by Jeff High
“What? Are you nuts?”
“It’s okay. Just do it.”
Reluctantly, I complied. We strained against the darkness, listening. Matthew’s tactic worked. Distantly, there came another sound as if something metallic had been pushed across the brick floor.
“Come on. It’s coming from one of the far hallways.” He switched his light on and stepped quickly. I followed, but with decidedly less enthusiasm.
We navigated our way through the haphazard piles in the central room to a large open door on the far end. Beyond was a broad hallway that extended in both directions. Alternately, Matthew shined his light toward either end, deliberating.
“I’m not sure which direction the sound came from. You go down that one, and I'll go down this one. Shout if you see anything." He headed off.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I called out in an urgent whisper.
He stopped and turned back toward me. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? Really? What’s wrong is that I have this huge line down the middle of my back and it’s painted bright yellow. It practically glows in the dark.”
“Are you suggesting you’re afraid?”
“No. I’m not suggesting anything. I’m outright telling you I’m afraid. Look, Matthew, you're the one with the gun. That makes you the lead guy in this deal. And in the movies, this is usually the scene where the trusty sidekick without the gun gets bumped off."
“Okay, okay. I get it. We’ll stay together. Come on.”
He pushed ahead, and I trailed tightly behind. But it was awkward. That was because I was walking backward, shining my light to the rear. I had watched enough thrillers to know how the “getting picked off at the end of the line” thing worked.
The first door we came to was of thick, heavy oak with large iron hinges. Matthew turned the handle and heaved against it with his shoulder. It didn't budge. The same was true of the next door. After that, the hallway turned to the right and narrowed into a swallowing darkness. To my thinking, we had given it the good old college try. It was time to turn back.
“Don’t think the noise came from this far off, do you?” I was trying to be as persuasive and analytical as possible under the circumstances. But Matthew was undaunted. We continued deeper. After several steps down this second hallway we came upon a door to our left. Unlike the others, it was ajar, availing an opening of about six inches. Matthew looked back at me and nodded. My heart pounded.
He positioned his flashlight and pistol tightly together and shoved the door with his foot. It swung open sluggishly with a sharp, wincing screech of the hinges. A split second later, we were both inside. What we found was completely unexpected.
The wide room held three long rows of floor to ceiling wine racks, skillfully crafted of wood and still firm and solid. Our search was momentarily suspended as both of us stopped to admire the craftsmanship of the extensive and airy structures. Now empty, they had a capacity of thousands of bottles. It was yet another odd detail about the life of the elusive Hiram Hatcher.
We were about to leave when my light caught a flicker of movement along the back wall at the distant end of the room. “Did you see that?” I blurted out.
“No. What?”
“Down that way. Something moved.”
“Something or someone?”
“Definitely not a someone.”
Immediately, Matthew walked in that direction with flashlight and pistol in fixed attack mode. I, on the other hand, was open to a little further contemplation on the matter before proceeding. At first, I held tight, content to let Matthew sort out the details. But as he moved farther away, I made an abrupt policy change; one that included staying close to the guy with the gun. I caught up quickly.
At the end of the wine racks was an open space of about eight feet which was empty save for one of the corners where an accumulated clutter of rusted metal bands covered some timeworn apparatus. Closer inspection revealed it to be a vintage metal dolly whose rubber wheels had long since deteriorated into crumbled flakes. Oddly, however, although it had a base on one end and handles on the other, it also had wheels on each end and was slightly bowed across the back. Beside this was a stack of a dozen or so five-gallon cans. Four of them were strewn on the floor, randomly lying on their sides. I picked one up by the metal handle welded to its center. Using my flashlight, I could barely make out the faded label on the side which read, “Frontenac Maple Syrup Company. Product of Canada.” These had likely been the source of the noise we had heard. Something had knocked them over.
Hastily, we probed our lights into the corners and then down the length of the wooden rows. But our search revealed nothing. And yet, I felt an odd presence. That's when it occurred to me to focus my light up high to the top of the nearest wine rack. Two eyes reflected back at me. We had found our culprit.
I handed my light to Matthew and then stepped on the bottom rack to reach and retrieve the big fellow.
“So, that’s our spook,” declared Matthew.
My voice was drenched in relief. “Yup. It’s Lida’s Siamese cat. His name is Chairman Meow.”
“Really? It looks like a female.”
I shrugged. “You may be right. But the only way to tell the difference involves some rather impolite snooping.”
Matthew grinned. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, he seems to know you. I assume you two have met?”
“We’re acquaintances. He usually hangs out down at the Diner with Lida. I guess he decided to visit his old stomping ground.”
“I wonder how he got in?”
“No clue. If you speak Mandarin, we can ask him.”
Matthew shook his head. “Well, okay then. I guess that’s that.”
“Yeah. I’ll drop him off at Lida’s house on the way home. She lives a few streets over from me.”
Matthew nodded and handed me the flashlight. I cradled Chairman Meow under my arm and exhaled a huge sigh as well, glad that this basement experience was finally over. But as we began to depart, I couldn’t help but notice something odd.
