A Family Affair: A Novel of Horror (7 page)

But they did not serve any food. They kept right on with the pantomime of eating what they had already, or rather, what they did not have. All of them pretended to eat, that is, except Jennifer and one other member of the group.

With a sense of genuine relief, Jennifer stole a glance at the young girl beside her on her left. She was scarcely more than a child, pretty in a china doll fashion; her skin incredibly white, like fine marble, and her hair a blue black cloud that framed a face of almost heartbreaking sweetness. And, most endearing of all from Jennifer's point of view, she was the only one at the table, except for Jennifer herself, who was not taking part in the joke. She sat without touching her utensils, staring idly down at her empty plate.

“The poor child is probably starving,” Jennifer thought; then she did something quite impulsive and most unusual for her. She reached over and gently placed her hand upon one of the girl's hands.

The girl jumped, startled, and turned to look at her. Jennifer winked—a quick wink, just enough to let the child know that she understood what was going on, and that she appreciated the girl's refusal to take part in it. They exchanged quick, conspiratorial smiles.

“You're not eating,” Aunt Christine said unexpectedly, interrupting their silent exchange.

“We're not hungry,” Jennifer answered calmly for both of them. There, she thought, score one up for her. Now they knew that she didn't care that much for their silly game.

“In fact,” she added on an impulse, “I wonder if you would just excuse me.”

She pushed her chair back, noting the dust with disgust, and rose quickly without waiting for anyone to excuse her. Whatever their purpose was, she had suffered quite enough of it for one morning. If neither Aunt Christine nor her husband would see that she got her car back, she would look after it herself. After all, so far as she knew upon reflection, the car was not really stuck in the mud. It had simply stalled on her after the unexpected dunking. There was every likelihood that it would start by this time, now that it had dried out.

If that were the case, she could quite easily just drive away, without help from anyone. She had made up her mind that she did not care to spend another night in Kelsey House. She did not like it any more than she liked her new found relatives.

She went into the hall and started toward the stairs to go up. But she stopped at the foot of the stairs. She had a glimpse of a woman on the landing, disappearing out of sight around the turn there.

“There's no getting away from them,” Jennifer thought with annoyance. She placed her foot on the first step and stopped again. She had left the occupants of Kelsey House at breakfast; no one had left the table before her. So who was this she had just glimpsed, mounting the stairs before her? The white robe was no help; they all dressed alike, and she had not seen the face, only the long, dark hair flowing down the back. But it could not be any of those she had already met.

She remembered then the footstep outside the dining room door, that had come and gone, and Aunt Christine's explanation that there was another person in the house whom she had not yet met.

It occurred to her at once that here was someone who had taken no part in the cruel joke the others were playing at her expense. Here, perhaps, was an ally, someone who could help her find her way back to her car.

“Wait,” she called aloud, but above she heard a rustling that faded into the distance as the woman went on.

The long dark hair; she had a sudden vision of the mysterious visitor in her room last night. She had not seen the visitor's face, but she had seen the long dark hair flowing over her robe. She had noticed it and remembered it because it was so like her mother's hair had been, although ordinarily her mother had worn hers up. But at night it had been down, dark and flowing, its color and lustre refusing to fade despite advancing years.

She had found her intruder. Whoever the woman was who had just disappeared up the stairs, this unnamed house guest, she was the same who had so boldly made her way into the bedroom the night before. Why, Jennifer wondered?

Her heart pounding, Jennifer raced up the stairs, rounding the turn at the landing. She wanted to meet this other woman, wanted to see her face to face, and enlist her aid if she could.

She hurried to the top of the stairs, in time to catch only another glimpse of the stranger, at the far end of the hall, going through a door.

“Oh wait, please,” she called impatiently, but the woman was gone. Jennifer quickly went along the length of the hall, frightened without quite knowing why, but eager to catch up to the mysterious stranger.

All of the doors were closed but one, and beyond that door was another stairway, not like the sweeping graceful stairs that led from the main hall downstairs to the second floor, but a narrow spiraling tunnel that led sharply upward. Jennifer remembered the turret, the little tower that rose over the rest of Kelsey House. These stairs undoubtedly went up to the turret

The stairs lay in shadows, and she saw nothing, but just as she paused at the bottom, a door above creaked noisily on its hinges. This was the door, then, through which the woman had gone.

“Well, she can't go any farther,” Jennifer told herself, starting up. She reached the top, and she was in a small, round room; and it was empty.

Before her another door stood open, and through it she could see the blue of the sky outside. She crossed the room and looked out. A narrow wooden walkway circled about the turret and beyond its rusted railings was the lawn at the front of Kelsey House, sweeping smoothly down toward the woods, and in the distance were the woods themselves, brilliant already with autumn colors.

