Help Wanted (8 page)

“What is it?” Claudia whispered. Her hands tightened on Robin's shoulders, and she gave her a rough shake, her voice rising in sudden alarm. “What is it, Robin? What do you see?”

“Nothing—I—”

“Don't look at me like that!” Claudia cried.
“Don't look at me!”

“Claudia—come back!”

But before Robin could move, Claudia turned and raced across the yard, leaving Robin to stare helplessly after.

I
should be happy about this
.

Robin stood outside the gates of Manorwood and looked bleakly through the iron bars. The wind had picked up just since she'd left school, and the trees were groaning, bending low over the fence, reaching out to her with scraggly limbs like claws.

Go on in. Don't be such a coward
.

She made herself angry when she acted like this. What did she have to be afraid of, anyway? Old Mr. Swanson had seemed to like her, and she'd already met Claudia. All the preliminaries were out of the way now; all she had to do was get down to work.

So go on in. What's stopping you?

A feeling, Robin decided.

That feeling again of something not quite right … something hanging in the air …
like a tragedy about to happen
.…

“Stop this! You're being silly,” she mumbled to herself. “I need this job, and I'm taking it.” The sound of her own voice spurred her to action. She pressed the buzzer by the gate and a moment later found herself walking up the long drive to the house.

“Miss Bailey, no one's home at the moment,” Winifred greeted her at the front door. “If you'll just follow me, I'll show you where you'll be working. And if you need anything at all, I'll be glad to help in any way I can.”

“Great.” Robin smiled. “And please just call me Robin.”

Robin liked the woman. In spite of her stiffness, there was something about her that made Robin feel comfortable. Robin followed her down the foyer and through a set of doors into a darkly paneled study. Several lamps had been turned on against the gloomy afternoon, and there was a fire crackling in the fireplace.

“See that bell there?” Winifred jutted her sharp chin in the direction of a mahogany desk where a brass bell rested upon a small brass tray. “If you need me, just ring that and I'll come.”

“Thanks,” Robin said, shrugging out of her jacket. She tossed it onto a chair, and Winifred immediately picked the jacket up and folded it neatly over one skinny arm.

“You look half frozen,” Winifred went on. “Can I bring you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Cocoa?”

“Yes, cocoa would be nice.” Robin smiled gratefully, and Winifred left her alone.

All of Lillith's books had been transferred into here, Robin noticed at once. There were stacks and stacks of boxes lined along the shelved walls, and more boxes pushed discreetly back behind the overstuffed chairs. Robin wandered over to the desk, where tablets and index cards, pens and pencils were already laid out for her use. A long row of windows framed the cold, gray afternoon.

Well, this is it. Time to get to work
.

She walked over, chose a carton, and opened it. The musty smells of damp and age washed over her as she pulled out several books, and then, on second thought, she dragged the whole box over to the desk. She felt like a little kid again, off on some treasure hunt, and as she began digging through the contents, her stomach gave a curious little twist of excitement.
Look at all these books … they're so beautiful … there're so many of them
… She was so intrigued that she hardly even noticed when Winifred brought her cocoa, and it was some time after that before she even thought to check the clock and realized she'd already been there two hours.

This is wonderful.… I could spend the rest of my life here doing this
.

There were exquisite art books, volume after volume of prints, artists' biographies, and lengthy art histories. Some of the books were positively ancient, and Robin suspected they might also be extremely rare. She handled them carefully, lovingly, afraid that a single breath or misplaced touch might dissolve them to dust. From time to time she came across books of other varied interests hidden among the dusty stacks—human anatomy, science, philosophy, nature—and these, too, she stopped to admire, all the time wondering about the mysterious woman they'd belonged to.

“She could talk to the dead.…”

“Lies, lies, lies,” Robin mumbled to herself. “All those mediums are fakes. Everyone knows that.”

She looked up with a start as a muffled noise brought her back to reality.
A door closing somewhere in the house?
Glancing at the clock, she couldn't believe what she saw—
six-thirty? I've got to get home!

There were only five books left in the carton. Robin lifted them out and began to scribble information on her tablet, when she heard the noise again.

“Winifred?” she called out. “Is that you?”

No one answered. Robin glanced uneasily around the room.

She hadn't realized how dark it had grown in here. The fire had burned itself down to glowing coals, and darkness had gathered thickly beyond the uncurtained windows. New shadows had crept into the room when she wasn't looking, and now they hovered in corners and crouched among the furniture, giving the room a strange, distorted look.

“Winifred?” Robin called again, but her voice trembled a little. “Are you there?”

I must have imagined it … just the wind blowing through cracks … just those old noises that old houses make
.…

She stood up and began putting books back into the box. Then she folded the top down and marked it with a big
X
to show that she'd finished with the contents. She pushed it to one side and was straightening back up when she heard the sound again.

It was closer this time.

