Chapter 5

Chapter Five

A few hours later, Sybil and the other women sat down to dinner happy for the progress they’d made. Sybil looked across the big dining table, glad they’d eaten their omelets here rather than cram around the smaller table in the kitchen. Letisha was the best cook of the bunch, so when they ate the omelets and biscuits, all of them complimented the meal.

Sybil groaned. “Oh my God, this tastes great. The protein bar I ate for breakfast wore off a long time ago.”

Maria nodded. “What’s your cooking secret, Letisha?”

Letisha sank into a chair across from Sybil and started on a biscuit first. “Determination. My mom might be a hotshot doctor, but she’s a lousy cook.”

Pauline laughed. “I didn’t know that. I mean, I knew she was a doctor, but the cooking thing...”

Maria sighed. “Everyone in my family can cook except me.”

“I thought your family was dead?” Pauline asked.

Sybil’s breath snagged in her throat, and she looked up. Letisha sent Pauline an angry look, one filled with a special loathing Sybil couldn’t recall seeing on her friend’s face before. Maria had stopped eating and stared at her plate for way too long.

Finally, Maria looked at them all and said, “My parents are but my grandparents are alive.”

Sybil knew that Maria’s parents had died in a freak car accident in New York City when Maria was ten.

Maria continued. “I lived with my grandparents...my paternal grandparents along with my three older brothers...after Mom and Dad died.”

“Did you enjoy living with your grandparents?” Letisha asked.

Maria placed her fork down on the plate. “Not really. They were super religious. Strict. My grandfather in particular. He treated grandma like shit. I wanted to go to college, but the only colleges they would help pay for were religious-oriented schools.” She shook her head, her expression etched with a low-simmering anger. “I graduated from high school and moved out. Lived with the boyfriend. That didn’t work out because apparently he didn’t like the idea of me getting an education either.”

Letisha made a disgusted sound in her throat. “Please tell me you dumped his ass?”

Maria found a smile. “I did. You all know the rest. Finished a general arts associate degree. It took me a while because I was working two jobs at a time. Then I found you guys.”

“What do you plan to do next?” Pauline asked. “I mean, let’s face it. Cleaning houses isn’t a long-time goal, is it?”

Maria pinpointed Pauline with a stare that was palpable in its dislike. “I’m working that out.”

Silence clung to the room as everyone but Maria returned to eating. Sybil’s phone went off and made her jump.

“It’s a text from Clarice. She said the guy with the security system experience will call me tonight. She sent me his photo.” She perused the man’s picture, and her mouth dropped open. “Wow.”

Letisha strained forward to look. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.” She turned the phone around and the women shuffled their chairs around to get a good look.

“Holy shit,” Pauline said. “Not my type, but holy shit on crackers.”

“What’s your type?” Maria asked in a faintly scathing tone. “How could he not be your type?”

Pauline returned the look and the tone. “He’s blond. I like men with dark hair.”

“Hmmm...he’s hot. I mean, I love a man in uniform,” Letisha said as she rubbed her hands together. “Especially a marine.”

Sybil groaned. “God, will you listen to yourselves? What is he, a piece of meat?”

“Listen,” Letisha said. “I luv ya, but men have been ogling the shit out of women for centuries. It’s fair game.”

Sybil snorted. “It’s one of those hard ass photos they all take in front of a flag. He almost looks mean. He’s also a retired cop.”

“Retired? How old is he again?” Letisha asked.

“Thirty-eight,” Sybil said. “Two years younger than me.”

Letisha waggled her eyebrows. “He kinda looks like Chris Hemsworth. A little less pretty. Rougher around the edges. Besides, military men are supposed to look mean in photos like this. Good for the promotion board. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

Hot is right. Sybil wanted to agree. She could pretend she didn’t care, but this photo had her intrigued.

Her phone rang, and she answered it just in case it was the retired marine.

“Hi, this is Douglas MacKenzie, a friend of Clarice’s,” he said. “Is this Sybil?”

Bingo. She smiled.

His voice was low, deep and husky. Typical Standard American accent.

