The memory makes me laugh.
Then I feel the sting of tears.
Please, let her be okay.
Emotion tightens my throat, so I march from the room. Despite what my mother might say, I need a distraction. And I need it now, while I’m on the verge of a good crying jag.
The wide stairs loom before me, their gleaming steps an invitation. This is a good time to explore the top level.
Moving up, I find the same wide steps and ornate railing. The paintings on the wall are different, though. Landscapes and buildings instead of portraits, but with the same moody colors as the ones below.
As soon as I reach the top floor, I sense the change. The air is heavy, the shadows longer, and the space oozes with a sense of neglect.
I hug myself and look around. Every door is closed, blocking natural light from the surrounding rooms. I move to the nearestdoor and open it, allowing sunlight to brighten the landing. The layout is the same as downstairs, so I work my way around—small salon, bedroom, another bedroom, media room with a large TV. Nothing too out of the ordinary.
Until I have only one place left to search. A closed door on the back side, cloaked in shadows at the end of the hall.
Running my hand along the wallpaper, I edge up to the door, turn the brass knob, and step inside. The smell of dust hits me.
This must be the storage room Luci mentioned.
Furniture crams against every wall, even blocking out the windows. Stacked boxes and paraphernalia litter the floor, all of it creating a musty maze of shadows.
Fighting off a sneeze, I quickly back out and shut the door. “No, thank you.”
With all the other doors open, sunlight floods the space, and as I round the landing, a panel in the wall leaps out at me. My brain is picking up on an inconsistency, but I can’t make sense of it yet.
Then I do. One section stands out, slightly misaligned.
I walk over, place my palms on the wood, and push. The panel gives slightly and pops open.
Old hinges protest the movement, groaning as the door opens to reveal the servants’ staircase. I almost forgot it existed. Steep, cramped, dark. No frills or flourishes here. Only plain wooden steps and bare walls.
I fumble for the light switch, flip it up and down.
Nothing happens.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and turn on the flashlight. Dust motes and cobwebs glisten in the glow.
Cobwebs mean spiders. And I’m not good with spiders.
But the webs drag and stretch, telling me they’re old, not recently inhabited by little eight-legged biters. And I’m already inside, just a short trip to the floor below.
I pull the door behind me, turning the stairwell into a tomb. My first step is slow and cautious, but the boards are sturdy. As I continue, I slide my hand along the wall, only pulling back when my fingers touch grime.
A few more steps, and I stop on the next floor. The door is outlined by thin lines of light.
I’ve made it this far, might as well keep going.
Moving with more confidence, I make it to the main level. The piano should be right on the other side.
Below me, the stairs disappear into darkness, descending into what must be the basement.
I shine my light down and take a step. And one more. Cool air moves past me, and I taste must and mildew. I feel a wisp of a cobweb.
Then tiny legs tickle along my cheek.
With a shout, I swat at my face and hair, turning to rush back upstairs. I burst through the door and into the entry hall, wiping at my clothes as I dance in place.
