As soon as the chains had fallen away, Georgia was through the front doors. She flew down the steps and ran out onto the sprawling lawn, screaming with glee. Ashton quickly followed, calling for his sister to wait for him. For the first time in weeks, the fog and cloud had completely receded, exposing the land that surrounded Spruce Hall to crisp, clean air and a brilliantly bright sun.
Christine held the door for Martin with one hand and used the other to shield her eyes. “You know, I’m kind of relieved. I was beginning to worry,” she said, admiring the sky… It was near-perfect, except for a distant line of grey haze at the horizon.
“Why?” Martin huffed as he squeezed past, cradling an enormous picnic basket in his arms. He lugged it down the stairs, then dropped it on the stone patio that curved around the front entrance. There was a loud clinking as the contents shifted.
“Careful!” she shouted, quickly closing the door behind her and hopping down the steps to join her husband. “There’s glass in there.”
“Sorry,” Martin said, still breathing heavy. “But why were you worried? You didn’t think the kids weren’t going to get enough Vitamin D up here or something?”
“No,” she said, sternly, but a wide grin quickly pulled at her mouth. “Well, okay, maybe. To be honest, I was wondering if I’d ever see the sun again,”
Martin shook his head and gave a half-laugh. “Alright, so it’s not exactly Mexico,” he conceded. His own mouth twitched into a small smile before quickly flattening out again. “But the summer will be better. It’s supposed to be like this all the time in the summer.”
Christine just looked at her husband. He had always been pale, but the time he had spent up here had seemed to have already sapped his skin of all the sun’s warmth he had acquired down south. “I hope so,” she said, at last. “Though, to be honest, I have a hard time believing you.”
“And why’s that?” he asked, his voice light.
“Because, seriously?” Christine said, her voice quiet with awe as she looked around. “This is insane.”
“It really is, isn’t it?” Martin replied, looking out on the lawn. When he had first come up to Spruce Hall to meet with his Aunt Mildred, she had given him the customary tour of the property. The grounds—lush and sprawling though carefully manicured—had been impressive, of course, the front lawn especially. But he had seen it under the cover of cloud… It was completely different under a clear sky. Under the sun, the colours were vibrant, almost glowing.
“Come on then,” Christine said, with a sigh. “Let’s set up before the kids get too carried away.”
Martin’s brow folded together in confusion, so Christine simply pointed ahead. His gaze followed her finger, and found their two children already ankle-deep in the large pond in the middle of the great, green lawn. Its surface was sparkling in the light, casting dancing shapes against the small footbridge that arched over it.
He let out a groan. “Goddammit,” he mumbled to himself, then looked down at the basket at his feet and groaned again.
Christine patted his arm. “Here, let me help you with that,” she offered.
He did not refuse the help. Each took one handle of the basket, letting it hang between them as they walked across the grass; the contents clanked again as they slid to Christine’s lower side. Lingering dew collected on Martin’s sneakers, seeping through the light fabric and soaking his socks. It was surprisingly cold, a cruel reminder that this was just a taste of summer, not the real thing.
“Yikes, I hope this doesn’t soak through the blanket,” Christine said, shaking her foot out. Her canvas shoes were already shade darker from the damp. “Let’s walk on the pathway, okay?” Martin nodded and followed her lead as she moved to one of the many gravel paths that twisted across the yard in a beautiful—but impractical—pattern.
The walk was longer, weaving lazily between flower beds and benches, topiaries and fountains. Eventually they reached the pond, but chose a spot a few feet back and to the left so they could get the full view of the valley beyond. The far edge of the lawn had been cleared of trees, leaving the view completely uninterrupted. The scene was a patchwork of green and grey; fir and spruce climbed the distant sides of mountains until they gave way to the sheer rock and snow of the peaks. Below, a river like a thin silver ribbon cut through it all until it slipped off the edge of a cliff and out of sight.
Christine left Martin the basket as she tested the grass; it seemed to be satisfactory, so she beckoned her husband to her. Giving one last heave on the basket, Martin struggled over to her, dropping it finally on the ground, and vowing never to pick it up again until it was empty. Christine went to work, pulling the thick plaid blanket off the top of the basket, and retrieving several fist-sized rocks from inside.
“There were rocks in there?” Martin said, breathlessly. “That’s why it was so heavy?”
“It’s to keep the blanket in place,” Christine explained, as she spread it out and carefully placed the rocks evenly along its perimeter.
