal balls, not very bright. Light peeped out from beneath Room Number Four, the weird guy’s room. Everything else was shrouded in darkness.

  What really intrigued her was the next flight of steps up to the third floor. If the first set had been a challenge, this was like the next level in a video game. No way she’d back down now, not when adventure called.

  A cold draft kissed her face as she mounted the last step, a soft whisper like leaves whipping in the wind. No lights on the walls here. Just darkness, complete nighttime darkness. Shadows hiding within darker shadows. She gripped her shoulders, shivering, fighting the chill.

  Her hand slid against the wall. Beneath her touch, the wallpaper bubbled up, dusty and gross. The light from downstairs vanished behind her, leaving her alone in the inky blackness, so awful and hungry. But she couldn’t stop now. Down the hall she moved, her fingers walking the wall like a spider. The wall ended, her fingers slipping into a recess. She felt a frame, found a doorknob. She twisted it, meeting with resistance. Locked. She continued traveling down the black tunnel. She sensed a stillness before her, the end of the line. Her breath bounced back, halted by a wall. To her left, she found another doorknob. This one opened with a simple turn.

  Immediately, the room warmed her, less chilly than the hallway. The air tasted old and thick, kind of like at Grandma’s house. And something stank, a smell like rotten oranges, strong and bitter. Her fingertips brushed beside the doorjamb, searching for a light. Nothing. She closed the door behind her with a click that sounded thunderous, much too loud. With her hands out, she moved into the room, shuffling her feet so not to trip on anything. Her fingers grazed something, hanging clothes maybe. The clothes swung back and forth, the ceiling creaking above her, chattering like a cricket. Something draped over her arm, soft and scratchy. A spider web? She shrugged it off. Her knees hit something, stopping her. Like one of the blind people in that story about the elephant, her hands explored it, guessing what it could be. A bed! Covered and made. Navigating her way toward the head of the bed, her hand hit something. Tunk. It fell to the floor but thankfully didn’t break. Next to her, a lamp wobbled, its pull chain clanking against its body.

  She tugged the chain and an oval of light opened the darkness. Millions of dead eyes looked at her. She gasped, then smiled. One of the coolest things she’d ever seen. Dolls, more dolls than she’d ever seen in her life, more than even her friend, Brittany, had in her bedroom, more than the world’s biggest toy store. They sat in baby-like chairs, some sharing a small bench. There were even a few in miniature beds next to the big bed. What she’d bumped into had been dolls hanging from the ceiling by ribbon, now twirling around in circles like ballerinas. Sort of like Geppetto’s workshop. Dolls filled the shelves in an old, white bookshelf. Some sat on the windowsill, dust on their faces and arms. But these weren’t like the dolls her friends collected. They looked old, with hairstyles from the movies Mommy watched. More ribbons tied their hair. Lots of pigtails, too, something Kyra had always wanted to try. Their eyes were big as marbles, their eyebrows even bigger, raising like rainbows. Some wore dresses that poofed out at the bottom, covering their feet. Others had on wedding dresses, ready for their special day. Many of them wore hats bigger than their heads. All dressed in lace and grandma-like stuff. And not one of them smiled.

  Instead, they stared sadly at the empty bed in the middle of the room. Kyra wondered who the lucky girl was who slept here. A comforter with different shades of sky blue and cotton candy pink covered the bed. The sheets were turned down, just a corner, like an envelope flap. It didn’t look like anyone had slept in the bed for a while. Enormous pillows sat fluffed up like gigantic marshmallows. And the bed looked perfect, the sheets tight as the top of a drum. Thinking of Goldilocks, she giggled. She imagined three bears finding her in their bed.

  So she just had to sit on the bed, she’d be mad at herself if she didn’t. When she jumped onto the bed, a tiny cloud of dust flumped up, dancing in the lamp’s rays. As she bounced, the springs squeaked. It reminded her of mice. Or how she imagined they might sound, kinda gross, kinda cute. Now all the dolls stared at her. The way her shadow moved across the room, almost alive, gave her a chill. It looked like the dolls were ducking into her shadow, escaping the light.

