The last writer, p.8
The Last Writer, page 8
I wondered if the last writer had found the same desperate scratches, or if she’d been the one to carve them into the soft wood. A tremor tore through me then. Maybe Thax was wrong, maybe the last writer hadn’t disappeared, maybe she’d escaped.
Maybe she wasn’t dead, maybe she’d lost her mind.
PAST
Zara - Summer 1964
“Who is this?” I demanded.
“Zara, please, your manners,” Mother reprimanded. “Say hello to Nate, Susie, and Billy; they’ll be helping you in the bulb cellar.”
“Great.” Yarrow looked Nate up and down, though they seemed near in age, Nate was more than a head taller and twice as broad. His skin was a warm copper, making Yarrow’s tissue-paper skin nearly translucent in comparison.
“Nice to meet you.” He thrust a hand out at Yarrow.
Yarrow growled, shook his hand, and then retreated down the basement stairs without another word.
“Hi, I’m Yara. Want me to show you where we work?” Yara smiled at Susie, pathetic hope for a new friend crossing all of her features.
“Sure.”
“I just knew the two of you would get along. And Zara, Nate is your age, I thought he might be helpful for pruning some of the orchard.”
“How long are they staying?” I asked blankly.
“Well, forever, of course.” Mother’s smile deepened to something almost dark.
I tipped my head, working my way around her possible motives. “Where will they sleep?”
“We’ve got a hundred bedrooms, wherever they want.”
“But you locked them all because you said they contained dangerous things inappropriate for children.”
“So I did,” Mother cooed. “But these aren’t children, they’re adults in little bodies. I trust them to handle themselves while they’re at Usher House.” She used her hands to herd the newest visitors out of the room. “Now, let me show you where we keep the lilies.”
I sighed, watching as they shuffled down the creaking wooden steps into the basement. I cast my eyes around the room, surprised the kids didn’t have any luggage or bags with their belongings. Maybe it’d been left in the car for Walton to unpack, not that we’d seen Walton once since our first introduction. Not that I minded.
Intent on a change of scenery, I pushed the front door open and stepped out into the garden. Ivy curled its twisted tendrils around my bare legs as I walked along the evergreen hedge. A stone walkway lured me through the ivy-wrapped iron gates.
Winding along the edge of the hedge along the interior of the garden, a rambling rose that must have been much older than me towered over the pathway, forcing me to part the thorny branches and duck through a small opening. The branches pulled and yanked at my hair, but I pushed through. I was extra careful to tuck my wool skirt around my knees, the memory of the last lashing Mother had given me the night before we moved to Usher still shook me.
The leather licks of a belt against skin left a searing memory. Yara and Yarrow hadn’t seen that side of my mother, not yet anyway. I imagined Usher would change that.
“Ow!” I screeched as a particularly gnarly thorn left a slice of crimson across my knee.
I pushed the remainder of the way through the bramble, confident I was the only one to see this side of the garden in a very long time. What did Walton do all day exactly? Because he certainly wasn’t care-taking the rose hedges at all.
I tore a small green leaf from a tree and pressed it to the tiny gash on my knee. The blood clotted as I pressed, leaving only a scratch when I pulled the leaf away. I let it flutter to the ground before finally running my eyes up. I could see my window, the tip of the widow’s walk bedroom towering over me, all of Usher like a gothic castle that's been left abandoned. The ominous crack that split the front facade deepened to a black on overcast days, the fissure widened in shadow, enough that it looked like a family of rats could take up residence there alongside the human inhabitants.
I shuddered, remembering when Mother said she was going to start writing the book she’d been talking about now that we were here at Usher. This place could inspire many a horror story. I wondered if Mother would still have moved us from the city if she’d known the house was nearly in a state of ruin.
The odd thing was, it didn’t seem to faze her a blink that our apartment in the library was much cozier, even if it was a tenth the size.
Just then, a black bird landed on the branch of a rose bush. The tiny creature began singing wildly, and in seconds another, tinier black bird joined it. They both tipped their heads, looking at me, as if in awe at the sight of such a strange creature in their garden.
I whistled back softly, tender to the tiny animals whose home I’d just barged into. “Is your nest nearby?”
I stepped closer, prepared to peer into the abyss of the rose bush, when my toe scraped against the edge of a stone. Eyes casting down, I caught sight of the patent tips of my shoes shining in the garden dew, the slender creamy-white bone of a finger perched atop a moss-covered stone.
“What’s this?”
I picked up the sloped bone, short like a child’s, but not so slender that it could be mistaken for the hollow bone of a bird or other animal.
This was decidedly human.
I thought of the few anatomy and biology books I’d seen in the library, wondering where on earth it’d come from and how it’d found itself here.
I assessed it carefully, bringing the bone close to my eyes. Bits of dirt were embedded where the knuckle connected, but otherwise it was pristine, like it’d fallen from the sky and not been buried under leaves and dirt along an old garden path.
I tucked it in the top pocket of my dress, my curiosity piqued.
Usher House was finally sharing its secrets, scattering them along my path like breadcrumbs.
