A Family Affair: A Novel of Horror Read online

  “Don’t be a ninny,” she told herself without much resolve. You’ve been wanting to see some sign of life and unless there’s some horrible mistake, this certainly is one.

  “Hello,” she called aloud, not moving from the spot where she stood. “Can you direct me to Kelsey House?”

  There was such a long pause before he answered that she half wondered if he had heard her at all, and was about to call again when he finally spoke.

  “You must be Miss Jennifer,” he called back, quite as though she had just opened the door of her home to find him there waiting to greet her, rather than having met him along an isolated country road at night.

  The fact that he knew her name startled her at first. It was an incongruous spot in which to find someone who could address her by name.

  “Miss Kelsey said I should bring you up to the house,” he went on as he drew nearer.

  Jennifer let out the breath she had been holding in a great sigh of relief. Of course, she chided herself for her stupidity. He was a servant that her aunt had sent out to watch for her. After all, they did know she was coming, they were expecting her, and she was considerably later than she had indicated in her letter. They had grown concerned, which was nice to realize, and had sent this man out to see if anything had happened to her.

  “Oh, thank Heaven,” she said aloud. “I had all but given up hope of ever finding the place.”

  “She thought you might need some help. People coming from outside can’t see the place without help,” he said.

  “It must be very isolated,” she said, thinking his remark strange. But the trees around her were very high and thick, and she could well understand that a house would be difficult to spy if it were shielded from the road.

  The man had stopped directly in front of her, studying her intently but with no sign of either pleasure or displeasure at what he saw.

  “Are you Mr. Kelsey?” Jennifer asked. He did not act very much like a servant. She had not, as it were, had much experience in such matters, but he did not act as she would expect a servant to act; not even, she thought fleetingly, as she had acted toward her mother.

  The man chuckled, a fact which Jennifer regarded as rude. There was not, so far as she could see, anything humorous in her question.

  He grew abruptly sober. “No,” he said. “Mrs. Kelsey did him in a long time ago.”

  What exactly did one say to such a comment, Jennifer wondered? He was a strange one, that was for sure. Under any other circumstances, she would probably have brought him down a peg or two. Unfortunately, this was neither the time nor the place to take exception with his manners. He was not Mr. Kelsey, but he might be a relative, or a friend of the family; or he might, after all, prove to be a servant, and a very rude one. Whatever he was, she promised herself, she would inform her aunt of his peculiar remarks and his rather rude manner. It was hardly what ought to be due a guest who had just arrived, and was in addition a stranger here.

  Since he had made no attempt to indicate the way, she asked, “Is it far to Kelsey House?” She had spent quite enough time on this silly road for one night, and was eager now to be at her destination.

  “No, we’ll take the path,” he said. “Save some time.” He turned and started toward the woods.

  She had seen no sign of a path, and her first thought was that he was somehow mistaken. But when she looked in the direction that he was going, sure enough she saw a break in the denseness of trees and shrubs. There was no question that it was a path, quite a well used one, leading sharply off from the road. It was strange that she had not noticed it before; but then, she reminded herself, she had not really been looking for a path so much as for some sign of the house itself—a mailbox, perhaps, or the sight of lights burning in the distance. Those things were still not in evidence.

  “Oh, I say,” she called after him, suddenly remembering how she happened to be walking along here, and not driving her car. “I left my luggage back in the car. It stalled back there in the stream. I wonder if you would mind getting it out for me?”

  “Your car?” he asked rather skeptically, pausing without looking back.

  “Oh, no, I meant the luggage. It’s in the car.” What an annoyingly dense creature he was.

  “What’s in it?” he asked, still without turning.

  The man was not only dense, but impertinent as well. “In my luggage? Why, my clothes of course,” she answered, restraining herself with an effort.

  His answer was unintelligible to her, little more than a grunt, and he started off again toward the woods. She opened her mouth to insist and then closed it again. Alone, in the middle of the night and the middle of nowhere, she was not really in much of a position to argue with this strange man.

  In any event it would probably be better to let Aunt Christine handle the matter. She resolved again that Aunt Christine would be sure to learn all this as soon as they reached the house. She knew that if her mother were around, this would be quickly straightened out. Well, she would put the whole business in her aunt’s hands, just as if Aunt Christine were her mother.

  She followed the man into the woods. The darkness enveloped them. Jennifer found that she had almost to run to keep up with her guide. Once, when she stopped to free her skirt from an extending branch that had caught hold of it, he went on until she had lost sight of him altogether.

  “Wait,” she called after him, literally tearing the fabric loose from the branch that held it. To her greater annoyance, the man went on, and she had to run to catch up to him again. He did not seem to slow his pace at all. She was furious, and only years of keeping her emotions firmly in check enabled her to keep from speaking her mind.

  She could not say how far they had come through the woods. They seemed to hurry forever through the dark dampness. She was tired and unhappy, and the journey took on an unreal dreamlike quality. The trees they hurried past seemed to be moving, coming to life. She felt she had crossed from one world and time into another. Time moved at a different pace. Her watch, when she paused to glance at it, seemed to be moving faster and faster. She thought, this is what it feels like to die.

