House (4 page)

“We thought it was a robbery,” Stephanie explained, feeling silly about it now. She forced a giggle. “I left my suitcase, and he left his, and we had a garment bag . . .”

Randy shook his head and sniffed. “It's a robbery
now
.”

“I'd sure love to change out of these dirty clothes.”

“Don't worry,” Jack said. “We'll figure something out.” He pointed at a small table in the corner of the foyer with an open registry and a pen on a chain. “I'll get us signed in.”

“And you may as well pick out a room,” said Randy. “The keys are in that cabinet.”

“Randy, we don't own the place,” said Leslie.

Randy ignored her. “I'd recommend room 4, across the hall from us. It has a great view of the gardens in back.” Leslie shot him a reproving glare.

Stephanie caught Jack's eye and held up two fingers. As at home, she'd take her own room here, thank you very much. Jack sighed and went to the desk.

Leslie turned her nose down toward Stephanie. “And what do you do?”

“I'm a singer,” Stephanie replied. She hummed a bar of her favorite song, an upbeat ditty she'd written called “Always All Right.”

“Oh. Creative types.”

Jack returned, discreetly bringing two keys. He slipped Stephanie the key to room 4, and she concealed it in her purse. He pocketed another key. Leslie raised an eyebrow in Stephanie's direction but then pretended not to notice. The witch.

“Looks like we're the only ones signed in for tonight,” Jack said.

“I don't think they're expecting anyone,” said Randy.

“Are you sure?” said Leslie. “The house looks ready for visitors. The lights are all on, the sign was on the front door . . .”

“So where are the owners?”

Stephanie turned on one heel to take in the first level. “The dinner table's set for four.”

They all looked through an archway into the dining room opposite the living room.

The room was not lavish, but lovely. A fringed brocade cloth and runner covered the table; the four place settings also included bread plates, salad forks, and dessert spoons. A pitcher of iced tea stood at the near end of the table, beaded with condensation.

Randy went to the table and picked up the pitcher of iced tea. “Anybody thirsty?”

Leslie stepped up. “Randy, that isn't for us.” He shot her a look, then filled a glass from one of the place settings. “Randy!” He sipped from the glass, keeping his eyes on her. Stephanie raised an eyebrow in Leslie's direction and then pretended not to notice. So there. Apparently these two had issues of their own.

“So . . . they're expecting four people,” said Stephanie.

“Right about now,” said Randy.

“Well, they aren't expecting us,” said Jack.

“Nope,” said Randy, enjoying the tea. “But we're going to be their guests tonight, whether they—” The lights flickered. “Oh, now what?”

The house went black.

Stephanie involuntarily reached out for Jack. “Oh, my Lord.”

“Now it's getting fun,” she heard Randy say.

Just like this whole trip, one disaster after another
, Jack thought
.
He looked out the window, now a black rectangle framing a world of bottomless shadows and indistinct shapes. “The yard lights are out too.”

“Hold still till we get used to the dark,” Leslie said.

“Anybody got a lighter?” Randy asked.

“Stephanie,” Jack said. He knew she kept a lighter on hand to offer her smoking friends. He always thought it was weird, since she swore cigarettes were death to the vocal cords, but apparently it was her way of schmoozing. He heard her fumble through her purse, then felt her press the cheap plastic gadget into his hand. He flicked it. Light from the small yellow flame dimly lit the room.

“There you go,” said Randy. “At least
she's
prepared. Come on.” He headed into the foyer then crossed into the living room. Jack went with him, lighting their way. Randy went to the fireplace and took a decorative oil lamp from the mantel.

“Randy, that's not ours,” Leslie called.

Randy took a wooden match from a box on the hearth. The match flared with one scratch on the bricks, and the lamp lit easily. “Now. We can take a look around for candles, matches, a flashlight, anything to take care of this situation—since the owners aren't here to take care of things themselves.”

Jack heard a sound he couldn't place. Something resonant. A high note. “Wait a minute!” said Jack, pocketing the lighter.

“What?”

“Shh.”

They all listened. Jack thought—“Cool,” said Randy, returning to the foyer, taking the oil lamp with him. “Just like a haunted house, right? Nobody here, then the lights go out, then . . .
OOOOOO.
” He wiggled the fingers of his free hand as the oil lamp cast eerie shadows on his face. “Creaks, and groans, and footsteps in the dark.”

Leslie wagged her head in good humor.

“Don't do that,” said Stephanie, setting her purse down behind the sofa.

There it was again. “I did hear something,” Jack said.

From somewhere in the dark expanse of the old house, timbers groaned under their load and then were silent.

“It's just house noise—,” Randy started to say, but Leslie shushed him.

Now, somewhere, floorboards creaked.

“Somebody's here,” Stephanie whispered.

Jack put up his hand for silence, cocked his head to hear, listened.

A voice. A song. A child.

He met the eyes of the others, but saw no awareness there. “You hear that?” Randy started to smirk as if Jack was playing around. “I'm not kidding. I hear somebody singing. Sounds like a little girl.”

They all listened again, and this time awareness, if not a shade of fear, crossed their faces one by one. They heard it too.

“So the owners have a daughter,” Randy said.

Leslie gave a little shrug.

