There were no construction sites, no tear-downs here: the handsome old houses, designed by architects to appeal to their well-heeled clients, had retained their value into the twenty-first century.
She stopped the car in front of one she named after its most striking feature, a rounded, tower-like end construction topped by a roof peaked like a witch’s hat. She stared up at it, trying to remember why it made her feel uneasy, but the memory would not be caught.
Ruby breathed heavily on the back of her neck. ‘What are you looking at, Mrs Madison’s Nanny?’
Madison chimed in: ‘What do you see? I just see a house.’
‘The tower house. Sit back, please.’ She drove on.
‘What’s the tower house?’
‘That’s what I called it. It used to fascinate me. That tower appealed to my imagination, I guess. It didn’t seem to belong to the world I live in; it was more like something from an old book, a fairy tale or a fantasy. I wondered what might be inside, and what sort of people lived there.’
‘Did you go there for trick-or-treat?’
Her stomach gave a queasy lurch. ‘Of course not.’
‘Why not?’
‘I would,’ said Ruby.
‘It was across the boulevard, and we weren’t allowed to walk that far. We didn’t know the people who lived over here,’ she explained, as she reached the intersection.
‘I’ll ask Gamma to take me there tonight. She will. I’ll find out who lives there – maybe a witch!’ Gasping with excitement, Ruby clutched at Madison. ‘You too! Madison’s Nanny, can she please come trick-or-treating with us?’
‘Please, Nanny!’
Lane had not yet crossed the boulevard, although there was no reason to wait, with no other vehicle in sight. ‘Sweetheart, you’re going to a party—’
‘I don’t want to. I want to go trick-or-treating with Ruby.’
‘You’ll have to ask your mom. And Ruby will have to ask her grandmother.’
‘She’ll say yes, I know she will! You can meet my brother and my cousins,’ Ruby said.
Lane spotted Bobbi’s silver Lexus and pulled into the driveway behind it. Bobbi was waiting at the door. ‘What took y’all so long?’
Ruby clutched at her grandmother. ‘She showed us the tower house. Can we go there tonight? Can Madison come trick-or-treating with us?’
Startled, Bobbi met Lane’s eyes. ‘The tower house? You told them that story?’
‘Gamma, can she? What story? Can we go trick-or-treating at the tower house?’
‘No story,’ said Lane quickly. ‘I just wanted to see if it was still there.’
‘Of course it’s still there.’
‘My old house isn’t.’
Bobbi winced. ‘I should have warned you.’
‘Gamma, Gamma, please? Please can she come?’
Bobbi looked at Lane, who shrugged. ‘I told Madison she’ll have to ask her mother.’
‘Phone,’ said Madison, with an imperious thrust of her hand towards her grandmother.
Lane handed over her cell. ‘Do you know your number?’
She frowned. ‘Don’t you have us in your contacts?’
‘Of course – your mom’s cell is under “Kate” but your landline—’
She’d already found what she wanted. ‘Mommy? It’s me. Can I – may I please go trick-or-treating with Ruby tonight? Her granny says it’s okay. Ruby. What? Yes, she’s here. – but can I? Okay, okay.’ She handed the phone to Lane.
‘Where are you? What on earth is going on? Who’s Ruby?’
Slowly, carefully, but as succinctly as she could, Lane explained.
‘She’s talking?’ Kate’s voice was hushed, reverential.
Lane couldn’t help smiling, as smug as if it was her own doing. ‘She and Ruby hit it off right away – like best pals already.’ She watched Madison put her arm around Ruby’s waist, saw the other girl reciprocate with a friendly squeeze. ‘Wait till you see.’
‘I didn’t know you still knew anybody here. Where do they live?’
‘Not far. Actually, it’s the same neighbourhood I lived in when I was Madison’s age.’
There were a few more questions, Kate needing to be reassured, but the outcome was never in doubt. Madison did not want to go to the school Halloween party, and this alternative, the appearance of a new friend, was a godsend.