He waited until she was done, then Martin fell onto the blanket, dropping down to his knees before collapsing entirely. He let out a great sigh.
“Oh, come on,” Christine said, with a roll of her eyes. “It wasn’t so bad. You’ll be thanking me if a wind starts picking up.”
“But there’s no wind today,” Martin said, his words muffled by the blanket. But as he said it, a gentle breeze tickled across his bare skin. He sighed again. His wife just laughed.
“Grow up, you big baby,” she teased. “Here. Sit up, I have something to make it up to you.”
Raising his head, Martin saw his wife riffling through the basket. “There you are,” she muttered to herself, before spinning back around to face her husband. She held a bottle of their favourite beer in her hand. “Want one?”
“Yes!” he said, quickly pulling himself up to sitting. He took it from her and was about to remove the cap when he stopped himself. “No… No, we shouldn’t. Not when we have the kids outside.”
“It’s fine. Do you see me holding a beer?” she said and waved both her open hands at him. “I put a couple in here just for you. I thought you’d like to relax. You’ve seemed… tense, lately.”
Martin returned his focus to twisting off the cap, dodging the question. “Thanks,” he said, before taking a swig. He let the crisp bubbles sit on his tongue for a second before gulping them back.
She just watched him as he took another sip. “Is everything alright?”
His second mouthful got caught in his throat, making him cough and sputter. “O-of course, it is,” he said, wiping the foam from his chin. He smiled at her, but she could see it was stiff and forced. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Christine stared intently at him and raised a single eyebrow.
“Okay, okay,” Martin breathed. There was a pause as he chewed his cheeks, trying to find the right words. He hadn’t yet mentioned his conversation with Georgia, about what she saw… Or the fact that he believed her. But now, as they were setting up for a nice family picnic, was not the time. “Maybe I’m still a little stressed out, but it’s nothing.”
Her eyebrow rose higher. “A little?”
His teeth sank back into the tender skin. “Okay, a lot,” he said, finally. “I feel like I’ve been on a roller coaster for the past two months…” He took another, deeper drink from the bottle. “I’m just not used to how everything’s settled down. But I’ll get used to it, eventually.”
“Oh, Martin,” Christine sighed, scooting across the blanket towards him until she was right next to him. “You know, if you’re still having issues with stress, maybe you should see someone. I bet there’s a counsellor in town.”
Immediately, Martin’s hackles raised, but he held himself back. “It’s so far, though,” he said, but even he knew his excuse was thin.
“Honey, with our circumstances, I bet you could pay them extra to just come up here. It’s not like you can’t find some private room in that—our—big old house.”
He just took another drink and looked anywhere but at his wife. They fell on his children, still playing happily in the pond. Georgia had waded further, now up to her knees with her pants rolled up as far as they could go. She was smiling, laughing… She didn’t seem to be as bothered by all this as he was. But she had settled on the simple explanation of ghosts, and that wasn’t something Martin could so readily accept.
“Georgia!” he called, pulling away from Christine and standing up. “Stop! Don’t go any further.”
His daughter looked over at him, her bottom lip protruding, looking disappointed in being caught. But both did as they were told, climbing out of the water and dashing across the grass in their bare feet, leaving their shoes at the water’s edge.
“Can we go swimming in the pond after lunch?” Georgia asked as she threw herself on the blanket.
“Yeah!” Ashton chimed in as he joined her. “Swimming!”
“No, I don’t think so,” Christine said. “It’s too cold right now, and I’m not even sure the pond is safe to swim in.”
Georgia turned instead to her father. “Daddy, can we go swimming in the pond?”
Martin started, torn from his deep thoughts. He glanced between his family before replying. “What?”
“Georgia wants to know if she can go swimming,” Christine explained, before Georgia could cut in. “I was just telling her that she couldn’t because it’s still too cold. Right, Martin?”
“Oh, yeah,” Martin nodded along, quickly catching on. “Yeah, Gee, it’s far too cold.”
“What about in the summer?” Georgia pressed, undeterred. “Can I swim in the pond in the summer?”
“I…” Martin stumbled. “I don’t know… I’ll check. With someone. I guess.”
Georgia clucked her tongue, like she was some old lady, then rolled over, turning her back on him. “What’s for lunch?” she asked her mother.
