“What the hell was James doing setting that thing again?!” she said to herself. She scuttled over and input the keycode. The panel beeped and the alarm stopped chirping. She looked into the other room and then continued down the hallway and into the kitchen.
She opened the door.
Karen screamed.
44
Karen stood at the door to the kitchen, hands to her mouth. A cold shiver ran down her spine. The sharp scream still echoed around Blackwater House.
There was a thud as two sets of feet came bungling down the stairs. Marcus and Sophie arrived.
“Mom, what’s wro---?”
The three of them stood gaping in horror at the contents of the kitchen cupboards and drawers. Every plate, every pot, every pan had been removed from their homes and arranged in the center of the kitchen.
They were stacked on top of each other. The crockery didn't go straight up, however, but ventured sideways. The condiments balanced on plates, barely held between stacks themselves. The impossible geometric pattern would have been pretty, a work of art almost, if it hadn’t been so damn scary to witness.
“Did you do this?” Karen whimpered.
“What?!” Marcus guffawed.
Karen whirled, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders.
“Ow!” he exclaimed.
“Did you do this?!” she repeated, more desperately.
“No! Course not!”
“Sophie?” Karen turned hopefully to her daughter.
She shook her head.
Karen rubbed her temples. She could feel her heart palpitating. She panicked.
“Let’s go out for breakfast!” she announced suddenly.
She marched the kids out of the kitchen and up the stairs. They looked confusedly around, sure their mother had flipped. She oversaw their washing and dressing. Marcus tried to kick her out as he dressed but she refused to leave.
“I'm your mother! I gave birth to you, I changed you. There’s nothing I haven’t already seen!”
He hurriedly dressed, attempting to hide behind his pants and shirt as he removed his pajamas and stepped into his underwear.
Sophie giggled at her older brother.
“What are you doing, Marky?” she put her hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to stop her laughter.
Once Marcus had pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, they traipsed back down to Sophie’s room where Karen helped her dress. She chose a yellow flower print dress.
As soon as the dress was over the girl’s head, Karen yanked the two children down the stairs and out the door, grabbing three coats from the rack by the door.
“Put it on while we’re walking!” she said to the struggling Sophie.
Karen closed the door behind them, not bothering to lock it.
As the three Dawsons walked towards town, Karen’s pace slowed, much to the children’s relief.
The farther they walked from the house, the safer Karen felt.
Ike’s Diner was halfway between Blackwater and the house. The family were starving by the time they reached it. They fell into a booth and launched upon the menu.
“I want pancakes and eggs!” Marcus exclaimed.
“I want French toast, mommy!” Sophie clapped excitedly.
Karen perused the menu, her appetite somewhat returned. She felt at home in the small diner.
“I think I’ll...have a bit of both!” she grinned at the two children and licked her lips. They giggled.
The waitresses took their order and promptly returned with their food, a coffee for Karen and two large glasses of milk for Marcus and Sophie.
They tore into their breakfasts, not speaking until they licked the plates clean and sat back, buttons undone and clutching their swollen bellies.
“Oh! That was good!” Karen moaned.
Marcus managed a groggy thumbs-up.
Sophie looked like she was about to drop off. Her little mouth drooped open, her eyes rolling in her tiny head. Karen smiled to herself.
“Halloween’s coming up, guys! What you fancy dressing up as?” she said heavily. She tried to lean forward and then abandoned the idea. She opted instead for a cigarette.
Sophie had never dressed up before; this would be her first Halloween. Marcus had always enjoyed dressing up. He was particularly fond of the classic Universal Monsters. Last year, he was the Wolfman. It had been a complicated costume for Karen to make. The glue required to stick hair all over his face and arms was expensive. The glue kept melting with his sweat and the hair fell off in clumps, giving Marcus the nickname Alopecia Man. He hadn’t found it funny.
“Michael Myers!” Marcus said wide-eyed and smiling.
Karen raised an eyebrow. “Who the heck is that?”
“The killer from Halloween!” He grinned maniacally.
Karen wasn’t sure. She didn't know what this Myers looked like but she bet it wasn’t your average Dracula costume. She also wondered how Marcus knew of Michael Myers.
The small girl was still fighting her drowsy eyes in the battle to stay awake.
“Soph? What do you want to dress up as?” Karen smiled at the lolling head. “A princess maybe? Or something scary?!” she cackled and made spooky ‘ooh’-ing noises at her.
Sophie’s eyes fluttered open. They failed to focus. They rolled back and forth as she looked at Karen.
“I don’t know...”, she slurred. “A ghost?”
Karen was slightly disappointed. Such a clichéd costume, but she was young, so plenty of clever costumes lay ahead of her.
Marcus snorted, “That’s original!”
“Marcus!” Karen scolded.
Turning back to Sophie, “That's easily done, darling. We’ll make you the cutest lil’ ghost in town!” she smiled warmly. The girl just stared blankly at her, eyes still rolling.
