Bright sunshine filtered through the windows, and birds tweeted their greetings. Vic dressed quickly, having overslept. The sounds of construction filled the house as she dragged herself down the stairs. In the main hall or great hall if you will, scaffolding was being erected, and paintings and furniture were being removed. Michael directed them to place the paintings in the dining room and the furniture in one of the drawing rooms.
“There’s food in the breakfast room. Did you sleep okay?” He directed a muscled man where to go.
“Okay enough. Just a bit tired this morning.” She brushed her hand through her hair.
“Weird bed? I have trouble sleeping in different beds too.” A dark-skinned man walked through the room holding trim and heading for the door. “Jerome, put that stuff in the drawing room. It’s not trash.” Michael walked away from Vic.
Vic turned and walked through the construction zone and found Megan, the kids, and their nanny eating breakfast. The room was smaller than the library and held a small oval table in the center. Small at least compared to the enormous dining table in the dining room. A bright wallpaper hung on the walls with depictions of oranges being picked by workers. At least the wallpaper had been bright at one time, now faded and worn. Three floor-to-ceiling windows spilled sunlight into the room. Several sideboards stood around the room, one of which held a catered breakfast.
Megan looked up as Vic entered. “Good morning, grab a cup of tea and some food.” This is Martha, the boys’ nanny. You saw her yesterday.” She helped Liam as he ate.
Vic nodded towards the woman who looked to be in her 60th or 70th decade. “Good to meet you miss. How are you settling in?” She took a sip of her coffee.
Vic walked over to the sideboard and checked the electric kettle. It was still hot. Pouring hot water into a mug she dropped a teabag into it and set it on the table. “Good. I love the house, but It needs a lot of work.”
Vic set her mug on the table and served herself some of the food. There were scrambled eggs, bacon, and bagels. She sat on the other side of the table facing Megan and the boys.
Liam had light brown skin, brown hair, and chestnut brown eyes, which were more striking due to his dark lashes. He was small and slender, about 5 years old. His brother William was taller, with the same features, and he looked to be a few years older than Liam.
“How do you boys like it here?” She looked at Liam and William.
William stuffed a piece of bacon in his mouth, “It’s kinda neat. We never lived anywhere this big before. It’s way bigger than grandma’s house.”
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth. Chew.” Megan gave him the “mom” look. “How did you sleep? Did the storm keep you awake?” Megan took a sip of her coffee and urged Liam to eat more eggs.
Vic began eating her food and told the two women that she had a strange dream about following Edward Charles through the house. She was sure that it was him. She said she had woken up in the cellar after having sleepwalked down there.
“I haven’t sleepwalked since I was a teenager.” She took a sip of her steaming mug.
“Do you sleepwalk often?” Megan wiped egg off of Liam’s face.
“You should pray,” Martha blurted out. “Do you pray? Jesus can help you.”
Vic looked at the older woman.
“Martha,” Megan said in a sharp tone. “Let’s not start drilling Vic on her faith.
“I once had an uncle who would sleepwalk and he swore up and down that nothing would stop his sleepwalking until he took his faith seriously and prayed to Jesus every night before bed. He sleepwalked for thirty years, but after he started praying regularly he never sleepwalked again.”
Vic ate some more and then said, “I’ll have to try that. I haven’t sleepwalked since I was a teenager. I used to do it weekly, sometimes a couple of times a week from when I was really small until I went away to undergrad.”
“I saw a pretty lady next to my bed last night. She was dressed funny.” Liam interjected, but the adults paid him no mind.
“How young did you start?” Megan wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“I don’t remember exactly, but I think I was around five or six. I remember it started sometime after this family tree project I was working on for school. I remember being upset about not having any grandpas.”
“What do you mean you didn’t have any grandpas?” Martha smoothed out her blouse.
“Growing up it was only my mom, me, and my grandma. My mom’s dad was abusive and they split when my mom was little. My mom’s grandma and great-grandma were the same.” Vic picked at her food.
Liam with his sticky fingers said, “You didn’t have a daddy? I have a daddy. He’s the best daddy in the world. If you ask him, maybe he’ll be your daddy too.” All the women burst out laughing. “What? What’d I say?” He grinned and laughed with them.
Michael came in and talked to Megan who put her napkin down, and asked the nanny if she was okay to take over the kids. She looked to Vic, “Come meet us in the reception hall when you''re finished.” She strode out of the room with Michael.
