by Carrie Bates
Kristine sighed as she marched down the vestibule to the grand staircase. Most women her age would have used their parents’ inheritance to buy a house and settle down with their fiancé. Not Kristine. Marriage was the last thing on her mind. It occurred to her as she climbed her way up the staircase, that no other real estate agent in the area had dared touch the Roswell mansion. Kristine couldn’t help but find that curious. The house was practically a gold mine. With enough updates, the place would go up for, at the very least, twice its worth.
“Perhaps no one is willing to put the energy into updating this place,” Kristine concluded. She was young and ambitious, perhaps others just weren’t as eager as her.
Kristine scoped the bedrooms on the top floor of the house. Given her negative feelings toward large spaces, she wanted to stay in the bedroom that was the smallest in size. She found a petite third bedroom at the end of the hallway, just right of a tall, narrow window, displaying an excellent view of the neighborhood. Kristine grinned. She pictured a young, blooming family inhabiting this place. The room where she was staying would make a great room for a new baby.
In its current state, the house was only partly furnished. The furniture was rustic and would make an excellent juxtaposition to a fresh modern color palette. Of course, not all of the furniture would stay. Some pieces, however, were lovely accents and would preserve the house’s history. Kristine made a mental note to communicate these thoughts with the interior decorator she was meeting with tomorrow. For the time being, she had some unpacking to do.
It was late in the evening when Kristine had finally managed to get herself situated. Her room contained a basic metal bed frame―something that a previous owner had clearly left behind, as well as a three-piece set containing a wooden dresser and mirror, and two bedside tables. Kristine had brought an inflatable mattress, clothes, and the necessary toiletries for her stay. She would require a trip into the city to buy some groceries. Now that the sun was beginning to set, however, Kristine decided to call it a night. She showered, dressed herself in her favorite silk pajamas and proceeded to begin her nightly hair care routine.
She sat herself in an armchair that she had moved from the corner of the room to a position in front of the mirror, and began running a brush through her long, dark hair.
Chapter Two
Kristine’s hair was her pride and joy. It was her most stunning feature. The dark shining hair tumbled down her back like a waterfall, hitting her just at her hips.
“Twenty more,” she whispered to herself as she counted the number of times she ran the brush through her hair. In order to keep its smooth glossy consistency, Kristine had to run her hairbrush through her hair one hundred times. It wasn’t so much a ‘tip for obtaining luxurious hair’ as it was a compulsion. As a child, Kristine’s mother used to brush her hair for a lengthy amount of time each night. Kristine once counted the brush strokes and found that her mother consistently ran the brush through her hair one hundred times. Kristine remembered asking her mother why she insisted on brushing her hair for one hundred strokes every night. Her mother had responded that the brushing helped to bring shine and luster to her hair. The routine stopped shortly after Kristine’s thirteenth birthday. Perhaps, her mother figured Kristine was too old to participate in her mother’s hair care. Kristine continued the nightly tradition and found if she neglected to brush her hair one hundred strokes, she experienced anxiety.
The dresser and mirror were located on the back wall of the room, meaning there was a clear reflection of the room’s entrance displayed in the mirror. Kristine completed her final brush stroke, placing the brush on the surface of the dresser. As she returned her gaze to the mirror to admire her freshly brushed hair, she thought she saw a figure lingering in the doorway. The figure belonged to an old angular woman. Cruel deep lines ran from the corners of her nostrils to the ends of her mouth. Her eyes were so dark they appeared to have no pupils. She stared hungrily at Kristine, saliva bubbling over her lips. Kristine let loose a stifling scream. She tore her gaze from the mirror, shielding her vision with the palms of her hands.
“She’s not real. She’s not real. She’s not real.” Kristine repeated this phrase over and over in her head for what felt like hours. When she finally mustered up the courage to uncover her eyes, the harrowing woman had disappeared. “Oh, thank God!” Kristine breathed a sigh of relief.