45
Karen paid for their breakfast and the three of them sauntered back to the house. Karen prayed that James had returned. As they reached the crest of the hill on their street, the house came into view. The Pontiac was in the drive as well as the alarm security van.
Karen wished that everything would just be fixed.
Karen and Marcus walked up the steps to the house, swaying Sophie between them. Her tiny feet lifted off the ground. She squealed with laughter as they swung her back and forth.
Terry appeared from behind the truck.
He offered Karen a wave. She smiled in return.
“Go on inside, kids!” she said to them. She joined James and Terry at the back of the truck.
“So, what’s the story?”
“I’m very sorry, Mrs Dawson. I can’t figure out what the problem is...” he offered a weak, lopsided smile.
Karen shrugged, “It’s okay, Terry. I know you did nothing wrong. The alarm works fine. There’s something else going on...” she gave James a quick glance. He knew what her eyes were implying.
Suddenly, there was a scream from inside the house. The three adults rushed inside. Karen whirled frantically trying to figure out where to go.
“Sophie?!” she screamed.
There was no answer.
She clambered up the stairs, bursting into Sophie’s room, calling her name again.
She heard her daughter’s cries for help. They were coming from downstairs.
Karen ran back down again and found James and Terry pulling at the basement door.
“She’s down there!” James cried. “We can’t get the door open!”
Karen pushed in front of her husband and banged her open palm against the door.
“Soph? Honey? Can you hear me?”
“Mommy...” a faint cry replied.
Karen stepped back and threw her body against the door. Her shoulder throbbed with pain but she didn't have time to hurt.
She ran at the door again. This time it gave.
She fell into the musky darkness.
Karen scrambled to her feet and felt her way in the dark, not bothering to searc
h for the light switch. She knew it wouldn’t work.
She took the stairs two at a time. From behind, she heard James say the light switch wasn’t turning on.
Told you, Karen thought.
She squinted. The faint light from the windows at ground level gave her barely enough to negotiate her passage through the furniture and dusty frames. She could see Sophie’s little blonde head through the dust.
“Sophie!”
The child was crying. Karen ran towards her. She swept her up in her arms hugging her tightly.
“Oh honey! It’s okay! I'm here; you don’t need to be scared!”
Karen felt her shirt moisten. She looked down. She placed her forearm under Sophie’s seat, which was wet too. Karen realized Sophie had wet herself.
“Honey! You’ve had an accident!”
Karen stroked the child’s sad, wet face.
“What happened? Did Marcus lock you down here and you got scared?”
Karen contemplated harm to her son. The child shook her head, stifling the sobs.
“Someone called me down...”
“It must have been Marcus playing a mean trick on you...?” Karen tried to suggest but Sophie shook her small head vehemently.
“Marky went to his room. I was playing with Sandy.” Sophie clutched the rag doll to her miniature chest. “And the man opened the door and told me to come down ‘cos he had something to show me.”
Karen looked at her daughter and saw she was not making this up. She was not playing imaginary.
They had locked the basement door. Someone had opened it and was down here with her innocent Sophie. Karen felt sick.
“James!” Karen screamed over her shoulder. She was on the edge of hysterics.
James and Terry came rushing over.
“What's wrong? Is she hurt?!”
Whispering so that Terry could not hear, she leant into James. “She says someone opened the door and asked her to come down...‘to show her something’...” She said pleadingly.
His face turned pale. He placed his hands on either side of Sophie’s face.
“Who was it, darling? Are they still down here?”
She nodded slowly, her lower lip protruding with upset.
She raised her tiny fist and extended her finger. Her hand passed over the basement. Karen and James followed its course, dreading the destination.
Her hand stopped.
In the corner sat the portrait of Henry Clark. Karen looked out the side of her eye at James. He frowned, confused.
“That’s the man?” Karen asked as delicately as possible. “He looked like that painting?”
“That’s the mean man!” she pouted.
“But honey, that's a painting...” James tried.
Sophie just shook her head.
Karen fixed James with a stern frown. “Let’s go, honey.” She said in Sophie’s ear.
James stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. He stared the painting down.
46
When Karen eventually had the little girl settled down to sleep, she started up the attic staircase.
She knocked on the door. There was no answer. She opened it. Marcus lay prone on the bed; a pair of headphones encased him. He looked up at Karen and smiled.
“Hey, mom! Is everything alright?” He took on a worried expression now.
“You didn't hear us downstairs?”
Marcus searched his mother’s face for clues.
“No...did something happen?” He removed the headphones and spun his feet off the bed. He sat, poised to move.
“Your sister got locked in the basement. Now, she says it wasn’t you---”
“I didn't do anything! I've been up here since we came back---” Marcus protested but Karen interrupted him with a raised hand.
“She said it wasn’t you...and I believe her...but she did say something that worried me. She said there was a man in the basement.” Karen rubbed a forming tear from her right eye. “She said it was him who opened the door and called her down. You haven’t seen anything...weird, have you? Any strange men hanging around the street?”