Stephanie only looked at Jack, clearly unnerved.

Two more seconds, and then Randy broke the silence with a commanding voice. “Okay, that's enough Halloween. The kitchen's this way. Let's light this place up.”

He led, holding the lamp high. They followed. As a tight band of four, they moved into the dining room, then traveled through an archway, down a short hall, and into a large, well-equipped kitchen.

Randy pointed. “Let's check these cupboards, that pantry over there. Jack, look out on that porch. We're looking for a flashlight, a breaker panel or a fuse box, candles, anything.” Then he shouted so loudly Jack flinched. “Hello! Anybody here? You've got company!”

Leslie started going through the cupboards, top and bottom, opening, closing, opening, closing.

Jack opened the back door and used his lighter to probe around the enclosed porch. He found an old icebox and some canned goods on shelves, but nothing they needed at the moment.

Stephanie was angry with herself for trembling and hoped the others didn't notice. She'd learned to be brave and independent over the past year—she'd had to. But it was so dark in here; they'd already been through a car wreck and an almost, maybe robbery; and now they were wandering through a big, empty house—

She put her hand to her forehead and tried to get a grip.
Be brave, girl. It's only as bad as you make it. Keep smiling. That's how we get through, remember?

She tried humming a tune, couldn't think of one, hummed aimlessly anyway.

“How about that pantry?” Randy asked.

Boy, he's bossy. Almost as bossy as Jack.

She found the handle to the closet, but it was hard to see anything inside. Randy had the only light and wouldn't set it down. First she could see into the pantry; then she couldn't. It was deep . . . it was dark . . . her fingers found shelves along the walls . . . it was dark . . . that may have been a mop or something . . . it was dark—The lights came on. A single bulb dangling on a wire from the center of the ceiling. Stephanie grunted, shielded her eyes. For a second she couldn't see.

“What you doin' in my pantry?”

4

JACK HEARD STEPHANIE'S SCREAM AND WAS at the pantry door in an instant—so were Randy and Leslie. The three collided, then stood staring.

“Screaming like that we save for the outdoors,” said a broad-faced woman standing in the pantry, covering her ears. When the screaming stopped, she dropped her hands and took a large jar of applesauce from the shelf.

“I'm sorry,” Stephanie gasped. “You startled me.”

“Well, it works both ways. I almost thought you were
him
.”

Stephanie looked at the others. “Who?”

The woman frowned and handed her the jar. “Here. Pour that in a serving bowl and put a spoon in it.” Then she walked into the kitchen, bumping through everyone, went straight to the oven, and peeked inside. For the first time, Jack caught the aroma of a roast. He realized how hungry he was. “Meat's almost ready. Better get the food on the table.”

She was big-boned and strong-backed, wearing a housedress with a cheerful flowered pattern. Her graying hair was gathered into a comb behind her head. She turned from the oven. “Well? Am I talking to myself, or are you all standing there?”

Jack was first to come out of the stupor. “Uh, we're, uh, your guests for the night, I think. I'm Jack—” He held out his hand.

“Looking for a bowl?” the woman asked Stephanie. Jack lowered his arm.

Stephanie wasn't but said, “Sure.”

Randy stepped forward. “Ma'am, are you the owner of this place?”

“I am. And you're the fellow who helped himself to room 3.” She looked past him at Leslie. “Or was that you?”

Leslie put on a disarming smile. “It's both of us. I hope you don't mind—”

“Are you paying for it?”

“Of course.”

“Then enjoy it, but keep the noise down.” She opened a cupboard and brought down a serving bowl, handing it to Stephanie. “Here, sweetie.”

Randy put himself between the middle-aged woman and Stephanie. “We had no idea you were here. It caught us off guard.”

She looked at him, then at the lamp in his hand. “The lights are back on.”

Randy extinguished the oil lamp and set it on a butcher-block island. “Do you have power failures like this very often?”

She shuffled to the other side of the kitchen. “Only when we have guests.” The woman turned to Leslie, “Looking for something to do? Check those peas on the stove and put 'em in a dish.” She pulled open a drawer and extracted a dish for that purpose. Leslie set to work. Betty looked at Jack, “Now, what's your problem?”

“Well, actually, we had some . . . car trouble.”

“Spikes in the road,” said Randy.

“Do you have a phone anywhere—”

The woman came in close, inches from Jack's nose. “Car trouble? That's why you got two rooms?
Car
trouble?” The woman turned to Stephanie. “Is he mad at you or something?”

“Um . . .”

“Can he carry chairs?” The lady turned back to Jack. “Can you carry chairs?”

He nodded. He would have to take mental notes. Use this character in a story sometime.

“Then we're gonna need three more.”

“Oh,” said Leslie, now apologetic. “You
are
expecting someone else.”

“Nope.” She pulled plates and saucers from the cupboard and asked Randy, “Know how to set a table?”

“Of course I do. And by the way, my name is Randy Messarue. And this is Les—”

She pushed the plates into his stomach. “Three more place settings.”

He nodded in Leslie's direction. “That's Leslie. And you are?”

“Betty. Silverware's in that drawer.”

Jack's bewilderment gave way to irritation. “We could really use a phone.”

“Don't have none.”

“So what do you do when the power goes out?” Randy asked.