A flash of white just out of the range of her vision caught her eye. She looked off to the side. There was no one to be seen, but she was sure the woman was there, hidden from her sight by the curve of the turret.

Of all the silly things, Jennifer thought, stepping out onto the walkway. Why is she running and hiding herself like this? I'm no threat to anyone.

The wood creaked and sagged beneath her feet, and she took hold of the narrow rail that provided the only barrier between her and the fall to the ground far below. She started slowly forward, the sharp curve of the structure hiding from her any clue of what lay ahead. There was nothing but the little space in which she moved, one cautious step at a time.

She paused once, looking down, and was surprised to see the family below. They were all there, so far as she could tell at a glance, on the distant lawn, staring up at her. Unmoving, they watched her move.

But how on earth had they known she was up here? Why had they left their “breakfast” to come to the lawn and observe her? And why were they watching her in that intent fashion?

Her eyes on them, fascinated and puzzled by their appearance, she inched slowly forward, continuing around the turret. Their gazes followed her.

Suddenly the walkway was gone. She brought her foot down to find nothing but air beneath it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

With a little scream she fell against the wall, clinging to it, her heart in her throat. She had not yet brought her weight down upon that foot; had she done so, she would certainly have fallen to her death. There, just in front of
her, the platform on which she had been walking suddenly ended. The wood had rotted and fallen away long ago. Another step, and she would have walked over its edge, falling to the ground before the very eyes of the people watching below.

Trembling, she inched her way backward, afraid to turn about until she felt the framing of the doorway behind her, and she was through it, back safely into the little round turret room. Her breath came in rapid, uneven gasps, and her heart still pounded at a frantic pace.

I might have been killed, she told herself, trembling anew as the thought came to her. I could have fallen and broken my neck. And no one had tried to stop her or warn her; not one person had raised a hand to save her life. They had all stood on the lawn far below and watched her make her way forward, knowing what lay before her, and knowing that she would surely fall.

In those few moments Jennifer's fright at what had nearly happened to her had erased any other considerations from her mind. As the first shock waves receded, she thought of something else. The woman, the stranger she had been following; what had happened to her?

She had not fallen; there was no sign of a body sprawled upon the lawn, as there certainly would be. And she could not have gone on around the turret, without walking on air.

Or had she even been out there? Jennifer wondered. Had she even been in the turret? The dust here looked undisturbed, as if no one had been here in years. Indeed, all of the house looked the same way.

Had Jennifer deceived herself into thinking the woman had come this way, tricked into that belief by an open door below, and a creaking one above?

She looked about again. There was no other way out of this room save for the little walkway outside. The woman could not have been here at all. She had gone through another door of the many along the hall, and left the entrance to the stairs open as a decoy.

Jennifer made her way down the spiraling stairs to the floor below, and carefully closed the door after herself, lest someone else make the same mistake she had. Aunt Christine was just hurrying along the hallway toward her.

“The turret is rather dangerous,” Aunt Christine greeted her as she approached. “We never use it these days.”

Jennifer looked at her for a moment without replying. Then, still saying nothing, she went by her and let herself into her own room, and locked the door.

She had nearly been killed, and no one had cared. Indeed, if anything, they had seemed quite fascinated by the show, as it seemed to be for them.

For the second time, Jennifer realized that she might be in danger here, surrounded by a houseful of madness.

“I must get away from here,” she told herself, and immediately asked, “But how?”

* * * *

“Jennifer, it's time for lunch,” Aunt Christine called from the hall,

Jennifer remained stubbornly silent, her eyes on the door. After a time she saw the knob turn as Aunt Christine tried the door and found it locked.

“Jennifer,” Aunt Christine called again.

This is silly, Jennifer told herself. I'm not hurting anyone but myself by sitting here and pouting. She half rose to answer the door, then seated herself again on the bed. No, it would do them good to worry about her. Maybe they wouldn't think their little game was so funny if they thought she really was going to starve, and they might have a corpse on their hands.

After a little while she heard Aunt Christine moving away down the hall. Jennifer opened her purse and again removed the letter that she had originally received from Aunt Christine. She had been studying it most of the morning already.

Take Bellen Road off Peters Road...but that still didn't tell her anything about where she was. She had been driving north, and then west—no, east, because the sun had been behind her when it set. And then she had gone right; or had it been left?

It was impossible. Her mind seemed to be refusing to function as it should. She seemed at moments to be no longer in possession of her faculties, as though someone else had taken control of her reasoning processes. It was like being someplace that you knew, but in a thick fog, so that even familiar objects took on a strange appearance and nothing seemed quite what it should be.

