Behind her, unheard earlier from the chaos in the room, Mary and Elizabeth pounded on the door to get in, and Jill backed away, still holding Oscar, rocking back and forth as the owners and other guests entered.
“Is it over?” Jill asked. “Is it over? Is it over? Is it—?”
TEA TIME
“Hi Kit. I couldn’t reach you on your mobile,” Mercy said. Even on the wired connection her voice sounded far away.
“No one can. Mobiles don’t work here—it’s a complete dead zone. That’s why I always email you from work—there’s no internet out here, Wi-Fi or otherwise.”
There was a long pause while Mercy spoke to one of her children. Kit waited, well-accustomed to those sorts of interruptions from her friend.
“How is Silver Hollow?” Mercy asked when finished answering the child’s questions and telling them to stop interrupting her.
“Deadly dull,” Kit said, then smirked. “You’d love it. Why don’t you come up with the family next weekend—I’m off rotation at the ER—or on your own and get away for a while?”
Mercy sighed, but Kit wasn’t sure if it was at her or at one of the kids. “You know what? I’ll take you up on that. Just you and me. Old times. If I can arrange it, I’ll stay for a week or so.”
“Old times. You can stay as long as you want and as long as Frank will put up with the little monsters.” Kit chuckled before she hung up the phone. “See you.”
Two weeks dragged by, and Kit swore the house was growing in silence with each minute. Kathryn was having more trouble sleeping with how quiet the house—the whole town—was. Without the noise of home—the sirens, the music, the crowds—she was more aware of the silence of the country. It intensified at night, lying in bed with the only sound being her breath, the ringing in her ears, and her heartbeat. The pops and clicks of the house settling didn’t help, and when it sounded like children’s footsteps running about the floors, that was even worse.
She forgot it when she saw her honey-headed friend pull up the driveway.
“Welcome to paradise,” She reached out to take the woman’s long-fingered hand. Cool to the touch, the skin dry but soft. “And by paradise, I mean Perdition.”
Mercy laughed. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “I think the quiet will be a nice change of pace.”
“Only for a fortnight. After that, it’s maddening.”
Kathryn kissed her friend on the cheek, noticed the bags on the porch and helped her bring them inside. “I wish I’d brought Faith with me, but I thought I might try my hand at being domestic for a change.” The dark-haired woman gestured in the air. “As you can tell, it’s not going well.”
“Thank you, Kit. Good to see you again,” Mercy said, glancing around and repressing a smirk. “Perhaps you could do with a maid service.”
Kit shrugged. “That’s kind of you. I have a cleaner come in twice a week, and he cooks for me now and then, but I should have him visit more often. The house wouldn’t be so maddeningly silent, then.”
“Why didn’t you bring Faith, or Lucy?”
“I didn’t think I’d need them—and I’ve got things at home to keep up with, anyway.” Kit waved Mercy off with one hand.
They settled her things into the guest bedroom while Mercy filled her in on her latest exploits and published papers. Then, she moved on to her trip.
“That was quite a drive here from the city. I passed by the town once,” she said. “Went right by the exit that leads to Main Street. You were right—not even the GPS app pulls the place up. I knew when I hit signs for Terrenceville that I’d missed my turnoff and had to turn around. Sorry I’m late.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Kathryn waved her hand in a brushing motion. That was a lie. In reality, she spent the time pacing the floor, clinking the teacups and rearranging the furniture while she waited. “I’m so glad to have company, for a change.”
Mercy opened her mouth to say she should have brought her assistants, but thought better of it from Kit’s earlier brush-off.
Once her visitor settled in and took a moment to freshen up, they sat in the parlor.
“Scones and tea,” Mercy relaxed into her cushion. “I’ve not had a proper Albion tea since you left Grace City.”
Kit smiled. “Eh, you could have—there are only eight different tearooms in a three-block radius from your home. Don’t blame me.”
“It’s not the same,” Mercy said. “But I have to know—when did you learn to cook?”