  Next to the bed stood a nightstand. On top, she saw a hairbrush with icky gray hairs curling out of it, lots of ‘em, too. Water filled a glass, maybe more of a jelly jar without a label. Dust covered the glass, and little black dots swam on top like bugs. But it was the box that really hooked her attention. Pretty drawings of circus people decorated it — a ringmaster; marching men wearing tall, furry hats like honeycombs; an elephant with a quilt on its back; pretty ladies in tutu’s spinning, spinning, spinning like the still-twirling dolls dangling from the ceiling. All painted in light blues, pinks, greens. She blew the dust off the top, lifted the latch, and opened the lid. A toy ballerina no bigger than her thumb popped up, jolting her. The figurine held one foot to her knee, her arms raised, hands together, and moved around in a circle. Dancing to music, beautiful music. Tinkling bells, sweet as candy and softer than bunnies.

  Mesmerized, Kyra brought it closer. And hummed along to the melody.

  Then a woman’s voice joined her. A shriek stuck in Kyra’s throat. Her heart knocked, knocked, knocked. Scared, she kicked back on the bed, mussing the bedding. The box dropped to the rug, the lid snapping shut and chopping off the music.

  The woman stopped humming. Then stepped into the circle of light. Smiling like sunshine, lines wrinkling her face like golden rays.

  “Missus Dandy! You scared me!” Kyra knew she shouldn’t be in the room, knew she was in trouble. But Mrs. Dandy didn’t look mad.

  With a gentle chuckle, Mrs. Dandy moved toward the bed and sat next to Kyra. She moved stiffly and slowly, as if her bones hurt.

  “I’m sorry I gave you a fright, child. But you know better than to go off into other people’s rooms.”

  “Sorry.” Seemed like Kyra’d been apologizing a lot lately. Something kids always had to do. She couldn’t wait ‘til she was grown up so she could stop apologizing. Still, she knew how to act. She rested her forehead down on her drawn knees and wrapped her arms around them. Her best “sorry” look.

  Mrs. Dandy laughed again, nice and soft. “It’s fine, Kyra. You like the room?”

  Kyra raised her head, bypassing the tears stage. “It’s so pretty! Like a dream.”

  “Yes, that’s what Jodi thought, too.” She placed a hand on Kyra’s back while she bent down to retrieve the music box. “This was her favorite.” Mrs. Dandy twisted a key in the back, then opened it. When the music started, she hummed along, eyes closed, her head swaying back and forth. “La dee dahhhh, dah dee dahhhh …”

  Kyra joined her, trying to mimic her silly words. Mrs. Dandy’s hand crawled across Kyra’s back and gripped her shoulder, pulling her into a nice, warm hug. Together they sang. Kyra could’ve done it all night.

  When the music stopped, so did Mrs. Dandy. Holding the box in her hands, she stared at it, looking as if she might cry. Kyra knew the feeling. She hugged the old lady, burying her face in her arm. Hugs always make things better. Mrs. Dandy stiffened, then relaxed, patting Kyra’s head.

  Kyra released her, then asked, “Is Jodi your daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old is she?” For a moment, excitement stirred Kyra like static. She thought she might have someone to play with, making things a little less boring.

  “Oh, dear, she’s long since moved on. She’d be ‘bout your mother’s age, I reckon.”

  “Oh.” Kyra couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. But she was being selfish. “Does she come to visit? Does she still l
ike her dollies?”

  “My, you are an inquisitive cuss, aren’t you?” Suddenly, Mrs. Dandy didn’t seem so sad. She smiled at Kyra again, laughing. “Yep, we keep it ready for her. Someday, someday.”

  “Huh. I’d like to have lotsa dolls like these when I’m Mommy’s age.”

  “Well, maybe you will, Kyra, maybe you just will.” She grinned at Kyra, so happy. “But, what do I know? I’m just a silly old woman. Don’t mind me none, child. Anyhoo, anyhow, does your momma know you’re up here?”

  Again, guilt ate at Kyra, kicking her off her cloud of enchantment. “No. Are you gonna tell her?”

  “I don’t reckon there’s a need for that, do you?”

  “Nope. But I better get going.” She bounced off the bed and turned back. “Jodi’s so lucky. Her room’s wonderful.”

  “Thank you, child. That means a lot to me.”