She put a hand to her forehead. The strain was beginning to tell on her, that was all it was. If she had something to eat....

She sat upright, dropping the letter from her hands. The doorknob had turned again. Someone was trying the door.

“Aunt Christine?” she called aloud. The knob stopped turning, but there was no answer. Someone outside in the hall had tried the door and found it locked.

“Aunt Christine?” she called again. Still only silence came back to her.

More puzzled than frightened, she stood and crossed the room to the door, listening. No sounds; nothing to tell her if her visitor had gone or was waiting on the other side of the door; waiting...for what?

Again the knob turned slowly, noisily. Jennifer found herself staring at it as though hypnotized by its circling motion. She knew the door was locked and yet she found herself waiting for it to open, to swing on its hinges and reveal the intruder to her.

“Who's there?” she called aloud, forcing herself from her immobility. She would not stand there like a frightened ninny and let just anyone intrude upon her privacy. Someone must give her an explanation, or she would go mad.

She turned the key, despite trembling fingers, unlocking the door. For a moment she hesitated. Then, seizing the knob herself, she threw the door open—to find herself facing an empty hall.

There was no one there. She stepped out into the hall, peering in both directions. But the hall was truly empty.

It was quite simple, she told herself. Whoever was out here had heard her turn the key in the lock, and had gone into one of the other rooms, behind one of those stupid doors along the hall. Again she looked in both directions, looking for some indication of which room had given refuge. But the doors were all closed, all of them. Nothing was amiss.

She started in the direction of the stairs. Mad or not mad, Aunt Christine simply must provide an explanation for the goings on around this house.

“My nerves just can't endure any more of this,” she told herself.

Behind her, a door closed. She whirled about, staring down the long hall.

Which door had closed? And why? All of the doors had been closed already when she had come out into the hall. Nothing had been open except...except her own door.

Her door was closed now. She had left it open when she came into the hall, and she had not closed it when she started for the stairs. It had been wide ajar.

It was closed now, just like all the others. She walked slowly back toward her room, coming to a stop outside her door.

Someone was in her room, someone who waited for her to enter—to do whatever it was they had come to do. She thought of the turret, and the near accident there. Had that been deliberate, and not an accident? Did someone really mean to do her harm, to take...she hesitated even to think this...to take her life?

What could she do? Certainly it was pointless for her to go downstairs for help. Whatever was happening in the house, they were all a part of it. She was, in the truest sense of the word, alone.

And perhaps she was imagining all this. She was very jumpy, her nerves were raw, and her imagination was running away with itself. All of the doors in the house close themselves if left open. It is something to do, no doubt with the way the house was built

She turned the knob, pushed, and the door swung lazily open. The room was empty; no one waited to seize her and do horrible things to her. A cool breeze brushed her face, making obvious what must have happened; the breeze from the open window had blown the door shut. It was as simple as that.

“What a baby I am,” she chided herself, closing the door and reentering the room. She sat down on the bed and for a moment laughed silently at her own jumpy nerves.

But the breeze had not turned the knob of her door when she had been inside here, she thought her laughter fading. No, someone had been in the hall earlier and had tried to enter her room. And the breeze....

The breeze! She jumped from the bed and stared at the window. The window had been closed, impossible for her to open. It had been closed a moment before when she had left the room and gone into the hall; and now it was open.

She went to the window, staring out. The lawn was two stories below, with no means of descent from here other than the obvious one of falling. Nor was there any walkway or balcony or ledge outside. No, no one had left the room by this exit. Nor could they have left by the hall door without going by her.

“I am imagining things,” she told herself, speaking very slowly and distinctly. “So much has happened that I am no longer thinking clearly.”

That at least was the truth. She was no longer thinking clearly. Was it the tension, the strangeness of the situation in which she found herself; perhaps the lack of food?

Something was happening to her. She felt light headed and not at all herself. Was this how one felt when one had been drinking? It seemed to match the description; but her experience was limited to a few glasses of wine, so she could not really know.

Again she had the feeling of being apart from herself and from life, as if she were in a dream. None of this seemed quite real, or as if it could really be happening to her.

“I may be losing my mind,” she thought. That would explain everything.

Forcefully she pushed that thought aside. If she once allowed herself to begin contemplating that, she knew the idea would grow and grow in her mind, until she accepted it as the truth.

There was an explanation for everything. “I must have opened that window myself, and I've simply forgotten about it.”

“But when?” The question came unbidden into her mind. “When did I open it?”