June paused for a moment and looked up to the sky. Falling back into present tense when referring to Claire had derailed her line of argument. She took a deep breath with her face still staring up to the starless sky above us, and I was forced to look away. No class ever explains this, but life eventually teaches all of us that crying is a contagious virus. If someone else’s throat is choked with sorrow, it is inevitable you will start to show the same symptoms.
“Claire and you were not the same, Althea. She had possibilities. You had obstacles and only because of your personal strength, a type of strength I cannot feel responsible for impressing onto your DNA, you rose above them. Claire could’ve had the most amazing life without much of a struggle. Yet Beatrix Appleton found a way to turn her daughter into a barely animated shadow. For years I saw her running errands around town on that same bike you’re on right now. Her eyes were vacant, lifeless. The few times I was able to talk to her―when she didn’t manage to escape from human contact like a scared rabbit―I discovered there was nothing left inside her that resembled the sweet, shy girl I used to know. She was not the friend you left behind. And I know I am not the only one who thinks Beatrix Appleton is responsible for Claire’s death.”
“Oh, that I know.” I nodded with resentment, remembering Liz’s words at the bar.
“Beatrix Appleton has an overbearing personality, Althea. She did it to Claire, and now she’s doing it to you. You need to go back to your life. Otherwise, she will drain it out of you, like she did with Claire.”
That was it. The push I feared would happen. I had fallen off the cliff and dove head first into an ocean of fury.
“What on earth do you know about raising children? You want to talk about overbearing mothers? Fine, I’m game. My turn now. I knew a teenage girl once who, before going to school every morning, had to pick her mother up from her own vomit, bathe her and dress her. After that, she had to call her employer and lie, so her mother wouldn’t get fired yet again from another job that, either way, she would not be able to hold on to for more than two months!”
I was so focused on my own stagnated rage that holding back tears was no longer an option. My nose was running, so I wiped it with my coat sleeve before carrying on. I felt like a shark. I had tasted bloody waters, and now my appetite was insatiable. I wanted to bite.
“I didn’t have obstacles, June. I had one obstacle. Luckily for me, for both of us, that teenage girl is dead.”
“I never said I wasn’t one of your obstacles, Althea―”
“You know what? I don’t care. You should’ve been at Appleton Hill after the funeral. Not because of Beatrix, but because of Claire, so stop making lame excuses for yourself. Have a nice life.”
I put the bicycle in motion and rode away. Whatever rage was left in me I was now using it as fuel after an excruciatingly long day that was closing down on me without mercy.
Black pitch night. Black pitch mind. Just keep moving forward, Althea.
Chapter 20
The sight of Appleton Manor as I was climbing up the hill was enough to put my heart at ease. My body felt heavy and my mind exhausted from the awful conversation I had held with my mother. After her words, I didn’t care about the night teaming up with the fog to shorten my vision. All I wanted to do was to get back home.
I was dismounting the bike by the storage room, still wondering about something my mother had pointed out to me. The ride back to the manor had made it impossible for me to think about anything else. Was I being short-sighted about Mrs. Appleton? I certainly knew I didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle regarding Claire’s death. But that didn’t make either Liz or my mother right about Mrs. Appleton.
She is a recluse. That is all. They both were. People sometimes have issues dealing with different lifestyles.
I opened the storage room door and aimed the bike towards it. I took a moment to search for my cell phone in my bag so I could light the way and return the bike to its place. It was impossible to do it in the blind darkness inhabiting that room. I couldn’t even make out the borders of the three steps.
Knock–knock
At first, they spoke to me in a soft voice. I almost didn’t hear them. If it hadn’t been because the night around me didn’t have as much as a pulse, I’d have missed them. I kept searching in my satchel.
It’s an old house and it makes unusual noises. Not everything that creaks and squeaks is Claire.
Knock–knock
This time I stopped searching for my phone and listened carefully.
Knock–knock… Knock–knock…
It was coming from the storage room. Somewhere inside the dark pit in front of me, there was an unnatural sore throat spitting out knocking sounds at me. They were banging on metal; that much was evident.
Knock–knock… Knock–knock… Knock–knock!
My palms were sweaty as they gripped the bike’s handle. I had already experienced paranormal events in Appleton Hill, but something was different about this one. It felt eerie in a way I could hardly describe. The air was getting thicker again, exactly as when I had heard footsteps outside Claire’s bedroom or when the song blasted out of the radio. However, this felt menacing in a way that prevented me from filling my lungs completely. The beating was like a corset laced with my own anxiety, and it was getting tighter and tighter with each knock.
Knock–knock… Knock–knock… Knock–knock!
I needed to make it stop. I leaned the bike against the wall and finally snatched my cell phone from my bag. I couldn’t go down there without a light, but that was the only weapon I had.
With wobbly feet, I stepped into the storage room. It was darker than that afternoon when I had picked up the bicycle.
Knock–knock… Knock–knock… Knock–knock!
The pounding was accelerating, along with my breathing. I shone the light around me, but I couldn’t find anyone there. No, the banging was not produced by a human; that much I intuited. This situation was falling in the same category as the clapping cabinet doors.
