A Family Affair: A Novel of Horror Read online

  As the night before, on her tray, the dinnerware was again spotlessly clean, Jennifer noticed; although, she realized unhappily, the chair she was sitting in was not. She ran a finger over a corner of the seat and the finger came away black with dust. She would indeed be happy when she could get in her car and leave.

  “My car,” she said aloud, suddenly remembering where it was. “It was stuck down the road. I ran it into a creek. I wonder if your man couldn’t bring it around for me, if he hasn’t already done so?”

  Again she had addressed her remarks to Mr. Kelsey, and again it was Aunt Christine who answered.

  “Your car? I don’t really think you’ll have much need for that. The grounds are large, but there’s really no place to drive. Most of the land is wooded and has never been cleared, don’t you see.”

  “But I will need it,” Jennifer argued, although she was careful to avoid sounding difficult, as her mother had used to put it. She added hopefully, “My clothes are in it. All my luggage. I left everything in the trunk.”

  “Oh dear,” Aunt Christine said, appearing concerned for the first time. “Didn’t Abbie bring you a gown? I gave her specific instructions to bring one to your room first thing this morning.”

  Jennifer very nearly expressed her real opinion of the costume that had been provided for her, but she restrained herself. She knew from experience that too determined an attitude only created greater resistance. And she did not want to offend any of these people, however odd she thought them, if only because she needed help. She could not leave if she could not get her car out of that stream, and she could not do that without help, which she certainly would not get by angering them.

  So she said, lamely, “It didn’t fit.”

  Aunt Christine appeared quite relieved to learn that the difficulty was such a minor one. “Well, that’s no problem. I’ll have another sent up for you right after breakfast. Abbie will bring it to your room, won’t you, Abbie?”

  “Oh, I’d be delighted,” Abbie said enthusiastically. She looked around the table, and the other women, who had remained silent, all smiled faintly and nodded their approval of this solution to the problem.

  “My room,” Jennifer said, reminded now of the nightly incident and her mysterious visitor. “Aunt Christine, there was someone in my room last night.”

  “How very nice. But I do hope, dear, that you will bear in mind, most of us retire fairly early here.”

  “But it wasn’t....”

  “Do you say grace?”

  Jennifer caught her breath at the interruption. Now this was maddening. How could she get the first degree of sense out of them if they did not allow her to pursue a single subject to its conclusion? She started to object, but she saw that the others at the table were still staring at her, waiting with what seemed impatience for her to permit the start of breakfast. And she herself, she realized suddenly, was starving. The last thing she had eaten had been a cold sandwich at some little shop along the way, and that had been at lunchtime yesterday.

  “You naughty girl,” Aunt Abbie addressed her in a loud stage whisper, leaning across the table to wag a finger at her. “You didn’t touch your dinner last night.”

  “Oh.” Jennifer slammed her hand angrily down upon the surface of the table. That was pouring salt upon some sensitive wounds.

  “Is something the matter?” Aunt Christine asked from her place at the head of the table.

  Jennifer looked about the table at the faces turned expectantly toward her. Yes, she had seen those looks before. Her guess had been correct, she was sure of it. They were all of them waiting for her to protest about the food, or rather the lack of food, and that would give them all a good laugh—at her expense. She had been through this sort of thing so often. She had thought it was all behind her, but it seemed it was not.

  “Yes,” she said, seizing upon the first thought that came to mind. “There’s no water in my room.”

  “Water?” Aunt Christine repeated the word as though Jennifer might have used a foreign phrase. “Water. I’m afraid I never even thought of that. But I’ll see that it’s looked into. Grace?”

  Her face flushing angrily, Jennifer bowed her head and mumbled a blessing, which she amended slightly to cover her current situation: “...guide over me and bless me, and help me to get my car out of the creek.”

  When she looked up she discovered that no one, not one of the others, had bowed their heads. They were sitting just as before, staring at her as though she were some sort of freak. Then, as if on signal, they all looked away.

  “They are mad,” she told herself silently, her eyes slowly circling the table. “They are every one of them as mad as hatters, and I must leave this house right after breakfast.”

  But, she reminded herself, there was a problem. Her car was still stuck in the mud somewhere; to tell the truth, she did not have the vaguest idea where it was even. Which way had they come through those awful woods last night, and how far? If only that man hadn’t walked so fast, she might have had some idea of the path they had taken, might have been able to watch for landmarks.

  Well, he could just walk right back and get her car out of that creek for her before the day was out, she would insist upon that. She would find him herself and tell him so, and go along to see that he did it. She had seen as much as she wished to see of Kelsey House and its occupants, and she did not much care if they were family.

  The girl at her left, beyond the empty seat that had been saved for her mother, was handing her something in a bowl. With a curt smile, Jennifer took the bowl and looked down into it.

  It was empty. Not one crumb, not even a stain to indicate that it might have, say when it had started at the other end of the table, held anything.

  She looked up, startled. They were passing platters and bowls and trays and helping themselves generously. It might have been a truly bountiful breakfast, but for one detail. The dishes were empty. There was not a trace of food anywhere on the table that she could see.

