Fall of the House of Crain

by Cindy Winget

“Thanks,” she told Eleanor as she took the items. “Sure you don’t want to come with me?” Theo asked, mostly for her own benefit. Hill House gave her the creeps, and she had the unnerving feeling that a person could get lost in here for days. She didn’t want to go alone.

  “We’re supposed to go separately,” Eleanor pointed out.

  “And you’re a good little girl who always does what she’s told.”

  “What?”

  “Come on!” Theo pleaded. “Dr. Montague doesn’t need to know.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Luke said, sauntering over.

  Theo groaned internally. Other than her roommate, she had never had many girlfriends. They were always too intimidated by her or worried she was going to steal their boyfriends. Come to think of it, Dorothy probably wasn’t even her friend anymore after the fight they had had before Theo left for Hill House.

  Women were constantly jealous of her good looks, without realizing how annoying it was to have men make passes at her when all she wanted was to be left to herself. Was it too much to ask to ride a streetcar or go to the market without every Tom, Dick, and Harry slobbering all over her? It was why she generally eschewed men altogether. More often than not, they wanted to neck in a dark corner, not have an actual conversation.

  “Come on,” she growled to Luke.

  Looking pleased with himself, Luke followed after her.

  “Where do you want to search first?” she asked him.

  “How about the kitchens and cellar? We didn’t see them on our tour.”

  That actually wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe this one had a brain after all. She nodded and they went in the general direction they suspected the kitchen should be.

  “You don’t like me very much, do you?” said Luke.

  Theo whipped her head in his direction. “What makes you say that?” Had she been that obvious?

  “I can sense these things.”

  “It’s not you. It’s all men.”

  “Oh good. I was worried that I would be offended,” he smirked.

  “Honestly,” said Theo, placing her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not you. I’m sure you’re swell. Listen. I am just over every shallow Harry thinking they can get with me all the time.”

  “I can understand that. Being quite the handsome devil that I am, I have that same problem constantly. It’s getting to the point where I can’t leave my house!”

  Theo gave a bark of laughter before quickly stifling it. She looked him up and down in mock appraisal. She was loath to admit—even to herself—that he actually was quite handsome. “I could see that.” She smiled.

  “Ah! Got you to smile.”

  Theo scowled at him. “Yes, well, it will be the last time.”

  They walked through a swinging door and into the kitchen. It was dark, lunch having already been served and dinner not due for a few hours.

  “Prop open the door so some light can come through from the hallway, will ya,” Theo said.

  Luke snapped his heels together smartly and saluted before grabbing a chair and pulling it over to the door.

  Theo rolled her eyes at his antics and went in search of the light switch.

  “It won’t stay open,” said a voice.

  Theo jumped, startled by the unexpected presence of Miss Dudley sitting at the small kitchen table by herself. “What are you doing there?”

  “Just taking a quiet moment to think…and listen,” explained Miss Dudley.

  “Listen?”

  Miss Dudley nodded. “I have been here a long time, Miss. If you stay still and silent, you can hear the former residents of Hill House.”

  She’s crazy.

  “Is that why you don’t stay at Hill House after dinner? Because of them?” asked Theo.

  Miss Dudley nodded. “We live over in town, six miles away. So there won’t be anyone around if you need help. We couldn’t even hear you, in the night. No one could. No one lives any nearer than that. In the night. In the dark.”

  O-kay.

  Not knowing how to respond to that, Theo asked instead, “What do you mean that it won’t stay open?”

  “The door,” Miss Dudley said by way of explanation. When Theo didn’t say anything, she continued, “All of the doors and windows of Hill House refuse to remain open. I’ve tried opening windows in order to air out the stuffier rooms, but they’re always shut upon my return. Every door closes behind you, whether it’s supposed to or not. Try and prop one open and the next moment it is inexplicably closed, and the object used is back in its place.”

  “What are we talking about?” asked Luke, who had just shown up at Theo’s side.

  “Miss Dudley was just telling me some more of the oddities of the house,” said Theo.

  “Is that right?” Luke turned to Miss Dudley, but she stood from the table and walked towards the back of the room.

  A blinding light assaulted Theo’s retinas as the light was turned on. Without another word, Miss Dudley left the kitchen.

  “The Dudleys are quite peculiar,” said Luke.

  Theo nodded. “Did you feel any cold spots on the way over?” she asked.

  “Nope. Not a one. I did feel a hot spot as I got closer to you.”

  “What do you mean? Did you really feel—” she broke off at the sly grin that appeared on Luke’s face. “Oh you!” she slapped his shoulder.

  Luke chuckled and took a turn about the room.

  With his attention elsewhere, Theo took the opportunity to admire his physique. He truly was nice to look at.

  “I don’t feel or see anything out of the ordinary in here, do you?” Luke asked, glancing her direction.

  Theo quickly looked away. “No,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “But Miss Dudley mentioned that she was listening to the former residents of the house.”

  “What? Like ghosts?”

  “I guess,” she said with a shrug.

  “That should make Dr. Montague happy.” Luke chuckled. “Should we tell him, or do you think he already knows about Miss Dudley’s beliefs?”

