This
must be how the deceased got in, she thought, walking down the
cracked cement steps. As the late afternoon sun lit the darkness she carefully
entered. She felt her way along the wall until her hand touched a light switch.
A yellow glow fell upon long forgotten trunks and furniture when she flipped
the light on.
Cari
wove her way around the dusty heirlooms to the stairway on the other side of
the musty cellar. Creeping slowly up the stairs, she wasn’t sure where she’d
find herself once she reached the door at the top. Or what waited for her on
the other side.
Hand
on the doorknob, Cari closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and quickly pushed
open the door. If there was something, or someone, on the other side they’d get
a head full of wood.
To
her relief, she stepped into a narrow hall. Walking through the passage, Cari
continued across the hall into a room she guessed had been the library. The
vast shelves now empty must have held volumes of books at one time. Other than
the bookcase, the room was empty except for a threadbare rug in the center of
the scuffed wooden floor.
Continuing
to survey the room, Cari marveled at the elegance. Even though the room was
empty, she felt she’d stepped back in time. Into a time called the Gilded Age
when the wealthy had and did everything in excess.
Wandering
into the front room she presumed had been the parlor at one time, she noticed
the vast hand-carved fireplace. It was the center point of the room with its
dark wood and mantel framing the lighter marble of the now unused firebox. If
she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the warmth of the fire and see the
furniture placed carefully in the room.
The
pocket doors leading to the foyer were pushed partially open. In her heart,
Cari wanted to linger longer in the parlor, as something about the room felt
oddly familiar. Yet a sense of sadness overwhelmed her, making her feel as if
something tragic lay in wait.
Don’t
be afraid.
“Hello?” Cari peered around the doors into the
foyer. There was no way she’d just heard a voice. She was alone in the house;
she was sure of it.
“Listen,” she called out. “Whoever you are, you
don’t scare me. I’ve faced far worse spirits than you in the past.”
She
stood just inside the foyer waiting for a response.
“Just
my imagination, the effects of the legend nothing more,” she proclaimed,
breathing a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure what she’d have done if she’d come
face to face with a person—alive or otherwise.
13Stories13Authors#7: https://bit.ly/45kabaP
