Someone in the House (11 page)

“No, they aren’t, they’re five million years old—or however long ago it was when the earth was formed out of hot gases. It’s like searching for ancestors,” I went on scornfully. “We’re all descended from somebody. It doesn’t make any difference to me whether that somebody was Julius Caesar or one of his slaves.”

His eyes brilliant, Kevin leaned forward, ready to pursue the argument. A cannonball of thunder burst overhead. The kitten and I both jumped.

“Scared?” Kevin asked.

“I don’t like storms.”

“Want to sit on my lap? I’d rather have you than Amy.”

The look in his eyes told me that he meant what he said—and more than he said. I might have accepted the invitation, but was prevented by the slam of the front door and voices in the hall.

They came in laughing, as if at a joke neither Kevin nor I had heard. Bea’s hands pushed dampened tendrils of hair away from her face. Roger shook himself like a big dog. They were not holding hands or touching, but the minute I saw Bea’s face I knew something had happened between them—nothing to be formalized as yet by words to others, nor perhaps even to themselves, but something as visible as a smile, as palpable as an embrace.

Roger accepted a chair and a glass of tonic. We talked about where they had been, and how they had just missed the storm. After a feeble pretense at resistance, Roger accepted an invitation to dinner. He went to the kitchen with Bea; and I did not volunteer my services. As soon as they had left the room, Kevin began rummaging through the papers on the table, as if in search of something. Seeing he was disinclined for conversation, or for anything else, I picked up my crossword puzzle. The kitten purred, the rain thrummed against the window. My eyelids drooped.

II

That little nap served me in good stead. When I slipped out of my room at about oneA.M. , I was wide awake.

There was only one practical means of entrance into Kevin’s bedroom. The balcony was too high, the wall too sheer for anyone to climb up that way. Besides, I had heard his door open and close; I had seen him say farewell, good night, thanks a lot, to…a real flesh-and-blood female? Perhaps my eyes had deceived me. Some trick of the light, some trick of my mind, half-asleep, half-dreaming? Tonight I was alert and forewarned. If anyone or anything visible visited Kevin, I would see her, coming and going.

I had managed to avoid a confrontation with Bea. Her new state of euphoria and Roger’s presence—he stayed till after eleven—distracted her from awkward questions. Once, when we were clearing the table, she had turned to me with raised eyebrows and a murmur of “About last night—” I cut her off. “It’s okay. We’ll talk tomorrow, but don’t worry.” Roger came in then and carried her off to her sitting room, so she didn’t have time to pursue the matter.

I went to my room early, partly to avoid Bea and partly to give myself time to arrange my ambush. Later, sitting in the dark with my door slightly ajar, I heard Kevin come upstairs. I gave him half an hour to brush his teeth and settle down. Then I transferred myself to the spot I had selected, a small alcove near the stairway end of the passage. It had been cut out of the stone of the walls, which were three feet thick in this part of the house. A small window at the back of it gave enough light during the day to encourage a miniature forest of potted plants, from among whose boughs a marble nymph peeked coyly out. There was just enough room for me between the wall and the pedestal of the statue, if I shifted some of the plants.

I had to sit with my knees drawn up, and after an indeterminate amount of time had passed I realized I had not anticipated the incredible discomforts of the spying profession. My bottom ached, cramps tied knots in my legs, and my brain went numb with boredom.

I know quite a bit of poetry by heart. I repeated all of it, including all ofThe Wasteland and the entire second act ofHamlet . Then I just sat, feeling my glutei maximi congeal and wishing I had had the sense to get a wristwatch with an illuminated dial. The lights in the corridor were widely spaced, with deep pools of shadow between. The rain had diminished to a drizzle, but the night sky was still overcast; no moon, no stars brightened my hiding place.

Eventually I dozed off, from boredom rather than fatigue. It was a light, uneasy slumber; the discomfort of my position and the night noises of the house kept jerking me awake. Then I heard a sound that woke me completely—the soft click of a latch.

I had slumped down into the space between the nymph’s pedestal and the back wall of the alcove. Gingerly I slid forward, painfully I transferred my weight onto my aching knees; cautiously I peered out.

I have tried several times to describe what I saw, but on those occasions I was under a certain emotional strain. This is my first attempt to set it down in cold black and white.

Kevin’s door was open. He stood in the doorway. The room behind him was dark. The doorframe concealed part of his body, which was in profile to me. His arms were extended, his hands slightly curved and facing one another, as if he touched something lightly. His lips parted. A murmur of sound reached me, but no distinct words. Then his hands dropped. For a few seconds he stood still. Then, moving slowly, like a swimmer under water, he withdrew into his room. The door closed.

The figure was clearly visible by then. Its outlines were blurred, like a foggy vapor, but the shape was definitely human. The lower limbs were concealed by the long trailing garment that covered the entire body, so that it seemed to glide instead of walk. It passed from shadow into light, and the glow of the lamp reflected from the silver-gilt substance that covered its head and trailed down its back—hair or some kind of hood; I could not be sure.

To describe my feelings would be unscientific. I will try to confine myself to what I did. I started on the multiplication table. I got to three times four before I had to stop because I couldn’t think of the answer. I took a fold of skin between thumb and forefinger, and pinched, hard. The marks were still there next day.

The golden gleam was that of hair, silky locks that streamed below the thing’s waist. There were arms, in long, full sleeves, slightly extended, as if it needed to balance itself. It was fully formed now, except at the lowest part of the long garment, which trailed off into misty wisps like fog, several inches above the floor. I could see the hall carpet under it. And I could see, from the pattern on the carpet, that it had stopped moving.