+ + +
After lunch, the clouds that had waited at the horizon began moving in, casting dark shadows across the valley. There was still plenty of sun, and the Reeds had laid out across the blanket to soak up whatever they could. Georgia had her head in her mother's lap, chattering away as Christine carefully wove her thick hair into an intricate crown of braids. Ashton was at the edge, sitting on his hands and knees and whispering something to a ladybug that was scaling a large blade of grass. Laying on his back, Martin tried to let the warmth of the sun comfort him as he admired their new home.
Under the sun's light, the brick of the house glowed gold, like a gilded palace of a long dead king. In some ways, it was… Or had been. But it was his now. This was his family’s home. His family’s legacy. His thoughts turned to his grandfather. The man had spent his entire life telling Martin’s father—and eventually Martin too—that they had no other family, angrily shutting down any conversation that might require details. “They died,” he would say, in his raspy smoke-ravaged voice. “And good riddance.”
If he could see me now, Martin wondered. What would he think of all this?
In some odd way, Martin knew that his grandfather would approve… His stomach clenched up, the sandwiches no longer settling easy. The itch in his mind dug deeper, burrowing in, and invoking a chill that overpowered the sun’s warming touch.
He sat up quickly, turning to look at his family. It helped push the itch back. Whatever happened, it was in the past. This was their future now. This was their home. Martin had made sure of that.
Martin noticed that Georgia was watching him. He gave her a weak smile, and she smiled back, before turning her own gaze over to the house. But her smile faltered, and her brow dipped over her eyes. “Hey,” she said simply. “One of the windows is open.”
Martin turned back, glancing over his shoulder at the house. His daughter was right; one of the windows on the third floor was open, it's curtains pulled back to reveal the empty hall beyond. He hadn’t noticed that when he had looked only minutes ago. He must have just missed it, caught up in the memories of his grandfather.
“Huh,” was all he said, his voice flat.
“We better remember to close it before the clouds move in,” Christine said, her eye on the dark army of clouds that inched across the sky towards them. “It looks like it could rain tonight.”
“Rain?” Georgia moaned, looking up at her mother. “Yuck.”
Martin was about to turn away, ready to dismiss it as something inconsequential, when something flashed by the window. He froze and fixed his eyes on it again, but there was nothing there. The sun must’ve just glanced off the glass, he figured.
“I’ll go do it now,” he said, getting to his feet. His body cracked all over, stiff from laying still for so long. “Otherwise we’ll probably forget.”
“Can I come?” Georgia said, lurching up.
“Me too!” Ashton chimed in, looking up from his ladybug.
“No, just stay here, you two,” he said. “I’ll just be in there for five minutes.”
Georgia rolled her eyes at him. “Fine.”
Thankfully the sun had evaporated the dew, so Martin could cut across the grass without soaking through his shoes. Leaping up the front steps, he cracked open the door and headed inside. Coming in from the sun made the house seem all the more dim, and the air inside was heavy and musty. It made Martin cough as he started scaling the huge, elaborate stairs that led off of the foyer.
The stairs were wide enough for three people to climb at once. They had metal rungs tucked in to each step, to hold a rug in place that had been rolled up some time bag. Each flight curled around and around, stopping at landing halfway before branching off again to the floor above. Climbing the stairs felt like going in circles, and by the time Martin reached the third floor, he was dizzy.
The window was there, open, its curtain stirring gently in the light breeze. He headed towards it, feeling another rush of cool air push through the hall. That’s probably why it had been opened in the first place, he thought. Maybe, one day, it’d be a good idea to open all the windows to get all the dingy air out.
As he reached the window, he stopped to look out. He could see his family, still sitting on the blanket. Ashton and Georgia were crawling on their mother, tickling her. Christine’s laughter carried all the way to the house. He just stood and watched them for a moment. It was calming to see them like this, so relaxed. Then finally reached and pulled the window in, latching it closed. Then he drew the curtains in, closing out the sunlight. The hall seemed so lonely in the dim light.
Eager to return to the sunlight, Martin headed back to the stairs and started heading down… But a noise stopped him. There was a gentle rattle behind him; Martin whipped around to look. The hall was empty, but the noise wasn’t coming from the hall. It was coming from the stairs above, trailing down them, the clatter louder as it bumped over each step. Martin caught a small movement through the intricate wrought iron bannister, but he couldn’t make out what it was until it rolled across the landing and into view.
It was a small amber bottle with a white cap. A pill bottle.
Moving quietly, he scaled halfway up the stairs to the landing, peering through the opening to see if there was anyone there. He couldn’t see anyone, but that did little to calm his nerves.
