Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Ihated the basement of Dawes House.
It was dark and creepy as all old basements are, but this was on another level. Whit was absolutely right to forbid anyone from living down there.
Some of the space was under construction.
Framed-out rooms and half-finished hallways created even darker corners than usual.
Other sections seemed untouched for decades.
The timber used for support beams groaned with age.
Forgotten possessions lingered like abandoned memories, the remnants of lives left behind—an antique wooden wheelchair, an old hobby horse, a child’s rusting bicycle, lanterns, long-unused gardening tools.
An enormous black heating oil tank loomed in the far corner, cold and obsolete since the house was converted to electricity.
But one of the most unnerving relics—the one that always made my blood run cold—was the well set into the floor.
Layers of stone stacked in a circle formed its lip, a heavy wooden lid secured over the hole with a rusted padlock.
Piles of construction debris sat on top of the lid as if someone had tried to bury the damn thing.
“I don’t like it down there, Mama.”
Henry pressed close to my side as we stood at the top of the basement stairs. Even with the light on, the bottom was lost to shadow.
“I know, baby,” I told him. “I don’t like it either. But I have to do laundry.”
I put off laundry days until it was absolutely necessary, but with the late-spring heat settling over the city with its full force now, nothing could be worn twice.
“I don’t want to go in the basement!” Henry whined, tugging my hand, trying to pull me away.
I blinked at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?” I cautioned. “You don’t take that tone with me, young man.”
“I’m not going!” He yanked again, harder, the force of it sending me stumbling.
“Henry!” I cried, dropping the laundry basket to catch myself. “What’s wrong with you?”
He broke down completely then, sobbing loudly, his head thrown back, his mouth wide open as he wailed, “No! No! No! No!”
I knelt in front of him and held his arms. “Stop it, Henry,” I said as calmly as possible. “I need you to stop crying and use your words. Baby, please—”
“Can I be of assistance, honey?”
Iris stood just a few feet away. Henry was crying so loudly, I hadn’t noticed her approach.
“It’s okay,” I told her, sitting down on the floor and pulling Henry into my lap, rocking him a little to quiet him. “He’s scared of the basement. I’m so sorry. He never has tantrums like this.”
Iris gave me a sympathetic smile. “No problem, honey. We all have rough days. Isn’t that right, Henry?”
Henry sniffed, took a shaky breath, and nodded.
“Why don’t you let him come sit with me for a spell?” Iris offered. Before I could respond, she extended her hand to him. “Would you like to come sit with me at my desk, sweetheart?”
He nodded and launched himself from my lap, taking her hand then turning back, giving me a guilty look as if realizing he should’ve asked first.
“It’s okay,” I said with an exhausted sigh. “Go ahead with Ms. Iris this time.” I got to my feet. “Thank you, Iris.”
“Of course,” she said, waving away my gratitude. “We all need a hand now and then, especially someone like you without anyone else to help her. You go on and tend to your laundry. We’ll be up front when you’re finished.”
I watched them walk down the hall, grateful and unsettled at once. I hadn’t missed her pointed reminder that I had no one but the Dawes House “family.” Maybe they had forgiven me for the call about Kitty. Or maybe this was yet another way of reminding me to stay in line. Because I needed them.
I lifted my laundry basket again and turned to face the basement stairs, my mouth going dry. The first step creaked ominously as I started down.
As soon as I reached the bottom of the steps, I fumbled in the darkness for the light switch on the wall, heart kicking against my ribs.
Finding it, I flipped on the lights to the main hallway that led to the laundry room, relieved when most of the bulbs instantly blazed to life, only one flickering a few times before finally joining the others.
These were the big floodlights that people put on their houses that came on whenever they detected motion and then would shut off after a while, making it a race against time to reach the laundry room before being plunged into darkness once more.
I waved my hand in front of the sensor again to give myself more time—the damned things never stayed on long—and hurried forward, trying to keep my mind from imagining anything down there with me.
But almost immediately the hairs on the back of my neck rose and my skin tingled with the undeniable sense that I wasn’t alone.
I stepped into the laundry room just as the hallway lights clicked off, plunging me into darkness. My panic spiked hard. I waved my hand wildly, activating the laundry room sensor.