  And the worst of it was, they were eating. Across from Jennifer, Aunt Abbie held a spoon in one hand and dipped it daintily toward her plate. She carried the spoonful of air to her mouth, and chewed at it

  This, Jennifer thought, was carrying a joke too far. Fun, if one could call it that, was fun, but she could very well faint away from hunger while they carried on their tasteless joke.

  I will not give in, she swore stubbornly, fighting down the angry words that had risen in her throat. She had that, certainly, a stubborn streak that even her mother had not been able to break. Quiet and meek she might be, but she could be as stubborn as a mule when the occasion demanded; and she thought that it did now.

  I will sit here just as long as they do, she vowed silently, and I will pretend that I have not even noticed their little game. And when they finally do serve breakfast, I may even tell them that I am stuffed and cannot eat another bite.

  But they did not serve any food. They kept right on with the pantomime of eating what they had already, or rather, what they did not have. All of them pretended to eat, that is, except Jennifer and one other member of the group.

  With a sense of genuine relief, Jennifer stole a glance at the young girl beside her on her left. She was scarcely more than a child, pretty in a china doll fashion; her skin incredibly white, like fine marble, and her hair a blue black cloud that framed a face of almost heartbreaking sweetness. And, most endearing of all from Jennifer’s point of view, she was the only one at the table, except for Jennifer herself, who was not taking part in the joke. She sat without touching her utensils, staring idly down at her empty plate.

  “The poor child is probably starving,” Jennifer thought; then she did something quite impulsive and most unusual for her. She reached over and gently placed her hand upon one of the girl’s hands.

  The girl jumped, startled, and turned to look at her. Jennifer winked—a quick wink, just enough to let the child know that she understood what was going on, and that she appreciated
the girl’s refusal to take part in it. They exchanged quick, conspiratorial smiles.

  “You’re not eating,” Aunt Christine said unexpectedly, interrupting their silent exchange.

  “We’re not hungry,” Jennifer answered calmly for both of them. There, she thought, score one up for her. Now they knew that she didn’t care that much for their silly game.

  “In fact,” she added on an impulse, “I wonder if you would just excuse me.”

  She pushed her chair back, noting the dust with disgust, and rose quickly without waiting for anyone to excuse her. Whatever their purpose was, she had suffered quite enough of it for one morning. If neither Aunt Christine nor her husband would see that she got her car back, she would look after it herself. After all, so far as she knew upon reflection, the car was not really stuck in the mud. It had simply stalled on her after the unexpected dunking. There was every likelihood that it would start by this time, now that it had dried out.

  If that were the case, she could quite easily just drive away, without help from anyone. She had made up her mind that she did not care to spend another night in Kelsey House. She did not like it any more than she liked her new found relatives.

  She went into the hall and started toward the stairs to go up. But she stopped at the foot of the stairs. She had a glimpse of a woman on the landing, disappearing out of sight around the turn there.

  “There’s no getting away from them,” Jennifer thought with annoyance. She placed her foot on the first step and stopped again. She had left the occupants of Kelsey House at breakfast; no one had left the table before her. So who was this she had just glimpsed, mounting the stairs before her? The white robe was no help; they all dressed alike, and she had not seen the face, only the long, dark hair flowing down the back. But it could not be any of those she had already met.

  She remembered then the footstep outside the dining room door, that had come and gone, and Aunt Christine’s explanation that there was another person in the house whom she had not yet met.

  It occurred to her at once that here was someone who had taken no part in the cruel joke the others were playing at her expense. Here, perhaps, was an ally, someone who could help her find her way back to her car.

  “Wait,” she called aloud, but above she heard a rustling that faded into the distance as the woman went on.

  The long dark hair; she had a sudden vision of the mysterious visitor in her room last night. She had not seen the visitor’s face, but she had seen the long dark hair flowing over her robe. She had noticed it and remembered it because it was so like her mother’s hair had been, although ordinarily her mother had worn hers up. But at night it had been down, dark and flowing, its color and lustre refusing to fade despite advancing years.

  She had found her intruder. Whoever the woman was who had just disappeared up the stairs, this unnamed house guest, she was the same who had so boldly made her way into the bedroom the night before. Why, Jennifer wondered?

  Her heart pounding, Jennifer raced up the stairs, rounding the turn at the landing. She wanted to meet this other woman, wanted to see her face to face, and enlist her aid if she could.

  She hurried to the top of the stairs, in time to catch only another glimpse of the stranger, at the far end of the hall, going through a door.

  “Oh wait, please,” she called impatiently, but the woman was gone. Jennifer quickly went along the length of the hall, frightened without quite knowing why, but eager to catch up to the mysterious stranger.

  All of the doors were closed but one, and beyond that door was another stairway, not like the sweeping graceful stairs that led from the main hall downstairs to the second floor, but a narrow spiraling tunnel that led sharply upward. Jennifer remembered the turret, the little tower that rose over the rest of Kelsey House. These stairs undoubtedly went up to the turret

  The stairs lay in shadows, and she saw nothing, but just as she paused at the bottom, a door above creaked noisily on its hinges. This was the door, then, through which the woman had gone.

