Chapter Two
The Manse
The curvature of the woman’s jaw kept Rachel busy long enough, but it was sketching the palm and fingers that would prove most troublesome. As she had imagined it, the woman rested her chin on the ball of her hand with her fingertips on her lips. After that was finished, Rachel would have to decide how to kill her. A laceration across the neck? A swollen bruise on her long forehead? Perhaps, a blood trickling from her tear ducts. Her market was niche. The decision mattered.
“You’re missing out,” Brett said, teasingly, one hand on the steering wheel. The rays of the high noon sun glistened on the simple wedding ring Rachel bought him seven years ago. Those were the days when they spent all afternoon in their pajamas and ate cold pizza off the coffee stand in their barely furnished studio apartment. New York, may I never see you again.
Rachel slid her knees from the glove box and sat up like a normal person, keeping the sketchpad on her lap.
She looked out at quaint town of Highlands. Inviting mom-and-pop shops, cute colonial buildings, and historical museums rich with Appalachian Mountains culture lined their trek. With a population just over a thousand, miles untouched woods sprawled down the plateau's sides. Autumn had touched the trees, and the surrounding mountains were ablaze with red, orange and burgundy leaves.
Brett turned his head, eyes following birds take off into the blue sky. “If there was only a way I could drive and use my camera.”
“That would be pretty impressive.” Rachel eyed her husband, a small, mischievous smile on her beautiful face.
Brett looked her up and down, pleased by what he saw. “You’re very distracting, you know that?”
“Speak for yourself,” Rachel replied and returned to her disturbing sketch.
Shaking his head and laughing to himself, Brett turned back to the road. He was man with dark hair, rectangular rimless glasses and a well-groomed beard. Though urban hipster by his looks, his affinity for the country couldn’t be understated. His trade, nature photography, had taken off two years back when the right person saw his blog and published him in National Geographic. After that, the man scarcely got a day off. Rachel, too. Her art wasn’t as streamlined as her husband’s but brought in a surprising good chunk of money, quite impressive for the current year of 2009.
Their Escalade cruised down the snaking single-lane street, driving further into the woods and higher up the mountain. Tall trees and lively bushes bordered the asphalt road: man’s industrial stamp on the wilds around them. Seven point six miles later, and the twin peaks of the ancient house grew over the orange, green and yellow treetops. This time, Rachel set her pencil and sketchbook aside and leaned forward in her seat, taking in the entirety of 1892 gem.
Standing two stories high, the house had large front porch with custom wood trimmings that elbowed around one side of the building. One of the two peaks jutted out from the rest of the house in a half octagonal shape thus giving the building the sharp of an “L.” It’s roof was shingled and the windows had wooden blinds. There was something charming about it’s simple rustic appearance.
“There it is.” Brett said, putting the car into park.
They stepped out of the car, crunching dry leaves under foot. The wind took Rachel’s black hair, brushing it against her pale cheeks. With a finger, she brushed it behind her ear and took in this foreign world. Stripped of over half their leaves, tall sentry oaks concealed the house leaving a little clearing for the front and back yard. Their skeletal branches waved at Rachel. Their pointed fingers crawled at the left and right sides of house, narrowly missing it by a few yards.
Rachel folded next to Brett at the vehicles front bumper, wrapped her arm around his torso and feeling the warmth of his muscular body. He relaxed his arm on her, drawing her closer to him. As the wind whistled and nature’s critters bickered, they stared up at their home.
“It’s kinda creepy,” Brett said.
The more Rachel looked at it, the more she noticed the creaks on its green paint, the chipping of the porch’s handrails and the dust gathered in the dark windows that seemed to give the place a sense of hollowness.
“It’s perfect,” Rachel replied and kissed her husband.
A bright red sedan grumbled up the road and parked behind the Escalade. The door opened and a small red heel stepped out, followed by an elderly woman with fluffy snow-colored hair, a large jade necklace and big ears, sagging under the weight of her earrings. She wore a lady’s business suit, leggings, and stood one inch over five feet.
“No trouble finding the place.” Mrs. Swinley chuckled and pattered over to them on her tiny feet.
“There were a few hick-ups down the way, but we managed,” replied Rachel.
Blue veins bulged on the top of Mrs. Swinley’s tiny cold hands and spotted forearms. She shook Rachel’s hand and beckoned Brett to lean down so she could peak him on his cheek. “Good. You couldn’t have bought the house at finer time. Come, come. I’m sure you're anxious to go inside.”
