Ellie Payne's apprehension increased as the taxi turned onto the gravel road leading to her final destination. The old Victorian house had become hers by default; she was the last one standing. Ellie checked her purse for the house key, as the silver cab bumped along the secondary road.
"Big leap, Chicago to Janesville," the driver said as he stared into the rear view mirror, trying to make eye contact with his fare.
Ellie knew she looked good in her ivory cashmere coat and kid boots. Though approaching forty, she was slim and fit, and still able to turn heads, though she hadn't turned any in quite a while.
"I'm looking forward to it," she lied as she averted her eyes, not at all interested in the smarmy little man. She wasn't that desperate. "It's in the next block," she said, praying they would ride on in silence.
The driver's looks had spooked her when he pulled up at the Greyhound Station in his metallic taxi; her first instinct was to wait for another one. Not wanting to hurt the man's feelings, she got into the cab anyway. She had been working on that debilitating trait with her therapist for almost ten years.
"So, your whole family's gone now, Ellie?" he said, still trying to catch her eye.
She had only herself to blame for the man's familiarity, and she knew it. Out of nervousness, she immediately exchanged names and niceties when she got into the taxi. She babbled for the entire cab ride, blurting out her story to Ollie Oberman: her spinster life in the Windy City, the untimely deaths of her parents and brother ten years earlier, and her fear of the Buckner house. Ellie now regretted her loose tongue, as always, after the fact.
"Your kid brother and your folks died in a car crash. Right? Bummer."
Bummer? She couldn't believe this guy.
"And, now this. Pretty sad, if you ask me. How'd they die? Your aunt and uncle."
Ellie dug through her purse for her bottle of Paxil.
"So, you plan to live here?" the persistent cabbie asked. "I guess you almost have to, since you quit your job and sub-let your apartment."
I'll bet I told him my blood type, too.
"So, do you have a key to this mausoleum?"
She could see the house up ahead on the right. Thank goodness! Anything to get away from this creep. She could hold herself together for a few more minutes. After all, she had created this monster with her big mouth. She put the medication back in her purse.
"Yes, I do. I got one in the mail three weeks ago, with the letter from the attorney," she said, trying to maintain her civility. "I'm assuming it will fit."
"If not, I'm good at breakin' and enterin'. Ha!"
"That's the house, on the right. The one on the corner."
"Kind of spooky lookin', if you ask me."
"All it needs is a little paint and some TLC," she said, suddenly protective of the house, "and it will be as beautiful as it was when it was built--which was in the late 1800s, I believe." Like this guy gives a flying flip.
"So, it's old and spooky! Gonna cost you an arm and a leg to fix up that monster!" he said, as he studied the house, oblivious to her discomfort. "I have some friends in the trades. Give me your phone number and I'll--"
"Well, here we are," she said, cutting him off.
Yes, here she was, armed with the front door key and her list of intimate questions for Mr. Edward Hodges, Esquire, a total stranger: When had the Buckners died? How? Were they sick? Where did they die? Were they together?
He stopped the vehicle in front of the unoccupied house, and slid the gearshift lever into park. "Twenty-two fifty," the cabbie said, and turned off the meter. "So, should I wait for you?"
"No, Ollie!" she snapped as she undid her seat belt. "But, thank you," she added in a more civil tone, as she handed him a twenty and a ten. "I'll call the dispatcher when I'm finished."
"I'm real good at openin' stuck windows. Takes a little elbow grease. You look pretty delicate." He raised his arm and flexed his puny bicep. "And, while I'm at it, I can check for ghosts and goblins. No extra charge."
"I'm meeting someone." She slipped her purse strap over her shoulder.
"Yeah, I know--the mouthpiece. Ed Hodges. You gotta watch him, he's a sleazebag."
"I didn't know you knew him." Takes one to know one.
"This ain't Chicago. Everybody knows everybody, one way or another."
"He'll be here any second," she lied. Mr. Hodges wasn't due for another twenty minutes. She couldn't remember if Ollie knew that fact; knowing her big mouth, he probably did.
"Look, I like you, Ellie. How 'bout I take a look-see in the attic for you? For free."
"I don't think so!" she said, her blood pressure climbing as she lifted the lock button.
