Screamscapes: Tales of Terror (24 page)

“The stress of moving has been hard for her James, but we’ll manage,” Mr. Hill said sadly. “It’s good that Martha and I can finally be alone. We’ve taken care of her for so long, but she’s gotten older and has needs we can’t tend to. I imagine taking care of her should come naturally, for a strong young man like you.”

James took a left onto Downing Avenue as he drove towards his new home. It was a quiet neighborhood, just a few blocks removed from the old Main Street of the small Ohio River town.

The area had an eclectic stew of homes – big and small, old and new – that ranged from century-old masterpieces to freshly built faux-vintage facsimiles, slapped up by repatriated suburbanites, during the building boom a couple of years earlier.

James pulled up in front of 1517 Downing Avenue, the grand-pappy of them all. It dominated the landscape with quiet stateliness.

His girlfriend Claire, a beautiful young woman with raven hair that glistened in the sunlight, was already waiting for him in the front yard. Even from a distance he could see excitement glimmering in her cinnamon eyes.

As he drank in her beauty, it suddenly occurred to him how much Claire reminded him of Sophie at that moment – that was, if Sophie had lived to see adulthood. He was surprised he had never noticed the similarity before. Maybe it was just seeing Claire waiting for him - there in the exact same spot that Sophie used to wait patiently when they were children - that made the resemblance so pronounced, he wasn’t sure. But at that moment the only thing that kept Claire from looking exactly like a grown-up version of Sophie was the difference in their eyes: Claire’s were dark reddish-brown, while Sophie’s had been brilliant sapphire-blue.

The massive, Victorian-style, Queen Anne loomed behind Claire, and made her seem very small by comparison. Its elegant three-story-tall tower culminated in a spire that soared into the sky, as though the house was giving a middle-finger salute to the inferior homes that surrounded it. The windows that circled the top floor of the tower were open and long cream-colored curtains streamed from them, flowing gently in a spring breeze.

James shut off the engine, and glanced across the street to a different, less proud abode, the house he had lived in for a time as a child.

That house was nothing like the one he had just bought. It was a rather depressing, dilapidated ranch with weathered white plank siding and crooked black shutters. Its weed-ridden lawn was a stark contrast to the manicured yard of the house he now owned.

The grass really is greener on the other side
, he thought,
even though the little house has the better view
.

Claire had been waiting nervously for him to get there for almost an hour. She couldn’t believe that this was happening, that he had asked her to move in with him, that she had accepted instantly, without even thinking about it.

She wondered if a proposal could be far away. She hoped not. She had never met a man half as wonderful as James in her entire life. They had been dating for almost two years now, and if he didn’t propose soon she was afraid she was going to be the one getting down on one knee and asking
him
to marry
her
.

She hoped it didn’t come to that.

He had been sitting in the car for a few minutes, and he was already an hour late. Claire hoped he didn’t have bad news about getting the house, or even worse - cold feet about her moving in with him.

Just when she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, James popped out of the car, triumphantly holding up a key for her to see.

“We got it!” he announced with his kind smile beaming broadly as she ran up and gave him a hug.

“Did you tell them I was going to be moving in with you or did you chicken out?” she asked.

“I might have fibbed a little,” he said. “They’re old and peculiar, and they still think of me as the little kid who lives across the street. They probably don’t want any fornication going on inside their precious house – but I figure what they don’t know, won’t hurt them,” he said, and smacked her lightly on the bottom.

“Cool it, lover boy,” Claire said in a fake stern voice, laughing. “Race you to the porch!”

They dashed through the soft grass, stopping when they reached the front door to catch their breath as they admired the ornate trim work on the central tower, high above.

“Wow, look at my arm,” she whispered. “I’ve got actual goose bumps. You did good, James, real good.”

“Wait until you see inside,” he said, slipping a thick old key into the door. It unlocked with a metallic pop.

Without warning, James scooped her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold into the house, setting her down on the mosaic tile in the oversized portico. They spun about like amazed children, the sound of their delight echoing among intricate arches high above. The painted ceiling of the living room to their right soared three stories high; a massive fireplace with an elegant mahogany mantle served as the imposing centerpiece.

“Can you believe this place?” Claire asked breathlessly.

“I told you it was amazing,” James said. “Come on, let’s look around.”

They were off, drifting from one room to the next in a slipstream of excitement. They explored the expansive kitchen and the stately dining room, before chasing each other up the grand staircase that curved along the portico wall to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs, there was a walkway across a balcony that overlooked the entrance. That, in turn, led to an alcove, in the center of which rose an ornate wrought-iron spiral staircase; and just beyond that, a long hallway lined with bedrooms on either side.

Claire strode past the spiral staircase into the hall, glancing into the bedrooms on either side, as she went. One of the rooms caught her eye, and she stepped inside to take a look.

It was a spacious bedroom, if a bit old fashioned. Two large windows allowed plenty of sunlight to illuminate the sheen of the polished wood floor; cloth wall coverings muted the sound of her footsteps, making it rather cozy.