Vic ate and chatted with the nanny, “How long have you been a nanny? Do you like it?”
“Oh, about 30 years or so.” Martha finished her coffee. “I like it. My kids have been grown for a long time. It’s nice to help others with their littles.” She began cleaning away their plates and ushered the boys out of the room.
“It was nice chatting with you,” Vic called after them. She finished her breakfast in silence. Excitement bubbled up within her. She was here and ready to turn this house back into a beautiful manor. No more haunted house vibes from this place.
The wallpaper on the whole first floor was coming off, except for a few rooms such as the library, dining room, and breakfast room. Those would be completed after other rooms were done. They needed somewhere to work from while the renovations were being completed. She walked through the great hall to the reception hall. A scaffold had been constructed and a man stood on it peeling wallpaper from top to bottom. Steaming it to get it loose. In other places, it pulled away cleanly. Wood trim was being sanded, and the chandelier had been removed. The workmen wore safety glasses and dust masks.
The nanny came through with the two boys, who said goodbye to their parents as she ushered them off to school.
“I see work has started,” Vic walked up.
“Gotta get started early.” Michael grinned.
“Let''s go over the elements of our design plan.” Megan opened her binder for the room.
The three of them went from room to room going over wallpaper choices, rugs, furniture, and everything in between. Talk turned to restoration techniques and replacing things that were missing or had never been here in the first place. Michael left the women to seek out the contractor to go over details. Vic and Megan detailed all the paintings on the first floor and took pictures of them for later. They did the same for sideboards, tables, chairs, settees, vases, etc. It took all morning. The women chatted as they did so. First about design and all the knowledge that went with it. It was more than putting pretty things together. There were things to consider such as fabric type, color, if it was going to be a cushion, curtain, or pillow. Not everything had to be one hundred percent period accurate, but a 1950s or 60s pattern would not do.
At some point, a delivery person brought groceries and Megan showed him to the kitchen, while Vic returned to the dining room. She turned on the electric kettle and waited for the water to boil. Then pulled out the chair at the dining table and sat down, grabbed a guide to Victorian furniture, and opened it. Victorians liked elegant things. Things like Detailed woodwork, rich fabrics, comfortable furniture, billowing draperies, and beautiful carpets. She started identifying the various pieces of furniture in the house. The sofas for the main floor will be either reproductions or have a Victorian look. The seating needs to be comfortable and inviting. They also needed to be large enough to accommodate different body types. She closed the book and stood up.
Vic walked through the construction zone to the library and found Michael sitting at the desk. “What are you looking at?”
He looked up from the thing on his desk he had been looking at. “One of the occult symbols came loose from the woodwork in the den.”
He picked it up and held it out for her to see. “We didn’t go over them yesterday, but I''m sure you’ve noticed them all over the place.”
The object in his hands was disc-shaped and carved from wood. It had two triangles, one pointed up, and the other pointed down and intersected each other, inside a circle.
She walked over and sat in one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the desk. Michael stood and walked around the desk and sat down next to her, pulling the chairs close. “Look at this detail here.” He pointed to a finer carving inside one of the triangles. “I think these are connections, joining the two triangles together.”
“Do you know what it means?” Vic asked.
“Not yet. I haven’t had time to research occult symbolism yet.” He pulled a binder off the desk and opened it. “I went through the house and took photos of all the occult symbols I could find. They’re everywhere.”
Vic pulled half of the binder into her lap. The binder held hundreds of printouts of the various occult symbols in the house. There was the standard five-pointed star used in modern paganism and witchcraft, to ancient alchemical symbols. So many of them she had never seen.
“I guess we’re both going to be researching these. Are we going to clean them up and keep them in the house?”
Megan walked in and they both turned to look at her. For a brief moment, Vic swore she had a look of disgust on her face, but she must have imagined it because all she wore was a smile.
“What are you two doing?” She walked over to them and sat on the edge of Michael’s chair.
Michael held the binder up. “I took some pictures of the occult symbols.”
“I was asking Michael if we were going to keep the symbols or not.”
Vic had barely gotten the words out when both Megan and Michael blurted out “No/Yes!”
“They’re not integral to the house,” Megan announced.
“They’re completely integral to the house.” Michael intoned, his tone rising. “We talked about this Megan.”
“We’re turning this house into an inn. It’s going to creep people out. It creeps me out.” Megan stood and Michael followed her move.
They both jumped down each other''s throats over it.