The little birds chimed together, their song raising in pitch and passion.
I smiled, holding my finger out to them. “Come on, then. Take me on a tour of your garden, show me all the secret places.”
One of the tiny birds flitted off the branch and down the path, the other following fast on its wings and me racing after. We reached the end of the hedge wall and I turned to find the start of the orchard, giant apple white blooms cascading from the tops, and at the center, a chipped stone fountain.
I plopped on the edge, trying to picture gentle, lapping water where now mold and layers of rotten leaves accumulated. From this spot in the garden, the cliff and roaring ocean weren’t even a hundred yards beyond, but the overgrown evergreen hedges secluded the fountain and its inhabitants from the world.
Among all the rambling ruin of Usher House, the fountain and gardens were Heaven. The marble was molded as a playful cherub on top, his form evolving to a hoofed centaur below. I’d never seen a statue like it, his innocence paralleled by the might and strength of the rippling muscle of his horse-like body.
The little black birds returned, landing each on the top of the marble cherub. They tweeted incessantly, as if in vapid conversation. And then one of them dive-bombed my head.
I ducked, laughing as they both began swirling and swapping. “Is this it then? Is this your special spot?” I searched the overgrown nooks and crevices for evidence of a bird’s nest. They continued to sing and swoop. “Alright, alright, I hear you. Next time I’ll bring treats when I trespass in your home.”
“Home is a bit of an overstatement, don’t you think?” A deep voice shot me to my feet. I turned, surprised to find Nate, the new kid.
“I like it here.” I shrugged, taking a few steps back before finding myself back against the fountain.
“You’re creepy,” he accused me.
I shrugged. “So?”
His eyebrow arched. “How many bodies do you think they got buried in the basement?”
“What?” I breathed.
“That’s the rumor around Shelter Island.”
“The rumor?”
“You’re not from here, are you?”
I shook my head, realizing more lay beneath the surface at Usher House than even I realized. “What else do you know about this place?”
His grin turned up. “You feel it, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer, my heart hammering in my ears too loudly to even think straight. Did I feel it?
“A cloud hangs over this place. Bad things have happened here. You can feel the darkness seeping through the cracks.” He held his palm up to the belly of the fountain statue.
“How did you find me out here?” I finally asked.
He nodded quickly behind him. “One of the tunnels leads to a doorway underneath the greenhouse.”
“How, where did you—”
“The old lady left me in the bulb cellar to scrub soot off the walls. I don’t do anything without investigating my exits first.”
“You wandered around alone? Mother won’t be happy, she told us not to wander off—”
“Of course she did, but she wouldn't say that unless there was something to hide.”
“She’ll check on you, you know, once she sees your gone—”
“She can’t.” He pulled the tiny skeleton key Mother always carried in the pocket of her black skirt from his jeans. “I locked the door to the underground.”
I shook my head. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”
“Don’t I?” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “You know, for a new foster sister you’re not very welcoming.”
“New foster sister, my foot. You’re going to get us all in trouble, stealing her key like that, how are you going to get it back to her without her noticing?”
He shrugged, kissed the tiny filigree detail quickly, and then tossed it over his shoulder. “How are you going to, you mean?”
My vision turned red as I dropped to my knees, tears stinging my eyes.
Nate had no idea what he’d just done.
PAST
Zara - Summer 1964
“How much do you know about the history of Usher House?” I asked, casually, as I entered the kitchen.
Mother looked up from a pot boiling on the stove to frown at me. “Enough. Why?”
“Just wondering.” I moved behind her to reach for a glass in the cupboard, shuffling against the folds of her skirt and dropping the tiny skeleton key in her pocket as I did. “I was working in the orchard and saw some old stones.”
“Is that all?” She replaced the lid on the pot, setting the wooden spoon on the counter and then turning fully to me.
I held my glass under the faucet and let the cloudy water run. The twins had expressed distaste at water that wasn’t exactly clear, but Mother insisted it was all we had and good enough. In her defense, it tasted perfectly normal, so I didn’t have a problem drinking it.
“Have the new kids picked their rooms?”
“Picked their rooms.” A small grin whipped across her thin lips. “Of course they haven’t, they’ve been working in the cellar tunnels. I need them cleaned up and then I’m going to see if Walton can install a few more lights. I’m hoping a few more kids can be placed with us in the coming weeks and then we can really take production up a notch.”
“More kids?” I hedged my next words. “Where did you find these ones?”
“I went to preparatory school with the head nurse at the orphanage. They didn’t have enough beds, so I’ve applied to the state to allow them to stay here.”
“So they are foster kids?”
“Sure. Is that what they call wards of the state now? Truthfully, I only wanted the younger two. I’m afraid the older one will be more trouble than it's worth, but what’s the harm in giving him a shot?”
“He seems…” I failed to find the right words and didn’t want to divulge my interaction with him in the garden earlier.