Lane stowed her phone away and followed the others inside. It was a strange experience, to be inside a house with the very same design and floor-plan as her childhood home; it struck her like a weird sort of déjà vu. Even the furniture was familiar – maybe Bobbi had inherited it from her parents. In the kitchen, there was a lunchtime feast of cold, succulent Gulf shrimp to be eaten with either red sauce or Thousand Islands dressing, a mound of fresh salad, saltine crackers, grapes and apples.
‘Tell us the story about the tower house,’ Ruby commanded once the ice tea had been poured and they were sitting around the table.
‘What story? I don’t know any stories.’
‘Oh, you liar,’ Bobbi drawled, and cackled before addressing the children: ‘This lady used to tell stories all the time – scared me half to death, some of them. The one about the tower house was really weird. And she swore it was true. Most of the time I didn’t believe it, when she said that, but that story I believed. I kind of had to.’
The girls stared at Lane, open-mouthed, eyes gleaming. ‘Tell us!’
Not since her own daughter had grown out of make-believe had Lane known such an eager audience. She shook her head. ‘Sorry. I don’t remember.’
‘I do.’ Bobbi’s look was a challenge. ‘Go on – you can tell it much better than me.’
Lane mimed helplessness.
‘Well, okay then.’ Bobbi cleared her throat and began. ‘As I recall, an old, old lady lived in that house, all by herself. One summer, all her grandkids came to stay. There were seven of them. She was too old to keep up with them, so she told the older ones to watch the little ones. The house was big, and she said they could play anywhere, outside or inside, with one exception. They were not allowed to go into the tower room, and never, ever go near the big wooden chest in that room.’
Smiling slyly, Bobbi glanced at the girls. ‘Well, you know what kids are like, don’t you? Do they ever do what they’re told?’
‘I do,’ murmured Madison, but Ruby grinned proudly, shaking her head. ‘I don’t.’
‘That’s what these children were like. Too curious for their own good. At first, the older ones kept the younger ones in line, but one day, one of the little boys was bored and he decided to go into that tower and see what was there. The only thing in a big empty room was this big old carved wooden chest.’
‘Carved how?’
‘With designs and things. Pictures of animals and people. The little boy traced these pretty carvings with his finger and made up stories about them until he got bored again and decided to see if there was anything to play with in the chest. So he lifted up the lid and looked in, but it was too dark and the chest was too big, and finally he just had to get inside and feel around and then, while he was sitting there, the lid came down, slowly and quietly. And nobody ever saw that little boy again.’
‘Did he yell? Did he scream? Couldn’t he push it up again and get out?’
Bobbi shook her head.
‘Why didn’t they look for him?’
‘Oh, they did. They did at first. And his favourite sister went on looking even when the others had given up. And one day she went into the tower room – for about the tenth time – all by herself, and she lifted up the lid of the chest that none of them were supposed to touch, and she could see that it was empty, but just to make sure, she climbed inside, to check that there wasn’t a secret compartment, or another way to get out, and slowly and quietly, the lid closed down.’
‘No!’
‘She had been such a quiet girl that they hardly noticed she was gone, and, after a while, they forgot about her.’
; ‘No!’
‘And one day, they were all playing hide and seek, and one little kid went to hide in the chest in the tower room, thinking that nobody would ever find her there – and she was right. And another time, two of them went into it together, thinking, you know, they would protect each other, but again the same thing happened. Finally there was just one girl left, and she meant to be good and mind her grandmother, but one night she was dreaming about her missing cousins, and she got out of bed and went walking in her sleep to the tower, and opened the chest and climbed inside.’
She stopped speaking. The girls stared at her ‘But the parents? Why didn’t the grandmother call the police? What happened?’
Bobbi speared a large shrimp, dunked it in the red sauce and ate it. ‘Lane made it up. Ask her.’