“Matthew, is it just me, or does it seem strange to you that this back wall is brick? All the others are of stone.”
Chapter 23
CONSPIRATORS
MATTHEW STARED WITH strained curiosity. “Luke, I think you’re right.”
“What do you make of it?”
“Not sure. It doesn’t appear to be part of the original structure.”
As we stepped closer, our lights gravitated to the same spot, a six-inch opening in the top right corner above the five-gallon cans. The wall rose to ten feet, making the gap far too high for either of us to peer through.
“That must be where Chairman Meow got in,” I said probingly.
“And the noise we heard was him knocking some of the cans over.”
“So, I wonder what’s on the other side?”
Matthew shook his head. “No idea.”
I spoke guardedly. “You think it might be...you know, the bones of a woman who once wore a flapper dress with black sequins on it?”
Matthew grinned and grunted a low noise of acknowledgment. "Well, let's hope not."
I focused my light on the pile of metal bands. “I have an idea.”
We propped the antiquated dolly up against the wall and used the rungs connecting the handles as a ladder. Matthew held it in place while I inched my way up and positioned my light through the hole.
“What do you see?” He inquired.
“Not much, really. The breach is too small. But there’s definitely an open space on the other side.”
“Can you get your arm through it?”
I glanced down, regarding him stiffly. “Well, I’m sure I can. But I’m a little concerned that something on the other side might want it for a keepsake.”
“What I mean is, how thick is the wall?”
“Looks to be about a six-inch framed wall behind this course of brick.”
“Alright, good. Come on back down.”
I descend
ed and dusted myself off. “So, what’s your plan?”
"In the morning, I'll buy a concrete saw from the hardware store and cut a hole in the wall. Somebody had a reason for wanting to close it off. I want to know why."
Still curious, we silently moved our lights back and forth across this mysterious partition. But there seemed nothing more to be gained. I gathered Chairman Meow. Matthew offered a confirming nod, and I followed as he led the way back toward the stairs. Just as a precaution, I occasionally focused my flashlight on the path behind. Our unnerving quest into the bowels of the old mansion was over. My case of the sissies wasn't.
I had to laugh at myself. Things that brought a paralyzing panic to others, like a mangled and bleeding arm or a flat-lined heart rhythm, did little to faze me. I understood those matters. But the spectral world had no rules, no guidebook. I wanted to dismiss all of it. Yet something primal within my DNA simply wouldn't allow it.
My education had taught me to apply a sobering dose of scientific rationale to all situations, enabling me to find order in the empirical world. Nevertheless, even from the lofty high ground of intellectual indifference, there was always a small, uncertain voice somewhere deep within whispering, "but what if?" Conversely, Matthew seemed unaffected by such notions.
As we emerged from the musty air of below, I was baffled by his easy confidence. "Matthew, you okay going back down there by yourself tomorrow?"
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just make sure your work belt has a holster for your six-shooter.”
He grinned. “There won’t be a need for that. Whatever’s on the other side of that wall might be gruesome, but I doubt it’s alive.”
Matthew shut the door to the basement and locked it.
Still, my curiosity drove me. “So, humor me. The gun. If there’s no concern, why did we need it for this little adventure?”
He pursed his lips for a moment, weighing my question before speaking in a voice of calm resignation. “In Emily’s dream, she said that Hiram had told her that he had left something in Watervalley. She was never clear on that part. She said it was some ‘f’ word like fortune, or future, or family.”
“Or felony?”
“Well, possibly that too, I guess.”
“Yeah, but none of those make sense. From what you said, he clearly had his fortune when he arrived in Charleston. If it was his future, then why did he leave? And it seems pretty common knowledge that he had no family here.”
“Welcome to my dilemma.”
“So again, why the gun?”
“I think it’s safe to say that my arrival has stirred up a lot of interest among the locals. The children are asked questions all the time at school. One of the old rumors is that there is some kind of treasure hidden away here, like a valuable painting or an original Stradivarius violin. I’m certain it’s all bunk.”
“It’s a big place. What makes you so sure?”
"In her grandmother's files, Emily had found a list of Hiram's furniture and artwork. I guess he wanted everything cataloged for insurance purposes before the move to Charleston."
“Sounds reasonable.”
"Except for an odd silver spoon or two, whatever has any value has been accounted for. Nevertheless, Lida told me that the stories crop up every time there is a new owner. So, here's the deal. We heard a noise. I've lost my wife. I'll take no chances with anything happening to my children just because the wrong kind of person got curious."
His solemn response made perfect sense. I nodded and, cradling Lida's cat under one arm, we made our way to the front door. Before leaving, I turned to him.
“Look, Matthew. For a couple of guys who tend to be loners, it seems that suddenly we both have a lot of skinny on each other. Do we need to spit in our hands and shake or anything?”
He grinned. "You're contemplating leaving town, and my wife's ancestors were likely mobsters and murderers. I think we're good."
“Right. Nice summary. Well, since we’re an item now, let me know what’s behind that wall. I’ll call you after I go by the Property Assessors office.”
“Thanks for coming up.”
As we shook hands an unspoken confidence passed between us. Despite its unnerving aspects, the evening had been extraordinary.