Marcus scratched the inside of his ear with a pinkie. He screwed his face up in concentration. “I did see some old guy with a beard staring up at the house...I thought he was a hobo...”
Karen thought of the man she saw that day at the window. Was this the same man? Had he somehow gotten into the house?
“Keep an eye on your sister from now on, okay?” Karen said, placing her hand on Marcus soft hair. He nodded and watched her leave. He contemplated for another few seconds before returning the headphones and himself to their original position on the bed.
Once Terry had left with the uninstalled system, Karen grabbed James by the shoulders and turned him to face her.
“There is something going on here!”
“Babe, the alarm was faulty.”
“And Sophie?”
“She's five! She got scared of a painting in the dark...” This exasperated him.
“She locked herself in the basement after managing to open it without a key?!”
“We don’t know what happened!” James was becoming angry.
“There’s something you don’t know yet...”
She led him to the kitchen. She flung the door open.
The kitchen appeared normal.
“What are you showing me?!” James moaned.
“It wasn’t like this when we left. There were stacks of plates everywhere!”
“The kids were probably messing around...” James waved his hand dismissively and turned to leave.
Karen grabbed and turned him back around again.
“It was not the kids! Besides, this was not simple stacking...they were arranged like...some...math problem...geometric – some crazy pattern. Marcus couldn’t have done it and Sophie sure as hell couldn’t!”
James chewed his cheek. He had enough bullshit to deal with this week; the alarm was on the fritz and the company wouldn’t refund him, only remove it until they fixed it. He was dealing with a particularly messy divorce. Both sides had hired him to save money but when James attempted split the assets, the claws came out. They were regretting the decision to share Counselor and were punishing James for it. Eli Bluth’s will was not proving straight forward either. Instead of drafting it according to his wishes and ‘to hell with everyone else’s feelings’, he asked his wife and children if they were happy with what he proposed. Disagreements had ensued and they inundated James with calls demanding he change this or amend that. No matter how many times he told them that Eli was his client and he could not speak to them, they still harassed him daily.
James could see that lawyer/client privilege carried no weight and greedy people existed all over – rich or poor.
Finally he asked Karen, “What do you want me to do then?”
Karen squinted at him, eyes bulging out of the small slits, her rage evident. Her breathing became sharp. “You fuckin’ serious?! A man is luring your daughter into the basement, the alarm is going off every night, dishes are being moved around....as the supposed man of the house, I thought you might have an opinion on the matter...”
James pushed past her as he stormed out of the kitchen door. He grumbled as he walked down the hallway, preparing to ascend the stairs. Karen chased after him, grabbing at the collar of his shirt.
“Don’t you fuckin’ walk away from me like I'm not important or some crazy bitch who doesn’t know what she saw! I know what me and the kids saw was real! You’re just too stupid to see what’s going on!” she shoved his shoulder with the heel of her hand.
“What do you want?! Sell the house, abandon the practice?!” He shouted. He inched closer to his wife. His nose almost touched hers. This was not an intimate moment. There was no love in James’ eyes.
Suddenly, a giggle emanated from the room to his right.
“Sophie? What are you doing out of bed...?” Karen started.
There was no one in the room.
> A whirring stirred behind them and they turned to face the other room across the hall.
A toy car was rolling towards them. Its large Tonka wheels slowly buzzing as they rotated. The car slowed and there was a rallentando of the clicking wheels.
James and Karen looked at it for a second as it stopped. They glared at each other.
“Marcus?” Karen called. She was less sure of herself now. The disappearance of the source of the giggling convinced her it wasn’t Marcus who pushed the Tonka truck across the floor.
James picked the truck up and turned it over in his hand, examining it. He studied the undercarriage and fingered at the wheels, moving them back and forth.
Karen grabbed James’ sleeve and pulled him towards the room ahead. She popped her head around the wall, fearing with what she would come face to face. She saw nothing. Karen ventured into the room, still tugging on James’ shirt sleeve. Her eyes wildly scanned the room. As they passed the center of the room and came level with the sofa, Karen saw something on the seat. It was Sophie’s doll – Sandy; the one Karen had tucked into bed with the girl. It was positioned in the center of the couch, its smiling, rosy-cheeked face set straight ahead, a wall the only view.
Karen picked it up and stared at it in the eyes. She shook it violently. It made no movement. It made no sound.
She threw it angrily down on the sofa again.
She wheeled to James, “You heard that! We both did!”
James stared back at her unblinking. He gave no agreement or dissent. She huffed and marched past him.
Karen stopped at the banister and turned. “And I want a car! If something bad happens again, I can’t exactly rely on you!” She spun on her heels and climbed the stairs.
James heard her heavy footfalls on the staircase. They thudded gradually overhead. A second later, James heard the bedroom door slam.
He sighed and flopped down onto the couch. James pursed his lips and kneaded his hands. He looked to his right on the seat. The ragdoll lay like a trapeze artist mid swing, its arms above its head, legs passing over its shoulders. He picked it up and looked at it.
Blackwater Page 14