Kit laughed, feeling a faint heat coming into her cheeks. “Well, I didn’t. The woman at Haverty’s Store baked these scones and crumpets for me. The people here aren’t friendly to newcomers, but I helped the family during an illness—so I suppose I won her over for the moment.”
Mercy nodded. “There are so many places in the upper Northeast Territory that are like that. The smaller the town, the more suspicious people are of outsiders.”
“Agreed,” Kit said. “This little place has such a small population—something like forty-five residents in it. Forty-four when I come back to GC—I’m not joking. There used to be hundreds. Anyway, it takes twenty minutes for an ambulance to get here, and that’s even worse in the winter weather, you can imagine.” She shook her head and brought her hand to her chest. “But I wanted to live here this summer. I felt it was important to do something charitable.”
Mercy reached out and patted her hand. “I know. Three years in a row you were off home to Albion again for relief aid and clinics. But I’m happy that this time you picked somewhere closer so I could visit.”
“That and a place that hasn’t closed its borders, right?” Kathryn said, her tone grim. “To my surprise, they let me back in, but they needed physicians. The dual citizenship didn’t hurt, either.”
Silence filled the parlor for a moment as they drank their tea.
Little sounds of the house settling—pops and creaks—interrupted the pleasant harmonies of wildlife outdoors.
“The animals are noisy today,” Kathryn said, gesturing to the window. “Most days I don’t even notice the wildlife around here.”
Small talk never lasted long between the two.
“So, Doctor Harris, do you know much about this part of the Northeastern Territory?” Kit asked.
Mercy shook her head. “I’m more familiar with Beanton and the Old Colony Commonwealth than the Empire Commonwealth, with these tiny towns and townships. But I still find it interesting, considering the things I’ve learned from you about this area.”
“It’s an unusual place. I mean, I told you about the Historical Society and some of the disappearances. Did you unearth what happened to the Dubbs House—or rather what keeps happening there?” Kit sipped her tea and nibbled at a scone.
“Well, I did some digging with the SHHS in their online archives, and noticed there were vanishings after Maxwell-Hunter and Sellers-Kellogg-Watson left. I thought the name sounded familiar, so I researched in my personal library,” Mercy said, taking a sip of her own tea.
Kathryn leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “And?”
“Mary Sellers is my second cousin on my paternal grandfather’s side,” she said. “She was in the middle of a family scandal—refusing to marry a man she didn’t love and leaving with Elizabeth. They met in Grace City, but both were from Beanton.”
Kit sat back and got comfortable. Further prompting would only cause Mercy to get distracted.
The clink of her cup against its saucer prompted Mercy to continue. “She never spoke to the family again, and they disowned her. Once estranged, they lost track of her, so it was interesting to see what became of the Sellers line. With the records I found from the SHHS, Mary and Elizabeth left with their cat a year after the séance incident—the one you mentioned. They didn’t bother to sell the place—nothing more than a cursory listing. The two abandoned it to squatters and the elements. But it was what happened after that—that was what got my attention.” Mercy sipped her tea an
d leaned back, eyebrow raised.
Kathryn’s stomach clenched, and she set the saucer down, scone half-finished. “I’ve almost been afraid to ask, considering the things I’ve seen at hospital. But you, first. I can’t get a word out of the locals and the SHHS has skirted me several times.”
Mercy nodded. “I had to badger them for information that wasn’t in their archives and bribe their fearless leader,” she said between sips from her cup. “Six or seven years after they left, in the early fifties, drifters swept through, brought after the recession. The Southeastern Territory was attracting people from the Northern border—the downturn hit them the hardest. Silver Hollow attracted a few in addition to the migrant workers, mind you—but enough to get the local police to pay attention. Chester Callfield was a young man then and learning the nuances of being a constable from his father.”
“A chain of disappearances?” Kathryn asked.
“Forty-five people in a year, here, alone,” Mercy pursed her lips as if her scone had gone bad.
