by Rick Hautala
“Why that ... that’s horrible,” Elizabeth said. She leaned back on the couch and covered her mouth with her hands.
A tiny voice whispered in her head, Thank God that’s all it was! She was trying not to think that Caroline’s grave was out there in Oak Grove Cemetery, too — right next to Uncle Jonathan’s. An image of that thick slab of polished pink marble with Caroline’s full name — CAROLINE JUNIA MYERS — and the dates October 27, 1981 — February 15, 1988, carved into it rose in her mind. She blinked her eyes rapidly and, just to have something to do, reached for her cup of tea. When she did, she caught a fleeting glimpse of motion out of the comer of her eye. Turning quickly, she looked from the parlor into the dining room, but, as far as she could tell, there was nothing — or no one — there.
“Why anyone ... how anyone could do something like that is beyond me,” Junia said. She leaned forward in her chair, her hands gripping both chair arms tightly. Her head swayed gently from side to side, as though it was barely supported by her thin neck, as she glanced over at Elspeth, who had fallen asleep in the chair by the window. Elspeth’s eyes were closed, and her face looked waxy, almost translucent. Her chest rose and fell with her shallow breathing. “Of course, I haven’t had the heart to tell Elspeth. I’m not sure she could deal with something like that.”
“Well, Auntie,” Elizabeth said, groping for something to say, “I’m sure there are a lot of kooks out there in the world.” She had to fight to control her voice, even as she wondered almost frantically exactly what she had seen flit past the dining room doorway. She was sure she had seen something, and the feeling unnerved her.
“The detectives who are investigating it said they were pretty sure it was just some teenagers, pulling some kind of crazy prank,” Junia went on. “But I just can’t imagine the point of ... of hurting a family like that, and doing something so morbid! It’s so ... so evil!”
Elizabeth was doing her best to fight back the waves of nervousness that were sweeping through her, but all she could think was, What if it had been Caroline’s grave they dug up? How would’ I handle something like that?
“Of course, we’ve already spoken to Mr. Fraser, the cemetery caretaker, and he’s arranged to have Jonathan reburied,” Junia said softly. Whenever she spoke, she would glance over at Elspeth and watch her suspiciously, as if she thought her older sister was feigning sleep and was listening to their every word.
“But the detectives have no idea who did it ... or why?” Elizabeth asked.
Junia shook her head sharply. “None. And I’m not entirely sure that finding out would even help. If it was —”
“It might help Jonathan rest better,” Elspeth said. Her voice, no more than a faint stirring, startled Junia and Elizabeth, who both turned to look at her. She still sat with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Elizabeth had to fight the impression that her elder aunt hadn’t spoken at all; that she and Junia had imagined hearing her words.
“Elspeth ... ?” Junia said, leaning in her chair toward her sister.
Elspeth didn’t stir. Her breathing remained slow and shallow; her pale face was impassive.
“Our brother is resting peacefully, sister,” Junia said, not even sure Elspeth could hear her. “At least as peacefully as you can expect for someone who killed himself. I’m not worried about him for a second.”
At Junia’s words, Elizabeth sat up in her chair, startled.
Jesus Christ! she thought, as a shiver ran up her back.
“Did I hear you right? Did you say Uncle Jonathan killed himself?” she asked. A wave of blackness threatened to sweep over her mind.
Junia nodded solemnly:
“How come I never heard this before?” Elizabeth stammered. “I never even suspected?”
“I always assumed you did know.” Junia regarded her with a warm, faint smile. “I didn’t mean to shock you. But what I’m more worried about,” she said, turning to address her sleeping sister, “is, here’s our favorite niece, Elizabeth, visiting us for the first time in — how many years? Too many, anyway. And we’re upsetting her with this kind of talk. Fill me in on what you’ve been doing, Elizabeth. How’s Doug doing? Why didn’t he come over with you today?”
Junia’s words only jangled Elizabeth’s nerves further. She shrugged numbly as she considered the bombshell she was about to drop on the aunts — that she and Doug were soon heading for divorce court. After Junia dropped that bombshell about Uncle Jonathan’s suicide, though, she thought maybe she shouldn’t be so worried about relating unsettling things.
