by Harper Lin
“As quiet as a tomb,” I said. Now the only problem would be getting into the house. How was I going to pull that off? I stepped back and looked at what I had to work with.
The Elderflowers lived in an older tri-level house. The style itself was timeless, but the Elderflowers had left some telltale retro details in place that made the house look old. It was brick with siding that was painted olive green. It totally complemented the orange front door. At least, it had in 1971.
The windows were a variety of shapes and sizes. The driveway was in desperate need of tarring. There were a few evergreen bushes along the front and side of the house. Some of them had grown out of control after not being trimmed for some time. Those that didn’t were crispy, dry, and reddish-brown.
As I slunk around, I thought about what Evelyn had said that people were supposed to feel safe at home. When she looked at this place, she saw where she’d grown up. Not the dead bushes and outdated color scheme. Somewhere along the line, it had ceased to be a refuge and became her prison.
I reached for the doorknob on the back door. Locked.
“Of course,” I mumbled. “There’s got to be a way to get in.” I was an inch away from taking a rock and smashing one of the basement windows when an opportunity presented itself. As I circled around the house, I noticed that behind one of the dead bushes, the garage had a tall window covered not by glass but by decorative gold-colored plastic. It was cracked right down the middle.
“It’s going to require a smidge of vandalism, Cath. Are you sure you want to do it?” The truth was that the plastic was easily going to crack out of its old window molding sometime within the next six months. Maybe a year. I was just helping it along.
There was no time to waste hemming and hawing about the ethics of the situation. I pushed the plastic, and as I’d hoped, with the cold weather, it snapped right up the middle and came out in my hand.
Inhaling deeply, I squeezed through the window and was in the garage. I propped the plastic back in place, happy that it looked almost the same as it had before I damaged it.
I crossed the garage to the door that led into the house. Pressing my ear up against the cold wood, I listened. The only thing I could hear was my heartbeat in my ears. It sounded like a raging river.
Carefully, I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Still, I heard nothing but the tick of a clock and the hum of the furnace going. I shut the door behind me and let out my breath.
“You’re in. You just wanted to check out Evelyn’s room. Don’t waste time snooping around the other rooms. You still need to get out unseen.”
I walked a few paces, and on my right were the stairs. With the first step, I set off an alarm of creaks and groans from the worn-out steps. I knew every house-settling sound in my own home. If anyone were around, they’d know immediately there was a trespasser in their midst. I held my breath. Still no movement.
“You’re alone, Cath. Let’s get this accomplished.”
With a bit more reckless abandon, I took the stairs two at a time. Once on the landing, I carefully looked in the rooms. A king-size bed, matching dresser with a mirror attached to it, and a wedding picture of Marie Elderflower and Mr. Elderflower hanging on the wall told me this was their room. A small bathroom was next on the left. Across from it was a locked room. At the end of the hallway was another closed door. But when I turned the knob, it opened. Slowly, I pushed my way in. It was Evelyn’s room. Quickly, I shut the door behind me.
I had expected black walls, posters of Marilyn Manson or The Misfits, candles, some skulls, a makeshift Wiccan altar, or something like that. Instead, the walls were lavender. The bed was neatly made with a leopard-print comforter. On the nightstand was the picture of a smiling Evelyn standing between her mother and father. A dartboard against the wall had more pictures of her with her parents, friends from school, and the girl who had been with her at the café. There were ticket stubs to a ballet, an opera, and the symphony.
“This is weird.” It seemed that Evelyn was a bit more cultured than she appeared at first sight. It got even more bizarre when I looked at the books on her bookshelves.
There was no Satanic Bible. No Wicca & Witchcraft for Dummies. Instead, there were an overwhelming number of Victorian romance novels on the shelves. Sure, I saw a few Stephen King novels and two books on haunted places throughout the state. But none of this made an occultist.
“Well, I don’t know what to think about any of this. I’m stumped.”
