“Remember, Riv, it’s probably only going to be for a year or so,” he said, stepping out of the moving van. Layers of slick oak leaves and rotten purple flower buds crunched and slid beneath his feet. Joseph caught himself on the side of the moving van and made a mental note to pave the driveway as one of the first orders of business.
“I know this place looks creepy, but we’ll make it work.”
“I don’t think it’s creepy,” his son said, staring up at the third floor. Joseph shook his head. Since they had visited the home in the summer, River talked non-stop about the lady on the third floor.
“It’snothaunted,” Joseph insisted, moving toward the back of the van. “Remember? We discussed this. There’s no such thing.”
“But Ididsee her,” River insisted. His light brown eyes fluttered and narrowed under heavy lashes. Joseph pressed his lips together and sighed heavily through his nose. His son never looked more like Rachel than when he was frustrated.
“I believe you, bud,” Joseph said, lowering down to his son's level. “I believe you think you saw something. I just don’t think ghosts are real.”
“Well, I’m not afraid,” River said, tucking his pillow under his arm. “She looked nice.”
“Okay, no more talking about ghosts for today,” Joseph said, looking up at the third floor window. He did see a flash of something through the window pane, despite the fact that the glass was covered in decades of grime. The third floor was the attic, a space that Joseph knew to likely hold all manner of items and probably a family of critters that would need to be rehomed too. Joseph’s renovation to-do list was getting longer by the minute.
“Where are we going to sleep tonight?” River asked. A valid question. Joseph knew that living in the house right away was probably not the best option, but it was the only one he had. He and Rachel had put everything they had into purchasing the home. Before the accident she had been set to start a teaching job at Ponce de Leon Middle School, while he worked on renovating the manor. Even though there would eventually be settlement money from her accident, Joseph still had to be careful with his funds. Renovating a hundred-year-old home would be expensive, to say the least.
“We’re going to sleep here,” Joseph said. “It’ll be like camping. We’ll set up the beds in the living room. I’ll set up a barbecue outside. We’ll have to go visit your Aunt Melissa every other day to take showers until I can get the first floor bathroom refinished.”
“Is there electricity?”
“Nope,” Joseph said, pulling a box from the back of the van. “Not until the electricians come. We’ll have to use these flashlights and candles at night.”
Joseph fished the keys out of his pocket that he had gotten from the realtor as River followed him up the walkway toward the house. Their shepherd-mix, Boomer, continued to bark and chase squirrels in the distance as the low buzz of the last summer cicadas grew louder in the trees. The steps to the double-wide wraparound wooden front porch creaked under his weight as he approached the front door to Jacaranda Manor, his feet landing heavily on the old, but still sturdy wooden planks. An ornate, gabled roof sloped sharply overhead and sagged just to the right, signaling a job that Joseph would have to hire someone else to repair. The double front French doors, however, were in need of paint but still in beautiful condition with inlays of brilliantly colored stained glass panes featuring oranges, limes, and purplish blue blooms. The heavy-duty tarnished bronze door knobs each featured an embossed “B” surrounded by intricate vines, no doubt the insignia of the original owners of the home.
Joseph fumbled with the keys for a moment before he finally managed to unlock the intricate door. The lock stuck for a moment and the unused hinges complained as he pushed the door open into the darkened foyer. Joseph and River were immediately greeted by a massive, winding wooden staircase, wide enough on both sides for two adults to ascend or descend them at the same time. A wrought iron crystal chandelier layered in dust hung overhead, its dripping jewels sparkling in the waning afternoon light. To the right was a space that appeared to be a dining room that sat dark and empty with another matching chandelier in the center of the ceiling. To the left was a wide space that was clearly the sitting room, illuminated with just enough light thanks to the curved, multi-paned picture window in the front. The house itself was silent as a church save for their footsteps on the original hardwood floor and their breath that broke the stillness of the air.
“Well, bud,” he said, looking down at the quizzical face of his son. “What do you think?”
River shuffled over to the staircase, his light-up sneakers flashing in the darkened entryway. He turned around, as if inspecting the space and nodded his head.
“I like it.”
“Good,” Joseph said, inhaling another breath of musty air. “We’ll have to sleep with the windows open tonight.”
“I don’t mind,” River said, clutching his pillow tighter.
“It’s going to be great,” Joseph said, setting the box down. “Just like camping.”
Joseph didn’t know who he was trying to convince more: River or himself. As he continued to unload their essentials for the night, Joseph brushed off the urge to look over his shoulder and ignored the tingling sensation at his back.
It’s just an old house and nothing more, he told himself.Nothing but dust and shadows.
He and River made a dozen more trips unloading the van before it was finally dark, moving in gallons of water, their mattresses and sheets, a bag of groceries and Boomers’ bed and food bowl. The two-year-old shepherd mix returned to their new home just before dark, sniffing every corner of the first floor. After a dinner of canned ravioli and a handful of bedtime books, River was fast asleep on his mattress near the open picture window.
Joseph hadn’t accounted for just how dark it would be out in the country as he stumbled through the pitch black estate with only a flashlight. Back home in Brooklyn there was nothing but lights everywhere you looked, and seeing at night wasn’t usually a problem. Now, on this moonless night in late summer, all that surrounded Jacaranda Manor was darkness and the somber song of the forest. Despite the fact that the stars overhead were brilliantly clear, Joseph could barely make out the far off lights of downtown St. Augustine over the treeline through the dark of night. Inspecting the estate and the surrounding property fully would have to wait until morning.
With a warm beer in his hand, Joseph sat on the front porch of his new home and tried not to think about Rachel. He tried not to think about the “friends” back home that had made empty promises of being there for him; those same friends that couldn’t stand to see the way that grief had changed him. He tried not to think of the massive project that he had just moved his son into. He finished his beer and tried not to worry about River and money and his own dark future. Joseph Moore sat on the porch, alone that night, but not really alone, as someone watched him silently from behind.