He stuffed the change in his breast pocket. "You sure? What about the noises?"
"I'm positive!" She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to control her temper. She grabbed hold of the door handle.
"One spooky attic, I'd say."
"What part of NO don't you understand, you creep?" she screamed, then slid out of the cab and slammed the door. "Oh, and keep the change!" She had gone from passive to aggressive in less than one minute--a record, even for her. She'd have to discuss this with Dr. Ballard.
Middle finger raised, the cabbie pulled away from the curb, maneuvered a hard U-turn, and shot through the fading daylight like a silver bullet, defiant digit at attention. At the same instant, the street lights came on, momentarily startling the tightly-wound woman.
Like Pavlov's dog, she hurried for the front yard as one of Aunt Mary's rules came to mind: "You children must always be back in our yard before the street lights come on. No exceptions!"
Ellie kicked at the blanket of dead leaves, as the memories trickled back.
Her mother was dragging her by the hand through the yard's freshly mowed summer grass; her father was up ahead, carrying Georgie.
"Momma, why can't we go with you?"
"Because you can't, little lady, that's why! Now, stop your damn crying!"
Another memory niggled at the edges of her mind: the argument the Buckners had the night the Payne kids were dropped on their doorstep.
Aunt Mary's angry voice shattered the quiet summer evening, while Ellie tossed and turned in the guest room directly below the master suite. "Bonding? What are you, blind, Paul? We're babysitters. Period! She and Sloan get to take a vacation, and we get to watch their damn kids for the whole summer. Nancy is the most selfish woman I have ever met!"
"How can I say no to her, Mary? You know how unstable she is!"
"Unstable? She's nuttier than a fruit cake, and you know it, Paul! And that worthless husband of hers just stands there, smiling like an idiot and bobbing his head up and down, no matter what she does! Heaven only knows what your sister has done to damage those poor kids . . . "
Elinore Alice Payne had a cowardly father and an unbalanced mother; those facts were painfully obvious, even to an eight-year-old child. She could still feel the sting of her mother's hair brush across her bottom; and she could never forget the pain as the tip of her mother's glowing cigarette burrowed into her freckled forearm, while her father watched from the doorway. Ellie would carry that scar for as long as she lived.
She wiped away a tear, as she kicked at the decaying leaves.
"That's why you've never married," the good doctor opined during her last therapy session. "Childhood abuse makes one unable to trust anyone."
Well, I am alone! That's for sure. . . .
She pulled her coat around her, and walked toward the house. "Well, you certainly haven't changed much, you spooky old devil." Her eyes traveled to the darkened attic window, and then quickly back down. Afraid to go inside, she plopped down on the front steps to wait. Why had she agreed to come here on Halloween night?
From her vantage point on the stone steps, she observed young mothers with tiny trick-or-treaters in tow, quickly making their way through the neighborhood, trying to beat nightfall and the dropping temperatures. Each group stopped, and turned around when they reached the Buckner property line. "Looks like I'm not the only one afraid of you."
Her fingers and nose were almost numb before she finally made her decision. Though not thrilled about venturing into her childhood nightmares alone, she didn't want to catch her death sitting on the stone step. She pulled the house key from the tiny manila envelope in her purse, and pushed it into the lock.
At the same instant, light spilled onto the front yard from above. Adrenaline surging through her body, Ellie's eyes shot skyward, and locked on the illuminated attic window; her mouth went dry as she witnessed the attic's sudden plunge into darkness.
What would Dr. Ballard tell her to do? He would take her hand and say, "Calm down, my dear. The attic light is, more than likely, on a timer."
Ellie took two deep breaths, and then turned the key. A foul smell assaulted her nostrils as the front door swung open. It smells like they died in here. Oh God, I hope not.
She opened the windows in the parlor and sat down on the sofa as the breeze dispersed the stench. Maybe I can just sit here and wait until he arrives. No one says I have to go one step further!
She picked up the dust-covered photo album from its place on the end table, and opened it. In one black-and-white photograph, Sloan and Nancy Payne were captured driving away from the Buckner house in their Cadillac convertible, acting like teenagers in love. They never even waved. I remember!
In another photograph, a five-year-old towheaded boy was doing a handstand. Tears welled up at the memory of her baby brother. Oh, Georgie!
