Eldritch Manor Read online

  “I am an Androsphinx, from the ancient time of the pharoahs in Egypt.” Willa listened breathlessly as Horace explained how very, very old he was. He explained how some sphinxes were warlike and enjoyed eating human flesh ... as he said this his nose crinkled in distaste, and he hastened to assure Willa that he was a more peaceable sort than that.

  “Besides, humans are just ... not very tasty, no matter how you prepare them,” he sniffed. Willa sank further into her chair, very thankful for this fact.

  As the afternoon wore on and the room grew darker, rain tapped on the roof and the windows rattled, the hibiscus plant curled around their chairs, and Willa listened to Horace’s tales of Egypt. She listened to his soft voice until her eyes grew heavy and it seemed that his yellow fur had turned into the very sand dunes of the desert, and the gusts of wind at the windows were whispering djinn, the evil spirits that whirl about the desert plains.

  When she woke the fire had gone out in the grate, and Horace was nowhere to be seen. It all seemed like a dream, but then everything that happened in this house seemed like a dream and Willa knew that every day she spent there would be more fantastic than the last. And she was absolutely right.

  The next day, after a morning of dusting so vigorously she sneezed about a hundred times, Willa had tea with little Mab, who clutched her tea-thimble with both hands as if it were a bucket. I’m having tea with a real fairy, Willa kept saying to herself in disbelief, though Mab wasn’t quite as lovely and delicate as Willa expected fairies to be. She looked sweet enough and had a smile that made Willa want to coo over her like a baby, but whenever Mab was irritated there would be a sharp flash in her eyes and her dear smile would twist ever so slightly into a kind of gargoyle grimace which made Willa shiver.

  Mab delighted in saying nasty things about the other inhabitants of the house. It always surprised Willa how much the old folks argued and fought, though she suspected it was due more to boredom than to actual hatred. Mab boasted about the tricks she played on her housemates, such as sewing their pockets shut with invisible thread, sprinkling sawdust in their lemonade, and hovering around their ears like a persistent mosquito, whispering an endless stream of insults. Mab’s knowledge of rude words was extensive, covering all the ones that Willa wasn’t allowed to use at home, and many more that Willa had never heard before, but which certainly sounded like words she wouldn’t be allowed to use at home. Mab’s main complaint was that the others didn’t take her seriously, treating her like a silly little kid or referring to her as an “insect.” When Mab recounted how they teased her, she’d become extremely agitated. Her language would turn a few shades more colourful, and she’d pound her little fists on the table so hard that her fine yellow hair would jump out of its silky ringlets and poke straight out on all sides, so that she looked like a dandelion, the kind that you blow on to watch the seeds fly away.

  One morning the Hacketts were up in arms about being woken at an ungodly hour by an awful, ear-splitting noise coming from Miss Trang’s roof. Willa promised she’d get to the bottom of it. She feared it was the bird Fadi, but Tengu gleefully claimed responsibility.

  “You see,” he hopped up and down in his excitement, “I’ve taken on the job of scaring away basilisks.”

  “Basilisks?” Willa looked at him questioningly.

  “You don’t know what basilisks are?! Really, what passes for education in your world! Basilisks are half-snake and half-rooster. They can kill you just by looking at you!” At this point he jumped at Willa, grimacing with his fingers curled like claws. Tengu was always trying to give her a scare, but it just made Willa want to laugh because the tender-hearted fellow was easily the least scary person in the entire household.

  “Basilisks are repelled by the sound of a rooster crowing. But we don’t have a rooster. So I get up every morning, go up on the roof, and cock-a-doodle-doo!” He snapped his fingers proudly. “So simple it’s genius.”

  Then he did his rooster impersonation for Willa, right there in the parlour, setting the teacups rattling and the chandelier tinkling. The ruckus brought Belle rolling in and an argument began at once.

  “Must you do that in the house, you fool?”

  Willa got Tengu to agree to do his crowing a couple hours after dawn, and on the peak of the roof furthest from the Hacketts. Belle was still shaking her head.

  “That sorry excuse for rooster crowing would never fool a basilisk. Never in a million years.”