A ripple passed over it, like the tensing of muscles. It knew I was there. Through some sense beyond the normal five it had felt my presence. I knew that as surely as if it had cried out or pointed an accusing finger. I tried to stand up. My legs ached. I felt the pain, just as I was fully cognizant of my other sensations and my physical surroundings. It was not the pain that kept me from moving.

With a sudden snakelike twist, horribly unlike its earlier slow drifting, the thing whirled around. For a split second I saw the face Kevin had seen—a smiling, dimpled girl’s face, softly rounded. Then the features melted like those of a wax doll over a flame. The dainty nose became a dripping blob, the cheeks sagged into shapelessness around an empty hole of a mouth. In the shifting mass I caught flashes, fleeting and hideously incomplete, of other features taking shape and instantly dissolving—an acquiline nose, a protruding high curve of heavy cheekbones, lips that squeezed themselves into an animal-like snout before they blurred into doughy chaos. The writhing, waxen mass was still trying to shape itself when the figure made a lurching movement forward—toward me.

I must have gotten to my feet, though I don’t remember doing so. All I remember doing so. All I remember is a yielding and a ponderous movement and a dark mass looming over me. A thunderclap exploded six inches from my ear, and the dark enveloped me.

III

I awoke to find myself in Kevin’s arms. I started to scream.

He took two long steps and dumped me onto a soft-hard surface that yielded to my weight. I bounced.

“She’s hysterical,” he said. “Shall I slap her?”

“Certainly not.” Bea pushed him aside and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her face was ashen. “Anne, it’s me. Are you all right? What happened?”

Something froze my tongue. It wasn’t bravado or strength of will, it was the sight of Kevin standing by the bed, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. He was wearing pajama bottoms—out of deference to Bea, I supposed—and one hand was raised to his cheek.

“You tell me what happened,” I said feebly. “I don’t remember.”

“Thank God.” Bea’s body sagged forward. “I mean—thank God you can talk. I was afraid of concussion. That statue couldn’t have missed you by more than six inches. It was criminal carelessness to leave it just standing on the pedestal, it ought to have been anchored.”

“I hope I didn’t break it,” I mumbled.

Bea laughed unsteadily. “My dear child, it’s marble, and weighs over two hundred pounds. You are the one who might have been broken. Are you sure?…” Her hands fluttered toward me.

I rubbed my forehead. “I must have hit my head when I fell. It’s a little sore, but there’s no blood.”

“Thanks to that Orphan Annie mop of yours,” Kevin said. His stern look had relaxed. He lowered his hand to display an angry red spot on his cheekbone. “You hit me, you dirty rat. I shouldn’t have grabbed you up so suddenly. You must have had quite a shock seeing that statue topple toward you.”

“It was a shock, all right,” I said.

“I’m still shaking.” Kevin gave an exaggerated shudder. “That damn thing hit the floor with a crash like a howitzer; I was out in the hall before I woke up completely. And seeing you lying there, with the statue practically on top of you…. Don’t do it again, okay?”

He patted my arm. I bit my lip and managed not to cry out or recoil. His touch made my skin crawl.

Bea saw my reaction. Her eyes narrowed. “Go back to bed, Kevin. She’s not hurt.”

“Sure you don’t want me to call a doctor? Okay, then. If you change your mind, don’t hesitate to wake me.”

After he had gone, Bea ran her hands methodically over me, ending with my head. When I winced she parted my hair and looked closely.

“It’s not even bleeding. You were very fortunate, Anne—physically, at least. What happened?”

Her eyes begged for a reassuring lie. I tried to oblige.

“I went down to get a book. I must have tripped and fallen against—”

“No.” Bea sighed. “I’d like to believe it. But I saw your eyes when Kevin touched you. It has something to do with the sounds I heard, doesn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“There was nothing to tell. Nothing definite.”

“Did Kevin hurt you? Attack you?”

Her face was drawn with anxiety. I let out a harsh croak of laughter.

“No, honey, Kevin is not a rapist. I wish it were that simple.”

“Tell me, then. I have to know, Anne.”

“I’m not sure I can describe it. But I’ll try.”

My narrative was by no means as precise or smooth as the one I have written. Yet I think my halts and hesitations were even more convincing. Bea listened without interrupting. There was something steadying about her stillness and gravity.

“I thought it was coming toward me,” I ended. “That broke my paralysis. I must have lurched to my feet and grabbed at the statue to steady myself. I was numb from sitting so long.”

Bea nodded. “That makes sense. Unless…”

My mind was so stretched by the uncanny that it was more receptive than normal. I seemed to catch the thought straight from her mind.

“You mean—it—pushed the statue, trying to mash me? You don’t have to scare me any more, Bea; I’m already gibbering.”

“I’m not trying to scare you.” Bea smiled faintly. Her face had a Madonnalike calm as she sat, hands quiet in her lap. “I’m trying to keep an open mind. I’m sure the idea is as repugnant to you as it is to me, but we’ve got to face the possibility that what we are dealing with is…”

“Ghosts,” I said. The word came out like a vulgarity.

“This is a very old house.”

“I know, I know. But damn it, Bea, I’d rather believe I was sick in the head and hallucinating. And if you quoteHamlet to me, I may call you a bad name.”

“Horatio, wasn’t it? Anne, would you like a cup of tea?”

I had to laugh. “What I really want is a drink, but I don’t think that would be a good idea. Go ahead and make the tea, if you want some; I can’t quite visualize us calmly discussing ghosts over a cup of tea, but—”

“I don’t intend to discuss it now. You’ve had enough for tonight. You need to rest. What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“I may drive to Pittsfield and try to locate a good shrink.”