Martin snatched up the pill bottle. His heart lurched in his chest as he looked it over, turning it over in his hand. The label, dirty and water-damaged, bore the name Erlotinib. It was the same pill bottle that had mysteriously appeared in the parlour… Its contents rattled again as Martin’s hand began to shake. He had hoped to never see the bottle again; he had taken care to throw it out the second time. Yet now it had resurfaced again. Like it was taunting him.
Like someone knew.
Martin’s thoughts swirled endlessly in his head. How? How would anyone know? That night, it had just been the two of them. Just him, and his aunt…
Icy fear burning in his veins, Martin charged up the remaining stairs, to the fourth floor. He hoped to find the hall empty and, thankfully, it was. Martin let out a great sigh; if it wasn’t for the little plastic bottle clutched in his hand, he’d be sure that this was all in his head.
A cool gust breezed through the hall, rustling the hairs that stood on Martin’s neck. Slowly, he turned to face the wind’s direction. Right at the end of the hall, where it rounded a corner and lead out of sight, was an open window, it’s curtains billowing in the dying breath of the wind.
Martin was certain this window hadn’t been open when he had crossed the law to come inside and close the other window. He remained on the stairs, debating whether or not to go and close it… Or to leave. Something about this was peculiar, but he felt ridiculous at the same time. Georgia’s imagination was getting to him now too; like father, like son.
A burst of energy surged through him, and Martin tore across the hall, heading for the window. He reached for the latch—
“Martin.”
He froze, his fingers fumbling their grip… He tipped forward, almost tumbling out the window, but his hand caught the window frame just in time. His heart shuddered in his chest as he righted himself, and turned around.
Behind him stood a girl. She looked young, about fifteen, though her impressive height might’ve made her appear older. Her appearance was a little rough; though her clothes were prim, they looked dirty, like she had been wearing them for a while. Her eyes, dark and sharp, had bags beneath them like she hadn’t slept in days, and her ponytail was loose, undone, with stray tendrils hanging in her face.
Martin didn’t quite recognize her, though she did seem oddly familiar. Was she some resident of the town? But that wouldn’t explain scowl she wore, with her light eyes narrowed at Martin.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “This is private property. You’re trespassing.”
She just continued to glare at him. Oddly, it reminded Martin of Georgia.
“Answer me!” Martin continued, trying to sound forceful. “What are you doing here? You’re not allowed to be here!”
“This is my house, Martin,” she said, finally; her voice was cool, sharp.
Martin was about to retort, but stopped short, hanging on the last thing she had said. The itch at the back of his head started up again… “How do you know my name?” he asked, his brow folding together. “Who are you?”
“And my mother told me,” she replied, ignoring his request for her name. “She’s told me many things about you.” Her eyes fell to the bottle he still held in his hand. “Like what you did.”
He gripped the bottle tighter as his entire body tensed. “What? Who… Who’s your mother?”
The girl just continued to glare.
“Answer me!” Martin shouted; his voice reverberated against the walls, echoing through the house.
Anne didn’t seem to care what he was saying; her piercing gaze had moved on from him, focussed on something at the other end of the hall. He followed it, and his throat seized, catching his breath.
There was a woman there, walking slowly down the hall. She looked just as he remembered her. Old, of course, but still spry, like she had been. Despite her diagnosis, she had still been able to get around on her own. Her doctor had even said that she could live for months, if not years.
Months and years Martin did not have.
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes and his mind. Had he hit his head? Slipped on the stairs and knocked himself out? Was this just some terrible dream? Martin knew it couldn’t be real. Because she had died. He knew that. He knew.
His Aunt Mildred had died.
But there she was, walking towards him. Her pale white hair twisted into a neat chignon, and her eyes were fixed on him. Most disturbingly, she was wearing the same housecoat and nightgown she had been wearing the day she died.
“I’d say it was nice to see you again, Martin,” she said as she came within earshot. Her voice was clear and formal, like always. “But it’s not.”
“No…” Martin whispered as she came closer and closer, bearing down on him. It felt like the whole house was collapsing in on him. “This can’t… You can’t… I… I…”
“I know, Martin,” she said. “We both know what you did.”
The pills dropped from his hand, hitting the floor with a rattle. “This can’t be real…”
But her hands felt very real as they shoved against him, sending him staggering. His hips hit the windowsill, and he fell back, over it, tumbling through the window to the stone patio below.