“Because it’s a part of the house and it’s history. The Charles’ were into spiritualism. It has merit. I think it’s really cool.” He intoned.
“Of course you would. You know I don’t like it.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“I don’t know why you always have to make a big deal out of it. Any time ghosts, hauntings, or the occult is mentioned you go ballistic and then everybody tiptoes around you so they don’t upset you. Talking about it doesn’t make it real. You keep saying it’s not real, but you act like talking about it is going to bring the Devil down on you.” Michael shouted exasperated.
Megan flicked her eyes over to Vic. “Back me up, would you? You don’t believe in this stuff. Tell him we don’t need it in the house.”
“Oh no, don’t bring me into this. I’m only the historical expert.” Vic put her hands up in a placating way.
“Just tell her,” Michael said.
Vic sighed, “I agree with Michael. The symbols are part of the history and design of the house. I think they should stay. I think they’ll fascinate more people than not.”
“I…I can’t talk about this right now. Do what you''re going to do.” Megan stalked off slamming the door on her way out. Michael sighed.
“I’m gonna go.” Vic made to leave.
“No, no. Don’t go. Please stay.” Michael said. “Keep looking through the pictures. Maybe when we research it, they will tell us a story.” He followed after his wife.
Vic picked up the binder and looked through the photos again. The symbols were worked into the trim around doorways, and on the woodwork on the stairwells, some were carved into doors themselves, Mantels, baseboards, and even some of the furniture. She looked at the pictures from front to back and then placed the binder back on the desk. She stood up and walked out of the room.
Workmen still bustled about. The high-pitched sound from a vacuum cleaner as the operator sucked up dust from sanding. Large, black contractor bags dotted the great hall. She weaved her way around all the debris and made her way into the dining room. From the dining room, she went through a door in the north wall that led to a pantry, which had a staircase that descended to the pantry in the basement right off the kitchen.
Vic was hungry but hadn’t bought any food for herself yet. Megan told her that she was free to eat anything in the kitchen. They were going to set up a small, prep kitchen in the main floor pantry, which would come in handy when the inn was finished. A small restaurant will be on the main floor and this prep kitchen would be perfect. Once that kitchen was completed this main kitchen would be gutted to make way for a state-of-the-art kitchen, using reproduction pieces, and modern appliances made to look like they fit the Victorian aesthetic. Megan had told her that she and Michael had gone over whether or not to modernize the kitchen by bringing it up to the first floor, but had ultimately decided to keep it in its original location. They did not want to lose any space on the first floor.
Vic looked in the cold room to see what was available and chose some lunch meat for a sandwich and a small salad to go with it. While she was in the kitchen the sounds of construction were muffled and she thought back to the terrifying nightmare she’d had, plus waking up to find herself barefoot in the darkness of the cellar. She did not want to do that again. She had no idea why she had suddenly started sleepwalking again after not doing it for almost a decade.
After she ate she wandered down the hall to the cellar and walked through the open door. Stark, white light made everything look dull and dingy. The light was still on from the night before. She strode to the center of the room and looked around. The room was about 15x15. There were no windows in this room, only shelves full of junk and the electrical box. Here she could feel the draft that she felt before. She looked behind the shelves for hidden doors but found none. Maybe there were gaps between some of the bricks and some way for the cold air to enter through them. Finding nothing here she walked back out into the hall and turned the light off behind her. She walked down a short corridor opposite the cellar and into the laundry room. An old washer and dryer stood side by side but contained wash basins and washboards from before washing machines existed. The room was wider than it was long and there were two windows high up on the north wall. Another door on the south wall led to a drying room where they used to hang-dry the wash in the past.
The basement wasn’t the terrifying bowels of hell during the daytime that she thought it was the night before. It was old and held a sort of dungeon quality about it. It would be less dungeony if it had been decorated in any way other than a bare stone floor, brick and stone walls, and no decoration of any kind. The windows had no curtains, no paintings hung on the walls. It was all business. She walked back out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Back down the short corridor she turned right and walked down a short flight of stairs to the boiler room. It was dark and grimy in this room, with a railing that ran around two sides of the room and a lower section reached by another set of stairs. The lower section held several enormous boilers with pipes rising to the ceiling and off to different parts of the house. This wasn’t the original boiler, but looked to be a newer one installed in the 1950s. This room evoked nightmares and she took back what she thought about the basement not being the bowels of hell during the day. She was glad that she didn’t have to spend any time working in this room. There were no cushions to place, or draperies to hang. Let the plumber have this room. She poked her head into a few more nooks and crannies surrounding the boiler room but found nothing of interest. The closets held spare and broken parts.
