The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  Suddenly, the world tilted. Evelyn became lightheaded. Something about the doll was familiar. It was like the key to an old memory that Evelyn couldn’t quite recall. She scooped it up and returned to the nursery. The black birds watched her with cocked heads. Doll in hand, Evelyn approached the dollhouse. It fit into the nursery, completing the set. Evelyn took a step back. She couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity.

  Evelyn and Terrence reconvened and made a trip to the grocery store. They stocked up for the month, knowing that the house required more than just a basic cleaning. Walls needed painting, faucets needed to be replaced, and a number of rat infestations were found throughout the basement and first floor. Evelyn and Terrence made a plan to take it a day at a time. “To mitigate stress,” Terrence explained. They weren’t in a rush, but if Evelyn knew anything about time, it’s that it caught up to you when you least expected it.

  That night, they cuddled under the covers and sighed simultaneously.

  “I took care of most of the wasps,” Terrence said.

  “Good,” Evelyn replied. “I can’t stand it when you get stung.”

  “Hey, I only cried for a few hours last time,” Terrence joked.

  They chuckled and lay back.

  “There’s something about this place, Terrence,” Evelyn said, her hands behind her head as she lay flat on the bed.

  “Yeah, I feel it too,” Terrence replied. “It’s too good to be true. Heh, if my pops could see me now, lying in a plantation master’s bed with his sultry daughter--”

  “Sultry?” Evelyn interrupted with a cocked brow.

  “Hey, let me finish. My pops would be proud of me for sticking it to the man. He was all about that, working in a union factory and all.”

  “And you?” Evelyn snuggled up next to her husband.

  “I’m just looking for a good time.” Terrence kissed Evelyn on the forehead. “Come on. Let’s get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

  Evelyn closed her eyes. She dreamed of the scorch mark in the cotton field, of smoke in her lungs, of fire licking her skin. She felt herself sweat. First normally and then blood. The crimson droplets snaked down her burning, thorn-pierced skin. Just out of view, shadowy figures watched her.

  “Evelyn,” one said, his voice deep and almost demonic.

  Evelyn’s body was scalding hot now. She needed to cool off. The flames rose. The pain started to become real and the smoke palpable.

  “Evelyn!”

  She thrashed against her will. Her dream was incomplete. She didn’t know if she was on a stake or on the ground. All she knew was fire and the silhouettes watching her from beyond the waving flames.

  “Wake up!” The demonic voice became Terrence’s.

  Suddenly, there was no more fire. She stood in blackness. Freezing-cold blackness. Her body kept swaying back and forth. Her eyes shot open.

  Evelyn stared at white shelves. It took her a second to realize she was looking inside the open refrigerator. The contents were thawing around her bare feet. The liquids were swirling between her toes in a concoction of milk, orange juice, and beer. It stank. Her body was goose-skinned. With wide eyes, Terrence stood behind her. His hand was on her shoulder, shaking her awake. “Are you okay?”

  Evelyn stepped away from the fridge and nearly collapsed. Terrence caught her. Evelyn’s legs felt like jelly.

  Terrence steadied her and shut the refrigerator door. “What were you doing out here?”

  4

  Neighbors

  “I don’t know,” Evelyn replied. Her head throbbed and her body trembled. She didn’t realize it until now, but she was naked.

  Throughout the multi-colored puddle, Evelyn felt various cool liquids swim between her toes and plop on the floor like a leaky faucet. Fog had tumbled from the open refrigerator and rolled across the wood floor. An eerie light shined over her snow-white skin, as if the large appliance was a portal to some otherworldly plane.

  Terrence helped Evelyn steady herself. She could sense his fear and confusion. The feeling hitchhiked onto Evelyn. She clung to him, her fingers clenching the loose fabric of his shirt. He rubbed his hand down the scars of her back. “Were you sleepwalking?”

  “I never sleepwalk.”

  “Not even as a kid?”

  “Terrence,” Evelyn looked him in the eye. “I’m telling the truth.”