Even worse, she couldn’t shake the persistent feeling that there was someone besides her and the aunts in the house ... someone who was lurking in the hallway, staying out of sight, but never far away; someone who was listening to everything they were saying . . someone who was watching and waiting. Never in her life had Elizabeth felt so uncomfortable in the aunts’ house, and that, more than anything else, bothered her deeply.
“If you, ahh ... want to talk about getting upset,” she began, after clearing her throat, “well, then — Doug and I are getting a divorce. I’ve come home to stay, at least for a while.”
“Oh, my dear,” Junia said, clapping her hand over her mouth.
“I’m so sorry to hear that — I mean the divorce, of course. I’m thrilled you’ll be around for a while, but tell me, what happened?”
Elizabeth took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “I think it’s been a long time coming. Ever since ...”
She let her voice trail away to nothing, unable to finish what she knew Junia — and Elspeth, too, if she was still listening — could complete for themselves.
Ever since Caroline died.
Elizabeth went on to tell them as hriefly as possible what had happened. To spare them the bloody details, she left out certain facts she thought they would find unsettling.
All the time they were talking, Elizabeth felt distracted. Her attention was almost continually drawn away from Junia because she still kept getting fleeting glimpses of something moving out of the comer of her eye. It wasn’t much — nothing she could really nail down except for a faint, almost transparent fluttery motion that made her think a spot of shifting light was darting in front of doorways or behind her or next to one of the aunt’s chairs ...wherever she wasn’t looking directly at the time. She told herself it was just clouds intermittently blocking the sun, or maybe the shadow of a flock of birds flying around outside the house. Whatever was causing it, Elizabeth found the sensation disturbing, especially when she happened to glance toward the kitchen and was positive she saw a person walk by the open doorway.
“Is there ... ?” she started to ask, but then she cut herself off. Of course there wasn’t anyone else in the house! There couldn’t be. The aunts never had visitors, other than close family.
“What is it dear?” Junia asked, arching her eyebrows.
Elizabeth thought her aunt was looking at her with an odd mixture of amusement and interrogation, and that made her feel certain Junia knew perfectly well what had been on the tip of her tongue; she was just waiting for her to ask.
“Would you excuse me a minute?” Elizabeth asked, chuckling nervously. “I have to go to the bathroom.” She stood up smiling, then left the parlor and walked quickly down the narrow hallway to the bathroom. She hoped just by getting up and doing something she could break the disquieting sensation she had that she was being watched, but the feeling continued unabated. Every step she took echoed dully in the hallway, sounding not like the sound of her own feet at all, but like someone else, someone in another room moving when she moved and stopping when she stopped, always just out of sight.
For a flashing, panicked instant, Elizabeth remembered the nightmare she had had the first night she was home. She was suddenly filled with the fear that she wasn’t awake at all — that this was another nightmare! Her body tensed, and she fully expected to see the hallway suddenly telescope outward, adding new doorways on both sides like in Alice in Wonderland. Fe
ar choked her as she looked up and down the length of the hallway; and as flooding panic rose in her chest, making a sickly taste fill her mouth, she was certain that every single door she could see would open up into the exact same room —
... the room she had dreamed about —
... the room where that old crone had been waiting —
... waiting and wanting desperately to show Elizabeth what she had inside her shopping bag!
When Elizabeth got to the bathroom door, no more than fifteen feet from the parlor, she reached out for the doorknob. Her fingers shook wildly, and she could feel a scream building inside her, wanting to burst out of her. One small corner of her mind was amazed that she wasn’t screaming already. She was certain that, as soon as she touched the doorknob, she would see her hand pass through the doorknob and right through the door. When she started to imagine what might be on the other side of that door, what she might touch when her insubstantial hand reached through the dreamwood — or what might grab her by the wrist and not let go — she wanted to scream. She held back only out of a desperate desire not to worry or frighten the aunts.