I’ve had enough for one day. What the hell am I doing here?
I stepped farther into the blackness, assuming I was closer to the center of the room. That’s when the metal noises became clearer. They were coming from a corner to my right. I turned and shed a light on this obscure spot.
Knock–knock… Knock–knock… Knock–knock!
Knock–knock… Knock–knock… Knock–knock!
The moment my beam of light landed on an old furnace, the knocking became frantic. It was like a clock trying to count 120 seconds per minute. My clammy hands were squeezing the phone, trying to extract some courage out of it. There was only one thing I could do.
I approached the metal door, extending my free hand to grab its handle, but I could barely control it. I was shaking so hard that the light was moving all over the place, and I thought I would lose my grip on it.
“If-if you want me to do it,” I said out loud, trying to manage my equally shaky voice, “you have to stop. Stop it now, please.”
The silence following my request was worse than I had anticipated. Not only because it confirmed my suspicions, but because silence and darkness are a terrifying combination. But it had granted me my wish, and I needed to come through with my part of the deal. I inhaled deeply, bracing myself for the next step. Once again, I reached for the handle, but this time I did grab and turn it.
I pulled open the door, and the squealing of the hinges made my blood curdle. It sounded like the devilish thing was screaming in pain.
Nothing jumped at me or fell out of the furnace, which had been my biggest fear. That brought an ounce of calm to my spirit, but I could not go on with that alone. I stepped closer to the furnace and illuminated its interior. There was a considerable amount of ash, but between the lack of natural light and the thin beam coming out of my cell phone, I couldn’t make much out in the gray dust. Except for a plastic corner protruding from under a pile of ash that appeared to have once been a b
undle of paper, like a thick book. Everything else was unidentifiable. I pulled my sleeve over my hand, then quickly yanked the plastic thing out, letting it fall to the floor. The smell of ash mixed with the already dusty ambiance of the storage room, creating a gray cloud that rained on the light beam.
When I illuminated this plastic item, it turned out to be an identity card. The photograph and part of the name were burned, but it seemed the weight of the book had preserved the rest from the fire.
“Carter,” I read out loud.
This was the last name of its owner. When I picked it up, I saw the card belonged to a woman from New York. I was still studying it when the furnace door slammed shut, making me scream. That was it. I had no idea how this Carter woman fit into Claire’s story, but I could not move my feet fast enough to get out of the storage room.
Once outside, I snatched my bag from the bike’s basket and headed for the back entrance into the house. I was not going down there again to store the bicycle. I knew leaving it out on a cold winter’s night was not a good idea, but I was done for the day. As I approached the manor, I stashed the identity card inside my satchel.
Maybe I should show it to Jo.
When I entered the kitchen, a warm glow received me. Claire’s mother was getting some dishes ready. After all, it was dinner time.
“Althea! I’m glad you’re back. I was making us some dinner,” Mrs. Appleton greeted me while removing the tinfoil covering the dishes she had retrieved from the fridge. “Can you heat these in the microwave?”
“Of course,” I agreed, taking the plates from her.
It was strange to use such a modern appliance in a kitchen that was stuck in the “cook with wood” era. In silence, I busied myself with the dishes, heating one first and then the other, although they were not as cold as I expected them to be. It didn’t take long for Mrs. Appleton to realize something was wrong.
“You don’t look so good, Althea. I mean, I know it’s not exactly a time for us to look our best. But you seem sadder than normal this morning. Is everything okay?” She scanned my haggard face with her blue-eyed stare.
“I ran into my mother today. It didn’t end well.”
I decided that telling only half a lie also meant I was telling, at the very least, half a truth. I couldn’t let her know what Jo had shared with me.
“I’m sorry to hear that, dear. Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. Analyzing it would only make it worse.
“Well, regardless of what your mother might do, and I’ve heard that she has been working really hard to get back on her feet, you know you can count on me, right? You are like a daughter to me, Althea. Despite the distances. Despite the years.”
Despite Claire’s absence, I completed in my mind.
“Thank you, Mrs. Appleton. I appreciate your concern. Let’s eat, shall we?” I grabbed both plates and moved toward the kitchen table.
I insisted on washing the dishes after dinner. I wasn’t exactly sure how Mrs. Appleton had managed herself until that moment, since there was no dishwasher. She offered some resistance, but not enough to dissuade me. After all, someone had to do it. I didn’t even know how the cleaning was done in such a preposterous house, but that wasn’t any of my business. If Beatrix and Claire wanted to impersonate Edith and Edie and live a la Grey Gardens, that was their prerogative.
I dragged my feet down the corridor until I reached my bedroom. Besides, I would bet that keeping up with the housekeeping of the manor was incredibly expensive. I stepped into the room and turned the lights on. I immediately realized something was off, different. Was it the arrangement of my belongings? No, that seemed to show the same level of messiness. Was it the furniture? Had someone rearranged it? Not from what I could tell. However, it was evident someone had been in the room. I looked up.
“That’s it.”