  They had been a couple for three years and married for two. Terrence should know better than anyone. Surrendering his shirt to Evelyn, Terrence led his wife back to the bathroom to take a shower in the bathtub. She washed away the gunk from yesterday's groceries and strung her fingers through the blonde hair on her scalp. She sniffled and sneezed so hard that it hurt her chest. How long had she been standing out there to catch a cold, she wondered as she watched the water spiral down the drain between her feet. After she got dressed, Evelyn joined Terrence back in the kitchen. Groggy and mumbling to himself, he soaked up the liquid concoction with a hand towel. Evelyn squatted next to him, picking up lunchmeats and empty beer bottles.

  “You get some sleep,” Terrence said. “Please.”

  “I’m sorry-- I don’t know what came over me.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Terrence said, but his tired inflection said otherwise. “Go on, I’ll clean this up.”

  Not in the mood to argue and feeling a wave of fatigue, Evelyn returned to the bedroom and covered herself. Outside, the moonlight bled through the windows, gales howled in the night, and owls screeched. It’s stress. It must be stress. Evelyn tried to make sense of the situation as she stared at the droopy canopy over the bed. Still, stress was part and parcel in her everyday life. This vacation was probably the best thing that had happened to her in years.

  Evelyn didn’t sleep that night. Maybe it was fear she’d sleepwalk again. Maybe it was the scratching sound that dug deep into her ear canal.

  The sky turned from indigo to crimson to gold and then to blue. Evelyn forced herself out of bed. Shuffling could be heard in some nearby room. Terrence cleaning, most likely. After all, Evelyn saw him get up before sunrise. Feeling his gaze on her, Evelyn had closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She knew it was childish, but she couldn't escape the shame from last night.

  She felt her stomach rumble and realized that there was, unsurprisingly, nothing in the refrigerator.

  Evelyn walked outside to the balcony to clear her head. Green meadows, tall oaks, and red brick road. Birds fluttered on the blue cloudless sky. She closed her eyes and let the morning wash over her. Evelyn took a deep breath and exhaled all her worries. It didn’t work. She decided to take a walk.

  The backyard was breathtaking. Dozens of flowers of different shapes and colors tumbled out of raised garden beds and sprawled across the ankle-high grass. Fat-bodied bees sucked on nectar while beetles chewed the lush green leaves. Leafy vines climbed the back wall of the mansion, masking most of the chipped white paint. Evelyn stepped out into the back lawn. She could see the rows of cabins, six in all, three on one side and three on the other. A skinny dirt path snaked in between them and to the cotton field and cotton press that was a wall-less wooden structure with a pyramid roof and a massive wooden screw that ran into a box where the cotton was fed. The arms jutting out from the side of the structure were designed to hitch donkeys.

  Evelyn walked the dirt trail, wondering what sort of people her ancestors were. They had slaves certainly, not more than ten by the looks of it, but were the masters cruel or just? Did they free the slaves after the civil war or lie to keep them like some plantation owners did? Adders was closer to Augusta in the center part of the state. If Evelyn remembered correctly from her college history classes, Major General William T. Sherman swept down to Atlanta and set the city ablaze along with many other plantations and cities. That was a hundred and forty-five miles west of here. Quenby seemed to have avoided the fires. Still, what did her family do after they lost? Were they broken like much of the Confederacy or stronger than before? Evelyn had no answers.

&nb
sp; She found latches outside of the cabin doors, to lock the slaves in at night, Evelyn assumed. The wood door pulled out toward Evelyn but got stuck halfway on the dirt path. Evelyn sucked in her belly and slid through the crack. The cabin had a floor of packed dirt and featherbed mattress that was disintegrating. Fleas and other winged bugs crawled across the natty covers and feathers. They buzzed away at Evelyn’s approach. There was a small wooden chest tucked against one wall, a wooden chamber pot on the other, and a small barred window too small for a child to fit through. Evelyn closed her eyes, seeing a family of three curled up in the sorry excuse of the bed. A mother and father huddling with their child in the middle of a cold night. They were covered in fleas and coughing.

  Was this my origin? Evelyn shivered at the thought.

  Slam!

  A strong breeze slammed the door shut, causing Evelyn to jump. She walked over to the entrance and tried pushing the door open. It didn’t budge. The latch had closed her in.