  “Bye.” Kyra skedaddled, running quickly down the hallway toward the light coming up the stairwell. She hoped Mommy wasn’t looking for her. So she hurried, breezing down the steps, almost like in her dreams of flying across the sky. As she chugged down the second stairwell, she remembered something. Something kinda weird. She hadn’t heard Mrs. Dandy come into the room.

  *

  Rebecca said goodbye to Dave and left the kitchen. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed her chat with Dave; she had, very much so. It felt nice talking with someone about nothing, almost like a friendship. They’d carried on about the weather, cars, and Omaha steaks. Such mundane things felt so new, so different, so alive. Of course, she’d purposefully kept her personal trauma out of the conversation. Dave didn’t want to hear it, she knew, and she certainly didn’t want to burden a stranger. Her concern, her problems, her mess to clean up. Been there, done that. She shook her head at the joke her life had been; she might’ve laughed, but she hadn’t yet reached her life’s punch line. She just hoped it would be an uplifting one, a happily ever after.

  Still, she’d spent longer in the kitchen than she’d intended to. She needed to check on Kyra. Although dog tired, she rounded the stairwell, picking up her pace. Sleep on the agenda; a quick catnap would be just what the doctor ordered.

  Actually, she halfway suspected she might find Kyra gone. Hell, for her daughter’s benefit, Rebecca sorta wanted it to happen. Then Kyra would learn her lesson once and for all, learn to stay close where Rebecca could always find her.

  As she entered the hallway, she thought about how awful that sounded. But it’s hard to be a good parent. These days it pays to be wary.

  She pushed open the door slowly, which just made the hinges screech louder. She stepped into the dark and heard her daughter breathing. Peaceful, long breaths spread out evenly. She grappled at the end of the bed until she found Kyra’s foot. Just to be sure, she turned on the lamp, tilting the shade away from Kyra. Fast asleep, curled up into a comfy ball of love and warmth.

  She chuffed out a sigh and crawled into bed next to her daughter. She shouldn’t have doubted Kyra. Maybe she should quit doubting herself as well; perhaps that was the key to solid parenting. She turned out the light and her light of consciousness soon followed.

  *

  In front of the altar, Tommy asked, “Babe, you think we oughta take it down?”

  “No. I want the Dandys to know why we do it.” It didn’t bother Heather that Tommy questioned dismantling the altar. Rather, she didn’t like how he stared at it. Not out of reverence, but rather, he looked puzzled, sort of nonchalant. Like sometimes he just pretended to be into their righteous cause, not truly believing in it. “You’re not ashamed of our Lord God, are you?”

  “What?” With a jerk of his head, he gave her an “are you crazy” look. “Course not, babe. I mean, it’s what we’re all about.” Arms extended, fingers wiggling, he beckoned her.

  As his bride, she dutifully fell into his waiting arms. “No, I know better. I’m just bein’ silly. Guess I’m still riled up about that … that woman and her child.”

  His hug felt tight, secure. God’s helping hands around her. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that woman. She’ll get hers. Soon.” Tommy’s eyes grew dreamy, the way they did when they’d sent her parents on their journey. Although relief swelled in Heather’s bosom, she also questioned why Tommy enjoyed their work. Not for the first time. The Good Book says to take pride in one’s work. And it’s not a sin to enjoy one’s livelihood. But she experienced no greater joy than being the right hand of God. She just hoped Tommy was the God-anointed left hand. Then she let out a snort, mostly muffled into Tommy’s chest. Of course, God wouldn’t let her down. He’d sent Tommy to her for a reason.

  “I know, babe. Can’t wait.” She pushed him away before his body grew some other ideas. No time for that now. Besides, she’d begun to feel saddle sores. “We need to get everything prepared. They’ll be here in … ‘bout twenty minutes or so.” They’d skipped dinner in the big house, clearly too excited to eat. Besides, God’s nourishment of her soul was all Heather really needed.

  Like a finely tuned machine, they completed their work in minutes, dancing past one another on different chores, never once questioning the other’s moves. And it made Heather hate herself for having questioned Tommy’s motivation. Dumb, so dumb of her, and shamefully showing little faith.

