Rhayven House (10 page)

    
Crapola.

     Remembering he also had about seven or eight of those LED camping lanterns in a box in one of the unfinished rooms, he got up and went to get them before the lights went out again.

     Fumbling around in the dark in a house he still wasn't quite used to didn't arouse his sense of fun. The batteries in the lanterns were supposed to last forever. LED lights used a lot less power. He'd put them around the house and turn then on just in case.

     Much better to be safe than sorry.

     Getting the lanterns set up only took a couple minutes. Ian turned out some of the electric lights. Sitting on the sofa, he admired how the LED lights gave the place a little bit of a creepy feel.

     And just as soon as he got comfortable, would you know it—he had to pee.

     The doorknob on the downstairs bathroom door felt so cold to the touch, so cold it almost hurt. Ian pulled his hand away in shock and rubbed his palms together to warm up his hand. On closer inspection, he saw the glass knob had somehow completely iced over.

     “
No goddamned way
,” he said to himself. He nearly refused to believe what he saw.

     Using his fingernail to scrape some off, it melted from the heat of his skin, the icy water dripping down his hand. Ian felt the air temperature plummet—so fast and so far, he saw his breath in the air as he exhaled. The bitter cold of the hardwood floor made him feel like he was standing on a glacier. His bare feet were numb as he backed away from the door.

     “What the hell?”

     Never before had he experienced something as bizarre as this. Sure, it was a little chilly because of the weather, but far from freezing. It was still raining outside. How could the temperature inside be so cold, ice had literally formed on the glass doorknob?

     It couldn't. Not in only one spot, steps away from the warmth of the living room where he'd just been sitting.

     Vortex?

     He'd come across the idea in research. Cold spots were sometimes considered to be indicators of where a spirit was standing or hovering or whatever they do. They could also be the spot of a vortex or doorway through which spirits passed.

     “Now this is just
weird
.”

     Eight or nine feet back, the intense cold was gone. Like stepping out of a sub-zero freezer. Ian reached out with his hand and felt it, like a wall of cold about a foot in front of him. Before he investigated any further, he at least wanted a pair of socks to put on.

     When he came back downstairs and walked to the same spot where he'd been standing maybe three minutes before, he felt nothing when he reached out. Walking forward slowly with his arm out, testing the air, he made it right up to the bathroom door without running into the arctic blast again. The lack of the frigid air cause heat of anxiety to flow through his body.

     He told himself, This stuff isn't possible.

     Even the glass doorknob had no trace of the frost left on it. Ian had to wonder what kind of message the spirit was trying to communicate or if it was just letting him know it was in residence.

     “
Curiouser and curiouser,
” he said aloud, quoting Alice after she'd gone down the Rabbit Hole in the classic Lewis Carol story.

     Grasping the doorknob, because he still had to go to the bathroom, it was cool but not frigid to the touch. He turned it and the door opened smoothly. Inside the bathroom, he checked for any sign of weirdness, any spectral remnants.

     All clear.

     It wasn't until he'd finished, having washed and dried his hands, and was on his way back to the living room that something dawned on him. Ian quickly stopped dead in his tracks.

     He never kept the bathroom door closed. Ian knew he hadn't shut it at all when he was alone in the house, which was most of the time. Why would he close it, even when he was in there, when he was the only person living in the house?

     Turning, he looked back at the open door.

     So who closed it?

     All he knew for sure was, it wasn't him.

     Maybe he was the only person living in the house—
living
being the key word—but he wasn't the only person in the house.

     The shiver was born at the small of his back and then quickly twisted itself up and around his spine, nestling between his shoulder blades. Ian took a deep breath and forced himself to put it in the back of his mind.

     No sense in dwelling on it. He went back into the living room to get comfortable and read while he rode out the storm. It seemed somehow fitting to be reading about Fibonacci sequences while the storm swirled outside. After all, they, Fibonacci sequences, were everywhere in the natural world—in both flora and fauna, with one of his favorites being the nautilus shell—and could be found depicted in ancient architecture as well as designs on such things as pottery and statuary, even though these ancient people were allegedly unaware of its existence.

     Ian became lost in the pages and read until his eyes threatened to close and force him to sleep. He'd wanted to read another chapter, but he gave up the ghost and went to bed.

Ten

     Venturing downtown for the first time since he moved to Coventon however many years ago, Ian couldn’t believe there was a bookstore, especially one which was apparently independently owned. He’d never even heard anyone mention it before—not that he knew a ton of people in town and he talked to very few on a regular basis. And the only local bookstore he actually did a couple signings in, belonged to a chain. Just a stroke of luck he found it online when he was trying to look up the other store’s number.

     Downtown was a visual surprise: beautiful, like a throwback to another time closer to the beginning of the twentieth century. With its brick streets—cobblestone was different than brick, if he recalled correctly—the lights that lined it could have as easily been gas burning. Instead they were electric. The trees and other foliage around the historic buildings were well-kept as nicely as the old, proud buildings towering four, five, and sometimes six stories above the street.

