by N. M. Howell
I jumped about a foot in the air when I heard a loud hissing sound and the back of my head slammed hard against the door. I cursed loudly, looking frantically about for the source of the sound. Hardly any light filtered in through the heavily dust-covered window, and I fumbled at the adjacent wall for a light. My fingers came to a heavy switch, and I flicked it on, nearly blinded by the brightness flooding the entryway. Squinting, I let out a soft gasp as I took in the room around me. The building was ancient, for sure, and a thick layer of dust coated every surface. Strange wall hangings adorned the faded floral-papered walls, and to my horror, three massive furry cats sat on the stairway, staring at me with expressions that looked nearly as confused as I felt.
“Perfect. Cats.” I glared at the three over-sized fluffy creatures. “Well, aren’t you just the cherry on top of an utterly lousy day.” I’d never been a cat person. I was highly allergic, for one. Plus, dogs were just so much more sociable. I never understood the draw toward having housecats. They just kind of sat around, judging you. Exactly like these three seemed to be doing right now. Although, I did have to admit these were particularly cute as cats went. One ginger, one black as night, and one tabby cat, all of them huge, all of them immaculate, all of them glaring back at me with narrowed eyes. “What are you gaping at, cats?”
“I could ask you the same question, little miss tight pants,” a voice responded.
For the second time in the space of five minutes I started in fright, this time pressing my body firmly back against the front door. My pulse raced, and my eyes darted around the hallway, landing on the three cats. I stared my eyes at them, wondering if I’d finally lost my mind after all. “You did not just speak to me.” I pressed my hands against the cool wood. “Right?”
“No, they did not speak to you, ridiculous girl,” the batty old lady from the park said as she appeared at the top of the narrow stairwell and frowned at me as if I was the crazy person in this scenario. “Now quit talking to yourself and get your bags out of the entryway.”
My mouth fell open. “What the heck are you doing here?” I demanded, shock sharpening my words. “Did you follow me from the park? You can’t just follow people into their homes. And how did you even get in?”
The lady ignored me and motioned for me to follow her up the stairs and through the doorway. “This way. You can leave your bags in here.”
I was beyond frustrated, but, to my surprise, I wasn’t afraid. The woman was positively minuscule and I doubted she could do much harm even if she tried. I groaned and reluctantly dragged my bags up the stairs, through a narrow corridor, and into a living room that opened onto a dining room, and through an arch into an old-style kitchen. The old lady stood near the window in the dining area and peered out at passing cars on the street below. I wondered was the old lady a friend of the deceased? Perhaps, even a relative?
“Excuse me, but do you have a key? The door was locked when I got here.” When the woman didn’t answer, I added more slowly, “Did you know Mrs. Bentley? Was she a friend of yours? Did you come around often?” I stood there in silence waiting for an answer, but none came. Annoyance crept around the edges of my sleep-deprived brain. I plonked the envelope down on the dining room table and crossed my arms. “Look, I’m very sorry for your loss, but if you aren’t going to talk to me, you really do need to leave. This isn’t okay.”
I couldn’t quite read the old woman’s expression. She stared at me a long moment and then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
As the woman walked past me, I noticed she was in her slippers. I watched her round the corner to the entry hall and listened for her exit. I didn’t hear the door slam, but when I peered into the corridor; she was nowhere to be seen. I sprinted to the door and locked it before returning to the living room to open the envelope.
I sat down and rubbed my eyes, overwhelmed by the fact that I was sitting in a dead lady’s apartment and had to figure out what I was going to do about employment. I hardly had any money, having invested all my savings into my juice bar back in Portland. The juice bar that had burned down before Gerard had managed to get around to making sure the insurance policy was put in my name. Squeezing my eyes shut tighter, I tried to force the thoughts of my past life out of my mind. I was here now, and I had to deal with the issues at hand. Forward, not backward. That’s what all the self-help podcasts said, anyways. Steadying my mind, I pulled the paper from the envelope and scanned the first page
Holy giant cucumbers.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I let the paper fall onto the table as I stared at it with wide eyes. My shaking finger traced the text on the front page, reading it three times over to make sure I understood what it said. When I was sure I wasn’t seeing things, I sat back in the chair and sighed, listening to the sound of a purring cat as the tabby stalked into the room. Agatha Bentley had left everything to me. I had just inherited an apartment, a thrift shop, a second basement apartment, and all of her personal belongings. And her cats, it would seem. My mouth hung open as I processed what that meant. It couldn’t be right, could it?
