The Garret

The Garret


The wind suddenly gusted, pulling the cab door from his hand and slamming it shut.

"Hey, ya don't have to break it," growled the cabby.

"Barbarian," Sean mumbled. "Keep the change." He shoved a few neatly folded bills through the driver's window. He started toward the office building's door and caught sight of himself in the glass entrance. He looked like his surname, "Reid," which means red haired with a ruddy complexion in Gaelic.

He glanced down at the letter he clutched. Dear Mr. Reid ... Suite 8001 at 10:00 a.m. This is the place. He crossed the lobby and hit eight on the bank of elevator buttons.

Sean felt both excited and confused. His great aunt, Elizabeth Adams, had passed away and he was the sole heir named in her will. He vaguely recalled her from his childhood. They had made jokes about her being "the only real member of "The Adams Family," a reference to the T.V. show. She was eccentric is being nice. "Strange is being honest." He looked up, realizing he'd spoken the last aloud but the other passengers seemed to be ignoring him.

He remembered his mother would always cross herself whenever Elizabeth's name was mentioned. "She's the kin of Elizabeth Style," she'd mutter, referring to an infamous witch in Irish history. Sean had shrugged it off as just another one of the Celtic superstitions that had been part of his family life. He had been estranged from his family for the past five years since "coming out of the closet" and hadn't heard much family gossip since his banishment. I wonder if mother crosses herself when my name is mentioned? he idly thought.

"Eighth floor," the Prozac voice of the elevator announced, breaking Sean's reverie.

He found the office and the receptionist quickly ushered him into a non-descript room. A small, balding man sat behind a desk that seemed to bend under the weight of papers stacked haphazardly. As Sean entered, he stood up and offered his hand. "Welcome, Mr. Reid. I'm Nicholas Lambert, your late aunt's attorney. I'm sorry for your loss."

"I'm a bit confused as to why I'm here," Sean started. "I really didn't know her that well and haven't talked to her in years."

"Oh? On the few occasions we met she spoke highly of you, telling me of your successes in school and," he paused for a moment, "soccer! Yes, she was always telling me about your latest victory."

Sean was totally puzzled and it showed on his face. "I'd no idea ..." he began.

Pushing ahead, the lawyer continued. "Perhaps she was just repeating what the family passed on. Well, down to business. Your aunt left you everything," he said passing over a list of items, "but there are certain provisions – requests, if you will – that she's asked you to observe."

Sean glanced at the list, a startled expression on his face.

Nicholas smiled. "Yes, the house, its contents, and, of course, $3,200,000 dollars. Now, as to the conditions. First, you must live in the house for a period of not less than one year during which you will receive a monthly stipend of $10,000 dollars. Second, you will be responsible for taking care of her cat, Esther, and seeing that nothing ill befalls it." At this point, he paused and looked up from the document he was reading. "If you fulfill these requests, the remainder of the estate will be unconditionally transferred to you at the end of a years period."

Sean looked back. "That's it?"

The lawyer smiled. "That's it. I will need you to sign some documents but they won't be ready for a few days. Until then, here are the keys to the house, a cashier's check for your first month's expenses ... and good luck."

Sean found himself in the elevator heading down without being totally aware of how he got there. It all seemed unreal. First things first. I should check out the house and see if Esther is OK, he thought as he left the building. The weather had gotten worse with a torrential rain pelting the sidewalk but a cab was waiting at the curb. It seems my luck just keeps getting better and better. He hopped in, ignoring the dour look of the driver, and gave his new address.

The large Victorian was gaudily painted and well back from the street. I wonder who takes care of the lawn, was his first thought, thinking that $10,000 a month might not be such a fortune. He paid the taxi and walked up the sidewalk. Then it struck him. Strange – there's no driveway. He pushed the thought from his mind as he inserted the key and opened the door.

The house was dim and smelled ... old. He was facing a staircase and there on the second step sat a large black cat with the greenest eyes Sean had ever seen. "Why hello, Esther," he began when the cat launched itself, landing at his feet and began rubbing itself on his legs. "A friendly little beastie, aren't you," he laughed. "Perhaps you'll do me the honor of showing me around?"

To his surprise, the cat stopped, stared at him, and then trotted through a parlor towards the back of the house. Sean followed, a bemused smile on his face. In the back was the kitchen where Esther jumped up on a counter and walked to a stack of canned tuna fish. "Ahhh. I should have guessed. Are you hungry?"

The cat looked at him and uttered a "Meow" that sounded strangely like "No." Jumping down, Esther left through another doorway leading to a dining room, completing the circle of the first floor, before starting up the stairs.

"Not so fast," Sean said. "I didn't mean a whirlwind tour!" Esther paused on the first landing, looking back, then turned and continued up. "Well, English isn't her first language," he mused as he began the climb.

The top landing was, in fact, a hallway circling around the stairwell with several doors. Sean looked in each to see neat bedrooms done in period style ... but no Esther. Leaving the last room, his attention was drawn to a final doorway, the door slowly closing. "Esther," he called but heard no response.