  Tengu drew himself up to his full, unremarkable height. “I don’t see any around here, do you? Therefore it must work!”

  Then he stuck his tongue out at Belle and waggled his fingers around his ears. That started Belle hurling things at him — sofa cushions, books, shoes — until Willa begged her to stop.

  Belle was easily the most unfriendly person in the house, but no matter how unpleasant she was, how cranky, how downright rude, Willa felt drawn to her. She still remembered how beautiful Belle had looked when she’d first met her, when Belle was asking to go to the seaside. That loveliness and charm could be flicked on or off like a light switch, and apparently Belle had decided Willa was to be left in the dark. Their encounters usually went something like this:

  “Good morning, Belle!”

  Scowl.

  “And how are you today?”

  Abrupt exit from room, with a dismissive toss of silver hair. Really, it was like trying to be friends with a rock.

  Besides giving Miss Trang a wide berth, and trying not to antagonize Belle, Willa also tended to avoid Robert. He usually stayed in his room, but when he ventured out, knocking into the overhead lamps and smashing things with every step, Willa felt small and foolish next to him. And he always looked a little wild-eyed. The wisps of hair around his ears stuck out every which way, there were always spills and stains on his clothes, and he smelled funny. When speaking of Robert, Mab tipped her head back with her thumb pointing to her mouth, meaning he drank too much.

  One day Robert and Belle happened to be in the parlour as Mab led Willa in to show her one of her special treasures. She opened up a trunk to reveal a real pearl from an oyster. Mab glowed proudly as Willa admired it. She wasn’t exactly sure what Mab might do with it, since it was far too big for jewellery. Willa was just imagining the little fairy using it as a bowling ball when Robert suddenly swayed to his feet and stomped one hoof in irritation.

  “A pearl. Big deal. I’ve got something far more valuable than that.” He turned to Willa, smiling eagerly. “Would you like to see it?”

  Willa nodded, a little uncertain. Robert reached for an old cigar box on the mantel.

  Belle snorted. “Oh for God’s sake, Robert. Not that filthy old thing.”

  “It’s gross,” squeaked Mab in agreement.

  Robert spun around, upsetting an end table. “You two wouldn’t know magic if it came up and bit you on the ass!”

  He turned back to Willa, tipping over a vase, which Willa managed to catch, but not before it spilled water and daisies all over the carpet. Robert paid no mind, tapping the top of the cigar box.

  “This is my good luck charm. It’s the best luck charm there is, better than a rabbit’s foot or a horseshoe, and it beats a four-leaf clover all to hell.”

  Now Willa was curious, so she leaned in as he removed the rubber band keeping the lid in place. He carefully lifted the lid to reveal what looked like a misshapen turnip.

  “Oh, that’s ... nice....” Willa smiled politely.

  Robert beamed proudly, as if he was showing off a newborn baby. “It’s a mandrake!” Seeing Willa’s blank look, he went on. “The mandrake only grows at the foot of a gallows, and as you can see, the root is in the shape of a man.”

  Willa looked closer. The thing did have two offshoots that could be taken for arms and another two that could be legs, but it was far from obvious. She looked up to see Robert nodding and smiling, his eyes wide with delight. He looked like a little boy at show and tell.

  “When the mandrake is pulled from the gr
ound, the root screams so horribly that anyone within earshot goes instantly mad,” he informed her gleefully.

  “So that’s what happened to you, you old goat,” cackled Belle.

  Willa stifled a smile as Robert let fly with a few choice words. Mab was up on the dollhouse roof, rolling around amid peals of tinkly bell laughter, while Belle rocked back and forth in her chair, grinning merrily. Willa hadn’t seen Belle smile in a long, long while.

  Robert grew rather huffy and returned his cigar box to the mantel. Willa tried to cheer him up, saying it was really quite fascinating and she’d never heard about mandrakes before, but he was officially in a sulk and went stomping up to his room. Willa wondered if she should go up to apologize but felt Mab tugging at her sleeve.