I reached for my cell phone and searched my email addresses for an old college friend who’d gone on to study law after we finished our undergrad in Women’s Studies. I typed in a frantic message, sending her photographs of the documents. My cell beeped and I stared at my friends reply, incredulous. It was mine. It was all mine. Finally, when my eyes started to become dry from staring at the words for so long, I stood and faced the cats. My skin was itchy just looking at them. “I guess that means you three little monsters belong to me, now.”
I sneezed, and I swear to god the tabby cat grinned. Great, I had gained a thrift shop, but was beginning to lose my mind. Excellent. Just what I needed.
“Cat food is in the fridge.” The old woman appeared in the kitchen, and I gasped. I hadn’t even heard her come back in.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I spread my arms wide.
The woman waggled her finger at me. “Don’t raise your voice, young lady. I’ve been watching you and you don’t have so many friends that you can afford to lose another one.”
“You have got to leave,” I said through gritted teeth. “Out, now. I’ll call the cops if you don’t leave this second.”
The woman cackled. “As if those donut-eating buffoons would be able to do anything about it. But fine, fine. Whatever you say, little Miss Bossy.”
“Thank you.” I was positively shaking. The day been overwhelming to the max, and I had no more words for her. I crossed my arms and waited for her to leave back through the door, but she waved her wrinkled hand at me, winked, and walked straight through solid wall on the far side of the room.
My hands dropped down to my sides, my mouth fallen open. Okay. Maybe I had, in fact, completely lost my mind.
I took a deep breath in, held it for three seconds… and fainted.
Chapter Three
I woke early the next morning with the cool morning sunlight flooding in through the huge front windows, and for the briefest moment I had no idea where I was. Rubbing my eyes as I yawned, I thought back to the night before. I had fallen asleep at the mahogany dining table while re-reading the document that outlined my strange inheritance. My dining table. My inheritance.
The memory of the batty old lady came flooding back to me and I sat pressing my fingers against my temples. I was just overly stressed and overwhelmed. It had been an emotionally crushing couple of weeks and it had been over ten days since I’d properly meditated or practiced yoga. My mind needed some focus; that was all.
I picked up the scattered paper and ran my finger along the bold text, which outlined what had been left in my name. Agatha Bentley had left me everything she owned. It was sad, really, that she didn’t have any family or anyone close to her to leave these things to. My gut feeling had been right at the service, she must have been a very lonely old lady. But to leave everything to a stranger she’d only interviewed over the phone? I stared at the date marked clearly
on the papers next to her signature. She’d made the will the day I’d accepted her job offer. The day Gerard had told me he was getting engaged to Ivana and he needed me out of the pool house. Yes, the pool house. In Oregon.
I slowly pushed myself up off the high-backed dining chair and stretched my sore muscles before making my way into the main kitchen area, grabbing my backpack from the floor where I had tossed it the night before. I opened the small tub of oatmeal soaked in apple juice that I’d prepared the day before and sniffed it cautiously. I should have refrigerated, but with all the mess I had not even begun to unpack. I shrugged my shoulders; it would do. I looked around the kitchen for a pot to heat it in.
“Breakfast?” A deep male voice said from behind me.
I shrieked and dropped the tub of cold oatmeal all over my bare feet and the black and white linoleum floor. I looked around frantically for the source of the voice, but there was no one else in the room apart from the huge black cat. And a radio. I exhaled and patted the old style radio, twisting the knobs to ensure it was switched off. Old radio. Dodgy wiring. I could feel the prickle of a sneeze beginning to build as I met the cat’s eyes. They were large and deep blue, and he looked exceptionally unimpressed.