Vic climbed the stairs back to the main hallway in the basement, her loafers quiet on the floor. She looked into another cellar, and then the servants’ hall. There were so many rooms down here. Enough for an army, but only one family had lived here. A man, his wife, and two kids, and most of that time was one woman. She walked across the hall to another door labeled “cellar” and opened the door.
Something small and dark shot at her face. She stumbled backward, hands up in front trying to fend it off. Small claws raked at her hands. Wings beat at her head. Wings. A bird. The bird flew off down the hall as it looked for an escape. Vic’s face was flushed, her breathing ragged. She began to laugh. A deep rolling laugh. It took her several minutes to stop laughing, all the while the sparrow flew back and forth looking for an escape. Once she got herself back under control she looked into the cellar the bird had come from. It was smaller than the other cellars, but this one had a busted window. The bird must have come through the broken window and also must be the source of the chill draft. She could feel it strongly here, especially when the wind blew outside.
Somebody will have to catch that bird before it hurts itself, she thought. She left the cellar in search of something to catch the bird with. The next room was the wine cellar, which surprisingly still held some wine. She made a mental note to come back later. Finding nothing she took the stairs back to the first floor. Walking into the great hall, the room looked very different than it had in the morning. All the wallpaper was gone and sanding was being completed. All the woodwork was going to be gorgeous after it was restained. The sounds of Hammering and paper ripping from elsewhere on the main level could barely be heard over the sound of the vacuum that sucked up the dust. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Vic walked through the construction site looking for Michael, but he wasn’t anywhere. He must still be with Megan, she thought. Her overreaction to the symbols baffled her. It was none of her business. She was here as the historical expert and that’s what she’d do. If they didn’t want to go with historical accuracy as they claimed it didn’t matter to her. What she needed now was help catching that bird. She found the contractor talking to another workman. She interjected and explained the issue. He gathered up a few of the guys, and a couple of blankets and went down to the basement to catch the bird.
Twenty minutes later the bird had been captured, carried upstairs to be released outside, and the window was boarded up. Vic thought this was the perfect time to grab a bottle of wine and find her bosses. Technically Michael was her boss, but they were a duo. And she didn’t want to be a point of contention between them. They could probably use a glass of wine like her.
Vic found Megan in the dining room going over wallpaper samples again. There were too many samples. Megan looked up as she walked in. “Look what I found in the wine cellar,” Vic said in a sing-song voice. Megan smiled.
“I owe you an apology.” Megan stood.
“Nonsense,” Vic replied.
“I overreacted earlier and I shouldn’t have. I should have been professional.”
“Everybody overreacts at some point. It’s clear you don’t like the topic. But enough about that. How about you, me and Michael demolish this bottle.” She handed the bottle to Megan who read the label. 1906 Sauvignon blanc.
“You read my mind,” Megan said as she took the bottle. “Michael is going to love this.”
As they walked into the great hall, the two boys Liam and William came through the reception hall with the nanny right behind them. Liam ran up to Megan and threw his arms around her.
“Mom, look what I made for you at school today,” He shoved a necklace made out of noodles in her face.
“It’s beautiful, I’m going to wear it the rest of the day.” She put the loop over her head and hung it around her neck. Liam beamed.
William came right behind his brother and handed a piece of paper with a drawing on it to Vic. “This is for you. I didn’t want you to feel left out.”
Vic took the paper. It had a drawing of a big house on it, with his whole family on it, plus Vic and an old woman she assumed was the nanny. The family and Vic were standing in front of the house, but the nanny was hiding in a window.
“Aw, that’s so sweet William. I love it!” Vic crooned.
Megan looked at it. “That was very nice of you William. Thank you!” She looked at Martha, “Take the boys to the kitchen and give them a snack before playtime.”
Vic looked at the drawing again. “It’s so sweet of him to give me a picture. I wonder why he put Martha in the window.”
Megan shrugged, “Check out this sweet necklace Liam made me. Bet you wish you had one of these.”
“I wouldn’t have anywhere to wear it. I don’t live a posh life.” Vic joked.
“Don’t you? You live in a mansion.” Megan said.
The two women laughed and continued into the library. Michael looked up as they entered laughing and he smiled. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Said Megan, “Just this sweet jewelry your son made me at school today.”
Catching on, Michael said, “Oh, I see he’s trying to outdo his old man.”