  “I’ve got something else to show you. Something very, very important,” her little voice chimed. Willa smiled, reminded of little children trying to top each other with their toys. She knelt on the carpet as Mab flew into the little house again. Inside, the fairy reached under a miniature armchair and pulled out a tiny sewing basket.

  Willa looked over at Belle, who rolled her eyes. Mab opened the basket and carefully lifted out her knitting needles. Hanging from them was a long, silvery scarf. Willa had often seen Mab sit in that chair, clicking away with her knitting needles, but she had never before gotten a look at what the fairy was knitting. Mab lovingly draped the scarf across her arms and stroked it.

  “This,” she whispered, “is the most valuable treasure in the entire house.” She held it out and Willa reached to touch it. The stitches were tiny and fine, and the scarf felt silky, even silkier than silk. It was like dipping her finger in cool water. Suddenly Belle’s mocking voice burst out behind her.

  “What makes it so valuable? What’s it made of, caterpillar fuzz? Moooonbeams? Magical silvery fairy farts?” Belle burst into laughter as Mab shot her a dirty look and whisked the scarf back into the basket. Willa watched helplessly as the fairy flew up and grabbed hold of the front of the dollhouse. With a last indignant “Hmph!” she slammed it shut with herself inside.

  “Belle!” Willa felt bad for Mab but couldn’t help but smile herself. Belle was still chuckling in amusement. Willa sat down beside her, conscious of how rare this friendly moment was. “What about you? Don’t you have something special like that? Something that means the world to you?”

  Belle raised her eyebrows at Willa’s tone but blinked thoughtfully. Willa noticed her hand slip into a small pocket in her sweater.

  “Me? Well, I ...” Belle saw Willa looking at her pocket and blushed. “It’s nothing much. Just something that ... someone ... gave to me.”

  Willa watched closely as Belle pulled out her hand and uncurled her fingers. In her lined and wrinkled palm was a round, smooth, white stone.

  “Is it magic?” Willa whispered.

  Belle shook her head. “Not in the way you might think.” She rolled the stone over and over in her hand. “This was given to me a long time ago. When I lived in the ocean.” Her face softened into a smile at the memory, and she ran her fingers over its surface.

  “Belle,” ventured Willa, “why do you live here? Instead of in the ocean, I mean?” For a moment Willa was afraid she’d gone too far, but Belle just lowered her head sadly.

  “I made a mistake.” She tapped her breastbone with one bony finger. “I can’t breathe water anymore, I can never go back. Sometimes ... I forget that.” Her eyes fell on the stone again. “And this ... this was the start of all my troubles.” She snapped it up in her hand and thrust it into her pocket. Then she seemed to suddenly remember who she was talking to and squinted angrily at Willa.

  “But of course, you know all about it already, don’t you? Don’t you?” she hissed at Willa, making her jump.“No, I don’t! I don’t know what you mean!” Willa protested, shrinking back from her.

  Angry as she was, there was a tear in Belle’s eye as she gripped the wheels of her chair and rolled out of the room. Willa was left behind, alone and utterly confused.

  Chapter Six

  In which dark clouds descend and Miss Trang departs on a mysterious journey

  Belle retreated even more from Willa after that, slipping into melancholy. Willa felt the mood of the entire household change as well. The usually purposeful and efficient Miss Trang wandered aimlessly, frowning and lost in thought. As a result the others were uncommonly quiet, watching her and keeping their thoughts to themselves. It felt like everyone was waiting for something. When Willa could stand it no longer she sought out Horace in the library.

  “Horace, what’s going on?”

  He looked up from his book. For a moment he looked so blank she thought he didn’t know who she was. Then he blinked and smiled. “Ah, Willa. What’s going on where?”

  “Here. Everyone’s acting weird. Like you’re all waiting for something to happen.”

  Horace leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “We are, I suppose. Things just don’t ... feel right. Something’s wrong but we’re not sure what it is. I suspect that old enemies are waking up, somewhere in the world.”

  “Enemies? Whose enemies?” Willa felt cold. She worried for a moment that Horace might refuse to answer more questions than the “one a day” she’d been allotted, but he kept going, smiling sadly.

