Teeth in the Mist

by Dawn Kurtagich

  His eyes seem to twinkle. “I see.”

  At that moment, a harried Jenny arrives. She rushes forward, holding out two bottles of liquor. Brandy. Rum. “I wasn’t sure which to bring, only”—she falters—“oh, oh! Dr. Maudley, sir!”

  “Good woman,” Maudley says, taking the bottles from her. “We will have tea. We have much to discuss, my guests and I. Summon Mrs. Goode.”

  Jenny curtsies now. “Yes, yes, sir, Master Maudley. Right away.” She hurries back down the stairs, her skirts bobbing.

  “I will stay with my sister,” Seamus says, wheeling himself forward.

  “I understand your wish,” Maudley says. “But there are things to be said, and your sister will rely upon your good ears to relate them.”

  Seamus glances after Andrew as he carries Emma away, and Rapley slips from the room unnoticed by all except Roan.

  “She’ll not wake until morning,” Maudley says. “I will leave Andrew with her for the night. He has some medical training.”

  Seamus hesitates, glances down the hall again, and then reluctantly nods.

  “Now, then,” Maudley says. “There is much to divulge. To the Red Room.”

  PART 2

  Upon the Mountain

  Hell is just a frame of mind.

  —CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE,

  DR. FAUSTUS

  The little boy was everything Eve had hoped for. He was kind, not like the boys in her mother’s play group on Friday afternoons. He was quiet, but funny—so funny that she would roll on the carpet laughing until she was crying.

  One morning, she asked him to go with her to the most special place she knew. It was her secret, and she had never let anyone inside there. With the trust of innocence, he went with her, never once questioning where she might be leading him.

  Adam would follow her anywhere.

  She led him through the parlor and into the kitchen, then out the kitchen door into the wild and tangled garden.

  “Shh,” she reminded him, pressing one small finger to her lips.

  He nodded, eyes solemn and grave. This was a very big secret she was sharing. Even he, at the tender age of eight, could sense that. Though she was two years his junior, he knew that she knew many more things than he did. Many more.

  They wandered through the chrysanthemums, around the bracken, which Eve’s mother let grow high because she liked to feel the woods nearby, through the grove of pine trees, and onward, to the very back.

  There, hidden behind some rocks and camouflaged by a thick bush, the name of which Eve always forgot, was her hiding place. Not just a place to hide her body, or her things, but a place to hide her secret.

  This was the place, she knew, and this was the time, she decided. She would share her deepest, darkest secret with Adam… and see if he ran away.

  She took his hand, took a breath, and led him under the bush, where the branches and leaves had weaved together in an almost otherworldly ceiling. Underneath, she had laid a blanket long ago, and it was still dry. Here and there, between rocks and little holes she’d dug, were all her treasures. A shell she had found on the beach in Devon on the family outing last summer. A necklace she had found crushed on the road in town. A doll her father had given her, but then two years later had declared her too old for. All these treasures, she hid here.

  And the biggest was one you couldn’t even see.

  “I’m going to give you my secret,” she said.

  Adam nodded. She always, always had his full attention.

  “Sit,” she said, and he did.

  Eve closed her eyes and sat next to him, then put her hands on the rocks beside her, breathing into her nose and out of her mouth. Adam could sense that something important was happening, and he had to force himself not to laugh.

  And then she spoke. He couldn’t recognize the words, and knew she must be pretending to speak French or Latin, but as the little space around them grew colder and colder, he thought that maybe, just maybe, she really did have something big to show him.

  And then the rocks spoke back. It wasn’t words… but a deep, low grumbling. And the earth beneath his bottom moved! Moved like a living thing. He clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from yelping, and it worked.

  Until he looked at Eve.

  Her eyes! They were different. They had snapped open even as she said the make-believe words, and then she was floating above the blanket, legs crossed, but definitely floating. He stared in terror as the darkness in her eyes began to seep into her skin, like little dark veins.

  “Eve!” he called, suddenly scared that she was going to change completely, or float away—or disappear. “Eve!”

  Her eyes snapped in his direction, and she bared her teeth, growling like some wild beast. And then her eyes took in the shock on his face, the way he leaned away from her, and all of a sudden everything was normal.

  The blanket was where it had been.

  The secrets were still buried between rocks and in holes in the earth.

  The ribbons hanging from the branches above them were still.

  It was as though nothing had really happened at all.

  “Was that real?” Adam whispered.

  Eve had her head bowed, her hair concealing her face. Adam lifted the brunette curtain away.

  “Eve?”

  She was biting her lip. “Yes,” she said in a very small voice.

  “You can talk to the earth,” he breathed, his eyes wide and staring.

  Only then did she dare to look at him. “You… you’re not afraid of me?”

  “I’m not afraid,” he said, and took her hand in his own. Then he did something he’d wanted to do for a long time, but never had. He leaned forward and gave her a kiss.

  Eve’s fingers brushed her cheek, where his kiss had fallen, and smiled. Her flesh burned hot where his had been.

  She lifted her hand away and called a rock to her. It came, rolling over the blanket into her outstretched hand.

  “Girl of the rocks,” Adam said.

  And she smiled.