Michael came around the desk and walked over to Megan and kissed her. Megan lifted the bottle of wine so he could see it.
“Look what Vic found in the wine cellar.” Megan handed it to him.
Michael took the bottle and looked at the label. “Wow, This is old.” He looked up at Vic. “We haven’t had the chance to look through everything yet. Was this the only one left?”
“There are a few others.” The presence of the wine was making everything better. “Come on! Let’s drink this.” Vic said.
Michael walked back over to the desk and set the bottle down. “Wait, we don’t have a corkscrew.”
“Yes, you do,” Megan said. “It’s on your multi-tool.”
Michael pulled his multi-tool out of his pocket and found the corkscrew. “I never knew this would actually come in handy.” He started working on the cork.
Megan grabbed some glasses that were sitting on a small bar cart and brought them over to the desk. She and Vic sat in the two chairs in front of the desk. Michael pulled the cork out and sniffed the bottle. Then he poured 3 glasses.
“Aren’t we supposed to let the wine breathe for a minute? Vic asked.
“I think so,” Megan replied.
“For how long?” Vic picked up a glass and smelled the wine. “It smells good. Not like vinegar.”
They all waited a few minutes while talking about what other vintages were hidden in the wine cellar and then they began drinking. Vic was surprised at how good it was. It was like she’d never had real wine before. It was fruity, with a hint of vanilla and just a touch of sweetness. She then remembered the bird and the cracked window.
“I found the draft we’ve been feeling in the basement,” Vic sipped her wine.
Michael poured himself another glass of wine. “Oh, where?”
“It’s kind of a funny story,” Vic looked at the two of them.
Megan leaned closer to Vic intrigued, and Michael rested his hands on the desk, one hand around his glass.
“I was looking around and checking things out when I opened the door to one of the cellars and a bird flew right in my face. I was so scared, at least until I realized what it was. It had come in through a broken window.” Megan and Michael were hysterical with laughter.
Vic continued telling Megan and Michael about getting several workmen to corner and capture the bird to let it go outside. Michael told her that at the last house they had renovated the ceiling had caved in and a whole village of raccoons had fallen out. It was utter chaos, pure pandemonium. They laughed and drank, while they told funny stories.
They passed the next couple of hours like this until Megan spoke. “Well, that was fun. We should do it again sometime. But for now, duty awaits. Dinner isn’t going to cook itself and I’m sure Martha wants to get home.” She hoisted herself out of the chair, a little wobbly on her feet.
Michael stood up and came around the desk to help her. But she said she had it. Vic said that she should go on up to her room. She was wobbly as well as she stood, but they hadn’t drunk all that much. It was only one bottle of wine. She excused herself from their company.
The workmen in the house were gathering up their gear and heading out for the day. The sky outside was getting darker, but full dark was still a couple of hours away. Today had been unusually sunny for early November. Vic walked through the great hall, now bare of all greatness, and made her way over to the grand staircase. As she climbed the steps she placed her right hand on the banister and ran her hand up it. The wood was rough beneath her skin. It was ready to be sanded and stained. The stairs creaked in places as she ascended. The stained glass loomed over her. She didn’t know how she hadn’t seen it before, but the woman reaching out for the unicorn looked pained. The unicorn looked like it was trying to backpedal away from her and upon looking closer she saw what looked like little devils or imps hiding in the flowers. The imps looked as though they were looking at her. She hurried by the stained glass window and continued up the stairs. The familiar hallway greeted her as she came off the stairs. She knew that many old medieval paintings and tapestries contained creepy images of women being carried off by devils, or devils hiding in the details, people with their entrails hanging out, and unicorns being stabbed. It was an interesting piece, but right now her head was spinning and she wanted to lay down. She continued down the hall to her room. She had drunk more than she thought. She hoped Megan wasn’t too drunk to cook dinner for her family. She knew she was too drunk to cook. She wasn’t even really that hungry. That was probably the wine talking. She should drink some water and order food. Or she could go to the kitchen and make food. No, she thought, she’d already been in the basement enough for today. Plus she didn’t feel like walking down two flights of stairs and back up. Where was her room? Did she pass it? She’d been lost in thought. She should have reached it already. Her door was only about twenty steps from the top of the stairs. She’d been walking for a couple of minutes. At least she thought she had. She looked down the hall, but what she saw puzzled her. The hall stretched an impossibly long distance. It must be the booze. She shook her head and the world spun. She shouldn’t have done that. She grabbed the wall to steady herself. She looked back at the stairs expecting to see them far in the distance and they were right behind her. No more than two paces. She looked down the hall again and it looked normal. Her door was right where it should be, as was the end of the hall. She had definitely drunk too much wine.