The picture right next to her upside-down brother, showed Ellie and Georgie mugging for the camera in front of the Buckner house. She was sticking her tongue out, and he was making goldfish faces. The entire front of the house was visible in the photo's background. She studied the picture. Was there someone in the attic, peeking out the window?
A chill ran through her as she closed the album and put it back in its place. Everyone in those photos was dead now, except for her.
Rubbing the gooseflesh on her arms, Ellie continued down the hallway, her curiosity getting the better of her. When she crossed the threshold of the bedroom the Payne siblings had shared, her mind flashed back to the night noises. What caused them? Why could they be heard only after dark? She and Georgie, little kids with big imaginations, had decided the noises were coming from the attic. Maybe they were coming from the Buckner's bedroom instead. I never thought of that!
As if on cue, muffled noises filtered down from the attic, making her heart race; her relief short-lived, the familiar unearthly sounds chilled her to her core. Well, so much for that theory.
"Hello?"
Creaking hinges echoed down the hall. "MR. HODGES?" she called out, as she reluctantly made her way toward the front of the house, heart pounding. I thought I locked the damn door!
A horrible thought hit her, and she called out. "Ollie, is that you?"
I should have been nicer to him. Or, maybe I was too nice? No, I called him a creep.
"Ollie? Did you come to help me open the windows?"
She looked out toward the curb. Not a vehicle was in sight. She backtracked toward the kitchen, trying to reign in her imagination.
"This is stupid, absolutely stupid!" she yelled, relieving her tension. "You are just a creaky old house with a noisy heating system. And, if I'm going to live here, I'd better get used to it!"
She switched on the kitchen light, illuminating the cozy room. Cranking open the windows over the sink, she glanced out into the moonlit side yard, and memories flooded back of Aunt Mary's glorious garden. In Ellie's mind's eye, she could see the American Beauties and Tea Roses in full bloom; she could almost smell the floral fragrance floating in through the jalousies.
Turning toward the walk-through pantry, her eyes locked on a door at the other end. She stopped, her mouth suddenly dry. The door led to the only access to the attic two flights above, a strange configuration of crisscross stairs.
"Come on, scaredy-cat."
She took the penlight from her purse, and left the black leather bag on the kitchen table. Ellie forced herself to continue on through the pantry, past shelves containing cans of soups, boxes of assorted cereals, and mason jars brimming with the pickles and relishes her aunt canned every year. She picked up a jar of dill pickle relish. The date, in Mary Buckner's handwriting, indicated the relish had been canned on August 31st.
Aunt Mary was healthy enough two months ago . . .
Ellie stopped at the door that led to the attic stairway, and reached for the handle. As she twisted the cool ceramic knob, a sudden burst of light flooded under the door, and spilled across the linoleum. Startled, she jerked her hand away as if the knob were a hot potato, and took a step back as she remembered her aunt's words:
"There's nothing up there for kids!" Aunt Mary had said as she wagged her finger. "The attic is off limits. No exceptions! No one goes up into the attic, ever! Is that clear?" The challenge had lingered in the air from that day forward.
What would Dr. Ballard tell her to do? Ellie took two deep breaths, stepped up to the door again, and turned the knob. The attic stairway light went off as the door creaked open. Ellie flicked the light switch up and down, but nothing happened; she made a mental note to search the pantry for a sixty watt bulb.
She turned on the penlight, directed the narrow beam at the first step and sighed, remembering: The first step had been as far as Georgie had ever gotten before running back to their bedroom, frightened out of his little-boy wits, and hiding under his covers on the top bunk.
Uncle Paul would tease, "There are monsters in the attic, Georgie Boy. They eat little kiddies like you. And they always know when you're on the stairs."
Ellie planted her foot on Georgie's step and froze.
Dr. Ballard jumped into her head. Look at you! You are looking for any excuse to avoid facing an irrational fear based on something that happened in your childhood--an incident totally unrelated to the 'monsters' you perceive in that attic! You will never get on with your life if you don't go up there and face your fear.