“Oh dear—that’s just short of one a week, and the whole town’s population, myself included—I swear it’s no exaggeration.” Kit shook her head. Her tea and scone cast aside for a moment, she rose and opened a window, letting the summer air drift in on a cool north wind. She took a deep breath and turned back to her friend. “Sorry, it was getting oppressive in here.”
Mercy waved her off. “I understand. But the chain of disappearances was in clusters throughout the year—chains of five to six. Nothing for weeks, with spots of drifters coming in after. They’d never reach their intended destinations, we assume.”
Kathryn’s brows knit as she leaned against the wall. “Disappearances increase during depressions and recessions. I’ve seen plenty of transients in hospital. They’ve lost everything in life and have nothing to lose, so they take risks. More often than not, they’re the targets of abuse—of violence. Transients are among the most vulnerable populations out there.”
Mercy nodded again. “That’s why it went unnoticed for so long,” she said. “Most of the townsfolk thought that the drifters squatted at Dubbs House, moved on to their destinations, and be done with it. Since no one was expecting them, it never got reported when they disappeared.”
“So how did they discover the problem?” Kit sat back on the couch and took up her tea again. This time she ate more of the scone.
“Seems that the young deputy cared more than his predecessor—his father. Eager to keep the township clean while drifters passed in and out,” Mercy said. “He was keen to please, patrolled Dubbs House on his own. One summer evening, he stumbled upon a few squatters outside in hysterics.”
“Old Chet Callfield?” Kit’s brows shot up for a moment. “He didn’t mention this before.”
“I’m not surprised,” Mercy said. “From reading his public reports, he’s terse.”
Kit nodded. “Well, that’s true. Whenever he comes into the emergency room, the man’s all business and only gives me an overview of whatever the incident is, or was.” She shook her head and sipped her tea.
“A Northeastern trait.” Mercy shrugged. “We have a long history of not mincing words.” She took another bite of her snack.
“Sounds like home. Jam for your scone?”
“Please.”
“So what happened that night?” Kit asked, trying to reign in her friend from meandering around the subject of the colony days. For someone who just mentioned her culture was circumspect, Mercy had a habit of wandering off-topic.
“Oh, yes, well, Callfield saw three drifters outside in an absolute state. They were babbling in a frenzy that there was something in the house attacking them, and that one of their fellow travelers was missing. He called his predecessor for backup, but the drifters ran, either terrified of getting caught, or terrified of what happened in the house. While he waited for his backup to arrive, he searched the perimeter of the house, and found a man in the back, crawling away from the place. That’s when he discovered something attacked the victim, but all the man told him was that ‘Evanston was still inside.’” Mercy cleared her throat and took more tea.
“That it is. So who was this Evanston fellow?”
“No one knows. The drifter’s injuries were pronounced—he severed his femoral artery—and Callfield tried to stop the bleeding, but couldn’t. When Callfield asked him what happened, the only thing he could say was that ‘the house did it,’ and there were monsters in the basement. The poor fellow died before the medics could arrive. According to the report, his last words were, ‘they took Evanston.’ When the constable and others inspected the place, it was quiet, and empty. They searched from basement to attic, and nothing,” Mercy said with a shake of her head. “If he existed, he either got out or vanished.”
“Well, did anyone ever see him? I mean, did he reach his destination, or what?” Kit’s face pinched and she held her breath.
“His mother was expecting him in the Southern Territory.” Mercy set her cup down and leaned forward. “According to the public record, the Territory Troopers had to pick her up and cart her off to an asylum. She claimed she saw Evanston in a mirror, screaming for help while slithering, slimy things tortured him.”
Kit snorted. “No, you’re having a laugh.”
“I promise I’m not.” Mercy put her hand to her chest in an oath, then picked up her cup and saucer again.