The place on the ceiling from where the chandelier normally hung―just like the one in Claire’s bedroom―was now empty. Someone had removed it. In its place, a lonely lightbulb dangled from a wire.
“What the hell? Why would they do something like that?” I thought about going downstairs to Mrs. Appleton’s bedroom and asking her about the disappearance of my chandelier. “The chandelier. It’s not my chandelier,” I corrected myself.
Again, who was I to question her about what she did with her property? Perhaps she had hired an electrician to go over the electrical installations, checking that everything was all right for a buyer. I had been away all afternoon, so I’d probably missed any of that. She had said people were lining up around the corner for a property like this one. Maybe she already had a buyer? It wasn’t impossible.
I tossed my coat and bag on the bed. I opened the latter and took out the identity card I had found in the furnace, then stashed it inside a book I had brought with me to read on the plane. I would make time later for this Carter person, but now all I wanted to do was sleep.
I sat on the bed and began to untie my shoes, thinking about how sad it would be to leave the manor. Wishing I had the money to buy it. Hoping I would find some magical way to inherit this place.
“Unless…” My line of thought changed lanes suddenly. I straightened and looked at the light bulb, the picture of solitude. “Unless Tom has been here. If he indeed murdered Claire, perhaps when he hanged her from the ceiling, the chandelier got in the way. Perhaps he is laying the groundwork first, before coming after me.”
I remembered the promise I’d made to Jo. I got to my feet and locked the bedroom door. Then, I checked that the window was closed and locked.
It wasn’t exactly a flawless protection plan, but at least it was something. I searched my luggage and fished out the pepper spray that I always carried with me, then tossed it on the bed. I was going to sleep with it under my pillow if necessary. After that, only two things remained to be done before I could give my body the rest it was craving.
I used all the strength I had left to drag the bed as far as I could to the right-hand side of the room. It was an antique canopy bed, not exactly a light piece of furniture. But I really wanted to get out from under the mold that was clinging to the ceiling above me. I didn’t wish to start the next day as I had this one. Once I’d established what I deemed a safe distance between the fungus and my nostrils, I focused on the last item on my to-do list.
“Now, I need something to sleep in that’s not a health hazard.”
Chapter 21
Click.
What was that? Was that the door? Someone unlocked it. I heard it. I heard it clearly.
This dark sound was all the information I received. I wasn’t quite sure where I was, but the sound of the lock reminded me of my bedroom, and an urgent need to find safety overcame me. Soon enough, I realized I could hear something else. There was a song playing in the background. I could follow the melody, but I couldn’t quite make out all the words.
What is that song? I know it―I just can’t… I’ve heard it before.
A new layer of sound added itself to the field surrounding me. The reverberation of weight pressing down on an old wooden floor. Steps.
One step, two steps, three steps…
They were getting closer. I felt the anticipation creeping up from the corners of my understanding.
It’s Tom. It’s Tom. He’s in the room. I am going to end up hanging from the ceiling, just like Claire.
The song became louder and louder, muffling the steps but, at the same time, awakening my senses. But the steps… Why couldn’t I hear the steps anymore?
I was able to capture two words from the melody that, although I knew it was a song, was turning out to be more and more like irritating white noise.
Shut up! Shut up, stupid song! I’m not crazy! I have to stay in Appleton Hill. I have to stay. I must protect the house. Claire didn’t. Tom has to go. She wasn’t strong enough. They need me. We must stick together. No strangers… We have to kill Tom.
I felt the grip of his hands grabbing me by the
ankles and dragging me out of the bed. I tried to stop it, to hold on to something, but I failed miserably. This force was sucking me into… I don’t know where. Squirming out of its grasp wasn’t possible; I couldn’t move my body in any direction. I knew it right there―this was Tom’s way of showing me his mission would be carried on without any interruption. It was inevitable.
I can’t feel my body. Oh, God, why can’t I feel my body?
Chapter 22
It was the throbbing headache that woke me up. My skull was beating at the rhythm of my heart. And that synchrony was not good. The first things I saw when I opened my eyes were the floorboards. I felt exhausted. It took more than a minute to untangle myself from the grogginess of the last layer of sleep still lingering over me, like a leech, sucking the energy out of me.
Once I gained some clarity, I noticed the angle at which I was staring at the floor was a strange one. It became evident I was not at floor level.
“What…?”
I was looking down at the floorboards as if I had slept standing up. I lifted my head and there it was―the closet with its door open, where I had hung the dress from Claire’s funeral. Although I was awake, I felt more confused than ever. I lowered my eyes again, this time searching for my feet. I was higher than floor level.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God…”
I was not touching the ground.
“I’m-I’m floating. Am I flying?”
My breathing accelerated. I looked around, trying to understand where I was. Was I dreaming? My mind was still clouded, and the increasing fear did not help. The bedroom appeared to be the same as it did when I went to sleep the night before. It was I who had changed positions. My body felt awkward, like I was hanging more than floating. I tried to turn around to figure out what made my torso feel as stiff as a lamppost and my arms as useless as loose strings dangling by my side.
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