The touch of her hand on the cold, unyielding brass doorknob helped snap Elizabeth out of her panic attack. With a slight rush of relief, she twisted the doorknob and, after sucking in a breath and holding it, walked boldly into the bathroom. Forcing such crazy notions out of her mind, she leaned over the sink and turned on the cold water faucet, letting it run until it was near freezing.
No, she told herself, letting her breath out slowly as she cupped her hands and splashed water on her face, this isn’t a dream. It can’t be! Wave after wave of chills danced up her back. It was only her overworked imagination, she told herself, tickled into action, no doubt, by all this talk about her Uncle Jonathan’s body being dug up, his suicide, and ... and ... .
— Caroline!
As Elizabeth stood leaning over the sink, she became aware of something else — a whispery trace of sound. Once she became aware of it, she realized it had been there for quite a while; she just hadn’t consciously noticed it before. But now, in the silence of the bathroom, she realized she had been hearing voices, whispering softly on the edge of her awareness.
“You’re losing it, girl,” she muttered when she raised her head and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Water dripped from her face, giving her pale skin a glistening sheen. Smiling weakly and shaking her head, she reached for a towel to dry her face.
It irritated her that she would allow herself — in her aunts’ house, of all places — to get so freaked out. If there was anywhere in the world where she should feel comfortable and secure, even more than in her own family home, it was here. The aunts had always been kind and loving. Elizabeth had known for a long time that they had singled her out as their favorite niece, and she had always reveled in that thought. But now — this! To let herself get so agitated in their home! It was almost a sacrilege!
Turning around slowly, she scanned the bathroom as she ran the towel over her face. When she looked back at the mirror, her throat made a strangled sound. Her stomach clenched with fear, and a wild, roaring rush of sound filled her ears, drowning out any hint of the vague whisperings. Then she began to scream. She was staring squarely at the reflection of someone she did not recognize. Her gaze was locked onto the eyes of a stranger, glaring back at her from the mirror — an unfamiliar face, watching her with a blank, almost deathlike gleam in her eyes.
Yes! Elizabeth’s mind screamed. It’s a woman ... a girl!
The cold eyes stared not at Elizabeth’s face; they were piercing right through her skin, looking directly into the core of her soul!
All feeling and strength left Elizabeth’s body, and — still screaming — she watched the unfamiliar face slide out of view as she fell backward against the bathroom wall and slowly slid to the floor. She was only barely aware of the cold tile as she sat down, legs splayed, and listened to the steadily rising roar in her ears. She was only vaguely aware of footsteps shuffling down the hallway, echoing like the hammer — blows of distant thunder. Then the bathroom door swung open, an edge of it hitting her in the shoulder. In an instant, Junia was bending down beside her, running her cool, strong hands over Elizabeth’s face and murmuring gentle, comforting words.
“There, there, Elizabeth. What in the world happened in here? Did you fall and hurt yourself?”
Forcing her attention to center, and aware that she had finally stopped screaming, Elizabeth looked up at her aunt, fearful that she wasn’t going to recognize her face, either.
Maybe I really am losing my mind! she thought. If I don’t even recognize my own face in the mirror, I must be cracking up! Before long, I’ll be playing with the toys in the attic for real!
“Oh, dear, dear! I’ll bet you slipped on that old rug,” Junia said. Her voice was laced with concern and worry. “I’ve been telling myself for years I should get rid of it, and this is the final straw!”
“No — no,” Elizabeth gasped, licking her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “I didn’t trip on the rug. I just ... just bumped my knee on the sink. I — uh, sat down ‘cause it hurt so much.”
To her own ears, her words were slurred, but, at least as far as she could tell, she hadn’t banged her head or been hurt in any way. It was the bolt of panic she had felt, seeing an unfamiliar face in the mirror, that still choked her. Spinning dots of white light weaved crazy spirals in front of her eyes.
“Are you sure dear?” Junia said. It wasn’t much help, but she slid her arm behind Elizabeth’s back and struggled to help her get to her feet.
