by Sean Platt
They were the lucky ones who escaped.
And now he was one of them — assuming this wasn’t all an elaborate prank or wouldn’t get somehow screwed up. If there was a way to ruin this, Hudson had no doubt that either his father or Hazel would find a way to do it.
They continued the house tour, through the ground floor until they reached a set of stairs leading down to the cellar.
Carter paused, as if for dramatic effect, and his old crazy nice guy persona shifted to that of an overly serious parent about to warn their child not to do anything stupid.
“Okay, folks, I want you to pay attention because I’m only gonna say this once, and I need you to remember, got it?”
Hudson and Hazel both nodded.
“See that door down there? That’s the cellar, one of two places off-limits in the house. It’s the oldest part of the house, and not safe for kids to be playing around in, okay?”
Hudson looked down at the door and ignored his chill. It was a big, ancient-looking wooden door, dark, with iron bands and bolts. The doorknob was surrounded by a metal plate with a circular depression above the knob rather than a keyhole. Hudson thought it looked like something out of an actual castle.
What kind of lock is that?
Hudson looked at his father, wondering if he was going to ask questions such as: off-limits to whom? What about it isn’t safe? Do we need to worry about a fire or something?
But Dad didn’t say a word, seemingly lost in thought.
Hudson was about to ask some questions, but then Carter immediately put on his Friendly Face, pointed at Hudson and Hazel, then said, “Now, here comes the part of the tour I think you two are gonna love the most. The media room.”
“Yeah!” Hazel said, then they turned and headed away from the cellar.
Carter beamed as he ushered them into a sprawling and shockingly modern media room. It wasn’t a media room so much as an in-home theater, complete with a giant flat screen TV on the wall, four rows of movie theater-styled oversized seats, and, under the TV, a giant white bookcase which looked ready to house any number of games, movies, and video game consoles.
The old man winked at Hudson. “I bet you thought the old place would feel stuffy with nothing but board games from the eighteen hundreds.”
Hudson nodded, unable to keep the stupid grin off his face.
“Nope,” Carter explained, “The Galloways have always insisted that the manor remain state of the art. Since always. We were first to get the Internet around here, same with TV and radio. This room has everything you need. Your being stuck might not be much of a choice, but at least you’re stuck in luxury.”
“Is there a PS4?” Hudson asked, hopeful for the latest console.
“A what?”
“A PS—”
“Ha,” Carter waved a hand. “I’m yanking your chain, kid. I’m old, not stupid. No, there aren’t any PS4s or Xboxes or Wiis or any of that because Mr. Galloway never indulged, and most of the people here just play stuff on their phones or iPads. But we can order whatever you want, kid. Blippity-bee-bop all you want.”
Hudson said the only thing he could think of. “Wow.”
Carter cleared his throat. “Ready to see your rooms?”
The Dawsons nodded — each too lost in looking around to say much of anything — then left the media room, crossed a short hallway, and ascended a winding flight of stairs. On the way, the old man explained more.
All of the families working and living in Galloway Manor were multi-generational, and took tremendous pride in their service to the family. Carter said that one of his life’s great joys was getting old enough to know he’d die in the place where he’d been born. His biggest failure, he admitted with a cracking voice, was not having a child to claim his place in the universe after his passing. He fell into a silence that made Hudson want to ask more, but questions felt like intrusions.
Hudson thought that Carter’s stories of multi-generation live-ins was like the manor itself: creepy but cool. Almost inspiring, in a way Hudson couldn’t relate to.
He’d never had much extended family, or known his grandparents, both sets having died before he was born. Hudson thought it was amazing that someone could devote their life to a single thing, knowing it was who they were from birth, passing that tradition down to the next generation, then the one after that. But what about choice? What if you wanted to do something else with your life, or be something different than your father?
“Okay, kids, we’re here.” The old man pointed down both sides of the long second-story hallway. “You can pick any door on either side, except the one with the silver knob. I’ll ask you all please not to go in there. The rooms are all empty, and it doesn’t matter which you choose. Each is wired for Wi-Fi and all that, plus they’re the same approximate size. So, have at it, no fighting.” Hazel and Hudson stood in frozen indecision. “Wink, wink — I’d like to talk to your father alone.”
“Sure.” Hudson opened the first door to his right. Hazel kept walking. Carter and Dad turned toward the stairs.
Hudson dipped his head into the room, looked around, then ducked back out. “You should have fun here,” he muttered to Hazel. “It’s like the lawyer and the crazy guy both gave you permission to be a crappy little drama queen.”
“I’m telling Dad you said ‘crappy.’”
“So what. He’s heard it before.”
Hazel turned from her brother, opened the closest door, and disappeared behind it. Hudson went to the one immediately across from hers.
The room was large but not giant, about the size of his room at their old house, but with an attached bathroom. The door opened to gleaming white tile. Hudson closed the bedroom and went into the bathroom. It had two sinks, a separate shower and bath, and many built-in cabinets along the wall. Like much of what Hudson had seen inside the manor, the bathroom was a blend of old and new. The tile floor and claw foot tub looked vintage, but the shower and fixtures looked recently installed. The faucets were motion sensitive. Hudson ran his fingers under the stream, several times in every direction, turning the water on and off over and over.