  The suddenness with which they left the woods and emerged onto the lawn of Kelsey House was startling. One moment they were surrounded by the dense growth and the awesome darkness. The next moment they were at the edge of a sweeping green and in the distance the house stood framed against the sky, its windows gleaming brightly. There was an eerie glow to the scene, which seemed to come not so much from the moon, now rising, but from things themselves, as if she were seeing the very essence of them.

  It was a shock to be there so suddenly, to see the house stark and singular before them. But there was more to the scene than that alone. Between where she stood and where the house stood, a group of ghostly figures danced what might have been a child’s game, or even a primitive rite of some sort. They twirled about in a circle, breaking free to spin wildly one at a time. There was the same eerie glow to the white, gauzelike gowns that they all wore; it made them look ghostlike.

  The most shocking thing of all, to Jennifer’s way of thinking, was that the gauzelike robes were all they were wearing. For all practical purposes, the women, for this they clearly were, were naked.

  The dance came to a sudden stop, as if the music had ended, although Jennifer had heard no sound of music. She decided it was her appearance that had made them stop, because they all turned toward her. There was an air of uncertainty, of confusion about them. For a moment they stood in silence, staring across the lawn at her. Finally one woman left the group and walked swiftly toward Jennifer. Rather, Jennifer found herself thinking, it was as if the woman floated across the lawn rather than walked. Again Jennifer had that odd sense of unreality, as if she were in a dream.

  “Jennifer,” the woman called as she came near. “I’m your Aunt Christine.”

  Jennifer took the extended hand stiffly. It was difficult to avoid staring at the strange creature who had greeted her. Even disregarding
her peculiar garb, Aunt Christine was a singular individual. She was tall and willowy, and old—the lines about her mouth and eyes, the silver gray hair gleaming seemingly from within, gave evidence of that fact. Yet there was something about her that denied age, a childlike quality difficult to define but unmistakable nonetheless. It was almost as if she were in fact a very young person made up to appear very old; as if she were playing a role.

  “I’m so happy to be here,” Jennifer returned the greeting, aware that her voice lacked enthusiasm. She was not at all sure that she was happy to be here. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she added, unable to resist another glance at the strange little group of women who waited in the distance.

  “Not at all,” Aunt Christine said, quite unembarrassed by the scene. “We were nearly finished anyway, to tell the truth, and I’m sure they can manage the rest without me.”

  “What....” Jennifer hesitated. “What were you all doing?”

  “Doing? Why, we were dancing, of course.” Aunt Christine looked somewhat surprised. Then, abruptly, her expression changed, as if she had just remembered something. “Did your mother tell you anything about us?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Nothing at all. I didn’t even know you existed until I got your letter. I thought I was alone in the world.”

  Aunt Christine had been studying her intently as she spoke, but now the older woman’s face broke into a smile again, and she seized Jennifer’s arm tightly. “Never mind about that, you aren’t alone, and never will be again, I promise you,” she said. “You’re going to stay with us forever. But just now I’m sure you must be exhausted, and listen to me chattering away like a magpie. Let’s just the two of us go on up to the house, and you can meet the others a little later.”

  They started toward the house on a course that took them safely past the group of women. Glancing again in their direction, Jennifer saw that the dancing had been resumed; they twirled and swayed, moving in a circle upon the grass. The white of their robes twirled after them, like tendrils of mist.

  “Would you mind awfully,” Jennifer asked in a weak voice, “asking them to put some clothes on?”

  “Oh of course,” Aunt Christine said with a little laugh. “We wouldn’t go around the house like that.”

  I wouldn’t go anywhere like that, Jennifer thought to herself. Aloud, she murmured a faint, “Of course.”

  Kelsey House and its inhabitants were certainly a far cry from anything she might have imagined. She was beginning to suspect that there might have been very good reasons why her mother had severed the family ties and left them severed all those years. Aunt Christine had implied as much, asking if Jennifer’s mother had told her about them; what was there to tell, exactly?

  Like it or not, though, she was here, and she had no intention of leaving before morning. She was exhausted; it was an effort to walk alongside Aunt Christine toward the house, and her eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. If nothing else, she was entitled to a night’s rest. For that matter, she had no alternative. Without a car, in the dark, she could scarcely consider leaving, even if she had any place to go.

  “We didn’t wait dinner,” Aunt Christine went on, “because I was afraid you might be late, but I’ve kept some warm for you. And I know you’re tired. There’s plenty of time to meet the others in the morning, if you’d rather.”

  “Yes, I think I would rather, thank you,” Jennifer replied. Somehow she did not quite feel up to any more surprises for one day. She had had a long and tiring drive, climaxed with stalling her car in a stream. She had been frightened and then irritated by the man on the road—who, she observed now, seemed to have disappeared altogether. Then had come that strange journey through the woods, seeming to belong to no part of time or the world. And finally she had arrived at Kelsey House to finds its inhabitants engaged in some strange rite the significance of which she could not begin to guess.

