Eternal (2 page)

The entry hall seemed cavernous. Shadows grew dark and deep in the adjoining rooms. Elaborate crown molding frosted the soaring walls. Who’d carved all those intricate patterns so many years ago?

I breathed in the scent of lemon oil and old wood mingled with a stagnant odor as if the house had been closed up for a long time. As if no one had lived here for years.

A staircase wound upward from the back of the entry hall. At the landing, shards of light filtered through an arched Palladian window bordered by sidelights, the sight of which reminded me again of the man I thought I’d seen peering out the fanlight.

“Panel doors,” Mom murmured, snagging my attention as she pushed a large, wooden sliding door open to reveal a massive room they’d probably called the parlor when this house was built.

Although the old furnishings were huge in comparison to what we’d had in our very modern house in Buckhead, they looked small in these big rooms. A mirror hung over the mantle, angled away from the wall at the top so that, despite the fact it hung several feet above a person of average height, you could actually see your reflection in it. The glass was a dark silvery gray in spots, giving the appearance of a shadow lurking in the depths of the room.

Portraits of people, that by the look of their hair and clothing were long dead, graced other mantles in the gargantuan rooms. Their overly large, somber eyes seemed to stare at me as I walked by.

“Isn’t this fabulous?” Mom asked, her voice lit with excitement as she set her purse and bag on a crimson velvet settee.

I hoped she wasn’t too attached to the uncomfortable looking furniture. As I passed through the room, I wondered where our plasma flat screen television was going to fit.

Mom was the type who got on a kick every now and then. Once she’d fallen in with some sort of simple life fad and forced Ella and me to give up our iPods, our TVs and laptops. The worst were the healthy diets she pushed on us. Usually, one of Mom’s fads was the result of a New Year’s resolution and, thankfully, they never lasted past the second week in February.

But this…

This old house… It might just trigger some latent bucolic desire in Mom that would mean our doom. I studied her, trying to read her. Mom’s exterior was as cool as lemon icebox pie. Her frosting colored clothes never showed a wrinkle and she always wore her brown hair smoothed back in an austere bun. Even her shoes were spotless. I sensed all her surface perfection hid a desperate search for something she couldn’t quite name.

My eyes narrowed as I picked up fractured pieces of her current thoughts. The wheels were turning in her brain about how the move was going to change our lives. Before I could slam the door on my mental connection to Mom, Ella rushed past me and up the winding staircase. “I want to see my room!”

I inhaled, resisting the urge to race her up the stairs to vie for the best and biggest room. Instead, I hefted Mr. Stella’s carrier in one hand, gripped the satiny wood banister and slowly plodded up the stairs, looking down at the threadbare crimson carpet runner which protected the dark wood underneath.

When I arrived at the landing, I gazed out the arched windows onto a courtyard that looked as if it had once been a flower garden. A lonely rusted fountain filled with fallen gold leaves stood in the center of the area. Flagstone paths meandered through the overgrown weeds.

Tucked just beyond the edge of the woods was a little unkempt cemetery surrounded by a wilting iron fence. I shuddered. The idea that there were people who’d lived in this house buried in the back yard gave me the creeps.

I knew from my near death experience that there was life after death. But were they all confined to the place I had gone? Or were some of them still here on the earth plane?

Still with us?

“Cool!” I heard Ella cry out, dragging my attention from the cemetery and the cold chills that skittered up my arms at the thought of ghosts.

I shifted Mr. Stella’s heavy carrier into the other hand and worked my way up the rest of the stairs. He let out a low meow. “It’s all right, buddy,” I said, trying to reassure him.

The ceilings in the upstairs rooms were high but not as high as those in the downstairs rooms. The wide second story hall opened into four massive bedrooms. With a loud squeal, Ella jubilantly claimed one of them. She launched herself onto the antique bed inside and began gleefully jumping up and down.

I should have been just as excited about seeing my own room but I couldn’t stop wondering about the fanlight. Where was it? Apparently, not on this floor. My gaze drifted upward to the smooth, white ceiling. Was it possibly in an attic?