‘I didn’t make it up,’ said Lane. It had come back to her while she listened. ‘I used to tell you stories I’d read – I never made them up myself. That one was written by Walter de la Mare. Back then I thought it was a ghost story, but now I realise . . . He called it “The Riddle”, which gives you a clue – really, it was more of an allegory. About memory and the passage of time. The old lady’s thoughts were drifting, she remembered the child she had been, her friends, maybe her own children, even grandchildren, now all grown up and lost, the way time takes everyone.’
They all stared at her blankly.
‘Ruby, don’t play with your food; eat that shrimp, or leave the table.’
‘Can we go trick-or-treating at the tower house?’ asked Ruby.
Bobbi shook her head. ‘Forget it.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s too far, for one thing—’
‘It’s not.’
‘And I don’t know who lives there.’
‘Please.’
‘It’s nicer to go to the neighbours who know you – or know me, anyway.’
‘Please, Gamma, please, pretty please can we go to the tower house?’
‘No. I said no, and I mean it. Now stop nagging and finish your lunch.’
Lane thought that was the end of it, but after the children had left the room Bobbi suddenly asked, ‘So what did happen in the tower house?’
‘What?’
‘Were you just pretending, to scare me? After you came out. Why wouldn’t you talk about it?’
A sense of unreality swept over her, the opposite of déjà vu. ‘I never went inside that house.’
Bobbi laughed scornfully. ‘This is me you’re talking to, remember. I saw you with my own eyes.’ Reading the bafflement on Lane’s face, she slowly shook her head. ‘Really? How could you forget?’
‘Why would I go into a stranger’s house?’
‘Because I dared you.’
Suddenly it made sense. They’d played the ‘dare’ game for a year or more, and some of Bobbi’s challenges would make any parent quail. ‘Honestly, I don’t remember anything about it.’
‘I could never forget,’ Bobbi said emphatically. ‘I can practically see the look on your face now. And the way you told the story—’
‘How?’
‘You went into the house, and you met a girl – older than us – who told it to you. All her brothers and sisters and cousins had disappeared into the tower room, and she was afraid to go in to look for them by herself, so you agreed to help. She led you up a winding staircase into the tower room, which was empty except for this big old chest, and while you watched, she opened it and climbed inside, and the lid came down.
‘You rushed right over and opened it immediately but she was gone! You were leaning in, looking, trying to figure it out but afraid to lean in too far in case you fell inside yourself. It looked completely empty. Then you heard a soft voice speaking behind you, a high old lady voice saying, “Go in, go in” and you looked around and saw this little old lady – she was only little and frail looking, but you were sure she meant to try to push you in, so you ran out past her, down the stairs and outside.
‘Laney, you were scared. You were as white as a sheet. It was obvious something had happened to you. You really don’t remember?’
‘When is this supposed to have happened?’
‘I don’t remember the exact date. We were eleven. It was the last time we ever played dares. You told me that was the last dare, and you’d won, and I couldn’t argue. You’d never talked to me like that before. And afterwards, you were . . . different.’ She turned her head sharply. ‘What was that?’
‘Sounded like a door slam.’
‘Ah, that will be Ruby giving Madison the grand tour of the backyard. Coffee?’
‘Sure.’
Lane wanted to ask her more about that long-ago dare, but was wary of showing too much interest in something that might be a hoax. If she had gone into a stranger’s house and seen something that frightened her, surely she would remember it? She didn’t quite trust Bobbi, and thought her story might be a Halloween trick to pay her back for all the times Lane had scared her with ghost stories when they were children. And yet, there must be some reason for the hold the tower house had on her imagination. Maybe it would come back to her.
They talked about their children and jobs as the coffee brewed, and then Bobbi remembered she had made chocolate chip cookies. ‘I’ll call the girls.’
There was no response from the house, or the backyard.
The front yard was a small, bare, open patch of grass and flower beds, with nowhere to hide. Before the echoes of her own voice calling could die away, Bobbi was walking briskly down the street. Fearful and sick at heart, Lane hurried after.