     Belle’s Books & Candles—Ian rather enjoyed the clever name and wondered if there were many people who got the reference—was tucked into a corner by an old business building. A wrought iron archway stood at the entrance to a brick path. No wonder people who didn’t know the store was there, easily overlooked it; only the street number attached to the archway gave away its identity. The short path led to the front door of what appeared to be a private home. He stood in the shade of an oak tree and seized the opportunity to think for a minute. Only a sign, in elegant calligraphy, above the front, betrayed the home's secret. Ian almost felt like he should knock and wait instead of just barging in.

     Just as he reached for the knob, the door opened and he stood face to face with a woman who promptly said, “I’ve been waiting for you. Won’t you please come in?” Her white hair framed a friendly face. Her red-framed glasses showcased her amazing blue eyes. He couldn’t judge her age, somewhere in her late forties if he had to guess. “Whatever you’re looking for, we most likely have it, all that and more to offer.”

     Obviously, she'd mistaken him for someone she’d been expecting. He thought the best way to immediately clear up the misunderstanding was to introduce himself properly and avoid an awkward situation, and before either one of them could be embarrassed.

     “Yes, I know who you are,” she said. “I’m Belle and this is my little store. Welcome. Allow me to give you the nickel tour. Everything is so easy to find.”

     Not quite as little as he would have thought. The first floor had generous entries from room to room, making it seem like it was an actual store and not a converted home. Books and candles neatly lined the walls and other shelving units. The sections were labeled. The subsections comprising fiction, took up what once was the generous dining room. The room that used to be the formal living room, held the most candles as well as the romance section of books.

     Crystals hung in nearly every window and reflected the light, making little rainbows dance against the glass. Although, how there could have been such light when the house was nestled in the shadows of the surrounding building that dwarfed it, was beyond him.

     “By the way,” he said when he realized Belle had been talking the whole time, “the name of your store is priceless. Is the movie a favorite of yours as well?”

     She clapped her hands. “You got it! I’d rather people recognize the name from the movie than from the method of excommunication by anathema. That makes me happy. Of course, I love the movie and I used to keep copies on hand to sell, but, alas, not many people are interested in older classics anymore.”

     “It smells amazing in here.”

     “That’s all the scents mixed together,” Belle explained. “Some find it overwhelming, but I think it’s fantastic. You’re a candle person, I can tell.”

     For some reason, I chuckled. “Not really. I guess I never got into it.”

     “Oh, you are,” she insisted. “Pumpkin. And you’re in luck. I have different kinds of pumpkin for you. But we can talk about candles after you get the books you came to get.” She led him to the local section. “And speaking of books, we have all of yours, don’t we sweetie? All lined up in a row.”

     Ian didn’t know what the proper response to that should be. He nearly laughed when he saw Belle reach out and stroke a stunningly white cat curled up in the plant-filled bay window; the cat’s hair a perfect match to the blizzard color of its mistress.

     The beautiful cat purred as it accepted the strokes, and then it stood and stretched and proceeded to stare straight at him.

     “Never mind Astrya. She’s never forgotten cats have been worshiped as deities in a lot of cultures, most well-known being the Egyptians; she expects people to bow before her and press their foreheads against the floor.” Belle paused and Ian wondered if she was waiting for him to bow to Astrya. Probably not, because she soon continued speaking. “But we do have all your books in our local section as well as in the fiction section.”

     She did know who he was. He wondered why she’d never gotten in touch with him or his publishers about a signing. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask when she said, “I always figured you would make your way here when it was time. I would ask you then if you would be interested in scheduling a signing. So don’t think I was ignoring you, a fine example of a celebrity in our midst. Now you’ve come and I shall extend my invitation to you. I hope you won't turn me down.”

     Her smiling mood was contagious and he couldn’t resist. “Not at all, and I’d be happy to come for a signing.”

     “How perfectly wonderful!” He could tell she was genuinely pleased he’d accepted her invitation. “I’ll leave you in peace to get what you came for and if you need any help, just give me a shout.”

     “I appreciate that.”

     She winked. “And we’ll talk about those pumpkin candles in a bit.”

     Browsing through the sections, Ian selected some hardcovers of books that attracted his attention, including the newest release in the racy vampire series he was reading. He was very pleased with the used book section, finding a first edition of James Herbert’s fantastic haunted house book,
Haunted,
at such a steal; it would pair nicely with the signed first edition he already owned. Quickly grabbing that and a signed copy of Peter Straub’s
Ghost Story
priced cheaply, he made his way back to the local section to see if there were any local history books that might mention his house. It would also be nice to find a good book on the Gold Church.

     Nothing.

     Asking Belle, she responded, “Sorry about that, but I’ll try and see what I can find for you. Looks like you found some great books.” she said as she took the books he held and put them on the counter.

     “Some of which I never expected to find,” he said. “Always a nice surprise.”

     She stared into his eyes, the color of her irises seeming to swirl and draw him in. ”
Triùir a thig gun iarraidh: gaol, eud, is eagal
,” she said. Then she directed his attention to the aforementioned candles. Placing a heavy jar in his hands, she lifted off the lid. “Have a whiff of this.”