  “Terrence!” Evelyn shouted and put her weight into the door. “Terrence, can you hear me?”

  No reply.

  “Perfect,” Evelyn mumbled with an angry scowl.

  She pulled out her cell phone. One bar of service. Of course. She dialed him and listened to the ringing until the call dropped.

  “Just wonderful. Absolutely wonderful,” Evelyn paced and slammed her shoulder into the door. It rattled the latch, but it didn’t open. A shadow moved by the window. Evelyn twisted back to see… no one.

  “Terrence. Is that you?” Evelyn asked, feeling for her extendable baton but realizing that she left it in the bedside drawer. “Can you hear me? Hello?”

  Evelyn tried the door again. Her efforts were futile. Not the type to wait around, she slammed her shoulder into the door again and again and again, building frustration and anger with every painful hit. Finally, the nail in the latch wiggled loose and Evelyn got the door open a foot. Taking a breath, she squeezed through the gap and back outside. Her shoulder pulsed in pain. A few loose bangs tumbled on her face. She brushed the strands away and massaged her bruised arm.

  She saw a large diesel truck rumbling down the red brick path and pulling up to the front of the mansion. A man and woman got out and stood outside the front door. Evelyn looked around for Terrence. He wasn’t outside. Evelyn walked around the side of the house and greeted the strangers. Middle-aged and graying, the man was tall and lengthy with a hooked nose and boil-ridden face. The woman was a similar build with a similar nose. They were twins, but the woman had a lazy eye.

  “Can I help you?” Evelyn asked as she approached.

  “You live here?” the man asked, taking off his cap and holding it against his belly. He wore a polo and slacks. The woman had a jean skirt and button-up shirt. His legs and arms looked like twigs jutting from the clothing.

  “Yeah, this is my place now,” Evelyn replied. “It was my father’s house. Did you know him? Maxwell Quenby.”

  The twin exchanged looks.

  “No,” they said simultaneously.

  Awkwardness hovered for a moment.

  “Say,” the man started. “You got any water?”

  “I’m sure we do,” Evelyn said. “Tap water, if that’s alright.”

  “That’ll do,” the woman replied.

  Evelyn entered and closed the door behind her. She rubbed her throbbing shoulder. What do these people want? She trekked through the large foyer, through the hall of portraits, and into the massive kitchen once tended to by a handful of servants. She turned the faucet knobs added in the late fifties. Evelyn knew this because of the research she’d been conducting since she moved in. She grabbed two dusty glasses from the cupboard and washed them out before filling them with water.

  She heard a door open in the foyer.

  “Hey, Terrence, we have guests at the front door. I think they’re neighbors or something!” Evelyn yelled through the house.

  Glasses in hand, Evelyn returned to the foyer to see the two siblings inside. The man was halfway up one of the two curved staircases while the woman snapped photos of the various paintings with a small camera.

  “Uh, what are you doing in here?” Evelyn asked, feeling the hairs on her neck rise.

  The twins turned to her at the same time.

  “Taking pictures,” the woman replied.

  “I can see that. Why?” Evelyn said.

  The woman shrugged off the question.

  “Don’t go harassing my sister,” the man said.

  “No one’s harassing anyone,” Evelyn said as calmly as she could. “But, I never invited you inside.”

  The twins traded a look like Evelyn was crazy. They went back to doing what they were doing, whatever that was.

  “Excuse me,” Evelyn set the glasses aside. “I want you to tell me why you think it’s okay to come into my house without my permission.”

  “It’s not your house,” the man said casually as he continued walking up the red-carpeted stairs.

  Evelyn felt her blood pressure rise in a mix of fear and frustration. Before Evelyn could reply, the woman snapped a picture of her face. The strobe blinded Evelyn for a moment, prompting her to blink away the flash.

  “No more pictures,” Evelyn commanded.

  The woman took one of her twin hiking up the second-story inner balcony.

  “Hey, stop that,” Evelyn ordered.

  More photos.

  Walking speedily, Evelyn grabbed the camera by the lens and ripped it from the woman’s hands. The woman staggered back, horrified and with teary eyes. From the railing, her twin glared at Evelyn with hawk-like eyes.

