by Freya Darcy
“Are you either of those things?”
“No.”
“Then we have no problem. Disregarding your Aunt’s seclusion over the last few years, she was good people. And I have a feeling about you, Kismet.”
Wait. Did I tell her my name? I don’t remember.
“Do we have a deal?”
Why not? What was I going to do all day alone in a huge old house with only my talking pet spider for company?
“Yes.”
“Excellent. How does Monday and Wednesday suit you?” She asks and when I agree she adds, “I’m Delilah Cross. Pleasure to meet you. Now, I will give you a week to settle in, but mind you be here bright and early Monday morning.”
I’m still wearing a bemused smile as I pack away my groceries and new art supplies in the boot and back seat. Is it even midday yet? I can’t imagine anything else happening today.
But just as that thought makes me giggle, I spy something inside the line of trees. A flash of movement. Probably a bird.
But even as my brain is telling me that it’s just some forest critter, something else ticks at me, won’t let me look away. And I see it again. Something peaks out from behind the tree. No that’s not it.
“You know curiosity killed the cat,” I mutter to myself, but I know that if I don’t look, it’ll just bug me all the way home, so, checking the road, I jog across to get a closer look.
As I get closer to the edge of the woods I see it again. No, nobody’s peeking out from behind the trees, something is swaying ... hanging ... hanging and swaying from the thick branch of an old peeling ghost gum tree.
I see one red stiletto shoe laying on its side. I don’t want to look up, but I feel my eyes moving with a will of their own. I see two pale bare feet, toes slightly pointed, I see legs, I see a red dress that would have matched the shoe perfectly.
I don’t want to look. Don’t want to see. But I know before I finally look up at her face, that it’s the girl from my dream.
I cover my mouth and fall back. Then someone is screaming and screaming.
Chapter Five
“MISS, I NEED YOU TO focus.”
The world is a mess of noise and action as three police officers hold back the crowd of onlookers and a fourth talks at me with words that just don’t penetrate.
“Kizz?” A familiar voice comes closer and after a few tense words with one of the officers, Payton runs over and pulls me into her arms. But then she suddenly stiffens and whispers, “Oh my god.” And I know she’s seen what I saw.
The woman is still hanging from the tree.
There’s another scream from further away and more pushing and angry voices before a woman with shoulder length, bleach-blond hair shoves between the police guards and runs towards the hanging woman.
“Meghan!” She sobs and drops to her knees.
The detective leaves Payton and I to move towards the sobbing woman. “Vanessa, I know this is hard, but I need you to come away.” He whispers something in her ear and she nods and allows herself to be led back to where we’re standing.
“Who are you?” Vanessa says, frowning at me like I’m intruding.
“This is Kismet Silverstone,” Payton says. “She just moved into the house on the cliffs.”
At this Vanessa’s expression softens and she even looks a little curious. With a wry laugh she says. “Welcome to Radcliffe Wood.”
I offer a sardonic smile of my own.
“Okay, Kiss is it?” the detective says, looking dubious.
“It’s Kizz,” I say numbly. “With two zees. It’s short for Kismet.”
“ Okay, Kismet, I’m Detective Malcom Jameson. If you can, I need you to tell me what you remember.”
I frown. “About my dream?”
His smile is patient and his voice gentle. “No, not just now. I need to know about how you found the woman.”
My eyes dart to where an officer talks on his radio while another looks up at the body. It seems as though they want to get her down but don’t know how.
“Why don’t they use the ladder?” I ask.
“The ladder?” Detective Jameson frowns at me. “What ladder?”
I point at the woman. “Well the one she used to get up there of course.”
He narrows his eyes at me then looks over at the body. “Excuse me a moment.”
The three of us watch as the detective walks towards where his men are working. He examines the tree, then drops down and studies the grassy earth beneath the woman’s hanging feet.
“So,” I say in a soft voice, mainly to get out of my head. “She was your friend?”
“Yeah,” Both Vanessa and Payton say then look at each other in a way that isn’t exactly friendly.
“I knew something was wrong,” Vanessa said. “She hadn’t been herself for weeks. Then when I couldn’t get onto her last night and she wasn’t answering her door this morning...”
Payton suddenly looks at me. “You said something about a dream?”
“Oh,” I reply and feel my face flush. “Yeah, my brain’s all muddled. You should ignore everything I say for at least the next day or so.”
But Payton isn’t backing down. “It’s just that you mentioned having some seriously freaky dreams last night and I thought maybe.”
“Wait,” Vanessa says, turning on me, her tone hard. “You dreamed this?”
“Is that how you knew about the ladder?” Payton asks.
“No!” I’m backing away now. “I was just guessing.”
Before they can ask anything else the detective is back and doesn’t look happy. Not that he was a barrel of laughs and sunshine before.
“Alright, it looks like you were correct, Miss Silverstone. There’s no way she could have done that on her own.”
We all watch as an officer runs over with a tradesman’s ladder and the others work together to cut the woman down. Vanessa turns away, her eyes tightly shut and without thinking I take her hand, squeezing it. We might be strangers, but I know how it feels to lose someone you love.