  “Well, she can’t go any farther,” Jennifer told herself, starting up. She reached the top, and she was in a small, round room; and it was empty.

  Before her another door stood open, and through it she could see the blue of the sky outside. She crossed the room and looked out. A narrow wooden walkway circled about the turret and beyond its rusted railings was the lawn at the front of Kelsey House, sweeping smoothly down toward the woods, and in the distance were the woods themselves, brilliant already with autumn colors.

  A flash of white just out of the range of her vision caught her eye. She looked off to the side. There was no one to be seen, but she was sure the woman was there, hidden from her sight by the curve of the turret.

  Of all the silly things, Jennifer thought, stepping out onto the walkway. Why is she running and hiding herself like this? I’m no threat to anyone.

  The wood creaked and sagged beneath her feet, and she took hold of the narrow rail that provided the only barrier between her and the fall to the ground far below. She started slowly forward, the sharp curve of the structure hiding from her any clue of what lay ahead. There was nothing but the little space in which she moved, one cautious step at a time.

  She paused once, looking down, and was surprised to see the family below. They were all there, so far as she could tell at a glance, on the distant lawn, staring up at her. Unmoving, they watched her move.

  But how on earth had they known she was up here? Why had they left their “breakfast” to come to the lawn and observe her? And why were they watching her in that intent fashion?

  Her eyes on them, fascinated and puzzled by their appearance, she inched slowly forward, continuing around the turret. Their gazes followed her.

  Suddenly the walkway was gone. She brought her foot down to find nothing but air beneath it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  With a little scream she fell against the wall, clinging to it, her heart in her throat. She had not yet brought her weight down upon that foot; had she done so, she would certainly have fallen to her death. There, just in front of her, the platform on which she had been walking suddenly ended. The wood had rotted and fallen away long ago. Another step, and she would have walked over its edge, falling to the ground before the very eyes of the people watching below.

  Trembling, she inched her way backward, afraid to turn about until she felt the framing of the doorway behind her, and she was through it, back safely into the little round turret room. Her breath came in rapid, uneven gasps, and her heart still pounded at a frantic pace.

  I might have been killed, she told herself, trembling anew as the thought came to her. I could have fallen and broken my neck. And no one had tried to stop her or warn her; not one person had raised a hand to save her life. They had all stood on the lawn far below and watched her make her way forward, knowing what lay before her, and knowing that she would surely fall.

  In those few moments Jennifer’s fright at what had nearly happened to her had erased any other considerations from her mind. As the first shock waves receded, she thought of something else. The woman, the stranger she had been following; what had happened to her?

  She had not fallen; there was no sign of a body sprawled upon the lawn, as there certainly would be. And she could not have gone on around the turret, without walking on air.

  Or had she even been out there? Jennifer wondered. Had she even been in the turret? The dust here looked undisturbed, as if no one had been here in years. Indeed, all of the house looked the same way.

  Had Jennifer deceived herself into thinking the woman had come this way, tricked into that belief by an open door below, and a creaking one above?

  She looked about again. There was no other way out of this room save for the little walkway outside. The woman could not have been here at all. She had gone through another door of the many along the hall, and left the entrance to the stairs open as a decoy.

  Jennifer made her way down the spiraling stairs to the floo
r below, and carefully closed the door after herself, lest someone else make the same mistake she had. Aunt Christine was just hurrying along the hallway toward her.

  “The turret is rather dangerous,” Aunt Christine greeted her as she approached. “We never use it these days.”

  Jennifer looked at her for a moment without replying. Then, still saying nothing, she went by her and let herself into her own room, and locked the door.

  She had nearly been killed, and no one had cared. Indeed, if anything, they had seemed quite fascinated by the show, as it seemed to be for them.

  For the second time, Jennifer realized that she might be in danger here, surrounded by a houseful of madness.

  “I must get away from here,” she told herself, and immediately asked, “But how?”

  * * * *

  “Jennifer, it’s time for lunch,” Aunt Christine called from the hall,

  Jennifer remained stubbornly silent, her eyes on the door. After a time she saw the knob turn as Aunt Christine tried the door and found it locked.

  “Jennifer,” Aunt Christine called again.

  This is silly, Jennifer told herself. I’m not hurting anyone but myself by sitting here and pouting. She half rose to answer the door, then seated herself again on the bed. No, it would do them good to worry about her. Maybe they wouldn’t think their little game was so funny if they thought she really was going to starve, and they might have a corpse on their hands.

  After a little while she heard Aunt Christine moving away down the hall. Jennifer opened her purse and again removed the letter that she had originally received from Aunt Christine. She had been studying it most of the morning already.

  Take Bellen Road off Peters Road...but that still didn’t tell her anything about where she was. She had been driving north, and then west—no, east, because the sun had been behind her when it set. And then she had gone right; or had it been left?

  It was impossible. Her mind seemed to be refusing to function as it should. She seemed at moments to be no longer in possession of her faculties, as though someone else had taken control of her reasoning processes. It was like being someplace that you knew, but in a thick fog, so that even familiar objects took on a strange appearance and nothing seemed quite what it should be.