Rachel and Brett followed the elderly woman. They hiked up the wide porch and pushed through the front door. Light pooled across the hardwood floor. A musty smell lingered in the air. The living room was largely vacant apart from the grandfather clock. Off to the right side, stairs hiked to the second floor and led to railed balcony before jutting back into the hall. To the left side of the downstairs was another hall that lead to a bathroom, bedroom and study.
“The Hadley House was built by a physician named Roy Hadley in 1892,” The realtor explained, strolling through the large living room. “He loved the Queen Anne-era design dearly and modeled his home after such. With the exception of the partial loft, of course. He added that addition so he watched the patients below.”
“Patients?” Brett asked. “He ran his practice out of his house?”
“Only partially. He had a small office in town but his informal nature caused many of the sick and needy to come directly to his home.”
Rachel studied the grandfather clock. A sheen of dust covered its circular glasses face. Within, the arms ticked on. “Does this come with the house?”
The little white-haired woman nodded. “Everything in the house is yours upon purchase. The local bank left it behind after they confiscated the house in ‘83. If it’s not to your liking, I can find you a mover, no extra charge.”
“We’ll sift through it, first, before making a decision,” Rachel declared, secretly excited by what treasures lay within. It’s always been a fantasy of hers to find some long, lost stash money or mysterious relic. By Brett’s pensive face, he clearly didn’t share the same sentiment.
Turning the copper, egg-shaped knob on the dark wood door, they entered the study. Its back jutted out into a half hexagonal wall. Like the rest of the house, squares of stained glass-- violet, indigo and amber--boxed in the windows. Dust tucked in frames lower corners.
“The house comes equipped with a study, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, dining area, ample closet space both up and down stairs, a basement, and ten acres of surrounding land.”
Mrs. Swinley led Brett and Rachel through them all, barring ten acre walk in heels. The rooms were large and filled with odd ball furniture left behind by the last owner. A wardrobe in one room, a rocking chair in the other, a shell-shaped lamp on the floor, etc. Rachel enjoyed every item, checking them for any unique features. My own treasure trove. Brett snapped pictures on objects.
“eBay,” He said off Rachel’s inquisitive look.
The realtor’s tour ended in the basement. White sheets covered old furniture, hat stands and other articles from a bygone area.
“Apart from basic maintenance, electric and heating upgraded by the last owner in 1983, the house is a true survivor.”
“I’m not trying to be rude, but why hasn’t it sold? Brett asked, snapping a picture with his Canon.
“The bank confiscated it in ‘84, intent on restoring the building into
its original state.” Mrs Swinley said, pulling the string of a 1980s lamp near the washer and dryer hook ups. The incandescent bulbs flickered on under the beige lamp shape. “They discussed making it into an historic attraction to acquire additional revenue. After all, it is one of the town’s oldest buildings. Unfortunately, they never found the time to refurbish it and, after twenty years of sitting on the prime real estate, they decided it best to put the house back on the market.”
They stepped outside, greeted by the crisp fall air. Through the trees, the view of the surrounding mountains caused Brett to pause. He turned to Mrs. Swinley. “Do you mind if my wife and I discuss something?”
The elderly woman rubbed her cold, veiny hands together and stepped out of earshot.
Brett led Rachel down the elbow of the porch. He put his hands on the wooden railing and stared at the winding road vanishing into the woods. “I don’t know, Rach. It’s needs work.”
“You’re right,” Rachel admitted. She’d seen the parts of the walls that needed to be spackled, and the way the shower spits out water in a few quick bursts before heating up and steadying out. “But we always discussed building a house together. It’s not the same, but it could be good practice.”
Brett rested his bottom against the railing, crossing his arms. “I love area. The trees, the birds, the mountains. It’s flawless in that regard. My only concern is that we’ll get it, and something will go wrong and we’ll be stuck out on the mountain top in a big broken house.”
“Something will break,” Rachel said, taking Brett by surprise. “But that’s life. I mean how long have we been searching? Two years?”
“Four,” Brett sighed.
Rachel pressed up against him, locked her fingers behind his neck. Brett looked down at through his rectangular glasses and smiled with uncertainty. Rachel pecked him on the lips. “Maybe it’s time to commit.”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Mrs. Swinley appeared below the railing behind them. She held her hand over her cell phone. “I’ve received a call from another buyer. He’s placed a bid on the house. Would you like to counter offer?”