She thought it was perfect.

“Hey James, I think I found our master bedroom,” she said.

“Oh yeah? Be there in a sec,” he called from somewhere down the hall.

Claire walked to one of the windows and admired the view of the gorgeous front yard. It was lushly planted with flowering bushes, many already in full bloom.

A rusted iron cross, about two feet tall, jutted from the ground near the base of the tower. It struck her as odd, and seemed out of place in the otherwise well-groomed yard.

“Hey James, come take a look at this,” she called.

He didn’t answer.

“James?” she called again. Her voice sounded small in her ears, as though the words were being consumed by the empty house the instant they slipped from her lips. A profound stillness settled upon the hall and she suddenly felt uncomfortable.

Feeling anxious, but unsure why, Claire ran into the hallway, hoping to find James in one of the other bedrooms, but they were all empty. She ran down the hall, back to the alcove where she had last seen him, the emptiness of the house seeming to grow more oppressive with each step she took.

She stopped at the base of the spiral staircase and looked up to the top, calling for James again; still no reply.

Not wanting to be alone any longer, Claire bounded up the stairs, her throbbing heart beating loudly in her ears as she went. It was a sound that was alive, a sound she was extraordinarily delighted to hear.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she found herself confronted by a closed door. A soft wind whistled through the narrow slit between the bottom of the door and the floor. It occurred to her that this was the door to the room at the top of the tower, where the windows had been open and the curtains billowing in the breeze.

The door creaked loudly on its hinges as she turned the handle and pushed it inwards.

“James?” Claire whispered as she entered the room.

He was there, standing by an enormous window, eyes closed as though in a state of bliss. The sweet mingled scents of jasmine and honeysuckle found their way into the room through the open windows, the sweetest fragrance she had ever smelled.

In the middle of the room, silken curtains floated upwards, gently brushing against James. The curtains flowed around his body, almost sensual in their caress.

James took one of the curtains in his hand and began to absently rub it against his face, moaning softly as it touched his skin. As the warm air rustled through the sheer fabric, it made a sound that was almost like a sigh of pleasure in response.

“What the hell are you doing?” Claire asked sharply. Her voice startled James, interrupting his reverie. He released the curtain he had been holding and as it fell away the breeze died with it.

“Sorry,” James said sheepishly as he took her hand. “I think I drifted off for a minute.”

The tower room was gorgeous, ringed with five enormous windows that rose from the floor to the ceiling. The front-facing window was emblazoned with a single, crimson, stained-glass heart in its center.

The ceiling came to a pointed peak about twenty-five feet above them, the steepest point supported by intricately carved arches. The walls were painted in a soft pastel pink, trimmed in glossy cream.

Claire thought it would be the perfect room for a little girl, a place to pretend to be a princess, locked away in a castle.

The resplendent curtains that graced each window were the room’s most striking feature by far, however. They were beautiful, each of the five panels unique and gorgeous in its own way. The curtains were an elaborate patchwork, composed of a variety of different fabrics mingled with cream-colored silk and lace embroidery with bits of iridescent pearl inlay, which flowed gracefully as they shimmered, sensually dancing in the sunlight.

One of the curtains even had two round beads of sapphire-blue glass set into the fabric, and these jewel-like baubles cast thin strips of blue-tinted refracted sunlight across the polished floor.

Four parallel grooves had been worn into the hardwood floor by the front window, and James thought of Mr. and Mrs. Hill in their rocking chairs at the retirement condo.

They must have rocked away at that window for years
, he thought to himself.

From the driveway below came a long, loud honk. The moving truck had arrived.

Claire poked her head out of the window.

“Be right down,” she yelled to the movers.

“Come on James, time to get to work,” she said and ran out of the room, the sound of her rapid footsteps fading away as she descended the spiral staircase.

James took one last look out of the window, past the red stained-glass heart at the street he had grown up on as a boy. It was hard for him to believe so much time had passed, that he was already a man, the owner of the incredible house he had admired so much as a child.

The soothing spring breeze had not returned and without it the old curtains lay lifeless and unmoving. The silk fabric looked worn and the lace faded, not nearly as beautiful as they had seemed moments before.

Claire poked her head back into the room.

“You coming or not?” she asked impatiently. “The movers need to know where you want them to put stuff.”

James took her hand and followed her down the stairs.

Hours later, darkness descended on 1517 Downing Avenue. The movers had littered the rooms with a maze of boxes and scattered pieces of furniture. Unplugged floor lamps congregated in dark corners like department store mannequins after closing time.

In the master bedroom, a mattress on the floor had been the best they could manage for their first night in the house. Claire patted an empty spot beside her as James walked into the room, carrying three precariously stacked boxes.

“Come to bed,” she said. “We can finish tomorrow. We’ve got all weekend to unpack, and I’m cold – come warm me up,” she purred.

James sat the boxes down carefully and massaged his lower back as he straightened back up. He cast a longing glance at the mattress, where Claire waited for him.