The thought of that big, old window in a spooky, dark attic sent a ripple of apprehension through me. It was almost as if that window were alive, overlooking our whole world. And like me, the window had the creepy ability to see what was both outside and inside.

A chill raced up my spine and a split second afterward, Mr. Stella gave a high pitched meow.

“Okay, I guess it’s time to let you out.” I kneeled to spring him from the carrier. His green-eyed gaze met mine as if he wasn’t sure about this strange new world. He gingerly put one black paw onto the hardwood floor and then the other before he stepped out and subsequently bolted underneath a bookshelf.

“Wren?” I heard David’s voice from the landing.

I turned.

He gave me that pitying but encouraging smile he’d been flashing me ever since the accident. “We thought you might like this room to the right. It has a bathroom and its own balcony.”

“Okay.” I sounded unenthusiastic. But as I walked toward my room, that same overwhelming sense of anticipation came over me again.

Ignoring the niggling psychic sense, I discovered my room actually consisted of a series of rooms. A smaller hallway served as an entry between two bedrooms which opened out onto one of the balconies I had seen from the driveway. I pulled open the heavy wooden door and peered through the old screen at the gently sloping hills that rolled against the backdrop of bright, fall-colored treetops.

A nice breeze rustled the golden leaves in the giant oak outside so I decided to leave the door open and let the upstairs air out a little.

My actual bedroom looked as much like something out of a museum as the rest of the house. The faded wallpaper bore an overly large, out of fashion print. A four poster monstrosity of a bed took up most of the space. Its thick, carved posts supported a heavy looking tester canopy lined with garish, green fabric knotted into a rosette in the center. The bed sat so high off the floor, I’d need a step ladder just to crawl into it at night.

Maybe Mom and David would let me exchange it for something a little more modern after everyone settled in.

A tall desk with a glassed-in bookshelf and a little flip-down surface to write on rested in one corner. Yet another piece of outdated, impractical furniture. I sighed. I couldn’t do without my computer desk, my iPod dock and my television. But as much as I longed for brand new furniture, some part of me knew it would be a travesty to change one thing about this room.

I experienced an inexplicable insight that this room was some sort of shrine. But to whom? My gaze drifted toward the long window. Plum colored drapes pooled onto an oval, braided rug.

“What a weird place for a rug,” I mused aloud as I moved toward it, only to stop in my tracks when I noticed the rug partially covered a stain on the floor. My hands shook with an unsettling sense of anticipation as I bent to life an edge of the dusty, brittle rug. Underneath, the floor was a darker color. Almost as if something had been burned into the wood.

I brushed my fingertips over the spot. A shock passed through my body so strong that it knocked me onto my backside. “What the—”

Insight struck.

Blood.

Instantly, I knew the rug had been placed there to cover a bloodstain.

I struggled to fight off the images that rushed into my head. Soldiers. Groaning boys begging for something to ease their misery. The metallic stench of blood and gun powder, horror…

Bile rose in my throat.

“No!” I said, jerking to my feet. “No.” I shook my head, refusing to dwell on it, denying the intruding visions. This was different then my other psychic insights. This was way more than just some telepathic trick or minor intuition. I gasped for breath as the full-bodied, lifelike images flooded my brain.

Blinking away the garish details assailing me, I stumbled through a second doorway. This room looked as if it had been added on after the main part of the house was built. Calm returned. I blew out a sigh. “Much better.”

No horrific images bombarded me here.

No blood stained the floorboards.

Relief washed through my tattered nerves as I leaned against the wall and gulped deep breaths of air. I tried to draw on techniques I had learned from my counselors to return my pulse to normal but it was a good five minutes before I fully recovered.

When I could think clearly again, I stood and took in the starkly barren room. I liked this room. It had a cozy feel. Already, I envisioned this area as my own little den with a couch and a chair. The bathroom opened off to the right. A deep tub perched under the window on its sturdy claw feet. A pedestal sink stood beside a toilet with an old fashioned black horseshoe shaped seat. I grimaced. There wasn’t much room for spreading out my hair dryer and makeup but at least I didn’t have to share space with Ella.