First, she’d imagined the blonde-haired boy and now this?! Kristine struggled with anxiety, but… hallucinations?! Kristine shook her head. She was tired, that’s all. She climbed into bed, doing her best to wipe the strange apparitions from her mind. It wasn’t long before she fell into a deep undisturbed sleep.
***
“Pleasure to meet you, Kristine, my name is Brenda.” The interior decorator stood tall and polished on the extravagant, but faded, porch of the mansion. Kristine had awoken early that morning to prepare the house for Brenda’s arrival. She’d swept and scrubbed the floors clean of all ghastly hair particulates, as well as obtained a number of food items from a nearby grocery store.
“My, my, this place certainly is extraordinary, isn’t it?” the woman said, removing her sunglasses. “I feel as though I should be paying you for a tour of this place.” The woman grinned. Kristine laughed, politely.
“Lucky for you, tickets are free on Tuesdays,” she responded, aptly. Now it was Brenda’s turn to laugh politely.
“What sort of vibe are we going for here?” Brenda asked as she followed Kristine into the parlor.
“Well…” Kristine began.
“I’m thinking a real baroque but modern feel would be best,” Brenda interrupted. Apparently, she’d been asking herself the question.
“Yes, I agree,” Kristine said. She imagined most people agreed with Brenda, as Brenda probably didn’t leave them with much of a choice.
“Picture this,” Brenda declared, waving her hands dreamily before her, “we strip the walls of this foul paper, gloss them over in a warm toned ivory, and paper the back wall in a fresh version of this current pattern.” She tapped the dusty pink floral wallpaper. “I know a guy who can replicate this pattern,” she stated. “This way, we’re preserving the history of this house, but also tweaking the style to keep it current.”
Kristine nodded in accord. She was thankful both she and Brenda were on the same page. Brenda didn’t seem like the type of person who accepted ‘no’ for an answer. As Brenda continued to think aloud, Kristine noticed a clump of dark hair tumble across the floorboards.
“How in God’s name did that get there!” Kristine marveled. “I just cleaned the floors this morning!”
Unfortunately, Brenda, too, noticed the ball of hair. She eyed it peculiarly as it danced across the room. Kristine held her breath, waiting for Brenda to make a judgmental remark.
“Oh my God, that’s brilliant!” Brenda exclaimed. “A faux fur rug would tie this place together magnificently!” Kristine exhaled in disbelief. Brenda wasn’t at all disturbed by the massive clump of hair?! “Of course, it has to be faux fur. Everyone is vegan these days, so a genuine fur rug, although in keeping with the baroque theme, just won’t fly,” Brenda continued.
The remainder of the tour took up a larger portion of Kristine’s day than she would have liked. Brenda was brimming with ideas― all of which she insisted on sharing. As Brenda followed Kristine throughout the house, so did the ball of hair. Its presence was a constant distraction for Kristine. It was unsettling. Kristine was glad when Brenda was finally standing back on the porch, ready to leave.
“Well, Kristine, I’ll be in touch with my people. I’ll give you a call once I’ve put together a quote. We’ll get lattes. Ciao!” Brenda returned her oversized sunglasses to her face and strutted away. Part of Kristine wanted to see Brenda trip down the steps as she left.
Immediately following Brenda’s departure, Kristine swept up the disgusting bundle of hair and disposed of it in the garbage. Although it worried Kristine to think that that much hair
had been lost from her own head, it worried her even more to think that it had come from someone else’s.
Chapter Three
The humidity was suffocating. Kristine could feel it wrapping itself around her neck like a boa constrictor. Not even the iced lemonade she was sipping could cool her down. Perspiration clung to her hair and welled beneath her breasts. Clearly, the air conditioning in the house needed to be redone. The air conditioning wasn’t the only thing that required updating. Kristine was currently seated in the parlor reviewing the house’s electrical blueprint. She planned on calling an electrician and getting the wiring redone for safety purposes.
