Ghosts of Eden (10 page)

-Cassie

Kayla shrugged and sat down, suddenly very hungry, and began to heap food on her plate: mashed potatoes, and green beans, and clumsy carvings from an entire roasted chicken, which served as the table’s centerpiece.

She’d just finished her first heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes and was about to get another when something brushed her leg beneath the table. She jumped, bumping her knee painfully. She bent down to look and a cat twisted itself around her legs, its head bobbing warmly. She pushed her chair back and picked the cat up. “Where did you come from?” she said. It sat patiently and rigidly in her lap, not purring, but looking around. She stroked its back. Its fur was very soft, pale, like a peach. “What’s your name? I didn’t know my uncle had a cat.” It looked up at her and blinked. “I know what you want,” she said, tearing a small piece of chicken from a larger piece on her plate. She held the piece out and the cat looked at it, then looked back at her, and then, as if resound to its fate, took the meat in its teeth and began to eat. Kayla hugged the cat and smiled. “You can sleep in my room tonight. How’s that sound?”

* * *

Lying in bed, blinking in the darkness, she watched the tiny pricks of stars glimmer against the night sky through the skylight in the ceiling. It was very quiet. She felt so alone. She didn’t feel like sleeping, but what else could she do? She looked down the bed to make sure the cat was still curled up at her feet; its white face turned up to meet her gaze. Was the entire summer going to be like this? She missed the comforts of her old familiar home. A shiver ran through her, even though she wasn’t cold.

When sleep finally took her, it was as if she were not merely dreaming, but had been transported to some other place and now lay, still awake, in a different bed in a different house, waiting for something to happen. The room was empty, the floor bare, the window tacked with newspaper from which moonlight cut across the room through a tear, dust swirling in its beam. There was no longer a skylight above her head, but a jagged hole over which plastic had been stapled, that bulged slowly in and out with the whistling of the wind outside, as if the house itself were breathing. She knew, somehow, that something was going to happen, something horrifying. She couldn’t leave the bed. She was frozen in place. She knew there was no escape. It was dark, and cold, and windy outside, but whatever came for her, would come from inside.

The quilt that lay over her was the same as from her uncle’s house, but had somehow become scuffed and threadbare, thin and creased like tissue paper. Her body lay beneath it like a tiny wilted flower. The hole in the ceiling began to breathe more heavily, crumpling in and out. The cat tucked at her feet, sleeping soundly and unaware.

From far below—how big was this house?—she heard a crash, something large and ungainly moved about. It had to drag itself, running into things, whatever it was, making a great deal of noise. It scuttled through doorways and up stairs, moving slowly, climbing the house to where Kayla lay frozen in bed. The sounds it made grew closer, ascending stairways, coming up, level after level.

Kayla willed her legs to move, but they remained motionless, as useless as planks of wood. The ceiling was breathing more and more rapidly—excitedly. The thing below her was scratching walls and snapping banisters. The room was growing hotter and hotter, as if tied to the proximity of the approaching thing. The air was thick and wet. She could feel the floor, the walls, the house trembling and creaking.

Then the thing began to thump up the final set of stairs.

Kayla’s entire body seemed covered in sweat and she was terrified this wasn’t a dream—how could she be sure? If she knew it were only dream, all she had to do was to wait for the end, that moment when something jumped out at her and she woke up screaming. If it
wasn’t
a dream…

She tried to move her legs again.

If she was awake, the thing crossing the hallway and coming up to the room was going to get her.

She heard it more clearly now, rasping heavily. It was on the other side of the door. She knew it was massive, writhing and black. It pushed against the door, making it bulge and the hinges creak. The ceiling hyperventilated. The cat continued to sleep at her feet. Kayla lay with her body still motionless and her head turned to watch the door, eyes wide, chest blazing with fear.

But the door did not splinter and burst, but opened slowly, as if from a subtle breath. It was dark beyond—blacker than shadow. Muggy warmth spilled into the room like a roiling fog. A figure stepped forward, then another. They stood with their faces obscured, looking at her.
This is no dream
, she thought.
This is really happening.

“We knew this would happen when we took you in.”

It was her mom and dad, but their voices were raw and scraped.

“Now we wander…wander in the dark…and in the cold…”

Behind them, the darkness churned.

“You killed us, bitch. You filthy little bitch!”

Kayla began to scream.

TWO

“Wait. Aren’t you going to come inside?”

His stepfather grinned from the car. “Have a nice summer,” he said, and drove the car up around the looping driveway and was gone in a spray of gravel.

Garty took a step forward, his bag in hand. The little girl was staring at him. She wore a simple dress and tennis shoes. Her hair was pulled back and tied in a ponytail. She looked tired, as if some sort of stress or emotion were tormenting her, dark bags, like smudged makeup, beneath her eyes. She stood and Garty could see she held a stick at her side, stained at one end.

“Who are you?” the girl asked him.

“Uh, I’m Garty,” he said. He’d never been good with kids.

She stepped closer. “I’m Kayla. I live here.”

Garty shook his head nervously. “Sorry. Thought I saw a ghost.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Is this William Xander’s house?”

The girl squinted at him curiously. “Uncle Xander? Yeah, this is his house.”

“Do you think you could get him? I’m supposed to stay here for the summer.”

The girl didn’t move. “He’s working.”

“So?”

“I’m not allowed to bother him when he’s working.”

“Um, okay. Why not?”

The little girl shrugged.

Garty looked at the little girl’s stick and then at the spot where she’d been under the tree. “What are you doing, anyway?”