In her room, she got herself a glass of water using the tap in the bathroom. She gulped it down and collapsed onto the bed. Her head and vision swirled as she stared at the ceiling. The paint took on a textured look as she stared. Her eyelids were heavy and it was hard to hold them open. After minutes of trying to stay awake and will the inebriation away, her lids closed and did not open.
Vic walked through an ancient cemetery, knee-high grass obscured the tombstones. Gnarled trees dotted the cemetery, their branches like bones reaching for the sky overhead. Clouds roiled across the sky, pushed by a storm. A chill wind blew and her skin crawled just being here. Was that beast still here, she wondered. She saw a man across the expansive cemetery. Who was he? He had a tophat. He was the man in the top hat she had been following. Why had she been following him? She must catch him. Then she could ask him? Maybe she knew him, or maybe he knew her. She ran across the lawn avoiding tombstones as she ran. Some of them were so small they were completely obfuscated by the grass and she nearly tumbled over them a few times. She ran past a statue of an angel, her face a look of pure terror. A gargoyle sat on her shoulder, its claws penetrating her skin, and its jaws clamped onto her neck. She shivered as she passed it. Up ahead she saw the man in the top hat walk around the corner of a mausoleum. Wolves howled in the distance. Terror welled up inside her. She ran for the mausoleum. When she reached it she went around the side of it looking for the man. She didn’t see him, but the door to the mausoleum was open. She entered it.
Inside it was dark, but somehow she could see. The lid of one of the tombs was shoved aside and a staircase descended into the ground. She didn’t want to go down there into the darkness, but the howls of the wolves were getting closer. If she didn’t move now they’d be on her soon. She climbed into the tomb, the stone cold under her hands. She walked down the narrow, uneven steps, her hands trailing along the wall. Down she went, the howls of the wolves left behind. The air grew warm and a faint red glow could be seen. At last, she came to a large open room, the floor dirt, and mounded graves dotted the room, the walls nowhere to be seen. There was no ceiling, only a starry sky overhead with a blood-red moon. She could hear crickets chirping. She did not see the man. She walked closer to read the names on the tombstones. Magdalena Bishop (birth and death date), She walked to the next one. Josephine Bishop (birth and death dates), she walked to the next. Sofia Frank (Birth and death dates), she walked to the next one. Jillian Gray (birth and death date. Death date is today). There was one more tombstone, Vic didn’t want to go near it, but she knew she had to. She walked as slow as a tortoise. She read the name on the stone, Victoria Gray. Fresh roses lay atop the grave. Black roses. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She grabbed the roses, thorns piercing her flesh, blood dripped from the wounds and spilled into the soil. The flowers spilled to the ground when she threw them, landing like matchsticks in the dirt. She sank to her knees and started digging into her grave, scraping the soil away handful, by handful. Soon her fingers ached with pain and the cold of the grave. She couldn’t be down there. She was right here. Her mom wasn’t dead. Why was she in this place? Why did she and her mom have graves next to her mom and grandmas? She dug with a fervor that defied logic. Her hands began to bleed but she would not stop. She dug for what must have been hours when her hands reached wood. The coffin. She brushed the dirt aside and pried at the lid, she strained until something popped and the lid pulled free. Inside was a body. A woman, A pregnant woman with her face. She recoiled in horror, scrambling up the side of the grave, loose dirt giving way beneath her as she slid back into it. It couldn’t be, not herself. A look of terror on the corpse''s face, her hands cradling a desiccated pregnant belly. She wasn’t pregnant. She had left her cheating ex more than six months ago and had not been with anybody else. She had to get away, she began climbing again, but this time hands came out of the ground and grabbed at her, pulled at her. She screamed.
“Vic, wake up.” Michael shook her. His brow wrinkled with worry.
Vic opened her eyes and the first thing she noticed was Michael’s rich brown eyes, and then his arms on her shoulders. “What’s going on?” Fatigue pulled at her.
“You tell me. I was walking through and I saw you coming down the stairs and I called your name. You didn’t respond. Then I noticed the blood.” He said.
“What blood?” She looked down at herself and noticed bloody scratches on her arms and dirt under her fingernails. “What?”
