Chapter 13 #2
Thirsty, he headed back to the well and found a small pile of just-ripening gooseberries on top of the stone.
Nik looked around and called out, “Hello?” But there was no answer.
He tasted a berry and found it delicious.
After he ate his snack and drank his fill, he went back to work, starting in the kitchen.
He’d barely began cleaning when the sun sank again.
Out loud, he said, “I’ll need to hunt tomorrow or head into town for supplies, I suppose.
If I can get this kitchen tidied up, I can cook a meal in here tomorrow. ”
He was more than happy to bed down in a clean room that night and was doubly thrilled to have found enough oil to fill his lantern for many more evenings.
Laying down on the newly cleaned rug, he made himself comfortable, and just as he started to close his eyes, he heard the soft creaking of the bassinet and the movement of the rocking chair.
This time, the mother’s hum seemed content, sleepy even.
She spoke to her little baby, telling her, “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing?
You know your mama loves you, don’t you, little one?
” Then she sang a lullaby, one Nik remembered his own mother singing to him when he was young, and it was like the ghost mother was speaking directly to him as she sang.
Sleep, my beautiful good baby,
Bayushki bayu.
Quietly the moon is looking
into your cradle.
I will tell you fairy tales
and sing you little songs,
but you must slumber, with your little eyes closed,
Bayushki bayu.
She skipped the verses he knew well and went ahead to the last verse, changing the words slightly.
On the morrow, I’ll give you
a cherished family tin,
and with the help of God, you’ll
place it right in front of you,
while playing the most dangerous game.
Please remember your mother.
Sleep, good boy, my beautiful,
Bayushki bayu.
Nik’s heart beat wildly in his chest, and he sat up abruptly.
“Mama?” he cried in the darkness, but the rocking chair had gone still, as had the bassinet.
Though the ghostly voice had sounded like the woman from the night before, her voice had changed with the second verse.
Perhaps it was a trick, but Nik was certain that voice sounded like his own mama.
As he lay back down and attempted to still his racing pulse, he tried to remember the words.
There was something about a dangerous game and a cherished family tin.
His mother had little treasure boxes passed down to her by her parents.
They were all locked with tiny keys. He hadn’t thought to take any with him when he left.
All of them were long gone by now. Nik thought of the music box she’d shown him.
He’d loved it at one time. He’d always known it was meant to be his someday. Now someday would never come.
Maybe the ghost meant he was to find something similar. Something she’d left behind. But why would he need to place it in front of him during a dangerous game? It didn’t make sense. He fell asleep thinking about it.
The cruel specter named Yuri didn’t appear that evening, and Nik slept soundly until sunlight touched his eyelids through the newly cleaned nursery window.
Stretching, he headed to the kitchen and was surprised to find freshly baked apple cakes left for him on a little plate.
They were covered with a clean towel and still warm.
Lifting one to his nose, he inhaled and took a bite, then lifted the cake to the empty house.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, tucking a few moist crumbs back into his mouth.
Not questioning the magic of the house, Nik finished his repast, drank deeply from the cold well water, and began working on the kitchen.
He wore out several brushes on the floor but uncovered the loveliest purple tiles and spent time polishing each one and cleaning the grout until the gray grime filling the space between the tiles turned a creamy white.
Though the cabinets were empty, he wiped them down and found wood rubbing oil.
Once he began oiling the surfaces, he noticed the kitchen woodwork was extremely intricate and detailed.
In fact, the more he worked, the lovelier it became.
Tiny carved details appeared richer and more striking every time he turned to dip his cloth.
Shelving that had once seemed cracked, split, or gauged appeared to heal upon a swipe of his cloth.
Boards with insect damage or sun rot looked brand new after Nik spent a few minutes working on them.
When he went outside to refill his bucket of water and returned a short time later, gold filigree had surfaced along all the cabinet edges in complex swirls and patterns underlaid with fine purple lines that matched the floor tiles.
Nik wondered if the water was magic or if it was the house itself.
He also considered it might be the kindly mother ghost helping him restore the home.
Whatever the case, Nik was grateful for it.
At the end of the workday, when the sun sank, Nik found a hot tub of water in the nursery along with a bowl of stew, a freshly made loaf of bread, and a heavy bar of sweet-smelling soap.
The chair in the corner moved, creaking softly. Nik began unbuttoning his shirt, happy to be able to sink into his bath, but then went into the next room and took the old dressing screen and dragged it into the nursery, placing it between the tub and chair.
“Spasibo, Mama,” he said, taking a big bite of the black bread before sinking into the hot tub.
He heard a soft humming and the suckling of a baby as a reply and alternated between scrubbing himself clean and shoveling spoonfuls of the delicious solyanka into his mouth, sopping up the last of it with the remaining bread.
When he was done with his meal and his bath, he lay back with his eyes closed and relaxed until the water cooled, surprised that he’d fallen asleep for just a few minutes.
Jerking awake, he looked around, and the stew bowl on the little table near the tub was gone. Instead, he saw a fresh towel and his clothing, which had not only been washed but also dried and neatly folded. Nik toweled himself off and picked up his shirt, finding beneath it a small box.
“What’s this, Mama?” he asked. “Did you leave me a present?”
Not hearing a reply, he set it down and finished dressing.
By the time he’d put back the dressing screen, the tub had disappeared.
He sat down on the blue carpet with the pink flowers, trimmed his lamp for the evening, and examined the little box.
It did indeed open with a key, but as far as he could tell, there was no key to be found.
“Maybe you’ll help me find the key tomorrow, Mama?” Nik suggested. “In the meantime, if there’s a certain room you’d like me to work on, let me know, will you?”