The girl cast her eyes down guiltily. “Oh, I was just smashing tomatoes.” She dropped the stick. “But it doesn’t matter,” she added quickly. “Nobody eats them anyway.”

“Okay.”

Then, as if she’d just thought of it, “I’ll show you inside.” She ran up and took his free hand in her own and began to lead him up the front of the house. “Come on. I’ll show you everything. My name’s Kayla.”

“Yeah, you said that already.” But Kayla just giggled and pulled him up the steps.

* * *

As Kayla led him through the house, Garty wondered who this little girl was—where had she come from? She seemed very capable, almost grown-up, but then, just as she was solemnly showing him something, like the fancy library at the end of the hall, she’d giggle and do something girly—

She ran forward and jumped onto the rolling ladder that was on tracks along the wall of books, riding it across the room. “I’ve wanted to do that for days,” she said, still giggling, “but I was afraid I’d get in trouble.”

“Will Uncle Xander yell if he hears you?”

Still perched on the ladder as it came to a slow stop, she cocked her head, thinking. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe. I hardly ever see him.”

“Where is he now?”

“In his observatory, at the top of the stairs. He’s always working.”

“What is he, some kind of scientist or something?”

“I don’t know. He’s weird.” She jumped from the ladder and ran to Garty and hugged him.

Garty flinched, then put an awkward hand over Kayla’s shoulder and patted her back.

“Come on,” Kayla said. “There’s more to show you.”

Garty shook his head and followed the little girl. She took him up the stairs and showed him each of the bedrooms. “This place is like a bed and breakfast,” Garty muttered to himself when he’d seen the last of the rooms. “Is there anyone else staying here?” he asked Kayla.

“Nope. Just me, and you, and Uncle Xander. Oh, and Cassie comes in sometimes to clean and cook.”

“Cassie?”

“She’s the maid.”

“Oh. Okay. We have a maid. Perfect.” Garty looked around. They were standing in the last of the bedrooms. “Hey, is one of these mine?”

“This one is,” Kayla said. “Right across the hall from my room.”

“Perfect.”

* * *

He told Kayla he needed to unpack his stuff and shut himself in his new room so he could relax for a minute. He tossed his bag to the floor and flopped on the bed. He rubbed his eyes until he began to see spots. He sighed. What the fuck was he doing out here? What was this place? He sat up and snatched his bag up onto the bed. He unzipped it and thrust his hand inside, fishing around until he found what he was looking for. He shook some pills into his palm and took them. He paced the room, looking at the black and white photographs disinterestedly. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He felt like he’d fallen into someone else’s dream.

A couple of hours later, there was a light tapping at his door. He sat up groggily. “Yeah?”

“Dinner’s ready,” the little girl said through the door. “And Uncle Xander is done working for the day. He says he’d like to see you.”

“Alright. Be right down.”

Garty rubbed his temples; he was getting a headache.

Coming down the stairs, he could hear a male voice talking with Kayla. “We’ll be starting soon enough,” his uncle’s voice said.

“Is he your pupil too?”

“Oh, yes. He will be joining us, of course.”

Garty crossed the house and came into the dining room. A tall sallow man with a gray-stubbled face stood with Kayla by the table heaped with food. He wore a gray blazer over a yellowing undershirt and a red bowtie skewed to one side. A blackened roast steamed at the center of the table, fogging the crystal on the chandelier above, giving it a milky quality like a low-hanging cloud. His uncle stepped forward, dark eyes round and shining in the light, held his hand out. Garty took it and those skeletal fingers closed over his in a brief, brisk shake. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Uncle Xander said, his eyes roving Garty’s face with an unnerving intensity. Then, he smiled—a thin, slight smile—and his face changed, softened, eyelids drooped, giving him a more wearied appearance. “Please,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Garty slid into the closest chair. He glanced at Kayla and she smiled at him.

“Dig in,” Uncle Xander said.

Hesitant, Garty watched Kayla eagerly begin to heap food on her plate. He was all too aware of his uncle watching him. His uncle seemed almost motionless, making no move to put food on his own plate, just staring, waiting.

“This is a nice place, Uncle Xander,” Garty said.

“It’s suitable for my needs,” his uncle replied.

“It’s good to meet you, by the way. My stepfather dropped me off this afternoon.”

Eyes glimmering, “I know.”

He dropped his gaze to his plate and began to eat. The food was very good, the roast succulent, running with juices.

When he looked up next, he’d finished his plate and Kayla groaned contentedly next to him. His uncle appeared to have eaten very little.

“Do you smoke, Garty?” It was the first time his uncle had used his name.

“A little.”

“Join me, then, on the porch in ten minutes, and bring a jacket. It gets a bit chilly in the mountains after dark.”

* * *

He leapt up the stairs and to his room. He opened his bag and rooted around for his hoodie. He had to use both hands to pull it free and felt the hard lump of the jar tucked under a pair of jeans. On impulse, he scooped the jar out of the bag and unwrapped it from the old shirt he’d tied over it. He looked at it for a moment, felt a compulsion to pop it open, then restrained himself—he didn’t have time for that right now—and tucked it at random behind some books on the shelf.

* * *

Shadows fell over the garden, the large tree like a looming cloud. The landscape was still and quiet, the insects hibernating, the forest like a peaceful plane of darkness. Uncle Xander sat in silence by the dim glow of the lights from the house, eyes closed, with a long curving pipe in his hand. Garty didn’t know what to think of him. He was different from anyone he’d ever met before, intimidating, polite but uncaring.

Suddenly his uncle moved, his eyes flicked down to peer at a particular spot in the dark woods. Garty looked, but he could see nothing.

“Something there?”

“No.”

Silence.