He laughed, shaking his head as he left the bathroom and returned to investigate his potential bedroom. The bed was a king, and the room’s empty desk was massive without being ugly. It had a newish Mac with an iPad resting beside it. The room’s flat screen TV was large — maybe forty-two inches — and built into the wall. The carpet was deep and creamy.
Hudson went to the bed, collapsed on the top, and hugged a pillow to his chest. He turned toward the window, stared out at the white gazebos near the garage, and thought about the impossible turn their lives had taken, and how it was only a matter of time before Hazel would surely ruin it all.
It had taken years for the two of them to finally get along. Hudson didn’t exactly welcome his infant sister’s arrival. The following years were — Mom and Dad both said — a bit like the Cold War. Ever since Mom disappeared, Hazel had become impossible. Why couldn’t she just accept that Mom was never coming back? Why torture herself — and them — by making stuff up?
The longer Hudson stayed sprawled on the bed, the more irritated he became. He could only imagine his sister’s bullshit in a supposedly haunted house. No doubt, she’d start seeing Mom’s “ghost.” And seeing how she had Dad wrapped around her finger, she’d probably get him to abandon the manor, and their unlikely inheritance.
He couldn’t let that happen. Hudson wasn’t thrilled with one of them always having to be at the manor, but it wasn’t like he left their old home all that often, other than for school and stuff he had to do. And besides, Hazel was younger, and had to be in bed earlier than him. Assuming he made a few friends, Hudson could hang out at night away from the house while she stayed home in bed.
The manor, and the money, were the best things that had ever happened to them — and couldn’t have come at a better time.
Hudson hoped his sister wouldn’t screw things up. He’d have to find a way to
make her look ridiculous and damage her credibility before she dreamed up some way to ruin their new lives.
Hudson smiled as he rolled off of the bed.
He looked around the room, hunting for something without knowing what. He opened desk drawers to find notebooks, reams of paper, and random office supplies like paperclips and staples. The bookshelves were bare, just like the closet. Every surface was cleared except for necessaries. Hudson had a sudden idea, and cursed himself for being stupid. He only needed himself.
He quietly made the bed, smoothing it back to its earlier condition, then crept to the door. He opened it slowly, then closed it with equal care. He repeated the action, over and over. Each time the door would click closed, Hudson would let it settle for a few seconds, then send a long creak from his throat.
Come on, crybaby.
I know you can hear it.
Finally, he heard Hazel’s patter outside the door.
He dared to open and shut the door again, then leaped through the room, crossing the carpet in three strides before ducking into the bathroom. He slipped behind the door, pressed his back to the wall, and waited, tucked in a shadow away from the mirror.
The door opened. Hudson heard nothing.
A long thirty seconds, then light footsteps in the room — surely Hazel’s. She took forever. By the time she stepped onto the tile, Hudson could practically hear her pounding heart. He felt bad, and in that final second decided not to scare her. He’d let her leave, and think of something for later.
He was too late; Hazel looked behind the door.
Hudson, either because he was startled into it, or because he was a big brother jerk to the core — he wasn’t sure which — roared when he saw her.
Hazel screamed and ran from the room.
Hudson scrambled out from behind the door, laughing behind his still-screaming sister as he chased her through the bedroom and out into the hallway. He probably had seconds before Dad would find them, and Hudson — like always — would be in trouble, even though Hazel was the one being dramatic.
He caught up and put a hand over her mouth, trying to shush her as Carter and Dad surfaced at the stairway.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” She slapped at Hudson. “You are such a jerk!”
“I’m sorry!” he whispered, kneeling to Hazel. “Just cool it, though, okay? You’ll get us both in trouble. I shouldn’t have done that, but now you’re all drama, and Dad’s not gonna like it. I’m sorry, okay. Let’s both of us cool it.”
Hazel shoved him, yelled, “Don’t talk to me!” then ran toward Dad.
“What is it?” Dad crouched as he met her, hooked his hands under her armpits, and hefted Hazel up to his eyes. He gave her a hug, then set her back down.
“Hudson tried to scare me. I mean, he did scare me.”
“What did he do?”
“He made ghost noises like a jerk, trying to get me into one of the bedrooms, then he hid in the bathroom and jumped out at me when I went in to look. He was trying to make me cry.”
“I never want you to cry but you always do anyway. That’s why I did it: Because you’re a little crybaby who’s always whining for attention. You need to grow up.” Hudson knew he’d pay, but couldn’t stop, or even slow, his words.
The old man stood a few steps behind Dad, thumbs hooked into his pockets, assessing.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dad’s eyes bored into Hudson. “This is exactly what we’re trying to work through — exactly what we’ve been talking about for months. If you know your sister’s unsettled, why grease the fire?”
“Because she’s not unsettled, Dad. She’s faking it.”