Kristine blinked, sweat dripping into her eyes. She was in desperate need of a shower. Her body was coated in a sticky dew, making her uncomfortable and distracted. She promised herself she would take a shower promptly after calling an electrician. She slid her hand into the pocket of her shorts to retrieve her phone, when suddenly an explosive crash shook the building. Kristine gasped, startled. The sound originated from the kitchen. It sounded as though a stack of dishware had collapsed to the floor. Fearing the worst, Kristine abandoned the electrical blueprint to inspect the kitchen. Perhaps, one of the cupboards affixed to the wall had fallen from its hangers.
Kristine’s hands flew to her mouth in shock when she saw the state of the kitchen. The cupboard doors were wide open, exhibiting empty shelves. On the floor were shards of broken china. They glinted fiercely in the light of the sun beaming through the windows. Despite the chaotic mess of broken plates, teacups, and bowls strewn across the floor, the table was set rather neatly. Kristine’s guts wriggled with unease. There was a substance frothing in each of the bowls that was set at the table. The stew bubbled and belched as if alive. Kristine knew it was foolish to enter the kitchen. Someone had just entered the house and trashed the place. She ought to call the police! She would, of course… right after she determined what had been concocted over the stove.
The mystery glop that was currently living in the last of the china bowls had come from a great stainless steel pot that sat simmering on the stove top. Kristine inched toward the pot, being careful to avoid nicking her toes on the bits of china. She peered into the pot and was met with a smell so sickening, she instantly felt nauseous. Worm-like pieces of kinky human hair floated in the stew. It smelt of rotting flesh. As Kristine looked closer, she saw torn fingernails with bits of bloodied skin still attached. Kristine wretched and stumbled backwards from the stove. Her vision went fuzzy, and her knees weakened. She was going to faint. As her body fell, Kristine recalled with horror the shards of china on the floor. She would surely be impaled. The fall passed in a decreased form of time; everything was happening in slow motion. Before losing consciousness, Kristine saw an elderly woman standing by the stove. Her face was shielded by the colossal ladle she held in her weathered hands. She slurped rudely on the stew, sighing with satisfaction as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
The manic woman made eye contact with Kristine just then. Her eyes were like two pieces of coal. The dark circles burned deviantly, boring holes through Kristine’s soul. The woman hissed, barbarically, chewing and tearing at her own fingernails until there was nothing left of her fingertips but gory stumps.
Kristine blacked out. All sensations were gone, save for her hearing. The mournful cry of a bereaved woman echoed in the darkness.
“Where’s my Will?!” the voice sobbed. “My baby is gone!”
Other distraught voices tangled with the woman’s. They were all grieving mothers lamenting the loss of their children. The anguished choir ate through Kristine’s mind like a parasite through a dog’s heart. The voices continued to grow louder and more violent. The crying became shrieking, and the words were shouted with an emotional intensity that made them incoherent. The pain in Kristine’s head became unbearable. Her skull cracked, and her mind oozed pity for the woebegone souls. Her empathy for them caused her to unhinge her jaw and let loose a scream of her own…
***
Kristine bolted upright in bed, wailing and drenched in sweat. She’d had a night terror. Her satin pajamas clung to her clammy skin like plastic wrap to a wet cucumber. She cried, wishing her mother was still alive to comfort her.
“It wasn’t real, Kristine,” she reassured herself. “It was a horrible nightmare. That’s all.” Kristine took a deep breath in through her nose, and released it slowly through her mouth. Breathing this way helped Kristine control moments of panic. After a series of calm, even breaths, Kristine could feel her heart rate decelerating. She checked the time on her phone and found that it was nearly 5 am. Having hushed her hysteria, Kristine decided to wash the film of dried perspiration from her body by taking a long soothing bath.
The large, footed tub was a comforting sight for Kristine. She’d always thought of tubs as being underwater beds. The warm water was as cozy as a warm blanket. As she watched the water accumulate in the tub, she tried to place the woman she’d seen in her dream. The craggy face was somehow familiar to Kristine. Had she bumped into this woman at the grocery store the other day? Perhaps the woman’s face belonged to an investor who was interested in purchasing the mansion.