“Like a street rat? I think he’s been arrested a few times for drinking or drugs, I wasn’t really listening when the nurse rattled off his rap sheet. He won’t have free time at Usher, so I’m not too concerned. Besides, we should always believe the best in people until they prove us wrong, right, my dear?” Mother patted me on my cheek and I resisted my cringe. “I’d like eventually to operate Usher like a reform school, at nearly five hundred dollars a head we can afford to clean up some of these empty rooms, right?”
“Five hundred dollars?” I must have misheard her.
“The more room we’ve got, the more able I am to write this book and then release it to the world. It will change our lives, Zara, I just know it. Did I tell you I’ve finally settled on a name?”
“A name for what?” Nate, sweaty and caked with dirt from the cellar, appeared in the kitchen then. The twins and the two newest additions trailed behind him.
“Oh, well, I guess now is as well a time to share as any. Have a seat at the table and I’ll dish you out some chicken soup while I tell you about my book.” Mother ladled the golden liquid into the first bowl. “It’s called Lilies in the Cellar, I’ve decided to name it after all of you.”
Nate caught my gaze, eyebrows up before he immediately dipped his head and brought a spoonful of broth to his lips. “This is delicious.”
“Thank you, but...don’t you like the name of my book?” A vulnerable tone laced Mother’s otherwise hardened voice. “This book is inspired by my little lilies; I want only to honor my muse in you.” One of her palms rested on Yarrow’s bony shoulder. I could see him visibly attempting to control the tremble in his muscles.
His eyes scrunched closed, the furrow along his forehead deeper than usual.
“I think it’s a great name.” Nate beamed up at her.
She smiled softly, but a permanent dent had been added to her armor. “Thank you, Nate.”
“I don’t like soup,” Susie, the littlest of the crew, complained.
“Well, that’s all we have, my dear. Now eat up, if we get the first tunnel cleaned up tonight, I’ll have Walton see about putting up some more lights and won’t that just be fine?”
“I don’t like to work in the basement.”
“It’s not a basement exactly, think of it more like a factory, a factory for beautiful things. I know the garden doesn’t look like much this year, but all of the work you’re putting in now will make Usher House a beacon on the hill again.”
I could hardly contain my groan.
“I’m skipping lunch to do some extra reading in my room,” I excused myself, praying Mother wouldn’t object.
“I’ll leave yours in the fridge. Are you feeling well?”
“Perfect, thank you,” I uttered, and then turned the corner and took the stairs two steps at a time. I ascended the next flight of stairs, and then to the even narrower steps up to my widow's walk room.
When I entered, I removed the tiny finger bone from my pocket and turned it in the light.
My escape from Usher House couldn’t come soon enough.
PAST
Zara - Summer 1964
“She’s deranged,” Nate boomed as he came around the corner of the fountain. “It’s been two weeks and all she’s fed us is chicken soup and pudding while we work fourteen hours a day in the cellar.”
“She’s not that bad,” I hummed, holding my hand out to the tiny black bird that sat perched on the marble crown of the cherub. “We have pot roast on Sundays.”
“You’re ridiculous, Zara. You saw the twins at breakfast, they can hardly keep water down. There’s something wrong with them.”
“They’re always sick. Mom called a specialist from the city to come next week.”
“Do you really think they have until next week? Yarrow’s hands shake when he packs the bulbs up to be shipped.”
“Shipped?”
“Oh, she didn’t tell you? She’s expanded the business. Apparently, Usher House bulbs are now shipping to all fifty states.”
“Really?” I finally broke my concentration on the bird, depositing the seed on the stone ledge and turning to Nate. “That sounds like her best business idea yet. This writing a book thing has zero chance of amounting to anything.”
“But on the upside, she locks herself in her room all day to write it.”
“Except today. She left as soon as all of you went to work in the cellar.”
“Where did she go?”
I shrugged. “She never tells me.”
He let my words hang, assessing me before asking: “How come your dad doesn’t come visit? I thought she said—”
“She says a lot of things. I thought he was going to come too, but…I guess he’s abandoned us.”
His eyes settled on something over my shoulder. “He’s probably just busy.”
“He’s always just busy.”
Nate plucked a petal from a nearby red rose and threw it my way. “Why doesn’t she make you work, anyway?”
“She makes me work.” I defended myself lamely.
“Not like the rest of us.”
I turned away from him. He was right. Since we’d come to Usher, Mother had been surprisingly avoidant of me. She’d even missed my fourteenth birthday last week while she was out having cocktails with writing friends. “We went through a lot when we lived at the library, trust me, it’s better when she’s not around.”
“So?”
“And so, she makes me work. I’ve been working on the orchard, just like she said.”
“For two weeks?”
“Yes. The tools are old and rusted, it’s hard for me to reach even with the ladder.”
“She is deranged. She should have me working on the orchard. You're a child, what could you do anyway?”
“Hey, I’m not a kid. I’ve read more books than anyone. I grew up in a library, remember?”
“And books don’t help you cut branches, do they?”
I rolled my eyes. “If she catches you out here…”
“Wouldn’t want to give the child labor a break or anything,” Nate huffed.
“So why don’t you leave then? Just run away?”