Dad gritted his teeth, turned to Carter, gave the old man an apologetic look, then turned back to his son and snarled, “Go find a room, Hudson. Now.”
“We’re going to live here?”
“Yes, now go, before I change my mind.”
Dad took Hazel’s hand, and led her down the hallway behind Carter, leaving him alone, probably trying to convince his sister why living here would be good for them all.
Hudson looked up and down the hall, hardly able to believe that their entire lives were about to change for the better. He could feel his stupid grin, and didn’t bother to hide it.
He turned back around, and returned to what was now his new bedroom. But as he went, he looked back at the door with the silver doorknob and wondered why they could claim or explore any room except that one.
* * * *
HAZEL
Hudson could be such a jerk.
It wasn’t like she didn’t try to get along with him. She did plenty to prevent them from fighting. But Hazel couldn’t change who she was, and Hudson was always on her about everything.
It wasn’t her fault that he was born first, or that Mom was a girl and that had always given them more stuff to talk about. It wasn’t her fault that Mom left, or was taken, or whatever had happened. And it wasn’t her fault that she could sometimes hear Mom at night even though he couldn’t.
It wasn’t Hazel’s fault, and she wasn’t a liar, but those were the two things Hudson said about her all the time.
It’s your fault, Hazel. All of it.
Stop lying about everything, all the time!
She’s only doing it for attention, Dad. You’re stupid for believing her.
Hazel wished Hudson would believe her.
It was her third-biggest wish, right behind wanting Mom to come home, and wanting her father to be like he used to be — fun, and happy, instead of walking around on the verge of mad all the time.
She was lying on Dad’s bed, staring up at rolling waves on the plastered ceiling. Hazel felt as if she, and her family, were on a boat in those waves, lost at sea while searching for Mom.
At first, Hazel hated the idea of leaving their old home. But Dad had explained that they needed this fresh start, and that things would get better. He couldn’t promise when Mom would come home, but if they didn’t move into the manor they’d have no home for her to come back to. Then he said that maybe this was a blessing, a sign that things were about to improve.
Maybe, she’d agreed before he left to sign a stack of paperwork. Plus, if the place really had ghosts, Mom’s might come.
Hazel heard footsteps outside Dad’s open door, and looked up. It was the old man, who asked to be called Carter rather than Mr. Carter. It felt odd to call an adult by just one name, but Hazel didn’t want to offend him.
“Hungry?”
She was hungry — Hazel hadn’t had a bite to eat since the wrapped sandwiches that the driver, Johnston, had given them after they climbed into the back of his car.
“Yes,” she nodded, hand on her stomach.
Mr. Carter looked at his watch. “Looks like your tummy knows what time it is. Lunch will be ready in a few. How do you feel about picking out your room? Jacquelyn can come and get you when lunch is ready.”
Hazel nodded. “Can I look around the house?”
“Certainly, Miss Hazel. It’s your house now. Feel free, explore.”
Mr. Carter left. She stood from Dad’s giant bed, stepped out into the hallway, and walked the corridor, gliding her fingers over the richly textured walls. They felt so thick and old compared to those back home. Like the rest of the manor, the tall, wide walls made her feel small. The manor was massive, almost magical, with all its unknown nooks and long walls covered with ancient photos and paintings of people long since dead.
Hazel wondered how many people had lived in the manor, how many secrets it held. She wondered what lay in wait behind every closed door, particularly the one they were forbidden to open.
Even though she’d only just met Mr. Carter, he seemed weirdly familiar. He reminded her of someone, though she couldn’t imagine who. Maybe an actor she’d seen in some movie. He seemed like some of the older people in the nursing home her mom used to bring her to at the holidays, someone you instantly liked, and who liked having kids around because it had been so long since they’d been w
ith any.
Hazel loved that everything in the house felt so big and wonderful: Tables and chairs were so large, and the wood shiny; cushions were fat; drapes were rich in color, thick fabrics with multiple layers. But more than anything, Hazel loved that the manor reminded her of Mom. Amid the antiques, much of the manor seemed new, with built-in wall screens and paper-thin computers. There was an odd scent that Hazel couldn’t place — not necessarily unpleasant, but something under the surface of the home’s mostly pleasant odors. The scent, like Mr. Carter, seemed somehow familiar.
Hazel opened a door at the end of the hall, swallowing hard as she planted her foot onto the deep burgundy carpet.
No.
She felt it immediately. Like someone was in the room with her, watching.
Is it Savannah? Is she showing herself to me again?
Hazel stood in the room’s center, arms tingling like the back of her neck.
She looked around the room, trying to see the unseeable.
“I see you,” she said softly, holding her breath, hoping to provoke a response and prove the feeling wasn’t in her head. But at the same time, if something had responded, Hazel might have screamed. And if she did, Dad might change his mind, and make them leave the house.
And for some reason, the longer Hazel stayed in the house, the more of a connection she felt with her mom.
She waited for any sign.
Nothing.
Hazel exhaled.
It’s just my imagination.
She waited for the feeling of being watched to subside, replaced by one of stupidity for being so dramatic.