Rachel and Brett traded looks.
A month later, two moving trucks arrived.
With the help of dolly carts and rental movers, Rachel and Brett funneled all the objects of their lives into the Hadley House. Dressed in old stained shorts and wrinkled shirts, they killed hours by painting over smudges on the interior walls without compromising the historic significance of the building. They kept the old furniture they liked, like the grandfather clock and wardrobe, and shunned the rest in the basement. Outside, they pulled weeds and mowed the yard, even taking time to try the old tire swing in the backyard. It was injury waiting to happen, but Rachel couldn’t stop laughing. During the evenings, they would discover game trials to secret rock ledges that were perfect for stargazing.
They mopped and waxed the hardwood floor till it shined. They hung pictures on the walls. Some of Rachel, Brett and various family members. Other framed photos came from Brett’s National Geographic shoots and favorites collection. Rachel added a few pieces of her own disturbing artwork. She set up her sketch pad easel and bench in the living room accompanied by stands for her collection of numbered pencils. Brett put his laptop on the nearby dining table, making it his impromptu office.
On the third night, when the boxes were piled high in the living room, Liam Harroway, Rachel’s father visited, holding three stuffed bags of Chinese food. Just like in his pastoral days, he wore black slacks with a tucked in white button up that muffin out at the bottom. The three of them sat around the dining room table. Brett’s laptop and camera bags set to the side.
“This is just fantastic,” Liam said just like how he said it over the phone. “I can’t tell you how much having you two within driving distance means to me. There’s just so much I look forward to showing you.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Rachel scooped rice onto her plate and the container of beef and broccoli.
Liam chewed on a dumpling. “With a house this size, when do you plan on having kids?”
Brett concentrated on diving out the food containers. Rachel shifted in her seat. It going to be another one of those nights. “Brett and I were actually going to use the extra rooms for our personal galleries.”
“Ah,” replied Liam, doing a horrible job to hide his disappointment. “...Good.”
“Work is starting to pick up,” Rachel changed the topic. “Even more for Brett. His readers are loving his new material.”
Liam nodded. His eyes, pools of blue, looked at his plate. “Your mother and I always wanted kids and tried for many years before having you. It was the biggest blessing. I know moving into a new house is scary enough, but young one can really help settle you into the place.”
“It’s not on the agenda at the moment,” Brett said bluntly.
Liam pursed his lips. He didn’t broach the topic again. After getting a brief tour of the house and yard, Liam said his goodbye. Rachel and Brett locked the door and headed upstairs to get ready for the evening. Brett sat at the corner of the bed and pulled off his shoe. “Your father doesn’t like me very much.”
“That’s not true,” Rachel replied, taking off her shirt. “He’s just a little traditional.”
Brett removed his other shoe. “He hasn’t liked me since we moved in together. It’s like nothing I do makes the guy happy.”
Rachel shimmered out of her jeans. “You two just haven’t got a chance to know each other. Besides, he’s still coping with my mother, the loss of the church, and his sobriety.”
Brett grunted. “I know that. It’s just… the standards he sets, I guess. It’s only been a couple of years since my career took off. What am I supposed to do? Put that aside everything for a child that either us don’t really want.”
Seeing his discontentment, Rachel kissed him on the forehead. “You’re thirty-two years old. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
Rachel climbed into the shower. A few bursts of cold water shot from the showerhead before the steady stream of hot water filled the bathroom with steam. Dressing in their night clothes, they turned in for the evening. They curled against one another, cooed to sleep by the gentle creaking of house battling the autumn wind.
Rachel jolted up out of bed, drenched in cold sweat and hugging herself. She looked around the darkroom, teeth chattering with no recollection of her dream. On the night stand, 3:00 am glowed green on the digital clock. She mumbled a curse, letting her eyes adjusted. Brett snored lightly beside her. He had the cover pulled tightly to his neck and shivered lightly.
Careful not wake her husband, Rachel shimmied out of the covers. The soles of her feet touch the ice-cold floor. She curled her toes and walked to the dresser. The wood grinded as she slid out the draw. She turned back. Brett mumbled a sleepy nothing and rolled on to his belly. Dressing in lazy sweatpants, sweater and thick socks, Rachel tiptoed into the hallway. She squinted at the old analogue thermostat. The set temperature read seventy-three. The dial mark actually landed on fifty-one.