  A knock on the door announced the Dandys’ prompt arrival. A tingle electrified Heather’s hidden parts, working its way up to her brain. She imagined a mental lightbulb snapping on, sorta like in the cartoons. Tommy smiled at her, grabbing her hand. Their fingers entwined, a human bridge to the Lord. Reluctantly, she pulled away. He had to greet the guests, a man’s duty after all.

  When Tommy opened the door, Mr. Dandy ducked his head and entered, holding a small picnic basket. “Howdy, howdy, howdy, folks! Jim Dandy to the rescue with a few of Dolores’s goodies to fortify on a cold night.” A light dusting of snow breezed off the top of the basket.

  Bundled up in a heavy coat that added an extra layer of fat to her appearance, Dolores strolled in behind her husband. Her shoulders shook, warding off the brutal night’s chill. “And I’ve got the Spinner Dominos.”

  “Let me get your coat for you, Missus Dandy.” Tommy was nothing if not a gentleman.

  “Why, that’s mighty kind of you. And, pshaw.” She trumpeted her lips and flagged a hand down. “Let’s not stand on formalities. You are, after all, guests in our house. It’s Dolores.”

  “Gotcha.” Tommy took her coat, then slung it on the bed. Manners count.

  “And you know to call me Jim.” While Jim had come in coatless, he had warmed his head with a John Deere cap. He swooshed it off, held it to his belly, and bowed. “At your service.”

  The Dandys practically glowed. Red patches stood out on their cheeks and the tips of their noses, cherub-like almost. But their auras — their souls — flickered around their bodies, a green ring of burning fire. Demanding to be released.

  When the Dandys saw the altar on the wall, their festive mood fizzled.

  “What’s this?” Dolores said, pointing a finger. Jim remained quiet, slack-jawed.

  “Oh, I hope you don’t mind. Heather and me, well, we’re Christians. We like to practice our faith no matter where. Just doin’ God’s work.” Tommy flashed his warm grin at them, then turned to Heather with a secret wink. “We took special care not to damage the walls.” Not entirely true, but Heather knew God would understand.

  Finally, Dolores’s face loosened with a smile. “I think that’s fine, just fine. Religion’s a special thing, something more folks oughta take time out for. Isn’t that right, Poppa?”

  “Took the words right out of my mouth.” Jim chuckled, a hearty, good-natured growl.

  Exhilaration washed over Heather like baptismal water. She knew the Dandys would embrace their sweet departure, rapturous over their promised afterlife. And she had no doubt they were bound for Heaven. With folded hands, she closed her eyes and prayed where she stood.

  Across the room, Tommy said, “Amen,” and clapped his h
ands, anxious to get started. So was Heather, more than ever. She beat everyone to the table.

  “What a spitfire, ‘ey, Mother?” Jim dropped an arm across his wife’s shoulder. So cute the way he pulled her into him, their auras joining as one. “Reckon they don’t know we’re the Spinner Domino champions of Hilston, Missouri.” Dolores laughed, swatting at her husband’s chest.

  “We’ll just see ‘bout that,” said Tommy, swinging into a chair. “Even though I never played it before, I’m purt near good at any sport.” Definitely true, thought Heather, not just boyish bragging. There didn’t seem to be a thing her husband couldn’t master.

  The Dandys claimed their seats at the compact, four-chaired table. The group filled it out nicely, the men seated across from one another. Tommy wore his elation like his tight jeans — every secret showing. Owl eyed and ready to hoot, his gaze bounced between the older couple. He breathed loudly through his nose, the way he sounded during love making. And for the first time — outside of their marital bed — she saw drops of sweat boil across his forehead.

  As Jim flipped a number of dominoes face down, Dolores fussed with the picnic basket on her lap, her face hidden behind an open wooden flap. She pulled out a plastic-wrapped plate of cookies. Carefully, she took the plastic off, keeping it remarkably unwrinkled and returned it to the basket. “Here we are. Chocolate peanut butter cookies.”

  “Wait ‘til you kids taste these.”

  Apparently, Tommy couldn’t wait. To Heather’s shame, he grabbed one, stuffed it into his mouth. Before swallowing, he repeated his foul table manner. Crumbs speckled his lips, a few dropping to his shirt.