Outside the winter air had a biting edge, leaving Chairman Meow blissfully content to be snuggled under my coated arm. I walked briskly to my car, awash in a beguiling mix of weariness and exhilaration. But before opening the car door, I hesitated, captivated by the frozen night and its attendant silence.
High above was an infinite black canopy, an immense and lonely sky illuminated only by the reluctant light of a shy moon. The great house towered before me, seemingly watching me, taking measure, weighing me in the scales. Slowly, once again I begin to feel the haunting presence of invisible things, as if something deep and ancient within the brooding stones were trying to whisper to me, imploring me to listen. I waited. But there was nothing.
I began to open the car door when the corner of my vision caught a flicker of light. It was the lamp in the window of Matthew’s office in the high tower. It flashed two dashes and three dots...the ending of an SOS signal. Then, it went dark.
Suddenly, Chairman Meow stiffened, straining against me as if something had alarmed him. I stroked his head and continued to stare at the distant window, dumbfounded. Fleeting seconds had elapsed since Matthew had closed the front door, making it impossible for him to have crossed the grand room and scale the two flights of steps to the high tower, even at an all-out sprint. This wasn’t Matthew. This was something else altogether.
My pulse accelerated. A dozen thoughts consumed me. The worst scenario was that of an intruder. Then again, no intruder would be flashing an SOS signal. I dismissed the possibility. After a long minute of nothing but shadowy silence, the cold began to penetrate, dissolving my momentary alarm into a numbing lethargy. I began to doubt that I had seen anything at all. Deciding that no further heroics were needed, I slid into the car seat and headed back out the cobbled drive.
After dropping Chairman Meow off in Lida’s front yard, I made my way home, took a quick shower, and fell into bed. Despite the incredible revelations of the past few hours, I soon submerged into a deep and consuming sleep. Buried within the larger events of the evening had been the opportunity to tell a sympathetic listener the depths of my quandary.
There was an abiding solace in that act that I was yet to understand fully.
Chapter 24
ANTIQUES
THE CLINIC WAS UNUSUALLY busy the next day, especially for a Friday. My plan of slipping away at lunch to the Property Assessors Office never materialized. Nancy Orman went by the bakery and bought me a sandwich which I swallowed whole between examinations. After finishing my last patient around four-thirty, I retreated to my office, hoping to make a quick dash to the courthouse before it closed at five. But as I gathered my things, the office door swung open and a lovely, familiar voice inquired, “is the doctor in?”
It was Christine.
She stood in the open doorway with her hand outstretched against the frame. Though unintended, her raised arm allowed her overcoat to drape wide and loose, revealing the alluring flow of the contours beneath it. Basic instincts alone immediately had me under her spell. But the effect was doubled by her adoring gaze which seemed to mask something rich and secretive; a musing expression of irrepressible affection. I was lost to her. The Property Assessors office was all but forgotten.
Putting my things aside, I stepped toward her. “Hello, gorgeous. How goes the razor’s edge life of elementary school?” She closed the door behind her and offered only a daunting grin. By instinctive habit, we embraced in a long, delightful kiss.
Afterward, she did something quite unusual. She walked behind my desk, removed her coat, and sat...rather authoritatively, in my chair. There was a mischievous grin on her face and a light of higher purpose flickering in her eyes. “So, how was work?” She inquired casually.
>
Following her lead, I plopped into one of the leather armchairs across from my desk. “Oh, you know. Just the routine hypochondriacs complaining about weird twitches, skin rashes, unusual body sounds, and the occasional speech impediment.”
“Glad to know you had a good day.”
“How was school?”
“It was good. I love my class. They’re a great bunch.”
I nodded. “As it should be. Anyway, this is a nice surprise. I’m guessing something’s on your mind.”
“I’ve got a great idea about a little side trip I want us to take tomorrow.”
“Be still my beating heart.”
She dropped her chin in reproach. “Careful, Bradford. Don’t make me put you in time out.”
“Is this where I make some nuanced remark about being spanked?”
"No. This is where you choose your words carefully, or you may have to spend some time in the principal's office. I've got a small adventure I want us to go on tomorrow. It's going to be a lot of fun."
“You mean fun as in more fun than talk like a pirate day?”
“Wow, Bradford. Epic failure on the whole ‘choose your words carefully’ thing.”
“Alright, pretty girl. I’m all ears.”
“In the morning, let’s drive down to Lawrenceburg and go antiquing.”
“I'm quite sure my expressionless face did not render the desired response. Try as I might, my answer was forced. "Okay. Sure. Anything, in particular, we're looking for?"
“No.”
I nodded thoughtfully, doing my best to mask my disinterest. But Christine knew me too well.
“Oh, come on, Luke, you’ll love it.” Her voice was annoyingly confident and instructional, a telling sign about how she saw this conversation ending.
“Love the idea of being with you. Not so sure about the whole antiquing thing.” I hesitated and made a quick glance to the side. “I mean, is antiquing even a real verb?”
Ever so slightly, Christine narrowed her eyes. “It is for this conversation. Do I need to explain to you what antiquing looks like?”