I sat down on her bed for a moment. It squeaked loudly, sending a ripple up my spine. I held my breath and waited. Nothing. No sound of pounding feet heading in my direction.
It was the logical next step. I looked underneath her bed. I opened the closet. Aside from half a dozen black blouses and skirts, there were, surprisingly, a lot of colorful garments hanging there.
“She doesn’t fit the Goth profile at all. What is going on?”
I went to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer. In addition to socks and underwear was a pretty diary.
I picked it up and looked at the cover. On a black backdrop, a shimmering goldfish with long elegant fins swam through the darkness. It was pretty.
“And it’s private, Cath. You can’t.”
I held it in my hand for what felt like an hour, turning it over and over, contemplating whether I should read what was inside or not. A million reasons whispered through my head. She could be in danger. She could be suicidal. She could be ready to hurt someone else. Finally, I thought the reasons to read it outweighed the girl’s right to privacy.
The last entry was the day after her mother had passed. It was short and chilling.
One down. Two to go.
Before I could backtrack and read anything from an earlier date, I heard the stairs groan. It was the same sound they made when I stepped on them. My entire body went ice cold.
What do I do?
First, I shut the bedroom door.
I quickly put the diary back where I found it. Then I looked toward the window. It was always a bad idea to put a teenager’s room next to a big, sturdy tree with welcoming branches. How many times had Evelyn snuck out this way to meet her friends?
Now it was my turn.
I raised the window but winced as it scraped in its old pane. If whoever was down the stairs thought they were mistaken, that sound confirmed they had an intruder. Without waiting I swung one leg out the window and placed it firmly on the thick branch. I looked toward the door to see the doorknob turning.
Something inside welled up, and I felt the urge to scream. Instead, I bit my tongue. The door never swung open. I didn’t face the angry faces of the Elderflower family. Instead, it stopped turning, and I saw something I couldn’t explain.
On the floor, something appeared to be seeping into Evelyn’s room. A dark thing that rushed forward then receded like a tiny black tide. It rolled into the room three or four inches before it disappeared back underneath the crack again, moving like a liquid but leaving nothing wet on the floor in its wake.
I couldn’t be sure it was anything but a trick of the lighting. Was someone moving on the other side of the door, casting shadows on the floor? But why did these shadows appear to reach like long fingers? Why didn’t I hear anyone on the other side of that door? And if they knew I was here, why didn’t they come bursting in to catch me?
There was no way I was going to wait for a logical answer to any of these questions. With the speed and agility to rival any teenager, I swung my other leg out the window, holding tightly to a thinner branch overhead. With the grace of a drunk on New Year’s Eve, I wobbled my way to the trunk of the tree and climbed down, the branches scraping my face and hands and tearing my jeans, and getting sap in my hair in the process.
My first instinct when my feet finally hit solid ground was to bolt to my car. But I looked up. When I did, I saw Evelyn’s curtains fluttering and the silhouette of someone standing behind them. It was a dark figure. I didn’t know which of the Elder
flowers it might have been. But the heat of their stare sent me tumbling out of there.
When I finally reached my car, I dove inside, locked the doors, started the engine, and cranked up the heat. My whole body was trembling as I made a U-turn on the street. I didn’t want to drive past the house. I didn’t want whoever was in there to see my car. Although I was pretty sure they got a good glimpse of my face.
“But who was it?” The words just tumbled out of my mouth as the heat began to penetrate my frozen limbs. “Gail, Fern, and their father left. You saw them. It wasn’t Evelyn. She wouldn’t have tried to scare you even if she did see you reading her diary. Plus, that figure was too big. Too masculine.”
I shivered at the thought.
When I finally got back to the café, I wasn’t sure what to tell Aunt Astrid and Bea. So I sat down at the counter and spilled the beans.
“Are you sure you were alone in the house?” Aunt Astrid asked.