Kathryn closed her eyes for a moment, images of the past four patients from Silver Hollow in her ER floating into focus. Phil Hausmann, Paul Ingersoll, Paul Walker, and an unidentified woman still in a coma in the ICU, and needed to be transferred to Grace City once she was stable enough for transport. They came from Dubbs House, except for the woman—she came from the edge of Silver Hollow. Everyone had severe lacerations, what appeared to be pressure bite wounds from various animals, concussions, and every one of them had come near death. Kit had wrestled the Man with the Scythe for the three of them. Three of the victims had business with the house, but the woman was a complete unknown. No one in the hospital could identify her and her matted, bloody blonde hair. At least her brain damage healed, even if by inches. If she woke up, they might find out who she was.
“You’re pensive,” Mercy said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m thinking on Dubbs House and this house. This whole town is strange. People go mad, kill their children. It’s not just that house. Even this place oppresses me.” She sighed. “Do you know anything about this home?”
Mercy nodded. “Yes. Do you really want to know?”
Kit shook her head. “I’m not—you know me, a skeptic—I don’t believe in that silly, superstitious nonsense. But no one talks about it, and no one investigates. It’s as if this whole place has some goddamn amnesia. But yes, I want to know.”
Mercy reached out and patted Kit’s hand. “There’s a logical explanation for all this. Claims of the supernatural often have a scientific explanation—electromagnetic fields, exposed electrical wires—things like that. A woman in this house went mad and killed her children.”
“Damn. This wasn’t recent, I hope. They’re supposed to tell me and they didn’t. I’ll sue the whole town.” Kit scowled as her stomach tightened.
Mercy still held her friend’s hand. “No, not recent. Back in 1868. The widow blamed the Timeworn Order.”
Kit nodded and squeezed Mercy’s hand back. “Ugh, nonsense. I’m far more inclined to think there’s a murderer in Dubbs House and no one’s talking or can find him. Maybe he’s hidden away in the shed and the townsfolk are too inbred to go have a look.” She laughed, a sound that broke the gloom that had settled over the parlor. “But here, in this house, too? What could it be?”
Mercy shrugged. “Mass hysteria and superstition.”
“Of course.” The black-haired woman finished her scone.
“What sparked your interest, Kit? History isn’t your favored subject,” Mercy said, refilling her own teacup.
Kit fini
shed her tea and poured another cup as an afterthought. “Well—I’ve had patients come from Dubbs House, and I overheard that deputy, I think his name is George, say something about how it’s happening again. They were there in the emergency department. Callfield told him to shut up because he knew I’d hear.”
She took a sip of tea and continued. “Overhear, I did, so thought I’d do some investigating. Perhaps it would help me treat my patients better if I knew what was going on at Dubbs House, or this whole town.”
Mass hysteria didn’t account for those pressure bite wounds, but Kit put that aside for a moment to ponder later.
Mercy sucked her lower lip while she listened. “Well, that makes sense. I wish I had more information for you. But it’s a series of weird coincidences and injuries that lead the locals to cling to their idols in the hope they’ll be saved.”
“There’s something odd going on in this town, and no one will talk about it,” Kit said, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. “But I guess you’re right, Mercy. It’s easier for them to blame it on woo instead of investigating or doing something.”
“Agreed,” Mercy said. She raised her eyebrow. “Is the history lining up with what you’ve seen going on now?”
“Without giving away any personal information about patients—yes. You say that drifter bled out from his femoral artery. Well, I’ve gotten a few with hypovolemic shock.”
“Wait, what kind of shock?” Mercy held up a hand.
“Blood loss. The body can’t lose too much or you go into shock—it’s a life-threatening condition that requires a transfusion, keeping the patient warm, and elevating blood pressure through restoring blood volume back in the body. Make sense?”
Mercy nodded. “Makes sense. Continue.”
“We’ve had to order a great deal of blood from the Central Blood and Plasma Bank. So much that they asked us if someone was stealing from our stores. Though I don’t know why someone would steal blood unless they thought they were vampires or something. When they asked the question about thievery that told me we were using more than usual.” A breath of laughter wasn’t successful in chasing away the oppressive feeling that had settled over the room this time.
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