Inhale, count to three, exhale. It’s an old house, it’s an old radio. I narrowed my eyes at the cat before reaching for a roll of paper towel to clean up the mess on the floor. The oatmeal was slimy between my toes and I grimaced as I tried to mop it all up.
“So what are we having now you’ve ruined the oatmeal?”
My eyes shot back to the large black cat. “You did not just speak to me.” I wasn’t sure if it was a question or statement, but the cat and I simply stared at each other for a long moment in silence, challenging one another. Oh, God. It wasn’t the radio. There were voices in my head. That was not a good sign. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand as I finished mopping up the mess and dumped the empty tub into the sink.
“Has she started the breakfast?” Another voice said.
I spun around, my heart hammering in my chest. “Who’s there?”
The tabby cat sauntered into the room and jumped up on the counter beside me. His tail swung back and forth slowly as he watched me. He looked impatient. Well, as impatient as a housecat could manage to look. He blinked up at me as I gripped the edge of the counter. What the hell was going on?
“I don’t know, but it smells like vomit in here and I’m for sure not eating that.” The massive ginger cat padded into the room and flopped himself down on the far side of the dining area, spreading out and stretching in a warm morning sunbeam.
My eyes followed him, my body frozen in place. “You’re not talking to me. I’m just hearing things from the stress.”
The tabby cat raised his head from the countertop, his hazel eyes glowing in the daylight. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, sugar.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pressed my hands to my ears. “I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy.”
The tabby cat pounced from the counter and landed on the floor beside the other two cats. “What’s up with this one? She’s pretty, but I’m not sure she’s okay in the head.”
“I think she’s freaking out a bit.” The ginger cat examined me with eyes the colour of emeralds. “She’s going to hurt herself if she keeps crushing her skull like that.”
The enormous black cat stalked between the other two cats with a hiss as he stared at me. “Stop!”
The word hit me like a bolt of lightning. I spun in place and sprinted through the kitchen, grabbing the keys from the dining table as I went. I shielded my view with my hands on either side of my face, focused on the door and away from the cats. I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking, before realizing that I didn’t have to unlock the door from the inside to let myself out. I pulled on the door handle, ran through the door and slammed it behind me. Running down the stairs, my fingers played with multiple keys on the keychain before coming to a stop in front of the entry door to the thrift shop on the ground level of the building. I gripped the handle tightly, closed my eyes, and sucked in a slow breath. I counted to three and let it out slowly.
Everything is fine. I’m not going crazy.
Opening my eyes, I searched for the key that matched the lock, placed it in the keyhole, and turned it. With a small click, the door unlocked, and I pulled it open as I tried to steady myself and stepped inside, locking the door behind me.
The thrift shop was a sight to behold. There were so many items crowding the cavernous space that the walls, floors, and ceiling were all hidden from view. My eyes darted from one side to the other, trying to take it all in. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do with a thrift shop, having never really worked this kind of retail before, but walking through the large space and noticing the way daylight came flooding through the glazed storefront, I realized this could be the perfect spot for a juice bar. My juice bar. My fresh start.
A small grin spread across my face as I told myself that things were finally falling into place. Maybe I’d been letting myself succumb to the pressure a bit—imagining people walking through walls and cats talking wasn’t exactly normal—but sometimes it took a little shaking or jarring of life to finally find what you’re looking for. And looking around the large open space that sat on a fairly busy street near the park, I realized that this was exactly what I was looking for. I could breathe new life into this old building.
I closed my eyes and imagined what it would look like with the same setup as my shop back in Portland. A wide counter spread across the rear wall, a row of stools and clusters of seating scattered around the front. Yes, I could have seating lining the storefront, looking out over the trees that lined the road. With this much sunlight coming through, I could even grow some organic greens to use in my products. It would be perfect.
