Chapter Seven: Mysteries Among the Ruins

It would have been easy to call Ronald and get a cleaning crew in here that did their job. And the thought had crossed her mind to tell him that the man who owned the house was paying them for doing nothing but there was something about this place that compelled Carrie to clean it on her own. It was as though there was a magnet drawing her to it, calling her.

Looking over the house again after she was changed and refreshed, Carrie wondered where to start. It seemed logical to start with the kitchen and bath, as those would be the rooms she needed the most. The rest would just have to wait.  The kitchen was nicer than she had hoped. Like the bathroom, it too had all the modern conveniences hidden behind and around the antique décor. It was “new-old” style. Carrie, when motivated, could move quickly and with the promised reward of the antiques and explorations, she got the kitchen and bathroom cleaned in record time. Luckily that cleaning crew had left their supplies about the house.

Invigorated by the physical activity, Carrie was on a natural high and ready to tackle the world if need be. She uncovered one by one the pieces of furniture on the first floor of the house; stopping at each to marvel at their beauty, lovingly polishing them to a natural shine. Every antique held a story, she was sure. If they could talk the tales, they would tell. Nothing particularly caught her interest until she came into the dining room. After removing all the covers, she found encased inside the china cabinet a wonderful set of antique dishes. Carrie studied them and guessed them to be about one hundred years old. They were beautiful and in the middle of them all, in a place of honor, was a shabby brown leather box. Curiosity piqued, Carrie reached for it, and immediately withdrew her hand as she again got the feeling that she was unlocking a secret. Feeling braver and needing to satisfy that urge to know all, she reached out for it again, taking it gently in her hands. Carrie noted every detail, not that there was much to note. It was a worn leather encased box and then she lifted the lid. The strained melody started playing, it was soft and sweet and romantic. “A music box,” Carrie said in wonderment and then nearly dropped the newfound treasure when the wind caused a door on the second floor to slam shut.

The slamming of the door upstairs was enough to make Carrie jump out of her skin. “Silly,” she said shaking it off, “it was just the wind. What has gotten into you?” Carefully placing the music box in its proper home, she looked around. Satisfied that everything on the first floor was clean and in place, she decided to go get something to eat before she tackled the second floor. She grabbed her keys and left the house heading for the local drive-thru window she passed on her way here today. She just wanted to get back as fast as she could, wanting and needing to explore more. She felt a kinship with the house, a bond, she felt in a word, at home.

Hamburger and soda in hand, she pulled back into the long driveway and up to the circular plot of land in front of the house. The sky was turning dark and gray; a storm was brewing. Carrie stepped out of the car and headed toward the house, walking as quickly as she could before the skies opened up and rained their wrath down on her. She took the keys that Ronald had given her and tried the lock, but before she opened the door, she heard a very soft tapping sound. Immediately she jerked her head up and looked toward the second floor, just in time to see a woman leaving the window of the master bedroom. Most people would run the other direction, but never one to lose her ground, Carrie ran into the house calling o ut. “Hello? Who’s in here? Who is it? There’s only me allowed in this house! Whoever you are, come down here or I will call the police.” She heard nothing and running upstairs saw even less.

The windows to the widow’s walk were open when they had been shut. A search of the empty closets and under the beds proved fruitless. There was no one in the house but her. Carrie chalked up the sight of that woman, as a trick of a mind that was tired and hungry. She returned to the elegance of the dining room and ate her food that seemed in such contrast to the surroundings. After eating dinner, she found her head grow weary. It had been a very long day and she was a little lonely. She took her cell phone upstairs and decided to call Jon before she went to sleep.

Apprehensively, she dialed the familiar number and as was par she got his machine. Carrie punched in the code for their mailbox, “Hi Carrie, I knew you would call. You can leave a message if you like, but I won’t return the calls until you have your answer. We need to sort our feelings out and talking to each other every minute will not give us the time we need. Goodbye.”  Carrie hung up the phone feeling remote and distant from the man she had called. She also felt something else, irrevocably sad.  She lay in bed, crying; her sobs softly trailing away in the stillness of the night. The only comfort to be had was an unseen ghostly hand trailing along her arm, touching her hair. She saw nothing and felt nothing but suddenly and inexplicably at peace.