Pulling open the door, he saw a steep set of stairs leading into the dark. A pale light from a small window illuminated the top, causing more shadows than revealing what might lie there. A gust of wind rattled the glass, sending down the cloying odor of ... Sean couldn't place it. Dried flowers? Incense? His curiosity aroused, he searched for a light switch in vain. Thinking, well, there's a window and some light, he tentatively began to climb.

Peering into the shadowed darkness, the first thing he saw was two bright green eyes staring back at him ... at eye level. "Esther?"

A parchment voice answered, "Welcome, nephew," followed by a cracked laugh.

"Jesus!" As the adrenaline kicked in, Sean instinctively turned to flee ... and ran into a solid wall. All went black.

Dancing light caught his attention. With a groan, he opened his swollen eyes to see candles flickering. His face hurt and he tasted blood. Reaching to check the damage, his arm was arrested by something holding it down. He turned, wincing again as pain shot through his face, to see he was strapped in a chair. Slowly – very slowly – he began to take in his surroundings.

He was obviously still in the garret of the old house, the light reflecting off the small window he had seen before. Five candles circled him, one sitting at each point of a star – no, pentagram – that was drawn on the floor. He seemed to be in the center of it. What the hell? Did I fall down those rickety stairs? Is this some kind of dream or delusion?

"No, dear Sean, this not a dream or a delusion," a faint voice whispered near his ear.

Sean started, cringing at the pain. "Aunt Elizabeth?" he managed to croak.

Again, the fractured laugh came. "Well, aunt is not exactly correct. There are dozens of "greats" that go in front of it. Before I married into the Reid clan, my maiden name was Styles. Elizabeth Styles." Sean felt the molten touch of fear run through him.

"Oh my God ..." he began.

"Your God won't protect you, Sean," she hissed. "I've lived all these centuries by renewing myself through the ..." she paused and then, with a dark chuckle, finished," ... the generosity of our bloodline."

Sean saw a Cimmerian shadow detach itself from the inkiness on the far side of the room. An ancient visage came into the light causing him to gasp. "What are you?" he blurted out.

A cackle of laughter spewed forth from the crone. "Allow me to enlighten you," she started. "There are mysteries that the world has ignored. Some are of light and have been overlooked. Others are dark and have been shunned through fear and ignorance. Even in the far past, all magical or Platonic writers were aware of hints that magic was more than fantasy.

"Chameleon-like thus they their colour change,
And size contract and then dilate again."

And so we find ourselves here today."

Sean could hear her pause, her breathing labored and raspy in the sudden silence.

"It takes energy to change. Once each second generation, a direct descendant is chosen to ... provide me their energy. To keep a balance, it must alternate between male and female donors. You, my dear nephew, have been chosen. I've followed your life and know of your mental and physical achievements."

Elizabeth approached him, staring into his eyes. "Now, now – there is nothing to fear. I'm not taking your soul," she stated, her fetid breath washing over him. "Oh no. That is Esther's role. You will join the long line of your ancestors who have graciously given me immortality. I'm sure they will welcome you within her mind."

Sean began to struggle as she retreated outside the circle and began tracing arcane runes in the air. The candles suddenly flared, shooting flames high into the rafters. His last memory was that of the smell he remembered coming up the stairs – burning flesh.

Several things competed for Sean's attention as he opened his eyes. The most pressing was that he was face down on something rough. Focusing one eye, he observed that he was on the attic floor which explained why he was also very aware that his face was throbbing. Sunlight was streaming in through the dirty panes of the window.

Was it all a dream? He pushed himself up and looked around. There was the chair, the pentacle drawn on floor, and ... He stared at a disheveled pile of rags on the floor. Slowly, he crawled over to it and saw the remains of his aunt, desiccated and crumbling within the dirty folds of cloth.

"What the hell happened?" he said aloud.

At that moment, Esther appeared from the shadows, a very smug look on her face. She approached, staring into his eyes.

Almost as if the cat was willing it, the words of his aunt came back to him: "To keep a balance ... must alternate between male and female donors."

In spite of the pain, Sean began to laugh. Evidently, Auntie had not kept up with the times. Sean was gay and the only balance was within him – male physically, female mentally.

Standing, he reached down and stroked the cat. "If I understand this, Auntie, you're now enjoying the company of your victims," he laughed.

Still chuckling, he limped toward the stairs. "I'm going to honor your last request and take very good care of you so that you'll live a long, long time."

"Now, are you ready for that can of tuna?" His laughter followed him down the stairs.

Notes:
An entry for "Sinister Stories Contest"  [13+]
Prompt: Image
Word Limit: 2000
Word Count: 1992

garret ~ an attic, usually a small wretched one.

Thank you for taking time to read my words. I would appreciate it if you took a moment and left a comment. Your reaction, impressions, criticisms, - yes, even praise are all equally welcome.

Ken