Not wasting a second, I went to one of the washing machines and began sorting the clothes. When I glanced over my shoulder to the doorway, the light blinked out. My gut twisted with fear.
“Damn it!” I muttered, waving my hand across the sensor, reactivating it, then turning back to my laundry. “I hate this freaking basement.”
Seconds later, the lights turned off again.
“Shit!” I cried, more irritated than frightened this time. With a huff, I waved my hand again, turning the light back on. “Screw this.”
I grabbed a couple of the small loads, and threw them in, hoping the colors were similar enough and the clothes old enough that they wouldn’t bleed and create a whole load of tie-dyed laundry for Henry and me.
I was just adding the detergent when the lights went off a third time.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I demanded, angrily waving my hand across the sensor.
The light flicked back on.
And the woman in the bloody nightgown was inches from my face.
She opened her mouth hellishly wide in a silent scream, her face twisting with raw fury.
A ragged scream ripped from my throat. I stumbled back, tripping over my laundry basket and slamming into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.
The lights died again.
Choking on sobs of fear, I scrambled blindly, but something caught my hair and yanked, dragging me back down. I screamed again thrashing wildly, twisting, fighting to get free of whatever—or whoever—grasped my hair.
Panting, terrified, I waved both arms wildly trying to activate the motion sensor.
When the lights came back on, I was alone again.
The tug on my hair ended instantly, my scalp stinging but free.
I lurched to my feet and spun around, breath sawing in and out of my chest. Relief nearly buckled my knees when I saw my hair had caught on splintered wood, the rotten laths behind the plaster having given way when I fell.
I waved a hand in front of the sensor, just to be safe, and leaned against the dryer, bent over, dragging air into my lungs and trying to calm the hammering in my chest. Just as my heartbeat approached its normal rhythm, a shadow fell across the doorway.
I straightened with a shaky gasp but then let out a short, relieved laugh when I saw Pearlie standing there with a laundry basket on her hip.
“You alright, Zellie?” Pearlie asked, rushing to me and setting down her basket so she could take my hands in hers. “You look like someone just walked over your grave.”
I flinched internally at her choice of words and nodded, forcing a smile. I wasn’t about to tell her what had just happened.
“I’m fine, Ms. Pearlie,” I lied. At her concerned frown, I added with a thin laugh, “Really. Just embarrassed. The light went out and startled me. I tripped over my own laundry basket.”
Pearlie chuckled and reached for the light sensor, sliding a switch at the bottom. “There now,” she said, patting my arm. “That’ll keep on the lights while you’re in here. Just slide it back to the middle when you’re done.”
Embarrassed I hadn’t figured that out sooner and possibly prevented the horror I’d just lived through, I quickly started my load. Pearlie chatted as she loaded her own laundry in the second machine. But her words didn’t register.
All I could think about was the dead woman’s silent scream…
Apparently, during our laundry room conversation, I’d agreed to come to a birthday party for Mr. Dean, of all people.
I hadn’t seen more than the occasional glimpse of him since he’d visited on our first night to roll out the welcome mat, but it wasn’t like I’d made any effort to be neighborly either.
And, although I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to spend time with the cantankerous old man, let alone host a party for him, I couldn’t refuse the invitation from Ms. Pearlie. She’d been kinder to me than my own mother ever had, so I wasn’t going to insult her by backing out.
Figuring everyone else would be dressed up for the special occasion, I found a consignment shop near the bookstore during my lunch break and managed to buy a dress for me and a cute little shirt and tie for Henry.
My paychecks from Dottie weren’t much—not with what I needed to save for a down payment on an apartment.
But it was something. And I refused to be like my mother.
I wouldn’t deny my son something special now and then when I could afford it. I just wouldn’t.
“Look at you!” I said, adjusting Henry’s tie, tears pricking my eyes as pride swelled in my chest.
He cupped my face with his little hands and kissed my cheek. “Thanks, Mama! I look like Mr. Whit!”
I laughed. “You sure do. Very handsome.”
“Maybe I should wear it to school then,” Henry said, suddenly very serious. “So everyone will know that I’m five and old enough to ride the school bus.”
“We’ll see,” I replied, suppressing a smile. “You might change your mind by the time school starts.”