Chapter Four #2
She clutches the coffee mug for warmth, unnerved by all the relics of the past. She’s not used to living in a home with so much history.
The scratches on the dining table, the shiny spots on the staircase banister, the scuffs on the floorboards all betray previous inhabitants.
She’s afraid to stray onto the front room’s vinyl floor runners for fear Grandma Sweet will appear and scold her for drinking out of an open cup around the good furniture.
Heaven knows this house has the space for ghosts, and anyway, there’s nowhere else for them to go in this remote location.
Sarah continues her creeping to the back of the house and finds a den.
It appears a typical bachelor sanctum, leather sofa pushed aside to make room for a weight bench and treadmill in front of a large-screen TV.
But a chill travels across the back of her neck and stirs her hair.
She hears a crashing like ocean waves, and for once, it’s not the blood in her ears.
The glass sliding door that should look out on the backyard is slightly ajar and covered in yellowing newspaper on the outside.
A corner of the newspaper lifts and rattles, and she smells the cedar and turpentine scent of Elijah’s parka.
Curiosity gets the better of her, despite her pounding heart.
She slides the glass door open, revealing a large painting on an easel.
But that’s not what holds Sarah’s attention.
The wall ahead is made of plastic sheeting, thundering under the wind’s fists and rippling like the choppy surface of a lake.
Through the semi-transparent plastic, the woods are twisted shadows.
Like in the paintings at the motel, and on the easel’s canvas.
Similar canvases are propped to the left and right, against the room’s glass sides.
An old dresser serves as a makeshift palette, its top mottled by blobs of paint.
A handful of brushes sits in a coffee can on a folding table littered with paint tubes, gnarled twigs, and a small animal skull.
A shearling coat hangs over the arm of a loveseat, twin to the recliner in the main bedroom.
Sarah recognizes the coat from the photo of Caleb’s father upstairs. Is this Jacob Vass’s studio? His hands—Caleb’s hands—would be capable of the furious brushstrokes.
“Dad was putting in a sunroom,” says a voice from behind her, “but he never got the chance to finish it.”
Sarah spins around, splashing coffee over her hand.
A young man in his twenties stands in the doorway.
He’s shorter and leaner than Caleb, and his eyes brown instead of blue, but he shares his brother’s wayward chestnut hair and easy posture.
He’s not wearing a mask, revealing softer-edged cheekbones and a sloping nose, as if a sculptor had started to chisel Caleb’s face but gave up.
His mouth is thin, stubborn, and a little sad.
“You must be Sarah,” the man with Meredith Vass’s mouth says.
A roar sounds in Sarah’s ears, and it’s not the plastic billowing in the sunroom’s paneless windows. “You shouldn’t be down here,” the man says. Like Caleb, he has a forehead that frowns too much.
She wipes her wet hands on her jeans and offers a contrite smile. “I’m sorry, I got restless.”
The drooping line of his mouth turns up, and he transforms. He’s not as handsome as Caleb, but his manner is sweet and boyish. The roar in Sarah’s ears hushes. The guileless pleasure on his face instantly puts her at ease. “It can be our secret. I’m Elijah, by the way. Caleb’s brother.”
“I figured. Nice to meet you, Elijah.”
“Do you like my paintings?”
“These are yours?” She notices the smudges on his hands, the fingernails stained near-black. “I do. I saw them back at the motel. They’re very good.”
Elijah beams like a golden retriever with a newly fetched stick. “Thank you. Do you know where Caleb went?”
“Um, he said Kaylee Brighton’s been spotted at a drugstore?”
“Uncle Isaac called him in, huh? Okay, we’ve got some time. Want a tour of the house?”
Hope flares behind Sarah’s sternum. Elijah seems eager to please, and most importantly, happy to bend Caleb’s rules. “I’m actually looking for a phone charger. Do you have one?”
“I don’t have a cell. I can help you find Caleb’s, though.”
“Great. I checked downstairs already, but not upstairs. I didn’t want to nose around the bedrooms.”
She fishes her mask out of her pocket and slips it back on. Elijah steps out of the doorway and lets her through. He slides the door behind her, shutting off the sound of struggling plastic.
He lopes away from the sunroom, and she has to jog to catch up. “Did you see our parlor?” he says.
She assumes he means the front room. “Yes, it’s very nice,” she says automatically.
“Don’t lie, it’s hideous. Grandma put down the plastic before I was born. Dad never took it off, and Caleb never got around to it either.”