“I’m going to need you to come to the station with me.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not at this time, but the sooner we get your statement down, the sooner we can get to work. It won’t take long.”
“Besides,” Payton says. “She’d have to be pretty damn brainless to point out her own mistake.” She does a weird little laugh and when nobody says anything, says, “You know, if she was the murderer. Which she isn’t of course.” This time her laugh is a kind of nervous high-pitched sound that somehow manages to make me sound guilty.
“Thanks, Payton.” I give her my best shut-the-hell-up smile that rarely works on Frankie but I’m hoping will have more success here.
“Plus, I didn’t even know the woman,” I say, unable for some reason to shut the hell up myself now. “And I only arrived in town last night and went straight to bed.”
“Total coincidence that she arrived last night,” Payton agrees with a wink that I know she thinks is helping but I’m sure isn’t. “I mean she’d have to be some kind of psychopath to kill someone the first night she got here.”
“Oh my god!” I can’t even believe either of us are still talking.
“I think that’s enough,” the detective says, and I don’t miss the way he scratches his cheek to hide the smile pulling at his lips. “This won’t take long, Miss Silverstone. I just need your statement.”
We walk to the station together and once in his office, he waves me to a seat.
“Can I get you a tea? Coffee?’
“Water?” I ask. “If I have any more caffeine on top of this day, I’ll be bouncing off the walls.”
He leans back, opens the door to a dinky looking mini fridge and grabs me a water.
“Nice,” I say, impressed. “How many beers can you get in that thing?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he replies. “I don’t drink at work.” He then coughs, covers his mouth and adds in that same coughing voice, “Seventy
if I stack it right.”
I blow out a whistle and take a drink.
“Okay, in your own time, I need you to tell me everything you remember. First of all, why were you looking in the woods?”
Taking a breath, I tell him everything I remember, which isn’t much. I saw something odd, I went to look, oops dead body. Of course, I leave out the part about how I dreamed the whole thing as it was happening, since — well you know.
He asks a lot of the same questions over and over and I’m pretty sure my answers don’t change more than a little as new details spring to mind.
As we’re wrapping up something comes to mind. “Did you notice the leaves?” I say.
He raises his brows quizzically. “You mean like depressions from whatever she was standing on when she...” He mimes someone jumping off something and hanging in space for a couple of seconds before remembering himself and dropping his hand to the desk. “Sorry.”
“No, black humor helps, I know.”
He smiles. It’s a nice smile that makes his eyes twinkle.
“Umm, I was remembering the leaves and branches laying across the ground in a kind of pattern. Like stripes.” I mime it with the side of my hand. “Maybe there was a ladder there for a long time and stuff kind of fell around it? But then why would anyone take it away? Why not just__”
“Why not just leave the investigating to the police?” He says and stands to show me the door.
“I wasn’t trying to tell you how to do your job and trust me I am no amateur sleuth.”
He studies me for almost a minute before smiling again. “Okay. I’ll take another look at the markings, you go home and try not to find any more bodies.”
“Believe me, I will try.”
My phone chimes as I step out into the sun, blinking at the sudden brightness. I’m just relieved it’s a normal tone.
“I’m so sorry!” Payton’s voice wails over the tiny speaker. “I’m so, so sorry. When I’m nervous my mouth just takes over and I have no control. And police make me nervous and so do dead bodies and police and dead bodies in the same place.”
“Payton!” I have to yell to be heard. “Forget about it. I’m somewhat certain that Detective Jameson thinks you’re insane. So, I’m in the clear.”
“Really?” She asks. “You’re not in jail?’
“No I’m not in jail! You think they’d let me keep my phone if they locked me up?”
“I don’t know. I know you’re allowed a phone call, so I thought...”
“Everything’s fine. He just needed my Statement, I was never a suspect.” Reaching my car, I unlock the door and slide into the driver’s seat. “Anyway, I think I’m down for the day. Maybe we could meet tomorrow for coffee?”
“Hey! We’ve got a Bigfoot hunt scheduled this week. You should come with us. Totally on me since I nearly got you arrested for murder.”
“You didn’t even nearly get me arrested and did you say Bigfoot?”
“Don’t worry, we only hunt with cameras.”
Chapter Six
“WHAT’S THE POINT OF having an alter in the attic if there’s no way up?” I throw my hands in the air, frustrated.
After over an hour, looking up at the ceiling for openings and checking every door on the third floor for more stairs, I’m about ready to call it a night.
“The burning times drove nearly all the witches into hiding.” Jaz is spidering across the ceiling, occasionally stopping to knock on the wood and listen. “Even after the burnings stopped, witches continued to be hunted and murdered in secret by the church.”
“That’s horrible.” Goosebumps spring up on my arms and spread across my shoulders. “But there’s witch stuff everywhere now. Surely there’s no need to hide anymore.”
“Ooh!” The spider plants two legs either side of her mandibles. “You mean like Charmed or The Craft or Witchcraft Monthly?”
I can tell by her tone that she’s making fun of me.
“And did you hear about that wicked Voodoo dance performed by Donald Glover?”
“Alright, so the church can tell the difference between real witchcraft and pop culture. I get it.”