“What happened?” He looked at her.
He was handsome, she thought. What? No, don’t think that. Why would you think that? He’s married. Now’s not the time. He stared into her face.
“I…I must have sleepwalked again. I mean, I know I sleepwalked. I didn’t know I was sleepwalking,” she stammered. She took a breath, “What I mean to say is that I fell asleep after I went upstairs. I must have been sleepwalking when you found me.”
“But you’re bleeding? Do you ever hurt yourself while you’re sleepwalking?” He took her hands and lifted her arms to inspect them.
“I was known to get some bumps and bruises when I sleepwalked as a kid.” She grew warm watching him inspect her scratches.
“Were you in the garden?” He turned her hands over inspecting her palms.
She did look as if she’d been in a garden. Her hands were dirty with dirt under the nails and scratches up and down her forearms. She remembered her dream and shivers ran down her spine.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, it’s nothing.” She lied. She must have been in the garden. There was no other explanation. It couldn''t have happened in her dream, it was impossible.
“Come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up.” He took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom.
The bathroom was small and carpeted in a burnt orange color and the walls had the faux wood paneling that was so popular in the 1970s. The toilet lid was one of those that also had the faux paneling look, and the seat was puffy. Michael sat Vic down on the lid, the air from the cushioned seat slowly squeezed out. He searched in the cabinet under the sink for the first aid kit. He found some rubbing alcohol and pulled that out, grabbed a washcloth and soap, and wetted both in the water that came from the tap. Vic glanced at his reflection in the ugly mirror and waited. The washcloth wet, warm, and soapy he kneeled in front of Vic, and grabbed her hand. With his other hand, he took the washcloth and gingerly dabbed at her wounds. He carefully cleaned them and he took her hands and placed them under the faucet, warm water flowed into the sink. He lathered her hands in soap and scraped out the dirt from beneath her nails. She looked at him as he cleaned her hands, a warmth spread through her body. He turned his gaze towards her and she hastily coughed and looked elsewhere.
“It’s okay. I’m almost done.” He grabbed a towel and dried off her hands and arms. Then he grabbed a cotton disc and poured rubbing alcohol. “This is going to sting a bit.” He then wiped her scratches with it. Vic jerked at the sharp pain it caused when it touched her open wounds. She gritted her teeth and waited for Michael to finish. After a minute Michael proclaimed her all better, and she thanked him.
“Would you care for another drink?” Michael looked at her.
“Oh, no! Not tonight. I think I had enough earlier. Despite the nap, I feel so tired. Tired and hungry.” She stood, the bathroom too small for two people. Vic could feel Michael’s body heat in the confined space, their faces inches apart. Her heart all a flutter. This is ridiculous, she thought. They both stammered, then Michael opened the bathroom door and they both shuffled out.
Megan was coming down the hallway and saw them. She had resting bitch face and didn’t try to hide it. “What’s going on here?” She said coolly. It was a quick one-eighty from when they were all the best of friends a few hours prior.
“I was cleaning Vic''s wounds.” He indicated her arms.
Vic lifted her arms for Megan to see. “I think I sleepwalked through the garden. There’s no other explanation.”
Megan let out a breath that she’d been holding and her face softened. “We should do something about that. We don’t want you getting injured again.” She looked at Michael. “Where’s that box of keys that came with the house?”
“I think I left it in the library. Let me go find that.” and off Michael went in search of a box of keys.
“Let’s go sit,” Megan slid her arm through Vic’s and dragged her off to the library. There weren’t any other places to currently relax on the main floor.
Both women found Michael looking through drawers and boxes when they entered. He was pulling miscellaneous things out of several different boxes, searching for the one that held the keys.
“Sit here,” Megan motioned for Vic to sit on a Settee that sat between two bookcases. “I’ll be back, I’m going to go make you some chamomile tea to soothe you.” Megan left the room.
“There’s so much stuff here,” He continued to rummage. Then he looked in a small box, “Ah, here it is. All the keys to the various doors in the house.” He brought it over to Vic and sat next to her on the sofa and began pulling keys out of the box.
Vic pulled a side table over and they laid out all the keys. There had to be more than twenty keys there. “What are all these keys for?
“They go to all the doors in the house.” He arranged them by shape and size.
A few minutes later Megan returned with a tray of steaming drinks. A hot tea for Vic and hot coffee for her and Michael. She set the tray down on the desk and carried over the tea for Vic and the coffee for Michael. Then she pulled one of the armchairs over to them, retrieved her coffee, and sat down.