“Pretty sure,” I replied as Bea poured me a cup of tea. “I didn’t go looking through the whole house. I was focused on Evelyn’s room. I figured that would be where she kept her occult stuff.”
“But there wasn’t anything?” Bea asked.
“It was a really pretty little girl’s room. Nothing menacing. There was nothing that would lead her on the path to possession. If she invited some kind of Gazzo into her house, I couldn’t find proof. However, there was one thing.”
I repeated the words I’d read in her diary.
Neither Aunt Astrid nor Bea said anything.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Bea finally spoke after cutting a piece of carrot cake for a customer and placing it on a tiny white plate.
“I’ll take that. What table?” I asked.
Bea pointed to a man sitting and reading the paper by the window. I gave him his cake, and he smiled pleasantly before digging in. When I looked out the window, I thought I saw someone standing there, but the light was just playing tricks on me. It was a normal cloudy day. Cars were driving by. People bundled up against the chill walked past the café. For a second, I was back in the normal world. But then I saw something else out of the corner of my eye. When I looked, there was nothing there.
“Aunt Astrid, have you been seeing an influx of ‘visitors’ lately?” I used my fingers to emphasize that I was talking about the paranormal kind. “I keep seeing things moving out of the corners of my eyes. When I look, bubkes.”
“Maybe it’s your radar of love.” Bea smirked then nodded toward the window.
Tom stood there holding a bouquet of flowers.
As crazy as it might seem, I let Evelyn and the Elderflower house slip from my mind. Partially because I needed a break. But I also didn’t want to talk to my police-officer boyfriend about breaking and entering a home in search of occult paraphernalia.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I came to see you and bring you these.” He handed me the flowers.
“Valentine’s Day isn’t for almost another week.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not doing this because it’s Valentine’s Day. I’m just doing it because you are my favorite girl. That’s all.”
“That’s so sweet,” Bea teased. “You guys should get matching shirts that say ‘I’m his’ and ‘I’m hers’ and wear them out for dinner.”
“Hey, that’s a great idea!” Tom replied with wide eyes and a huge grin.
“You guys are both nuts,” I said.
Aunt Astrid chuckled as she counted her receipts and took a sip of tea.
“You want to join me for dinner tonight?” he asked after taking a seat at the counter. “I was thinking we could make some spaghetti at your house. I think Casablanca is on the classic movie channel. Or maybe it’s The African Queen. I can’t remember, but I know it’s a Humphrey Bogart movie.”
The idea of staying inside my own warm house with everything being familiar and cozy sounded wonderful.
“Great. I’ll bring all the supplies. You just have the television on and some hot chocolate on the stove.” Tom kissed my cheek, but his hand found the curve in my waist, and he pulled me to him tightly. It was just a second. No one even noticed. But my heart raced, and heat from my feet darted up my body to flood my cheeks.
“You really have yourself a great guy, Cath,” Aunt Astrid said as she rooted around under the counter before pulling out a vase for my flowers.
“Yeah, he’s okay,” I replied.
“You are as crazy about him as he is about you. Don’t think you are fooling anyone with that tough-guy act,” Bea said, smiling as she handed some change back to a woman wearing a giant heart pin on the lapel of her coat.
“Speaking of tough guys, what are you getting Jake for Valentine’s Day?” I quickly changed the focus from me to Bea.
“I’ve got a special menu I’m cooking up for him and bringing to work for us to have a picnic in his office.”
“Is it tofu? Nothing says ‘I love you’ like tofu,” I teased.
“No. It’s not tofu. It’s his favorite. Vegetarian chili with corn bread and apple pie for dessert,” Bea replied and stuck her tongue out at me.
“How come no one is asking me what I’m doing for Valentine’s Day?” my aunt interrupted.
Bea and I looked at each other. I didn’t hide my surprise. My mouth hung open like a largemouth bass’s.
“What are you doing for Valentine’s Day, Mom?”
“I am having dinner at my house,” she replied proudly.