I caught my reflection the mirror and quickly turned away. I didn’t like to be reminded of my angry looking scar—or that my best friend was dead while I still lived.

“Wren!” Mom’s voice rang out from the stairs. “Come show the movers where to put your things!”

I started toward the stairs but stopped when I reached the little hallway leading to my balcony. I’d nearly missed the narrow, white wooden door tucked behind the hall door.

A closet?

Another psychic hunch tore through me. I suddenly knew where that door led.

The attic—and the creepy window.

The hinges groaned in loud protest as I pushed the hall door closed. My fingers shook but I tugged on the toggle handle to the attic door. It refused to budge.

I groaned and reconsidered. This was stupid. What if that man I’d seen was up there?

Logic demanded I walk away, go downstairs and get Mom or David to come to the attic with me. It made no sense to go alone. Not when I suspected some stranger might be homesteading in our house.

But I couldn’t seem to stop myself from pulling on that door handle again. For no sane reason, I was mysteriously drawn to that room. I wanted to get in there. Now. Alone. Despite the voice in my head that railed against it.

Just as the door was about to crack open, my Mom’s called again. “Wren, come on! They’re waiting for you!”

Reluctantly, I turned and hurried down the stairs but I knew I would be back to tackle that door later.

* * * * *

Despite my exhaustion, sleep did not come easily that night. I hadn’t spent a night away from home since the weeks I was confined to a hospital bed back in Atlanta. My new and strange surroundings did not make for easy slumber.

Even the comfortable mattress and soft cotton sheets couldn’t hinder my rampant thoughts. My mind raced. Who’d slept in this room before me? Who else had lain awake in this very bed listening to the unfamiliar creaks and pops of this vast house? Who’d been born here?

And who’d died here?

Certainly someone had. The bloodstains on the floor testified to that. I’d considered mentioning it to Mom but she’d been too busy helping Ella unpack.

An unexpected creak in the floorboards above my head made me jump. Startled, I propped on my elbows to better listen. Before I could chalk the noise up to the age of the house, I heard something that made my blood run cold. The sound wasn’t a creak at all.

It was footsteps! Distinct, one after another, moving from one side of the house to the other.

How long had I been awake? I hadn’t heard anyone coming up the stairs and going into the attic.

I bolted upright in the bed. My gaze shot to the glowing red readout of my digital clock. Nearly four. No one in my family would have reason to be in the attic at this time of the morning. Still holding my breath, I stared up at the knot in the center of the fabric of my canopy and tried to listen in spite of the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

Changing direction, the footsteps plodded toward the front of the house—toward the fanlight.

I tried to swallow but couldn’t. I
had
seen someone standing at the fanlight after all.

But who?

Shivers broke up and down my arms and legs. I bit my bottom lip so hard it hurt, remembering that I hadn’t been able to open the attic door. Because it was locked from the inside?

Only one thing to do…

I’d never purposely tried to use my newfound abilities. I spent most of my time wishing them away. But this time, I had to know the truth. The need to discover who lurked in the attic suddenly consumed me with a ferocity like nothing I’d ever before experienced. Closing my eyes, I willed the images to come to me.

Show me who is in the attic.

Strange vibrations rattled me, tuning the intruder’s thoughts to mine. Without warning, the footsteps turned and started toward me at a quick pace. My eyes snapped open. My stomach tangled into knots as I heard
him
racing down the attic stairs.

Too terrified to move, I struggled to gasp for a breath, to scream.

The attic door opened with a sharp crack, and my scream died in my throat as
his
footsteps echoed in the hallway just outside my door. Hard terror gripped me. I clutched the covers in tight fists as he headed toward my room.

Shaking, I gaped into the murky darkness.

And then,
he
stepped out of the shadows, forming out of them as if he were made of darkness instead of flesh and blood.

I stared. Instead of the dirty vagrant I’d expected, the intruder appeared to be a boy about my age.

He gaped at me, wide-eyed.