A loud meow pulled me from my reverie as the tabby cat sauntered in through the back of the shop and settled himself on a beam of sunlight in front of the window. The ginger cat appeared next and began to wrestle with a swatch of material hanging over the counter. The black cat was last to approach, his eyes fixed on my face as he circled me. I eyed the three balls of fur, wondering just how they had gotten into the store when I’d locked the door.
“So, you’re deciding to act like cats now, I see.” I crossed my arms. All three cats raised their heads, but I noticed instead of looking at me, they were looking past me. A shiver caressed my spine, and I braced myself as I turned toward the back of the shop and found myself staring at the familiar birdlike face of the trespassing old lady.
“Of course, they’re acting like cats, you dingbat. They are cats.” The old lady stood behind the cash counter and tutted at me. She still wore the same strange outfit as she had the day before; layered sweaters, pants that were two inches too short, and fluffy slippers. I shook my head as I stared at her, unsure how to address the situation at this point. She was beyond reason, and I would likely have to get the cops involved.
“Can you please tell me why you’re here?” I asked in my most calm voice. If she didn’t leave, I would pick her up and throw her out myself. I was fit and stronger than most girls my age. Stronger than most men, even. Tossing her over my shoulder and throwing her out the front door would hardly break a sweat. The idea was tempting, I had to admit.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I live here.” She ran her finger over the dusty surface of the table, but when I looked closer, her finger left no trail.
I raised my eyebrow as I glared at her. The whole situation was exceptionally odd. “I’m sorry, what did you say you’re name was?”
The lady harrumphed. “I didn’t say because you never had the manners to ask.” She straightened her narrow shoulders and raised her pointed chin. “I’m Agatha Bentley.”
Chapter Four
My eyes widened. “You can’t be Agatha Bentley. Agatha Bentley died. Her funeral was yesterday. You were there, remember?” The poor old lady had los
t her mind. She had probably been one of Agatha’s friends and was in some form of denial about her death. I felt bad for the old woman, but I really needed her to leave nonetheless. I had my own problems to deal with and the last thing I needed was to babysit some angry lady who thought she was my deceased boss.
“Of course, I was there,” she snapped. “You really think I would miss my own funeral? These things only come around once in a lifetime, don’t you know.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my eyelids with my fingertips. The poor woman was probably distraught and needed help. “I understand you must be upset, ma’am. It’s never easy to lose a friend. Is there anywhere I can take you? Maybe I can call a cab for you or something?”
Exasperated, the woman raised her hands above her head and gave me the most curious of expressions. “My dear girl, I haven’t lost anyone. What are you going on about? Maybe you are right? Maybe you’re crazy after all.”
Okay, that was it. I’d had enough. I marched up to her and reached out to place my hand on her shoulder so I could guide her out. But my hand fell through her as if she were nothing. I gasped and took a step back, my hand frozen in place. I blinked a few times and reached back toward her, her expression amused. She simply stood there, waiting as once again my fingers went right through her like she was air. I waved my hand back and forth and up and down, but still, nothing. My blood ran cold as I watched my hand pass right through her very body.
“Are you just about done?” she asked, frowning.
“This is impossible,” I mouthed. Inhale, count to three, exhale.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” The old woman threw her hands in the air. “You can practice Dr. Lee’s breathing techniques all you want, girl, but it’s not going to change anything.”
My eyes flung open. “You know Dr. Lee?” It was a stupid question to ask. Who cares if she knew who Dr. Lee was; we had bigger issues at hand. There was a strange woman in my newly inherited thrift shop who was claiming to be dead and somehow, by some trick of my imagination, didn’t seem to be physically there. I took a few steps back from her and wrapped my arms tightly around my body, controlling my breath as I tried to make sense of things. “You’re just a figment of my imagination. The stress has finally got to me, made evident by the three talking cats upstairs earlier. All I need is a good night sleep, a hot bath, maybe a visit to a shrink, and then everything will be back to normal.”