  “Get out of my house,” Evelyn said, unsure what to do with the camera now that she had it.

  In a feat of rage, the male twin stomped down the stairs. Evelyn took a step back while the twins joined each other in front of Evelyn. With nearly identical eyes, they glared at Evelyn.

  “Leave,” Evelyn commanded.

  “Not till we get the camera back,” the male said.

  Evelyn smiled angrily. She opened the camera settings and clicked FORMAT. All the pictures were erased in an instant. “All yours,” she replied.

  The woman’s face went red as cherry. “Do you have any idea what was on that?”

  “I don’t care,” Evelyn replied. “Out.”

  The back door opened. Footsteps traveled through the downstairs hall. The double doors between the double curved staircase opened and Terrence entered the room, sweaty and sticky from yard work.

  Neither the twins nor Evelyn turned to him.

  “What’s up?” he asked the crowd.

  “Is this your wife?” the male asked him.

  Terrence nodded slowly, still trying to comprehend what was happening.

  “She deleted my sister’s photos. We demand compensation.”

  Evelyn boiled and turned to Terrence. “They were taking pictures of our house, Terrence. I never invited them inside.”

  Terrence stepped closer, palms out in a nonthreatening manner. “Everyone needs to calm down.”

  “No one’s doing anything until we are compensated for our damages,” the male said.

  “You’re not getting anything,” Evelyn replied.

  “Clearly there was a misunderstanding,” Terrence said and fished out his wallet. “Will a twenty make you feel better?”

  The twins scoffed.

  Evelyn turned to her husband. She wanted to scream, What are you thinking?

  Terrence picked up the hint quickly. He pulled out the twenty and handed it to the woman. “Twenty is all you’re getting. Now please excuse yourself from our property or we’ll call the police.”

  The woman quickly pocketed the money.

  The man studied Evelyn for a moment and then Terrence, as if committing their faces to memory. He grabbed his sister by the arm and hurried out the front door. Terrence quickly locked the door. Evelyn pushed aside the curtains and looked out the window. She watched the pickup grumble to life and screech down the brick path, l
eaving behind two nasty black tire marks on the red brick.

  Wide-eyed, Terrence shook his head. “Weird people.”

  Without a word and with gnashed teeth, Evelyn started toward the bedroom.

  “Where are you going?” Terrence asked with genuine concern.

  Evelyn turned back to him. “Why did you give them money? You know they're going to come back, right? That’s the type of people they are. The more we give them, the harder they’re going to press.”

  “Hey, I’m not the bad guy here,” Terrence said.

  “Save it,” Evelyn replied and hiked upstairs.

  “Evelyn, I’m sorry!” Terrence shouted as she got farther up the stairs.

  Evelyn headed into the bathroom and washed off her face. Purple circles curved under her blue eyes. She was feeling her two nights without sleep. If she could only get rid of that scratching noise in her head. After taking a moment to collect herself, Evelyn walked back to the balcony railing. Terrence was no longer in the foyer. He must’ve gone outside to keep on working.

  Evelyn checked out of the window to make sure the truck hadn’t returned and then started down on the right-side hall that didn’t have portraits like the hallway adjacent. Frankly, the hall was quite drab with peeled paint and a rickety floor. It was like Maxwell never walked this way to this side of the house. Now that she thought it about, Evelyn could piece together her father’s daily path by which rooms were up-to-date and which had fallen into disrepair. The kitchen, portrait hall, foyer, master bedroom, and master bathroom seemed to be the most well-maintained. The study followed, and then the bedroom full of arcade machines, trinkets, and other hoarded items.

  Still feeling her heart racing, Evelyn sniffled. She used her phone to snap pictures of the hall’s wall. Grabbing the van’s keys from the countertop, she drove into town. She arrived at the paint shop and picked up proper supplies and a few cans of different shades of paint. She needed them for other rooms and decided to kill three birds with one stone. She arrived back at the mansion to see Terrence out beside the house and trimming weeds. He smiled sadly at her as the van rolled to a stop. When he saw the paint cans, roller, and brushes, he threw aside the hedge trimmers and rushed to Evelyn’s aid.