  “When you deal in magic and live for hundreds or thousands of years, as we have, it’s quite easy to make a few enemies along the way. And they have long lives too, and long memories ... as long as time itself.”

  “But where are they? Are they nearby? What’s happening?” The questions poured out.

  “We haven’t received any direct news of anything yet. Nothing has even happened that we’re sure of. But there’s a ... a kind of heaviness in the air. The taste of iron.” He looked at her kindly. “You know when you can feel a rainstorm coming, just from the stillness?” Willa nodded. “Well, there’s a feeling like that about.”

  He stared out the window. “It’s in the air, and the light ... my very blood slows in my veins. Thickens. Everything is tensing up for something. Something’s coming.”

  Willa looked out at the sleepy street. It was hot and still. Cicadas buzzed in the trees. Fear flooded through her. Questions froze in her throat.

  Horace smiled reassuringly. “Oh, I’m being overly dramatic. Maybe nothing will happen. Old people worry too much. We’ve got nothing better to do.” He spoke lightly but Willa was still alarmed.

  “But what can you do? To find out for sure?”

  “Other than wait? Well, I might try some old-fashioned augury. It’s been such a long while, I’m not sure I’m still up to it ...”

  “What’s augury?”

  Horace puffed himself up proudly. “Augury, dear Willa, is my personal specialty. It was my job in the old days to interpret the will of the gods, to tell if they were pleased or displeased with the doings of man. It was my job to foretell the future from the clues I saw around me.” Then he sighed and sagged a little. “Only I’m not sure I can still do it ... I can’t get a good view of things here in town.”

  He looked her in the eye. “Willa, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Don’t worry.” He tucked a book under his arm and drifted toward the door. Willa squeaked out one last question before he disappeared.

  “Horace ... you will tell me when there is something to be afraid of, won’t you?”

  He paused, a dark shape in the doorway. Without a word, he nodded and was gone.

  For the next few days Willa tried not to worry, but everyone grew more and more sullen. Nobody spoke, not even to argue, complain, or tease. They paced or sat in the parlour staring as their tea grew cold. Willa tiptoed about and spoke only when absolutely necessary, in a hushed whisper.

  One day Miss Trang’s office door was ajar and Willa saw her leaning back in her chair with a cold compress over her eyes, muttering to herself.

  “It’s coming ... It’s coming all right ... Who will it be this time?... Who?”

  One night at home, a week
after her conversation with Horace, Willa had an intensely vivid dream. A tornado dropped suddenly from a blue sky and roared around the boarding house, ripping off the roof and sucking all its contents up into the sky amid shrieks and wails.

  Willa awoke damp with sweat. Everything was still. The room was stuffy and hot. She got up to open her window.

  Orange street lamps lit the empty street. Willa pushed the window open. There was no breeze. She was wishing she had a fan in her room when the streetlamps suddenly went dark. Willa jumped. There was no moon, the street was black, and the air heavy. It was hard to breathe. She gripped the window ledge and stared at the street lamps, wishing with all her might that they’d come on again. Then she heard it. Horse hooves. Distant but growing louder every moment.

  Willa listened. She wanted to step back from the window but she couldn’t move, she couldn’t unclench her fingers, she couldn’t even breathe. The only thing still functioning was her brain, which screamed at her to move away from the window.

  The hooves grew louder and louder. Willa stared up the street, petrified at what might appear. Suddenly, in the blackness, an even darker form appeared in the distance, approaching swiftly. It was a horse, an inky black horse running upright on its two hind legs, like a human. The sound of its hooves grew so loud she thought the whole neighbourhood would wake. If only it would! She didn’t want to be the only person to see this.

  The horse moved closer, running on two legs with such speed that its mane and tail streamed out behind. As it passed her Willa felt the hot breeze of its wake. Just past her house the horse stopped dead, not even slowing first, but instantly freezing in its tracks. Willa’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. The street was silent once more as the horse turned its head from one side to the other, then, with a measured clop ... clop ... it turned and looked straight at Willa with burning red eyes.

  After a long, silent moment the horse turned away ... clop ... clop ... and began to run again, disappearing quickly up the street. Willa’s knees buckled and she fell to the floor.