“Why are there so many keys?” Megan sipped her coffee.
“Old homes had a key for every door, plus a skeleton key.” Megan looked nervous. “What we’d call a master key.” Megan relaxed.
“We can try every key in your lock if you think locking your door every night will help keep you from getting injured while sleepwalking.” Michael took a sip of coffee.
“I don’t want to lock myself in every night.” Vic was scared, she didn’t want to be going through this again. Sleepwalking made her childhood a nightmare. But she didn’t want them to know it bothered her so much. “If the key is here I’ll take it, but I don’t want to lock myself in unless I have to. These two times are the first time I’ve sleepwalked in years. I don’t know why I’d start again now.” Vic sipped at her tea. It was still a little too hot. She held the mug in her hands and tried to warm herself. She felt chilled to the bone.
Megan leaned forward and put a hand on Vic’s knee. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll keep an eye on you. Won’t we Michael?” Megan glanced at him.
“Of course we will.” He said.
“Great, “Megan gathered up all the keys and put them in the box Michael held out. “Let’s go find out which one goes to your room.
Vic put down her mug and followed Megan out of the room, Michael trailed behind her. Upstairs in the worn and tired hallway, Megan gave the box to Michael to hold and she grabbed a key at random. She pushed the metal key into the old-fashioned keyhole and turned. Nothing. She handed the key to Vic, and she grabbed another. She put the key in the hole and turned. This one also did not budge. She handed the key to Vic and grabbed another one from the box that Michael held. They went on in this manner for several minutes, having exhausted most of the keys, until finally, one clicked.
“Got it,” Meg tried the doorknob, locked. She unlocked the door.
Vic put all the keys she held back into the box and took the key that Megan held out to her. “Thank you,” She told the two of them. “I think I’m going to go to bed early.” She bid them both a good night and went into her room. She listened as their footsteps took them away from her.
What was she going to do? She didn’t want to be sleepwalking at 26. She didn’t want the nightmares that came with it. She thought back to when she was a teenager. Did she and her mom ever figure out why she was sleepwalking? She didn’t think so. After graduating high school she went off to Columbia on a full-ride scholarship. She remembered that her mother was worried about her sleepwalking in New York, but she assured her mom that she’d lock her door and that she had a roommate to help look over her. But once she was there she’d never sleepwalked again. Well, at least not until the previous night. It couldn’t be being in Detroit. She came back to the city after her undergrad. She had spent the whole summer at home with her mom. She enrolled at the University of Michigan the next semester for her doctorate, which she was close to finishing. All she had left was to write her dissertation on the history and architecture of the Charles’ House. And then what? She hoped it was in repairing and preserving the history of these great old houses.
She had to sit down and write up her notes on the project. She detailed the current condition of the house and the projects that were currently underway. She began detailing the design elements found in the house, their condition, and how she thought they were going to be either repaired or replaced. Every big city had a store full of used fixtures from houses that you could buy. They helped people renovate historic homes the most because most of these pieces once removed from a home usually end up in the trash and are lost to time.
She worked on her notes for another hour and then shut her laptop down. She walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on. Back in the bedroom, she stripped out of her clothing. When she removed her bra, dirt fell out. Her skin felt prickly. It was from the garden. She had sleepwalked to the garden and had gotten scratched up in the dead rose bush. That must have been when she fell and got her hands dirty. That’s where the dirt had come from. It wasn’t her dream, it wasn’t.
She dumped her clothing in her hamper and then walked into the shower. It was hot and steamy at this point. She had cracked the window open because these old bathrooms didn’t have exhaust fans. The cold air hit her occasionally, which caused her to shiver, but the hot water felt divine. It was as if all the troubles and worries of the day were washed off. Even if red scratches and memories remained.
After her shower, she put on her bathrobe and wrapped up her hair. She grabbed her book from the side table and lit the gas lantern for some ambiance. Then she sat in one of the armchairs. She opened her book to the bookmark and began to read. It was a lengthy historical drama. She read until her eyes ached and she had to keep rereading sentences to understand what they meant. She put her bookmark in place, set the book on the table, and turned off the gas lamp. Then she dragged herself to bed after turning off the other lights. Streetlights cast shadows of the frilly lace curtains against the wall. As she drifted off to sleep she was certain somebody was whispering nearby. Not out in the hall, but in the room with her. She tried to listen, but sleep claimed her.