     Ian didn’t recognize the language and wanted to ask her what she said, but the subject was so abruptly changed. He did as directed. It smelled good enough to eat. “That’s pretty good.” Looking at it, he liked the deep orange color.

     “It’s Pumpkin and Ginger,” she said. “A lovely combination. I think it’s a perfect choice for you.”

     “You were correct. I’ll take it,” he said, and then wished he’d looked at the price. He was supposed to be saving his money to keep fixing up the house and he’d already spent a hundred dollars on books.

     “We’ll pick out a couple more for you, since all the jar candles are on special for fall,” Belle explained.

     And he once more wondered if she could read his thoughts.

     After taking the first candle from him and putting the lid back on, she handed him another one and said, “This is Pumpkin and Pecan. I bet you’ll enjoy it as much as the first one.”

     The color was a little lighter, but the scent was just as good, like Belle promised. “Nice. Makes me wonder what a pumpkin and pecan pie would taste like. I think it would be awesome.”

     “Why don’t you go talk to Dell down at the bakery? I bet you could order one up,” she suggested.

     “I’m vegan. Do you think they could accommodate that?”

     Nodding, she said, “I know for a fact he has made some vegan things for the annual masquerade ball.” She must have understood the expression on his face because she explained, “The masquerade is an annual event to raise money for our local shelter and there are quite a few locals who are vegan. Give them a call. Can’t hurt to ask. ” She took that candle and replaced it with another. “Smell this one.”

     He did as directed. “Just as nice as the first.”

     “Pumpkin and Maple.” She put it on the counter with the other two.

     “I hate to say it, but I’ll have to pick one,” he said as he looked at the three candles.

     “Ah, you don’t have to do any such thing. Like I said; jar candles are on special. Buy one, get one. And the third is my gift to you since this is your first time in the shop,” she said as she started wrapping the jar candles in paper. “Trust me, you will thank me when you light them on a cold autumn or winter evening and your house smells fantastic.”

     “I’m sure I will.”

     “Sticking with the pumpkins, you can light them in different rooms and not worry about the smells mingling into something gross because they all have pumpkin.” Belle’s fingers moved rapidly; she punched in the prices on the old register and then made note of which items were sold to keep track in the ledger. “And the orange colors go so well with your amber eyes.”

     Ian nearly blushed. Not that Belle was hitting on him, but he wasn’t used to compliments.

     “Remember, if you want a special scent, let me know. I can do almost anything. Just takes a couple days, unless the order is really big.”

     “Very nice. I should've known these weren’t mass-produced in a factory somewhere. The colors are nice and they have an intense scent,” he said, as if he knew anything about candles or candle-making. “You can be sure I’ll be back for more, once cold weather settles in.”

     “Oh, candles are the perfect complement to a roaring fire.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a brown paper bag. “Maybe a glass of wine to enjoy while the winter storm rages outside.”

     Ian handed her his credit card and said, “Maybe you should have been the writer. That’s an intense image.”

     “Nonsense. There's more pleasure for me in reading a book than there could ever be in my writing one.” She slid his card through her machine and handed it back to him. “Curl up on your sofa with the fire going and candles lit. It’s addictive. Just sign this for me, please.”

     “I’ll take your advice on the first cold night we get,” he said. “I got the books and the candles. Just need the weather.”

     She took the receipt and handed Ian his copy. “Those cold nights will be starting soon. Look outside at the leaves on your way home; they’re already beginning to change color.”

     Once again on the brick path, her voice carried her goodbye. He turned around and waved. When he got to the archway, he turned to look again, but the oak tree obscured the line of sight. It was almost like the experience never happened; it seemed somewhat too surreal for words, but in a positive way.

~ ~ ~

     Back home, he put the books in the library room, or what would be the library once the shelves were built and installed, and then tried to decide where to set the pumpkin candles. It wasn’t freezing cold out, but chilly enough, since he hadn’t had the furnace and ductwork looked at yet. He didn’t trust building a fire in any of the fireplaces until the chimney guys came to check them out.

     So he took the opportunity to light the candles and see if Belle was right when she promised they would make the house smell good and feel warm and cozy. Alone in the house, since the contractors didn’t work on the weekends, he felt like someone followed him close behind, as he walked from room to room checking out the progress on the house. The windows were in; the frames wrapped and painted.

     Looking out the front room window, he gazed at the overgrown yard. Not quite dark yet, the setting sun still provided enough light to shine into the valley and light the yard. Next spring he’d get in gear and work like a dog whipping the landscape into shape. Well, he’d get in gear and hire somebody to come do it for him because he didn’t know the first thing about it. Only thing he knew was, he wanted a pond with one of those waterfalls that fed into the pond and made the fish happy.

     Staring at the spot where he’d decided the pond would go, he about had a heart attack when he realized someone was looking through the window at him. A woman. He stepped back. There wasn’t anyone on the porch.

     But the face was still reflected in the glass.