  “Now,” he said. “Let me show you.”

  When Adam closed his eyes and told her exactly what each of her hidden places contained and where they were, she wasn’t surprised. She had known, from the first, that he was special. Like her.

  No, what surprised her was that he had seen her secret. Seen it, and not been afraid.

  It was that he had seen it…

  …and he loved her anyway.

  ZOEY

  NOW

  Chapter 12

  MILL HOUSE

  Zoey Camera Footage

  Date: October 21

  The camera focuses on a tall building of mixed styles. Medieval in aspect, part Gothic, it looms into a turbulent gray sky. Zoey’s camera zooms out to reveal the whole—a long building with two wings that stretch backward and out of sight. The left side of the building is close up against a sheer rocky mountainside, as though built into the very mountain.

  “Well, damn,” Zoey whispers, her mouth close to the mic. “It’s real. Really real.”

  The camera wobbles and then stabilizes, and Zoey comes into the frame. She bends down, adjusts something out of sight, and then steps back so that both she and the house are in view.

  “I’m going to take my camera with me as I go inside so that I can watch it later and make notes. Right. Uh… let’s go exploring, I guess.”

  She walks back to the camera, picks it up, and the view spins.

  “Right,” Zoey says, her voice close to the mic again. “I’m going to put the tripod away, and I’m going to leave my stuff out here by those rocks”—she points to a jagged protrusion of slate some way to the right—“and then we’ll go in. I’m going to wear my GoPro headgear, so apologies if the quality isn’t as good. I might need my hands, though.”

  A pause.

  “Okay. Enough chitchat. Let’s do this.”

  Zoey clicks her fingers in front of the camera. “Testing GoPro head cam.”

  The quality of
the image is markedly reduced.

  She peers into the lens and then smiles. “Hello there.”

  After putting it on she looks around. The camera moves with her.

  “This should be cool.”

  Taking a breath, she looks back up at the house. She is standing much closer now, and the large doors of the gatehouse stare down like two guardians, arms folded.

  Zoey tries the doors, but they won’t budge.

  “Didn’t think so.”

  Walking along the length of the house, away from the mountainous side, Zoey checks and tries each window she comes to, with no luck, but when she rounds the other side of the building, she discovers that a large hole is ripped into the ribcage of the house.

  “Bingo,” she says, hurrying over.

  With some effort, Zoey scales the rocks, her hands coming briefly into view, and jumps down into the room.

  The camera takes a moment to adjust to the change in light.

  “It’s still furnished,” Zoey whispers. “I expected it to be empty.”

  The light is vaporous and gray in the gloomy interior, but as Zoey looks around, the state of the furnishings becomes apparent.

  “It’s… intact. Like, completely intact.” She whistles. “Holy shitballs.”

  The space is small but palatial, the walls a light green, hung with tapestries and paintings that are uncannily well preserved. Zoey steps carefully forward, camera scanning slowly from left to right. Two leather sofas, a Romanesque chair, an armchair, a table, and several small bookcases. Across the way, a green door, closed to the rest of the house. The floor is nothing but a tattered mess of carpet and debris, but the furnishings remain like something from a time capsule.

  “Green,” Zoey murmurs, touching one of the sofas and then passing on to a table standing in the corner. “Everything is a shade of green.”

  She turns to face the side of the room where the gaping hole stands, examining the wall around the opening.

  “What caused this? And… how is the furniture completely fine?”

  A sudden movement and an expletive and the view is once again on the interior of the room. Only now the door is open, the space beyond a dark rectangle.

  Zoey inhales.

  Holds her breath.

  There is the uncanny sense that the house is doing the same.

  “You were closed,” Zoey whispers, not moving an inch. “You were.”

  And then she gasps and hops back; the doorway seems somehow larger—or perhaps it feels more present, as though the space beyond the doorway has deepened in color. In blackness.

  “What the fuck was that?” Zoey chokes, stepping away again.

  There is a long, torturous moment of stillness, and then Zoey is turning, running back toward the hole in the wall, clambering out…

  She runs a few paces away before facing the house. The green room is now swathed in shadow, the morning light turning it into a chasm of deepest night.

  Zoey

  4:00 p.m.

  Wish u were

  Your message failed to send.

  Zoey

  4:33 p.m.

  It’s bloody cold. Hope you’re bringing blankets.

  Your message failed to send.

  Zoey

  7:00 p.m.

  Can’t sleep. House makes noises. And there was this door…

  Your message failed to send.

  Zoey

  9:00 p.m.

  holy shit Pole I’m actually a bit unnerved.

  There R sounds!

  Your message failed to send.

  Zoey

  9:12 p.m.

  hurry up and get here u sod.

  Your message failed to send.

  Zoey

  00:00 a.m.

  officially given up on sleep for the night. Also, I need a pee, but you think I’m getting out of the tent again?

  Your message failed to send.

  Zoey

  3:00 a.m.

  Poulton. I’m scared.

  Delivered.

  Chapter 13

  SECRETS OF THE FATHER

  None of them can settle. Maudley leads them into a room that truly deserves its name. It is more pleasure room than parlor, with deep wine-colored walls and richly woven red velvet sofas. The rug is Oriental, full of reds, golds, and violets, and the paintings all drip with roses, sunsets, and bloodberries. Even the piano sits hidden beneath lace coverings the color of intense blush.