“With whom?” I asked.
“Blake.” She giggled.
“Detective Blake Samberg? Jake’s partner? You are having a Valentine’s Day dinner with the Scrooge of all seasons?” I looked at Bea. It was her turn to do an impression of a largemouth bass.
“You girls need to calm down. We are having a meal together on a day when we tell people how much we love them. Just like I love you girls and I love Jake. I love Blake because, whether you like him or not, he helps keep Jake safe. To me, that is what family does. We keep each other safe.”
I looked at Bea and wrinkled my nose. She was about to cry.
“Pull yourself together, Bea.” I patted her shoulder.
“I just never thought of that. But Mom is right. She’s totally right. Maybe we should do something nice for Blake too.”
“Right. Because all the free coffee and sandwiches and salads and desserts just don’t say thanks enough.” I rolled my eyes.
Of course, I felt the same way Bea did. I just didn’t want anyone to know it. Blake was a good guy. He did look out for Jake as if they were brothers. But I was moving ahead. I couldn’t see him as anything more than a friend of the family. Maybe I could muster up enough affection for him as a second cousin or perhaps a great-uncle by marriage. But anything more might risk resurrecting those old feelings. That was something I didn’t want to happen.
“He knows we don’t want anything to happen to him.” I turned to face my aunt. “I hope you guys have a really nice time. What are you cooking?”
I hoped it was a meat-and-potatoes meal. He liked those.
12
The Blackness
“Cath, the movie is starting,” Tom called from my living room.
“I’m coming,” I said as I balanced a basket of garlic bread in my arms while carrying two glasses of pink lemonade. “So which one is it? Casablanca or The African Queen?”
“I was totally wrong. It’s actually Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte.”
“How do you even make that mistake?” I teased as I sank down carefully onto my couch, then I set the glasses down on the coffee table while Tom took the garlic bread.
“I couldn’t tell you.” Tom shook his head.
“This smells fantastic.” My stomach grumbled. Since I knew Tom was fixing dinner, I didn’t eat anything from the café. “And I love Bette Davis, so you’re not in any trouble this time.”
“Are there any old movies you don’t like?”
“I’m not big on Westerns. There
are a few I like. John Wayne. Clint Eastwood. But without them, I’m not too interested. How about you?”
“Citizen Kane.”
“What? That movie is supposed to be the best movie of all time.” I shoveled a huge forkful of spaghetti in my mouth. “I’m not shaying it ish, but that’sh what they shay.” I held my hand up as I talked with my mouth full.
“I know. I’ve tried to watch it more than once and have fallen asleep every time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen past the opening credits.”
We were quiet for a few minutes as the movie started. Bette Davis emerged from her glorious Southern home and stood on the front terrace with a shotgun in her hands, ready to greet her relatives. She yelled at them in that beautiful Southern drawl. I loved it.
“This is really a rather gruesome movie,” Tom said as we ate.
“For its day, yes.” I took a sip of lemonade. “But how creative. How much fun it had to be for the actors to play these characters. They all have a touch of crazy in them. I’d love to walk around in long braids with garish makeup, screaming, ‘Get out of here, Luke Standish! You smirkin’ Judas!’ Don’t tell me that doesn’t sound like a blast. I might just start saying that around the café. What do you think?”
“I’d pay the price of admission.” Tom chuckled.
As always, it was a wonderful time with Tom there. We finished every strand of spaghetti, the garlic bread, and a pint of chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream.
Treacle was in a ball, sleeping on the armchair the entire time. The fluffy kitty purred happily every time Tom reached to give him a scratch behind his ears or a stroke down his back.
“Well, it’s getting late,” Tom said after helping me load the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “We both have to work tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Mind if I stop by the café on my way home tomorrow night?” He slipped his hand into mine as we walked to the front door.
“That would be nice.”
“Can I sit in your section and get a cup of coffee?” He squeezed my hand.
“Sure.”