Kristine peeled her perspiration stained pajamas from her body and climbed into the tub. The warm water embraced her. She almost felt as though she was being hugged. A comforting thought struck Kristine, her wet hair would give her an excuse to perform her hair brushing routine.
“Wait a minute,” Kristine thought. She suddenly remembered where she’d seen the woman before. “Oh, God!” she whimpered. The wicked old lady in her nightmare was the same woman she’d seen watching her as she brushed her hair.
Chapter Four
After the startling night terror, Kristine didn’t bother to even attempt going back to sleep. Instead, she fixed herself an early breakfast and made a list of tasks she wished to accomplish for the day. The first task on her list was to make an appointment with an electrician. That part of her dream was accurate; Kristine did need to have an electrician fix the wiring in the house. The air conditioning was also on her list. The house wasn’t as stifling as her dream made it out to be, however, Kristine had the air set to 77 degrees Fahrenheit and still found her surroundings warmer than she would have liked. One thing she didn’t have to worry about updating were the kitchen appliances. The stove, dishwasher and fridge had all been replaced within the last five years. Kristine shuddered as she glanced at the stove. The image of the colossal pot boiling over with human hair and nails returned to her mind. She groaned. Why couldn’t this dream be like the dreams that disappear from the memory banks almost immediately upon waking up?
Kristine took her morning coffee and wandered out onto the porch. Perhaps some fresh air would help clear the distressing images from her mind. The porch stretched around the house like a moat around a castle. Currently, the porch was furnished with a glass-topped table and some cheap plastic chairs. Brenda had mentioned something about installing a hammock, as well as a string of classy lights around the top beams of the porch for a romantic ambiance.
Kristine’s phone vibrated atop the glass table. The vibration caused the table to chatter noisily. The sound made Kristine jump, causing her to almost spill her coffee.
“Speak of the devil,” Kristine uttered to herself. Brenda was calling. It was a quarter after seven in the morning―a little early to be making a call. Kristine deduced that Brenda was a morning person. She’d also deduced that Brenda was a tad self-absorbed.
“Hello?” Kristine answered.
“Hiya, Kristen,” Brenda greeted. She, of course, got Kristine’s name wrong. Kristine didn’t think it worth her breath to correct Brenda. Brenda didn’t seem like the type of person to make note of people’s names.
“Hi, Brenda,” Kristine returned the pleasantry, although it wasn’t altogether pleasant coming from Brenda. “Have you managed to get in touch with…”
“I talked to my people and put together a quote for all the furniture, painting, w
allpapering, renovations… yadaa, yadaa. Meet me at The Caffeine Corner in fifteen to go over everything. Kay?” Brenda yammered.
“Uh, sure, sounds―”
“Great! Ciao!”
Kristine rolled her eyes and huffed. Finishing a sentence with Brenda was like winning the lottery; it just didn’t happen that often.
***
Kristine had only been to The Caffeine Corner a handful of times. It was, for the most part, an overpriced café with average quality coffee. Most of the café’s clientele were vegan hipsters with too much money. Kristine could scarcely read the menu. The majority of the items contained ‘all natural’ ingredients, of which she’d never heard.
Having purchased the simple order of a small coffee, Kristine took a booth next to the door in anticipation of Brenda’s arrival. Naturally, Brenda arrived ten minutes late sporting a pair of designer sunglasses and matching heels.
“I’ll take a tall skinny latte with almond milk, hold the froth,” she said to a heavily mustached man wearing his company hemp-constructed apron. Latte in hand, Brenda spotted Kristine immediately.
“Good morning,” she declared, flipping her sunglasses to her head. Kristine couldn’t help but notice Brenda’s freshly manicured fingernails. She wondered if Brenda’s tardiness was due to her appointment at the nail salon. Her fingers certainly weren’t that shade of scarlet the last time they’d met.