There was no need for discussion; they had the same idea of where the girls had gone. The only question was what route they had taken, and how far ahead they were.
‘Maybe we should take the car?’
But turning back, the search for keys, seemed a promise of more delay. Bobbi was power-walking; Lane had to break into a run to catch up to her.
At every corner they paused just long enough to peer down each street, hoping to spot two small figures, but they saw no one except a boy doing lonely wheelies on his bicycle, who shrugged when asked about two little girls, and a man raking leaves, until at last they reached the boulevard.
At the corner of Azalea, Bobbi gasped, ‘Ruby!’ and Lane squinted against the sun and made out the solitary, diminutive figure dressed in black.
‘Where’s Madison?’ Despite her pounding heart, Lane sprinted forward, intent on grabbing the little girl and shaking the answer out of her, but Bobbi was in her way.
‘Don’t you ever, ever go off like that without telling me! You are in trouble, young lady, big trouble – no treats for you tonight.’
‘Where’s Madison?’
Looking scared, the little Goth pointed at the tower house.
‘She went inside? When? How long—’ Then she saw Madison stumbling down the walk, a wobble in her course suggesting she’d been forcibly ejected from the house. Lane rushed and caught hold of the child. She was shivering. Freckles stood out boldly on cheeks otherwise drained of color, her eyes were wide and staring.
‘Sweetheart, I’m here, it’s all right, you’re safe now – oh, what happened? What happened, what did you think you were doing, you silly girl?’ She jabbered, a mixture of fear and relief driving her questions and not allowing her to pause and wait for answers. ‘Come on, let’s go, you can tell us all about it later.’ It seemed imperative to get away from this house as far and as fast as possible. Bobbi must have felt the same, for she was already nearly at the end of the street, hustling Ruby along.
Madison moved slowly, leaning on her grandmother and dragging her feet as if the force of gravity were too much. Lane felt wildly impatient, but the child was too big to lift and carry. Then, just as they made it across the boulevard, Madison swooned, and Lane only just managed to catch her dead weight before she hit the ground.
‘No! Oh, Madison, wake up,’ she groaned, but it was no good, she had fainted.
They sat, the woman supporting the
child, like a living pieta on a stranger’s front lawn for perhaps as long as a minute before Madison stirred and sat up.
‘Sweetie, what happened? Are you all right? What happened? Can you remember?’
Too many questions, but Lane couldn’t help herself. ‘Honey, tell me, please.’
The little girl opened and closed her mouth a few times before she whispered, ‘Save her.’
‘What?’ She bent closer to catch the faint, breathy little voice.
‘She’s in the box. Save her.’
‘Who?’
But Madison only struggled to her feet and together they walked back to the house on Cranberry Street, where they found Bobbi waiting anxiously, half-in, half-out of the front door. ‘Is she okay?’
‘I don’t know. She fainted.’
‘Come in; what shall we do? Water? Juice?’
‘She’s cold; could you get a blanket?’ Esconced on the couch, cocooned in a fluffy blue blanket, Madison shut her eyes and relaxed. She fell asleep at once, her breathing shallow but steady.
‘Probably best we let her rest,’ said Bobbi, looking down with a worried frown before trailing Lane back to the kitchen. Lane picked up her purse. ‘You’re not going?’
‘If I can leave her with you; she needs rest. I won’t be long.’
‘You’re going back there?’
‘I need to know what happened. I’ll talk to whoever lives there, get their story.’
Bobbi stopped her at the door. ‘Wayne will be back at five, he’ll go with you.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘Call the police.’
‘And say what, my granddaughter entered a stranger’s house and when she came out said . . .’ Lane shut her mouth and turned away. ‘No. I need to find out if there is a reason to call the police, or if it’s just . . . kids fooling around.’
‘What did she say?’
‘A girl in a box.’ Lane shook her head, scowling. ‘That story.’
Best British Short Stories 2018 Page 20