“Are you kidding me?” Rachel complained to herself. She really didn’t want to wake Brett, especially after how long it took him to go to bed, but how was she going to fix the thermostat? He probably won’t know either but two minds are better once.
The wind whistled and a soft scratching could be heard downstairs. Rachel brushed her fingers across the wall, allowing the hallway to guild her to the loft balcony. Arms crossed over her chest, she peered over the railing with glossy eyes. A tide of dry brown and orange leaves brushed through the open front door and tumbled across the hardwood floor.
Rachel trained her eye on the blackness beyond.
“Brett,” She called out, a little louder than a whisper. No reply from the living room. Her heart pumped. Cold air seeped through the threshold. Rachel jogged back to bedroom. Is someone in our house? She stood outside bedroom, keeping one eye to the stairs. “Brett.”
“Huh???
? She heard from the bedroom. Eyes barely open, her husband shambled out with only his boxers and the black hair on his chest to keep him warm.
“Why’s it so cold?” He squinted at the thermostat. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Nothing,” Rachel whispered. “The front door. It’s open.”
Brett crinkled his brow.
He walked passed Rachel and looked over the balcony. He cursed under his breath and hiked down the stairs. Rachel felt a twisting in her gut. She jogged to lessen distance between her husband and herself. She stayed a few steps behind him. Brett crushed a leaf beneath his foot. “Son of a…” He shivered at the wailing gales blasting through the front door, violating the house with more leaves and twigs. He flipped on the porch light and walked outside. Rachel leaned over his shoulder. Eddies of wind brushed felled leaves against their feet. Trees swayed. There was only the Escalade and the inky blackness of night.
Brett twisted around almost bumping into Rachel. His expression was hard. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not going to let you go out here alone,” Rachel said defiantly.
“You’ll catch a cold. Come on.” They returned inside and shut the door. “Did you lock it last night?”
Rachel thought for a moment. All that stuff with her father left her scattered brain. “I thought you did.”
Brett warmed his hands under his armpits. “I don’t remember.”
The furnace raddled on in the basement. Warm air blasted from the brick sized ventilation grates on the floor and walls.
“Furnace works. That’s a relief,” Rachel replied.
Brett flipped on the living room light switch. Dead leaves flooded from the front door to the kitchen, taking up a third of living room. Brett grunted at the sight.
“I’ll get the broom,” Rachel said.
“You get some sleep.” Brett used the side of his foot to brush the leaves into a pile. “I’ll handle it.”
“Sure?”
Brett didn’t reply. He scooted leaves. Rachel got a broom and trash bag from the kitchen. Together, they cleaned up the mess, tied off the bag and tossed it in the front porch. They double checked the lock and headed to bed. Rachel felt that sickening feeling in her gut until she fell asleep that morning.
After her morning shower, Rachel made hot tea and eggs. She found a few more leaves missed the night before and tossed them out the backdoor. Tired, Brett talked to a few clients over the phone while Rachel sorted through her boxes on the living room floor. She found a file box in the brink of collapse. It’s weight was disproportionate on one side and some of the cardboard seemed to rotting away. Stringy and aged duct tape wrapped a band around the top and bottom. Rachel twisted back to ask Brett if he knew what it was, but he’d left the room, talking over the phone about photo sales and publishing rights.
Rachel severed the tape with a X-ACTO knife and set the lid to the side. Rachel pulled out a small stack of pictures. They were old black and white photos of a little girl and two adults that Rachel assumed were the child’s grandparents. They were farmer folk with stern faces. There was something was familiar about this girl. Rachel flipped through more family photos. One had a note on the back of it. “Sarah Sanders, 7 years old, mom-mom’s ranch.”
Rachel’s eyes went wide. Suddenly, the box made sense. Her father gave Rachel her mother’s things when she moved out of the house in her twenties. Brett must’ve unpacked them from the moving truck. Rachel renived some dusty old poems and a King James bible. Inside the front flap, a penned passage read, “To my love. My life. From yours truly, Liam.”
A small smile creeped up Rachel’s face. She set the book aside. Beneath the books, a cardboard flap had been cut the box’s size, dividing it’s contents into two sections. Rachel used her fingers to pull pack the flap. It was glued in. Weird. The point of the utility knife scraped away the glue. Rachel set the flap aside. A number mason jars containing odd roots and dried plants sat the bottom of the file box. One of the jars had broken, and glass fragments lingered around a dried herb.