She lowers on her web till she’s hanging right in front of my face. “Do you, though?”
“Let’s have a look outside.” My voice is higher than normal but I cover it with a wide smile as I back away and head quickly for the door.
Outside, Jaz balances on a branch while I examine the windows. I count three floors and a large roof that could easily hold an attic. But there are no windows out. I guess that’s not so odd considering my aunt was hiding her witchyness up there.
“Are you sure you sensed an alter?” I ask. “It looks like there’s just the roof. Probably full of wiring and insulation.”
“Wiring, insulation, and a craft room.” She lowers on her web and swings back and forwards, something she seems to do when she’s thinking. “I’ve got it. What if I grow big enough for you to climb on my back, then we’ll crawl up and get a closer look?”
I think my heart stops. “I’ve got a better idea, let’s never do that!”
Marching back to the house, another idea occurs to me and I walk even faster. Inside, I move from room to room looking for any large paintings or subtle doors.
“What are you thinking?” Jaz asks.
“Did you ever watch Downton Abby or Upstairs Downstairs?” I ask.
“Did I?” Jaz puts a hand to where I guess her chest is. “Oh, Mr Bates! I would crawl up that man’s pant leg any time.”
“Well, this is a pre-war mansion, right? I bet there’s at least one servant staircase around here somewhere.”
“Of course!” Jaz scampers across the wall. “They started walling them up if they weren’t being used, to prevent children getting lost. You’d be surprised how many missing kids turned out to be trapped in forgotten passages.”
“That’s horrible.”
“The world is full of horrors,” the purple spider says as she swings down the hallway, crawls down the double doors and opens them onto a large warm looking sitting room.
Inside, the fireplace lays cold and dormant, but the leather armchairs and satin sofa look comfortable and inviting. I recognize it immediately and back out again.
Jaz turns and peers at me. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment I can’t form the words. It’s ridiculous, I knew I’d see this room again eventually if I moved into this house, but it still feels like someone slammed me in the chest.
“Aunt Judith died in here.”
“Oh.” Jaz looks down. “If you want we could take a break and try finding the room another time?”
“No, I’m okay. I just needed to say it, you know?”
Jaz turns away and starts feeling her way around the walls. “Hey, something’s here.” She scampers around the wall in a rectangular path, then settles in the corner of the ceiling. “I can feel the door but there’s no way to open it.”
“There must be a switch or something in here,” I say, frowning at the wide, heavily stocked bookcase. “All the best haunted house movies have hidden panels or toggles that open secret doors.”
It’s then that I spy the brown envelope on the coffee table. It’s almost the same colour as the table, almost as though it was being hidden in plain sight.
Is this the letter Jaz had been talking about?
Feeling a thrill of excitement, I snatch up the envelope and rip it open. Finally some answers.
WILBUR
I blink. Nope still just one word. I turn the paper over. Blank.
“What the fu... Oh!”
Grinning at Jaz I point at her then at the bookcase. “Charlotte’s Web.”
“Okay, now you’re just pulling at straws,” Jaz says, crossing her arms.
I hold up the clue as I continue scanning the shelves. “Why else would she hide the word Wilbur in an envelope for me to find?”
“Maybe she finally discovered the name of her illegitimate son?”
&
nbsp; I give Jaz a look. “Wilbur is the name of the main character in Charlotte’s Web, don’t you remember?” When she just looks at me blankly I shake my head. “How is it that you’ve read Harry Potter and not Charlotte’s Web? It’s got a spider in it.”
Jaz points at me. “That’s racist.”
“Just help me find the book. She read to me from it every night after my father died. It’s a message.”
I run my fingers over what looks like early editions of Dickens, Twain, Austen, Bronte, Tolkien, as well as some newer authors George R. R. Martin, Joe Abercrombie, and Justin Macumber. I can’t help smiling. At least she spent her last few years in good company.
That was the thing I think I remember most about my aunts, their love of stories and storytelling. But while Judith loved reading, Harriet loved telling. I remember so many nights by the fire with either Judith reading out loud or Harriet retelling one of the old stories. Her favourites had been the Norse myths and the many adventures and rivalries of Loki and Thor.
“Is this it?” Jaz says and when I look down I see her hanging in front of Charlotte’s Web, nestled between Tom Sawyer and The Wind in the Willows.
I try to pull it, but I can feel that it’s not a book, but a thin beam of wood painted to look like the book. I try pushing it and there’s a satisfying give and click and the secret door swings open.
“B — I — N — G — O!” I hold out my fist and Jaz bumps it with her own.
The staircase is steep but sturdy and should be dark but there’s some kind of glowing moss climbing the walls. I gasp out a laugh and feel a little dizzy.
“I think we just found the doorway to Narnia.”
Jaz makes a sound like, pfft. “That lion was so full of himself.”
At the top, my legs are aching, but my heart is beating so hard against my chest. The door at the top is closed and I press my hand against the rough heavy wood.
Please don’t be locked, I say silently then reach for the knob and open the door.
THE ATTIC IS ALIVE. What looks like a roof from the outside is merely an optical illusion and the attic is in fact a secret rooftop garden.