Ellie took two deep breaths, and continued up the crisscrossing steps. The creak told her she'd reached the third step from the top. This was the closest she had ever gotten before. She shined her flashlight up from that step and counted two more, her heart pounding like a jackhammer as she rationalized away her fear: Aunt Mary said there was nothing up here for kids, not that there was nothing up here. Maybe there's something valuable. There could be a treasure hidden in an antique trunk, or some rare editions of old books. Or a Van Gogh!
She continued her rationalization as her foot hit the second-from-the-top step: I'm entitled to whatever's up here. If I don't claim it, whatever it is, Mr. Hodges will clean the place out. Ellie hesitated at the top step and took a deep breath. It's rightfully mine. With that, she stepped onto the landing. She twisted the knob and pushed on the door. It creaked open. She was actually in the attic! She could hardly wait to call Dr. Ballard!
He'll be so excited!
Penlight beam guiding her, she stepped deeper into the dark attic. There's that smell again. Holding her breath, she continued across the cobweb-covered room. Her boot heels echoed through the silence. Moonlight struggled in through the solitary window at the far end, strange shapes creeping around the empty room, as Halloween's full lunar light fought its way through the naked branches of the sugar maple out front.
Ellie hurried across the attic to the lone window. She unlatched the dusty casement and flung it open, her thirsty lungs gulping the clean, crisp air.
A sudden low noise made her freeze in place! There was no escape from two and one-half stories up. There was no choice but to face whatever it was, head on. She turned toward the sound and shined the penlight into every corner. There was nothing there. The attic was totally empty.
Dr. Ballard had been right. The childhood fear of this attic had paralyzed her for far too long, making it impossible for her to enjoy her adult life; this irrational fear had festered in some part of her brain, eating away at every aspect of her existence since she was eight-years-old.
Well, I've faced my fear! Met it head-on!
More relaxed after her epiphany, Ellie retraced her steps, penlight in hand. Twenty minutes had gone by, if not more.
Shouldn't Mr. Hodges be here by now?
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed something in one of the recesses, where the roof met the attic floor.
Hissing?
"Mr. Hodges? Is that you?"
The hissing stopped. She took a few more steps, and stopped again. Was someone there, in the shadows?
"Hello?"
Sensing quick movement to the left of the window, she directed the light to an area about ten inches off the floor. The thin beam caught, what appeared to be, three pairs of crimson, slanted eyes staring at her.
Cats?
Black cats! Of course--Halloween costumes!
"Okay, come on out, kids. Trick or treat!" Ellie was laughing, almost hysterically, as she figured out the trick. "I won't even ask how you got in." Willing to negotiate, the reassured woman walked a bit closer as she shined the light into the corner. "I promise not to call the police."
Kids today! No respect for other people's property! I'll have to tell their parents . . .
"I don't have any candy, but I have some pennies in my purse. It's downstairs in the kitchen." Thinking back to her Aunt Mary's adominition, she added, "There's nothing up here for kids."
Ellie shined the beam on them as the three hissing forms crept toward her on all fours. The costumes were really imaginative: red, glowing eyes; huge hairy feet with long, hooked claws; pointy yellowed teeth peeking out from drooling mouths; long, black fur . . . .
Giant rats?
"Boy, those are some costumes! Wow! They sure don't look like off-the-rack Wal-Mart," she babbled, suddenly very nervous. "Did your mothers make them?"
They inched closer, not responding.
"What are you supposed to be? Giant rats? No offense." Ellie instinctively backed toward the door. "Okay, now. This isn't funny! This is when you yell, 'Trick or treat!'"
Her free hand touched the ceramic knob.
Without warning, the first creature lunged at her, catching her before she could twist the knob; its matted fur smelled like death itself. Then the second one attacked, sending the penlight crashing into the slanted wall--extinguishing its light forever.
"Hel--"
The third creature lunged at Ellie's face, muffling her cry for help. She could feel her flesh tearing as the creatures, screaming like banshees, mercilessly dug their claws into her face and body.
The brutalized woman was knocked backwards onto her boot heels, and slammed against the attic door--the breath leaving her lungs for the last time, her ruined ivory cashmere coat soaking up her gushing blood.
The noises spilled out into the ghoulish night, as the new homeowner was dragged into the recesses of the attic, into the bowels of Hell.
Elinore Alice Payne was never heard from again.
So much for therapy.
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