“Yeah ... I’ll be all right. Give me a minute,” Elizabeth said, as she stood and squared her shoulders. Her chest shuddered as she took in a deep breath. With an extreme effort of will, she let her gaze drift over to the bathroom mirror and was relieved beyond measure to see her own face reflected there along with Junia’s deeply concerned expression.
“You look as white as a sheet,” Junia said.
“Where’s Elspeth?” Elizabeth asked. glancing worriedly out into the hallway.
“StilI dozing in the parlor,” Junia said. “She does that a lot lately.” Still holding Elizabeth who was very unsteady on her feet, Junia started guiding her to the door. “Maybe you should come into the kitchen. I’ll get you a shot of brandy. That’ll bring the color back to your cheeks.”
Elizabeth was about to decline, then thought better of it and, side by side with her aunt, went down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. She sat down heavily in one of the chairs at the kitchen table and smiled her thanks after Junia fished out a squat bottle from under the counter, poured a generous amount of brandy into a tumbler, and handed the glass to her. Elizabeth made a quick “bottoms up” signal with her hand and took a sip.
“I keep it around for strictly medicinal purposes,” Junia said. She cast a shifty glance at the parlor doorway and, lowering her voice, added, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention it to Elspeth. You know how she feels about having any distilled spirits around the house. “
Elizabeth nodded, almost laughing aloud when she caught the unintentional wordplay —”spirits,” indeed! That was exactly the feeling she had had, that there was a ghost, a presence in the house that was lurking, unseen in the darker, drafty comers.
Tilting her head back, Elizabeth let another swallow of the burning liquid splash down her throat. She had always preferred red wine or beer because brandy or any distilled liquor tasted more like battery acid than anything else to her; but after the flaming rush of fear she had experienced in the bathroom, Aunt Junia’s “medicinal” brandy actually helped calm and steady her still-vibrating nerves. Smacking her lips with satisfaction, she put the half-emptied glass down on the kitchen table and smiled, and this time her smile was fuller and wider.
“My, my — that is some good medicine,” she said.
“Heated up, it works wonders on a sore throat. too,” Junia said. She grinned and then, after screwing the cap back onto
the bottle, leaned down and put it back under the counter where she kept it hidden from her sister. When she straightened up, though, there was a hard expression on her face when she looked back at Elizabeth.
“But now,” Junia said, lowering her voice, “I want the truth about what happened there in the bathroom.”
“I told you,” Elizabeth said. She found it impossible to maintain eye contact with her aunt. “I was just splashing some water on my face, and when I was reaching for the towel, I banged my hip on the side of the sink.”
“I thought you said it was your knee,” Junia said, frowning.
Elizabeth was about to protest further, but she knew — and Junia knew that she knew — that she had been found out in her lie. After another slug of brandy — this time to brace herself — she took a deep breath and said, “Can I trust you ... not to think I’m crazy, Aunt Junia?”
“Of course you can! You know you can, dear,” Junia said, with such warmth and gentleness it brought a warm flood of tears to Elizabeth’s eyes.
“Well, my first thought ... the one I hope is true, anyway, because otherwise it means I’ve really got some serious problems, is that your house is haunted.” She snickered and glanced at Junia, but there wasn’t the slightest trace of humor on her aunt’s face. Elizabeth tilted the tumbler back and stared as though dazed at the small amount of brandy remaining.
“And what exactly makes you think that” Junia asked pointedly.
After another deep breath, Elizabeth went on. “I don’t mean your house is really haunted. I mean, that’s impossible ... I think. But ever since I got here this morning, I’ve had this ... this sort of feeling —”
“Like you’re being watched?” Junia said.
Elizabeth felt an electrical tingle throughout her body. Looking up at her aunt, she nodded. “Yeah ... exactly,” she said, marveling that Junia had picked up on it so quickly. “Like I’m being watched. A couple of times, I actually thought I saw someone, and when I was in the bathroom, I was positive I heard these faint voices, whispering as if in the next room.” She shook her head with confusion and, shivering, cast a wary glance over her shoulder. “There isn’t — I mean, there can’t be anyone else in the house besides us, right?”