Sybil cleared her throat. “Hey. Yes. This is Sybil Alderan. Clarice said you’d call.”

“She explained what happened at the mansion and wanted me to scope things out for a security system. Do you have time for me to come by in the morning?”

“Of course. We can make time. Would eight o’clock work?”

“Perfect.”

“Do you need the address or directions?”

“Nope. I live on Halbeck Road about three miles from you.”

“Okay. See you then.”

“Look forward to it.”

After she hung up, the others stared at her in curiosity. Letisha wore a big smile.

“Eight o’clock?” Letisha asked. “Guess we can’t sleep in.”

Maria yawned. “Well, I’m going upstairs. I’m tired.”

“Thanks guys. We accomplished a lot today even with the...well, the footprints,” Sybil stood and picked up her empty plate. “Thanks, Letisha, for the awesome meal.”

“I got this.” Pauline took the plate right out of Sybil’s hand. “I’ll wash up.”

With that, Maria took off for the second floor. Letisha and Sybil followed a few moments later.

Once on the second floor, Letisha turned to Sybil. “I’m surprised Pauline wanted to wash dishes.”

Sybil laughed. “Just what I was thinking. But she’s anal. My guess is she’ll volunteer to do it every night. She isn’t being altruistic. Her goal is to make sure that everything is done according to her preferences.”

Letisha crossed her arms. “You’re right. That’s gotta be it. Speaking of clean, at least the footprints haven’t come back.” She scanned the hallway. “That’s a good sign.”

“We still don’t know how they got there.”

“True.” Letisha lowered her voice and glanced down the hallway toward Maria’s bedroom. “You mentioned Clarice thinks it’s ghosts? Did you suggest that to her?”

Sybil made a sound of exasperation. “No, I didn’t. Clarice wasn’t definitive about ghosts. She said there were rumors. She never said that she experienced anything here when she was growing up, either.”

“Huh. Well, we will have this entire project done soon and be back in Denver in no time. It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s early yet. I think I’m going outside to the terrace a little while before I go to bed. Looked like there were some chairs and a table left out there,” Sybil said.

“See you in the morning,” Letisha said as she left.

Sybil pulled her heavy-duty fleece cardigan closer around her and snapped up the front over the long-sleeved thermal shirt she wore under it.

She headed downstairs and, once in the Great Hall, skirted around the baby grand piano and to the terrace door. She unlocked the door and stepped outside. Cold air drifted over her. It smelled so good out here, her lungs appreciating fresh air after being in the old house all day.

Glancing around, she saw the cracked stonework under her feet, with patches of old grasses that had died as fall came in growing through the cracks. All stuff that Clarice would need stonemasons to fix before she sold the place unless a buyer would take it as is. In the middle of the long terrace, there stood the old iron table and chairs. This space needed more chairs and a bigger table. She sat on one chair and groaned. It needed padding.

The sun’s light was a diminishing orange orb behind the darkening tree line to the west. While mountains dominated the west, the sun seemed determined to sneak through a crack in the thick trees and the mountain ridges. Here, the trees didn’t dominate the skyline as aggressively, yet they were still huge compared to most pine trees. When she took a deep breath of the cool air, the same unease she had faced when she first entered the woods around this house returned. The forest was steeped in shadows now, and she wished more than the light streaming from the Great Hall windows illuminated the terrace.

She slumped down in the uncomfortable chair. Nope, this chair still needed padding for the ass and back. Oh well. It didn’t matter. Wasn’t like she’d be living here permanently. Yet as she sat here, taking in the rapidly approaching darkness, she felt drawn to the area. To the trees that seemed to whisper her name in soft voices.

Watch. Watch. A sweet and begging voice. Watch this house.

She shook her head. God, these woods...this place had something in it. Something insidiously primal.

Immeasurably old.

You can’t say that out loud. Can’t say any of that out loud. Not to anyone.

She ignored the voice in her head and closed her eyes for a moment.

* * *

Sybil jerked awake.

She still sat in the hard metal chair.

“What the hell?”