  “Hard to say.”

  Theo’s gaze landed on the door which they had entered through and found that it was closed. Had Miss Dudley closed it when she left? Somehow, Theo didn’t think so. Surely, she would have seen her close it, or at the very least, heard the scraping of the kitchen chair, which was back where it had been found.

  Feeling uneasy, she said, “Let’s go check the cellar.”

  The pair walked toward a narrow door at the far end of the kitchen that they thought most likely led to the cellar. Upon opening the door, Theo found herself facing a set of wide steps that led down into a dingy storeroom full of preserves and canned goods.

  Coughing the dust out of her lungs as they descended, she told Luke, “I don’t think this room gets used very often.” She coughed again in an attempt to clear her airways.

  As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Theo stepped to the side to make room for Luke, kicking up a cloud of fine dirt from the earthen floor. As she moved, she was startled by a meowing behind her. Turning, she found a large black cat sitting in the corner of the room, its tail twitching back and forth.

  How in the world had it gotten in here?

  The cat stared at her with a single bright yellow eye. The other was missing and remained closed; the slit looking red and livid. There was a white patch of fur on the feline’s neck and chest. It took Theo a moment to realize what the design reminded her of. A hangman’s noose. The cat licked its chops and then let forth a low, rumbling growl.

  Theo took a step away from it, fumbling in the dim room for Luke. When she made contact with his arm, she began to shake him. “L-Luke? What should we do about the cat? We can’t just leave it down here, but I hesitate to go near it. What if it has rabies or something?” She turned her gaze away from the feline and onto Luke’s fair face.

  Luke had picked up a jar of what appeared to be strawberry jam and was looking at the label. Without turning towards her he said, “Is it foaming at
the mouth?”

  “No.”

  “Then it doesn’t have rabies. Say, how long do you think this has been down here? I’d say a decade at least.” He grinned and held up the bottle of homemade jam.

  Ignoring his question, Theo said, “What if it’s feral?”

  Luke looked around the tight space. “What cat?”

  Theo glanced back at where the cat had reposed. It was gone. “It was right there! In the corner.”

  “Well, it wasn’t making any angry noises, so we’re probably fine. In any case, it’s gone now.”

  “What about when it growled?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The cat!” Theo said with exasperation. “Didn’t you hear it meow and hiss when we came in?”

  “No. I didn’t hear anything.”

  Theo began to look under the shelves but found no cat lurking in the shadows. It couldn’t have gotten past them and made its way to the stairs without at least one of them seeing it, could it?

  “Come on,” said Luke. “I don’t feel any cold spots down here either.”

  After one last glance around, Theo followed Luke out of the cellar.

  Chapter Nine

  Eleanor was loath to go anywhere near the library, so she headed in the opposite direction. She soon came upon a narrow staircase. Why hadn’t this been on the tour? Halfway up, Eleanor realized that this was probably the stairs used by the servants. This was soon confirmed when she came upon the servant’s quarters: home to a few quaint rooms, each furnished with only a small nightstand, a narrow bed, and a washstand. In the hall between these rooms, a few hooks jutted along one wall for coats and uniforms.

  At the end of the hallway, she discovered yet another narrow staircase and ascended it to the enormous attic. It easily could have fit her entire house. The ceiling was sharply gabled, and the rafters looked nearly rotted through. Eleanor idly wondered if there were leaks in the roof.

  She peered around and discovered rats’ nests and vermin droppings on and around the sheeted furniture that took up most of the space. Dust billowed up with each step she took, giving her a coughing fit. Obviously, Miss Dudley never cleaned up here. How could she possibly, thought Eleanor diplomatically, when there are so many rooms in Hill House to clean? Miss Dudley probably only made sure that the most used rooms were kept clean and left it at that. That was the most sensible thing to do.

  On one side of the room sat some old paintings, leaning up against one another along the wall. Eleanor walked to the nearest one and read the brass plaque screwed to the bottom of the frame.

  “Dorian Gray,” she mouthed to herself.

  The painting was of a young man. Handsome. Judging by his clothing—a short coat, showing off the white cuffs of his well-fitted shirt, and a red rose buttoned to his lapel—he was obviously well-off and lived sometime during the 1800’s. There was a pleasant look to his features, although there was something about the eyes that spoke of an inner cruelty.

  As Eleanor looked at the other paintings around it, she couldn’t mask the feeling that this Dorian Gray fellow was staring at her.

  After a moment, an oval shape stuffed in the corner caught Eleanor’s attention. Stepping closer to get a better look, she reached out her hand and pulled off the white sheet that obscured the object.

  Oh!

  It was a portrait of a beautiful young woman who sat upon an old-fashioned flowered chaise, her dainty hands folded in her lap as she smiled angelically at the painter. Her auburn hair was swept up into an elaborate updo with curling tendrils of hair framing her delicate face. Eleanor had at first mistaken her for a real person standing there, for the realism was uncanny, more like a photograph rather than a painting. The oval frame was covered in gold filigree and was in the Moorish style.