Robin didn't know exactly
how
she knew, for the sound was so indistinct—more an impression than an actual noise—and yet a slow chill began crawling up her arms, and her heart beat faster in her chest.

A creaking noise … not a door closing … something else
…

She stood there in the shadows and stared. She could see the door open to the hallway beyond, but no light showed past the threshold, and nothing moved. For one panicky instant Robin wondered if she was alone in the house, if Winifred had left her.
Surely someone has to be here
—
Mr. Swanson
—
Parker
—
Claudia
—
Winifred
—
where is everyone?
She took a cautious step around the desk, then froze as a voice seemed to float out of nowhere.

“Help …”

And she knew she hadn't imagined it this time—the voice so faint and yet so desperate, crying out in the silence of the big, empty house—

“Help me …”

“Hello?” Robin called. “Who's there? Where are you?”

“Help …”

A woman's voice …

And as it spoke this time, it seemed to echo there in the shadows of the hallway … hang there, suspended … begging Robin to follow.…

“Where are you?” Robin called again, and she felt her feet moving her toward the door, even though she didn't want to go, even though she was suddenly so afraid—

The hall lay in pitch blackness.

“Winifred!” Robin pleaded. “Answer me!”

Her words faded to nothing. She took a cautious step out into the passageway and stopped. An icy draft stirred softly around her feet, and she thought she heard another faint, faraway sound of a door closing.

“Winifred …”

Every instinct told Robin to run, and yet she knew she couldn't. Suppose Winifred was hurt … suppose she'd fallen somewhere … Robin couldn't just go off and leave her.

Reaching along the wall, Robin felt for a light switch but found none. She had no idea which way to go, where to look, where to even start. She strained her ears through the darkness, waiting for the call to come again, but there was only silence.

“Winifred!” Robin shouted. “Where are you!”

The air moved restlessly around her … like a breath. And when the voice came this time, it seemed to come from everywhere, curling along the shadowed passageway, weaving around Robin like an ice-cold web—

“Help me … Claudia …”

“It's Robin!” Robin called back. “Please tell me where you are!”

But something was happening now … she could see it in the distance, far ahead of her down the hall, and she was so terrified she couldn't move. She could see the strange pale glow shimmering near the floor … and she could hear the slow, endless creaking of a door.…

“No,” Robin whispered.

And yet she began to walk toward it.

She began to walk toward it as one hypnotized, fascinated somehow by that widening crack of light—until she realized that it had been glimmering at her from beneath a door, and now that door was standing wide open, waiting for her to go through.…

Robin stood at the threshold and squinted into the gloom.

Shadowy outlines towered high above her … indistinct shapes looming up and up, then ending in a hazy burst of light.

Stairs
, Robin thought suddenly.
And is that a light bulb hanging up there?
It didn't seem the sort of staircase to lead to an upper level of rooms in a grand old house like this, she argued with herself.
Then it must be an attic.… I bet it's an attic or storeroom or something
.…

“Winifred?” she called softly. “Are you up there?”

She thought she heard something move … a restless stirring on the floorboards overhead, and her heart leapt into her throat.

Someone is up there—and whoever it is must be hurt and can't answer—I've got to go and see
.

Again she searched in vain for a light switch. An image of old Mr. Swanson flashed into her mind, and she imagined him lying up there at the top of those stairs, imagined that he might have been there all afternoon without anyone even knowing. She put her foot on the first step and kept her eyes on the fuzzy light above. And then she began to climb.

The space was narrow and rickety. She could smell dampness and dust, and as she moved cautiously forward, it sounded as if tiny scurrying things moved around her in the walls. The stairs were steep and very long. As Robin finally neared the top, she saw that there was indeed one bare light bulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling, but it was so dim she could hardly make out anything beneath.

“Hello?” Robin called softly, and her voice came back to her mockingly—
Hello … hello … hello
…

She reached the top at last and squinted into the dark.

She didn't know what she expected to see.

Old Mr. Swanson, perhaps, or Winifred, lying there with a broken leg …

But certainly not what she
did
see—there in the corner—floating facedown in the claw-footed tub—

The lifeless figure in its long pale dress—hair streaming like wet ribbons … and the dark frothy water … and the dark trickles down the side … and the dark spreading pool on the bathroom floor.

I
t seemed an eternity that she stood there.

Robin opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She stared and she stared and the room throbbed around her in a dreamy fog. And then, as the limp body seemed to move—as it bobbed slowly from side to side—only then was Robin finally able to react—

“No!”
a voice shrieked.

It was so close that Robin jumped back against the wall. Above her the light bulb swung in a crazy arc, and she caught just a glimpse of Claudia's stricken face as the girl rushed from the stairs into the room.

“She's
come
for me! I
knew
it! I
knew
it!”

Claudia screamed again and pointed to the corpse as Robin looked on in horror. It was bobbing gently up and down … up and down … and the dark pool of water was creeping toward Robin's shoes.