  Maudley gestures to the plush sofa and pours himself a red-hued drink from a crystal decanter while his guests sit. Mrs. Goode appears moments later, impeccably dressed as though she spends every moment in a state of readiness.

  “Tea,” is all Maudley says, and then she is gone, her step now so light that Roan barely hears it.

  Now, no more than three or four minutes have passed and Mrs. Goode is back, a silver trolley carrying a red teapot and red teacups upon red saucers at the ready. She has also placed several scones on a silver platter next to a small bowl of cream and another of bloodred jam.

  It feels like a jest, and Roan almost laughs, but the memory of Emma’s leg, and all that blood, makes her choke instead. And the voice. That infernal voice!

  “Calm, calm,” Maudley says, turning away from the fire, where he has been meditating in silence. He is wiping small spots of Emma’s blood from his hands with a crisp white handkerchief.

  “How can we be calm?” Seamus asks. His eyes belie his anger, revealing deep distress. There are tears upon the brims as he watches Maudley scrub. “My sister is—is she—what if she—”

  Roan stiffens and accepts the cup of tea Mrs. Goode offers. Seamus takes his, but the little teacup shakes so much within the saucer that he puts both straight down on the table beside him.

  “Rest assured,” Maudley says, holding up his hand when Mrs. Goode offers him a cup of tea, “she was in no danger when I left her. Andrew is very capable, I assure you. Thank you, Mrs. Goode. Please ensure Andrew has all he needs, and send Jenny in to attend us.”

  Mrs. Goode nods in her curt manner and leaves, and moments later Jenny has taken her place, standing in the corner like a little ghost of a thing, cowering into herself.

  “How did this happen?” Seamus mutters, and is so like a child that Roan takes his hand despite herself. He smiles up at her and a few tears escape. “I’ve never seen a storm like that, not ever. I’ve never seen such wreckage. And the glass…”

  Jenny shudders ever so slightly; Roan catches the movement.

  “You said you had to tell us some things,” Roan says, more to distract Seamus and spare Jenny further distress than to hear it. “I suggest we start there.”

  Dr. Maudley nods in a peculiar sideways manner. “The events of tonight are most unfortunate. But believe me, I will ensure that the windows are reinforced when replaced. Nothing matters more to me than your safety,” he adds, his eyes flicking to Roan. She sips her tea and looks pointedly at him.

  “Now, please. Rest easy your minds. The danger has passed.” He sips from his glass. “Even so. I must warn you. The western side of Mill House was built into the mountain. The entirety of those walls from basement to rooftop are the mountain itself. That is why there are no windows on that side. Slate is unpredictable at the best of times, and the rocks shift and move. Temperature, humidity—any number of variables can cause microfissures and splinters. You may have heard the rumbles already. They are nothing to be alarmed about as long as you stay away from that wing—particularly the lower levels. Much of it is in disrepair, and there is nothing you will need from that part of the house.” He glances at Roan. “Your bedroom abuts it, as does the other room. I had those walls reinforced a long while ago.”

  Jenny mutters a sudden oath in Welsh, breaking through Maudley’s calm explanation, then claps her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. She mutters what sounds like “I am sorry, sir,” and shakes her head.

  Maudley sighs with tight lips reminiscent of Mrs. Goode’s and takes another sip of his drink, the liqu
id red and gleaming. He waves a hand. “I must abed, as should you. We will speak again in the morning.”

  Maudley nods to them and turns to leave.

  “Wait!” Roan calls, getting to her feet. “A word.”

  Maudley stops at the doorway, but she walks out past him. As she passes Jenny, she nods in Seamus’s direction. Jenny smiles and offers Seamus a scone.

  “Please, sir. Eat some. I made these myself.”

  Roan is not asleep when someone knocks at her door. She is already clothed in her day dress, minus crinoline and corset.

  “Come,” she calls, as her mother used to, then clenches her fists so that her nails bite into her palm. It offers relief and stills her sudden shakes.

  “I’m afraid I need some help with the door.”

  “Andrew?” She hurries to open it.

  “Roan,” Emma says softly. Andrew carries her in his arms; she is pale, her chin bobbing down every so often as though she may fall asleep. “I’m alive yet. Full up of some wonderful medicine that makes me want to sleep and feel no pain.”

  Roan cannot help but smile. How close Emma had come, Roan does not think Emma knows. She stands aside to let Andrew in.

  “There, on the bed. That one, there.” She indicates the right-hand bed. She had been expecting this. For Emma to room with her. And she, for the first time in her life, is profoundly thankful for the company. For Emma’s company.

  Andrew places Emma down on the bed opposite to Roan’s, careful to pull back the blanket and ensure she is well covered. Then he turns to Roan.

  “I am sorry,” he says. “There is no other room at the moment. And Emma will need someone to help her with certain… tasks.”

  Emma rolls her eyes. “A servant and he’s too shy to utter the words! My mother would’ve had you blushing like a little boy reprimanded for looking at the girls!”