“It’s very practical.” A preventative measure, to deter future generations from leaving their mark. No new ghosts allowed in Sweetside Manor, at least in that room.
“You’re a good liar,” he says cheerfully, and Sarah’s not sure if she should be offended or pleased. “Dad shot that buck,” he adds, as they pass the parlor’s doorway.
“Do you hunt too?” Her hands tighten around the mug with the effort to keep her tone affable. It’s one thing to be trapped with two strange men; it’s another to be trapped with two strange men and a gun.
“Gosh, no.” Elijah looks shocked she’d even ask. He leads her up the stairs, each step crying a protest. “I found those antlers, though. It’s interesting what you can find in the woods. Caleb shot a rabbit once when we were kids, but cried after. Dad wasn’t happy about that.”
Sarah likes the Vass brothers a little more and their father a little less.
Elijah shows her a succession of cold, empty rooms, lined with faded wallpaper and carpet, and a steep back staircase he explains was meant for servants.
In the manor’s heyday, Sarah probably would’ve only been allowed on those stairs.
“Grandma and Grandpa lived in that room,” he says, pointing to a large room at the end of the hall, “but the rest have been empty for a while. I think Dad was hoping Caleb would get married and fill them with kids.”
“Caleb never married?” Sarah asks, trying to sound casual.
“He’s had a few girlfriends, but nothing serious. Why, do you like him?”
She’s glad she put on her mask so he can’t see her burning cheeks. “He’s been very kind.”
“Caleb’s always been kind. But—” His mouth thins, and he looks like his mother again. “I’d be careful around him. He hasn’t been the same since Dad died.”
The flush across Sarah’s skin chills. Elijah adds, “Everyone in this house ends up dying. Grandma, Grandpa, Mom. I was too young, but Caleb would’ve had to watch them die. Have you ever watched anyone die?”
He cocks his head at her, genuinely curious. She pushes her mask down and takes a sip of coffee to wet her suddenly dry throat. “Not that I know of,” she says jokingly. She’s a good liar, after all.
“The charger must be in Caleb’s room. Come on.” Elijah spins on his heel, and she follows, dizzy from the sudden change in conversation. It’s probably been a long time since he’s talked to anyone other than Caleb.
Elijah barges through the door to his brother’s room.
Sarah hangs back in the doorway. To her relief, there’s nothing embarrassing on display.
Clothes slung over a chair. A heavy dresser with brass drawer pulls.
A clock radio and a paperback copy of Of Mice and Men on a nightstand.
Navy blue sheets neatly smoothed over the queen-sized bed.
The effect is anonymous and neutral, like out of a furniture catalog.
No photographs or artwork, but who needs them when the open curtains frame the wild landscape outside?
“He sometimes charges his phone there,” Elijah says, motioning to the nightstand. He opens the drawer and rummages around. “Aha!”
He holds up a cable. Sarah’s stomach sinks.
“It’s the wrong kind. I’ve got a—an older model.
” She thinks regretfully of her old phone, sitting at the bottom of the highway rest stop trash can, completely wiped and the SIM card flushed down the toilet at home.
She didn’t want to leave it behind at the apartment.
It could be construed as evidence of premeditation, when she’d meant to slip out without Ben’s notice.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help.” He tucks the cable back into the drawer, his mouth drooping.
“It’s all right, I appreciate you looking. You and Caleb have already done so much for me.”
“It’s no trouble. We always keep clean sheets on Dad’s bed in case he comes back.”
“Comes back from where?” She thought he and Caleb had said he was dead. Her skin crawls at the thought of the sickly tobacco scent and powerful hands. She wouldn’t want Jacob Vass to return unexpectedly, like Papa Bear growling, Someone’s been sleeping in my bed.
“The woods. That’s where they all go.”
Do you hear them? Sarah swallows, and her pulse thrums a warning. “Why did you ask if I heard screaming when I called the house last night?”
“Because they all did. Before they—” Elijah’s eyes widen at the sudden crunch of tires on salted pavement. His hand shoots out to grab her sleeve, the knuckles white under the paint stains. She startles at the urgent touch. “Caleb’s coming. Go to your room. If he finds you out here—”
Sarah’s chest squeezes, more alarmed by the terror lighting up Elijah’s face than the ominous growl of the truck pulling into the garage. Elijah releases her sleeve, already running down the landing. “I’d lock your door.”
“What?”
But it’s too late. Elijah has disappeared down the stairs like a ghost.