The next morning, Nik found a book next to his lamp.
“Ah, the library. Very well. I’ll start on that room next.”
Just like the kitchen, the library practically cleaned itself.
As Nik dusted each book, cleaned the floor, and polished the furniture and shelves, the room came to life, restoring itself to pristine condition.
Even the fireplace began crackling all on its own accord.
Once again, a nice breakfast and luncheon were provided for him on the beautiful old mahogany table.
He tried searching the desk drawers for a key but found none.
As he’d finished the library before dusk, he returned to the nursery and wiped down the walls.
He watched in awe as lovely pink- and blue-flowered wallpaper, which had been ripped and yellowing, was suddenly stripped of dust, dirt, and insect debris.
Pieces that had been torn and sagging reattached themselves once Nik gently pressed them into place.
Faded colors brightened and seams tightened until they could no longer be seen.
When he began working on the floor, he uncovered beautiful, nearly white oak floorboards.
Nik realized then that the rocking chair and the bassinet were made of the same base materials along with a softer-woven wood in between, perhaps made with rattan.
Now that he looked closer at the rocking chair and bassinet, he could see that they had changed just like the cabinets in the kitchen.
Along the outside, Nik noticed ornamental fretwork carvings, and the same pattern was echoed on the back of the rocking chair. He traced a fingertip over it.
“Beautiful,” he said. “I wonder who made this. I doubt it was Yuri. Maybe it was passed down in your family, Mama?” Nik mused.
Standing up, he lifted his arms, stretching them over his head, and cracked his neck.
“Well, spokoynoy nochi, Mama,” Nik said.
“I’m worn out. See you in the morning.” He lay down on his familiar rug and trimmed his lamp.
“Or I guess I won’t see you. Sleep well. ”
After two more days of cleaning rooms, Nik headed out the front door one morning with his cleaning bucket, thinking he’d tackle the windows and clean up the walkway.
Setting down his supplies at the bottom of the steps, he turned around to count windows and see if he was going to need a ladder or if he should scare up some clippers to tackle the hedge first.
To his shock, he discovered that the dilapidated old cottage that he’d wanted to burn down when he’d first seen it had transformed into a glittering mansion complete with curved balconies, arched stained-glass windows, and bright-colored tiles adorning the roof and lintels.
There was even a mosaic trim around the door and windows depicting flowers, birds, and, upon closer inspection, wolves and other fairy-tale monsters.
He got to work trimming bushes and trees and sweeping the stairs, and almost instantly, the landscape around him began to shift and take shape.
Though it was winter, and the air was cold and crisp, flowers erupted from the ground.
Ivy, once dead, came to life and wound around forms that straightened of their own accord.
As he clipped hedges at the side of the house, he uncovered a hidden door.
Tugging on the handle, he discovered a secret passageway that led beneath the house.
Deciding to explore that area last, he continued his work, pressing on until the house was completed and there wasn’t a room left that he hadn’t scrubbed and renovated with the special magic.
He wondered what the owners would think when they saw what he had done.
Would they be grateful and let him keep all the money he’d won?
As he sat in the hot bath that night, he frowned.
If there is one thing I know about people, it’s that, more often than not, their mistrust of magic runs deep.
It’s most likely they’ll string me up from the nearest tree, take all the money and the house, and forget I ever existed.
Maybe that’s how all the ghosts wound up here in the first place.
After he finished his pelmeni and drank the rest of the delicious broth directly from the bowl, Nik spoke to his quiet specter. “Mama? I still haven’t found the key. Aren’t you going to tell me what you want me to do with your little box before I leave?”
He heard the sound of doors slamming in various places around the house and the rocking of the chair accelerated.
“Now, now. I know you’re lonely. You miss your family. But now that the house is fixed up, maybe a family will move back in, and you won’t be so lonely anymore.”
The rocking ceased.
Nik sighed. “You can be upset if you wish, but the men are returning tomorrow. I don’t really have a choice. There’s only one more thing I have to do before I leave, and then, if all goes well, you’ll get a new start. Spokoynoy nochi, Mama.”
When Nik drifted off that night, he could have sworn he heard a woman weeping.
* * *
The next morning, he decided to try his luck with his boots, just in case something went wrong and he needed a fast exit.
Lacing them up, he stretched, bouncing up and down, and then launched into a quick jog, but only made it down the lane to the gate at a normal speed.
The little gate wouldn’t even open, so he hopped over it and ran down the road, then turned and ran back.
It seemed Pasha was right. The boots were still recharging.
At least his tunic should work if he needed such a thing.
Turning back to the house, he politely thanked the invisible helper that now willingly opened the gate to admit him, walked back to the front door with a whistle, and took up his cleaning supplies and lamp once more, this time heading to the side of the house to see if there was anything he needed to do with the newly discovered underground passage.
When he tugged on the handle of the door, it wouldn’t budge.
He braced his feet against the frame and pulled with all his might.
It jiggled a bit, and he got the sense that he was being prevented from opening it.
“Now, House, or, Mama, or whoever is trying to stop me. I aim to finish what I start. This isn’t going to keep me from leaving, so you might as well let me complete the job.” When he said that, the door sprung open, almost by itself.
Lifting his lamp, he picked up his basket of supplies, stepped inside, and began descending the stairs into the blackness.
He’d only just cleared the doorframe when the heavy wooden doors lifted on their own accord and slammed shut over his head.
Nik heard the snick of a key in a lock and a familiar voice say, “What have you done?” before he was struck on the back of the head and collapsed down the dark stairs into an even darker hole.
Thankfully, he was unconscious before he landed.