  She wanted no more surprises. What she did want, and all that she wanted, was a soft bed to stretch out on, and hour after hour of deep, restful sleep. Even food, although she had not eaten for several hours, was less important to her than the prospect of a night’s sleep.

  I hope, she thought a bit uneasily, their sleeping habits are a little less peculiar than some of their other habits.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kelsey House was like nothing that Jennifer had seen before. Its design defied classification, borrowing freely and without apparent purpose from every conceivable source. The entrance, which they approached now, was reminiscent of the plantation houses of the old South that Jennifer remembered from picture books; yet in this illusion the designer had failed. The porch was too small for that, all but devoured by the massive columns and the wide, sweeping stairs. Nor did the Victorian door with its ornate and multi-colored glass panels seem to belong to this setting.

  From the porch the house flared out in either direction, not straight at all as one might expect, but at peculiar angles. It was as though the house were folding its wings about the front lawn. Here a turret, there an arch, elsewhere a gable—gestures that in the hands of a true artist might have been grand but succeeded here in being only grotesque.

  “It’s a strange house,” Jennifer said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.”

  Aunt Christine chuckled, a light, silvery sound. “Robert Kelsey designed it himself, and built a great deal of it with his own hands. He was a talented man, although not too artistic, I’m afraid, but he wanted it to express himself and his life. He traveled a great deal, in the old country, and in our own South, before the war. I think the house reflects those travels of his—rambling, seemingly without direction, and yet tied together with a certain power; determination, if you will.”

  “He must have been a fascinating man,” Jennifer said.

  “He was. You would have liked him.”

  Jennifer was not so sure of that. She knew all about strong willed people, and she knew that they could be fascinating without being at all likable.

  They had come into the house. “I’ll just dress,” Aunt Christine said. “Why don’t you have a seat in the parlor and I’ll join you in a moment.”

  With a fluttering movement of her hand in the direction of what was presumably the parlor, Aunt Christine moved off down the hall. For a fleeting instant Jennifer felt the fleeting urge to go after her. She suddenly did not want to be alone, and especially not here, in this long, gloomy tunnel of a hall.

  “Don’t be a goose,” she said under her breath. She turned to the room Aunt Christine had indicated, and entered through the partially open door.

  She meant to sit down and was half into a small divan when, with an astonished gasp, she jerked herself upright again. The divan was filthy, covered with a thick layer of dust that did not appear to have been disturbed for years. With a shudder of disgust she quickly stood up, telling herself she would remain standing rather than suffer that kind of dirt.

  When she looked about she saw that the entire room was in the same condition. Nothing was out of place, there was no sign of litter, but everything was covered with an accumulation of dirt and dust. Parlor or not, the room was clearly one that the family had not used for years, from the look of it It looked like a room that though fully furnished, had been abandoned long before, and since then disturbed by no human presence.

  Aunt Christine coughed politely behind her. Turning, Jennifer caught her breath sharply in surprise. She had expected by this time to see her hostess clad in some more conventional style of clothing. Apparently, however, “dressing” meant nothing more to Aunt Christine than adding a filmy flowing gown of the same white gauze over the outfit she had been wearing.

  “Would you like to eat in your room?” Aunt Christine asked, taking no apparent notice of Jennifer’s surprise. “I’m sure you’ll want to refresh yourself and I thought perhaps you’d rather be by yourself for a while.”

  “I certainly would,” Jennifer thought. Aloud she said, “Yes,
I’d like that.”

  “Come along then, I’ll just show you to your room, and leave you there.”

  Dutifully Jennifer followed her aunt back to the hall they had entered a few moments before. It was a grim and curious entrance to the house, a long scantily lighted passageway that stretched gloomily before them. Above them the high, elaborately paneled ceiling was trimmed with ornate moldings down almost to the floor. The walls were lined with a seemingly endless stream of doors, all of them closed just now. The far end of the hall, toward which they now walked, was completely dominated by a wide, towering staircase.

  And everywhere that Jennifer looked she saw the same dust that had so astonished her in the parlor. It was a puzzling and unpleasant sight, giving the impression that the entire house had been closed up and unused for years. Kelsey House, she told herself, was certainly in need of a good cleaning.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked impulsively. It was entirely possible, after all, that the house actually had been closed up; the family might have just returned from traveling. That would even explain their peculiar absence from the funeral.

  “Oh dear,” Aunt Christine replied, “I lost count ever so long ago. It must be a hundred years now, I suppose, or even two hundred.”

  Jennifer frowned as she considered the reply. She had not intended the question to mean how long the family had been in residence, which apparently was how Aunt Christine had taken it, but rather how long Aunt Christine herself had been here.

  She nearly explained this to her aunt, but restrained herself. For one thing, she was a guest in the house, and however peculiar she thought these people, it would hardly be appropriate for her to risk offending her hostess so soon after her arrival. Moreover, these peculiar people were after all her family, the only family she had.

  And lastly, she was simply not accustomed to expressing her opinions, or to arguing a point. She would have to be patient, that was all; and patience was a virtue that she was well practiced in.