A flimsy leather-bound book rested on top the jars. There was no inscription or lettering on the journal’s face to allude to what it was. Rachel opened it. The first pages had blurbs written propery, flipped upside down, spelled backwards and in dozen different languages. French, Spanish, and German were just the dialects Rachel recognized. She flipped through pages. Each was disturbing as the last. Unknown tongues, odd sequences of numbers, and rough sketches of dead people and animals. Some looked to be drawn by a kid, others were masterful in their artistic style. All showed show a person killed in some horrid way. Rachel shivered involuntary. Her art was dark but something out this seemed… worst. Was this her mother’s journal?
THUNK, THUNK, THUNK.
Shaken, Rachel put the leather-bound book back in the file box and covered it with cardboard flap. She stood up as Brett walked through the front door with an inquisitive expression on his face and a phone at his ear.
Rachel opened the door.
A middle age couple stood on the porch. Like sea weed, salt and pepper hair calmed over the top of the Caucasian man’s balding head. He had deep sunken eyes, a crooked nose and chapped lips that his fat tongue slithered over when he looked at Rachel. Wrinkles roughed out his white suit.
“Shaw,” the man extended his hand.
Hesitant, Rachel shook the man’s soft and moist palm. “Rachel.”
The Taiwanese woman next to Shaw glared at Rachel. Short and squat, she wore a green dress with an emerald broach.
“Can I help you with anything?” Rachel ask politely as she could.
“We just want to have a gander at what’s inside,” Shaw said with a big smile.
The Asian woman kept glaring.
Rachel blinked. “Why? What is this for?”
“My own enjoyment,” Shaw said, stepping closer, leaning his head side-to-side, trying to steal a peak at lay behind Rachel.
“I’ll call you back,” Brett said in the living room. He slid next to Rachel, putting his hand on her shoulder. He smiled politely at the couple. “Is there a problem?”
“Nah,” Shaw replied. “Wanting to take a gander at what’s inside. That’s all.”
Rachel and Brett traded looks. Rachel shrugged.
The woman spoke in Taiwanese. Her tone was venomous.
“I’ll tell them,” Shaw said in an angry reply. He looked to Rachel and Brett with a wide smile. “We’re placed a bid on this house last month. You two stole it right out from under our noses.”
Shaw chuckled dryly, but his statement sounded like more than friendly jab.
“I’m sorry that, um, we did that,” Brett replied.
Rachel chimed in with a friendly demeanor. “I saw other listings around Highlands with fantastic views. Remember, Brett?”
Brett nodded. “Real nice.”
“I’m sure they still on the market,” Rachel said politely to the strangers.
Shaw licked his bottom lip. “It ain’t the Hadley, though.”
Both couples were silent for a moment.
“What was your name again?” Brett asked.
“Shaw.”
“Shaw, what?”
The man chuckled. “It’s just Shaw. Say you mind if my wife and I take a quick peak? Just one minute. We never got to see it when it was on the market.”
“It’s kinda messy right now. Unpacking, you know.” Rachel replied, unsure if the woman’s death glare was her natural look or she hated Rachel with a passion.
“I don’t mind. We just gonna to tour around. Won’t touch nothing. Scouts honor.” the man held up two fingers.
“This isn’t a good time,” Brett said. “We have a lot to do.”
Shaw shook his head. “I’m starting to get a little pissed of now. I’ve done nothing to y'all, and you’re not being very hospitable.”
“I think it’s best if you left.” Brett said.
“Screw you, man,” Shaw replied, face turning red
with rage. “Let my wife and I see the house. You already stole it from us at least you can some courtesy and let us into the place.”
Brett stepped outside. “It nice to meet you, Mr. Shaw. Please leave before I call the cops.”
Rachel watched the dispute. She stood beside her husband.
The couples stared each other down for a moment.
“You should’ve just said no.” Shaw replied with a frustrated tone. “I would’ve left.”
He grabbed his wife’s arm to go but she didn’t budge. She a frown consumed her face and she spit at Rachel’s feet. Brett balled his fist as the couple slumped into their clunky cadillac and drove off.
Rachel returned inside, grabbing a pen and note pad. She began writing down the license plate number.
“You beat me too it.” Brett replied.
That night, Rachel awoke to find the front door wide open.