All the lights coming from the house on the west side were out. Only the faintest glow from the western sky gave her a reference. She sucked in a breath as a smidgen of fear bubbled up inside her.

She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep. It felt like she had just closed her eyes and then wham. She was asleep. She rubbed her eyes and glanced toward the forest beyond.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The trees appeared to have gotten closer. Their darkening shapes much…much closer. To demand she go inside. They were thicker. Moving toward the house. Blocking the light. Blocking the way out. Rustling. Leaves whispering disapproval, or maybe a warning.

“Shit,” she said and stood with a jerk. She grabbed her cell phone out of her waist belt and turned on the flashlight.

She swung the light toward the trees to the west that stood at least two hundred yards from the edge of the terrace. No. The trees weren’t closer.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. What the hell?

Just your silly imagination. You’re so sensitive, Sybil. Sensitive and silly.

Still, she didn’t feel comfortable. Time to hit the bed if she was tired enough to fall asleep in a chair that felt like a rock. She made her way through the door and back into the Great Hall.

Almost Stygian darkness engulfed the Great Hall. Damn. She locked the door quickly. The heavy pieces of furniture…everything in the Great Hall including the chandelier, seemed to glare and accuse. The weight of this house’s age pressed down on her. Even the light from her phone didn’t help her feel more at ease.

Before she could head toward the staircase, something loomed up on her left. She gasped. Swung the light toward the cloakroom and the cellar door beyond.

Nothing. No one.

The cellar door called. It asked her to move forward. To come down.

Shivering inside, she took a shuddering breath.

No. No, I’m not going in there now. Not alone.

You’ve never been a coward in the darkness. Never.

It didn’t matter. Now wasn’t the time.

She continued toward the staircase and moved slowly, eager not to trip. She eased up the steps, a crawling suspicion something followed her and yet something also lurked up ahead.

When she reached the third floor, she hustled to reach her room. The light from her phone hit the sparkling chandelier hanging in the center of the hall. She stopped in the hallway, flabbergasted. Her room door was open again.

“Oh, come on.”

Anger pushed her forward. She went to the door and boldly opened it and stepped inside. She flipped on the light, pushed by exasperation.

The chandelier in the center of the room lit up.

Nothing. There wasn’t a hulking man in a mask ready to carve her up slasher flick style. She closed the door and locked it. After searching the bathroom, under the bed and in the closet, she discovered no one was lurking. She noticed the suitcase…the one Clarice had mentioned the renters had left behind. She ignored it for now. Okay, so the door to this bedroom had some sort of issue. She could ask Mr. MacKenzie if he knew anything about fixing doors.

She sat on the edge of the bed and examined the gothic monstrosity of a room. The heaviness of the furniture, the dark purple velvet curtains that drooped near the windows. Normally furniture in a Victorian home appealed to her. This room...this house made her feel off. Discomfited. At odds with that part of her that found stability and self-assurance in the simple foundation of cleaning. Of knowing steps that fit in a box. Clean this carpet. Wax the floor. Polish. Dust. Descale. Whatever was needed to make a house shiny. Clean of any stench. Able to start fresh without the taint of what went there before.

Oh, but there are things you can’t scrub out, Sybil. Things even you can remove.

This house had more than the usual history lying thick, like a sludge on every surface. Beyond dust. Beyond dirt so thick it adhered like concrete. As she looked at the tray ceiling, at the curlicues that adorned the large wood mantle above the fireplace, it all whispered to her.

See me. Hear me. Feel me. You know I’m here.

She closed her eyes at the same time she clapped her hands over her ears.

No. Not now. I don’t want to. I don’t have time for this. Please.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Another breath and a third, each designed to slow down her heart rate and relieve tension in her muscles. She opened her eyes and uncovered her ears. The heaviness had retreated. At least it had gone back to the corners of the room.

Yet as she sat there, another nagging thought came to mind. An idea that bothered her now that she paid attention to it.

No one believed the footsteps were paranormal. Nor did they believe her bedroom door opening itself was paranormal.

Maybe they thought she was doing it.

At least they hadn’t said it out loud. Yet.