  Eleanor noticed a small book sitting next to the portrait upon a set of shelves, crowded with other knickknacks and caked with grime. On impulse, she picked up the tome, rubbing away the dust as she did so. She had never been able to resist the urge to open any book she saw. In delight, Eleanor sat upon a sheeted hard-backed chair and opened the book. It became immediately clear that it was a diary.

  May 13th, 1905

  Living at Hill House has been a dream. I find myself inundated with ideas and inspiration. My paintings have never come together with such ease. Mary Ann seems just as enchanted with the new home. She has been bustling around decorating the place and turning it into a home. She has loved trying new recipes and keeping house. She claims to want to be the perfect wife. I am constantly telling her that she is already perfect. She only rolls her eyes and continues to straighten pictures on the wall. They never seem to remain straight in this house. Although Hill House has its physical flaws, the man who built it seemingly being an eccentric man, we couldn’t be happier here. Perhaps the pitter patter of tiny feet will soon be ringing through the house. One can only hope.

  May 27th, 1905

  Two weeks have gone by and I have hit upon a dazzling idea. I should do a personal portrait of my dear Mary Ann. We could hang it above the mantlepiece in the main drawing room, for all to see. Mary Ann seems reluctant. I get the feeling she is embarrassed by so much attention centered on her. But I told her that I won’t stand for it. She is the lady of the house and she deserves to have her beauty immortalized.

  June 6th, 1905

  We had another fight wherein Mary Ann accused me of spending all my free time painting and she has hardly seen me except when she brings me my supper. She accused me of allowing my creative outlet to take over all my affection, leaving little for her. I countered by stating that if she sat for me, we would be spending hours upon hours together and she finally relented. There is a gorgeous tower room with plenty of natural light that I think will be just splendid for us to conduct our work.

  June 10th, 1905

  Mary Ann is being insufferable. She told me that she only agreed to sit for the portrait because she wants to make me happy and she thought it would bring us closer together, but she claims that I am becoming obsessed with my work…again. That the painting is taking over my life.

  What did she expect? It’s not my fault she must sit still and not talk. She knew that painting was my life before she agreed to marry me. If I can just capture her beauty, I could be done with the project and then I will do all I can to make her happy once again.

  I’m doing this as much for her as I am for myself. She will love the painting when it’s completed. How could she not? I am truly creating a masterpiece. I can scarce take my eyes from it, it’s so exquisite. Just wait. She’ll see soon enough. She will come to realize that the long hours of sitting were well worth it.

  July 28th, 1905

  I could not bear to write until now. How could I not see the signs? How could I have let this happen? I should have noticed how pale and gaunt she had become. How could I not have perceived her weakness and frailty? Was I truly so consumed by my work that I could not see her wasting away before my very eyes?

  With the last few strokes of my brush I had proclaimed, “This is indeed life itself!” ready and eager to show my darling bride her portrait only to glance up and see that she was gone. Taken from me, I know not how long ago. My lovely Mary Ann is dead! How will I go on without her?

  What a sad story! thought Eleanor, glancing once again at the portrait of the young woman. No longer did it hold the same awe-inspiring feeling for her, knowing the fate of the subject. The beauty that the portrait had struck in her was replaced by revulsion and anger for the painter. But there was one more entry, and she bowed her head to read it.

  August 12th, 1905

  It’s the house, I tell you! This house is cursed. I feel it. I sense it. I hear things…voices. Strange noises in the night. Hill House has eyes. It watches me as I live out my lonely days. Be warned, dear reader. Should anyone find this journal, let it be known that you are in grave peril. Leave this accursed place, before it’s too late!

  Eleanor flipped to the next page, but that was a
ll that was written. She stood and placed the book back upon the shelf. The poor man had obviously come unhinged. The grief he felt at his wife’s passing had been too great for him to bear.

  Remembering why she had come here, Eleanor began walking about the room, searching for cold spots. Although the room was drafty and cold in and of itself, she felt nothing like the phenomenon they had experienced in front of the nursery room. In time, she came back down the narrow staircase in pursuit of other places to search.

  She wandered aimlessly for a while, barely registering which rooms she entered. Endless dusty bedrooms later, she found herself in the library, though she had been trying to avoid it. Her eyes were drawn to the balcony at the top of the wrought-iron spiral staircase. What was it about this place that so disturbed her? There was a presence here, she was sure of it. Once again, she felt the feeling of being watched. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. She shivered, but not because she was cold. She hurried from the room.

  Feeling the need for some fresh air, she stumbled out the first exterior door she came across, which led out to the long verandah. Gulping in air, she attempted to calm her wildly thumping heart.

  She glanced up at the large stone tower where the library sat. As sometimes happened on long boring nights at home, her imagination ran unchecked and a clear picture formed in her mind. Flames licked at the wood of the verandah, running up the sides of the house. It crackled, sparked, and burned its way through Hill House until all that remained was a pile of ash being blown away on the wind. All except for the stone tower. She fancied that if all of Hill House were to burn to the ground, the library would remain standing.

  * * *

  Luke and Theo had been looking everywhere but couldn’t find Eleanor.

  “Where could she have possibly gone?” Theo asked him.

  Luke shrugged. “It’s a big house. Lots of places to hide.”