Lure (3 page)

5 - John

The summer of 1882 marked the first occasion of my cousin William’s annual visits. For the next seven years, my cousin would arrive upon my doorstep like an uninvited pest to torment my days and nights. Looking back through the clarifying lens of time, I can see how those visits utterly defined my childhood and shaped the budding life that, tragically, never came to full fruition.

But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

The year of William’s first visit I was eight years old, skinny, short-panted, and eager to please. William was ten, tall, full of potential, and brimming with resentment. Life had just dealt him a cruel blow. We’d received a letter in the spring informing us that he’d lost his father, my uncle, to typhus over the winter. His family was preparing for rough years ahead as my Aunt Annie would be struggling to support them on her own. While she took on extra work in the summer, she’d arranged to send William to live with us for the months of July and August every year. Of course, Father grumbled about having another mouth to feed. But when Mother suggested that William would one day soon be able to help in the forge, Father relented. I secretly rejoiced at the news that I was finally to have a companion.

Lonely child that I was at the time, I was looking forward to having my cousin stay with us. I had high hopes that he would fill several voids in my life and become a playmate, a confidant, and perhaps most importantly, a distraction from my father’s endless criticism.

Up until that point, the only memories I had of my cousin were from the time my family travelled to Kingston for a visit. I was five years old that summer, and William was seven. I remembered him as a fun, light-hearted fellow who enjoyed playing jacks with me in the back garden and using his mother’s dinner bell to round up the neighbouring children for long afternoon games of hide-and-seek. I also remember how that visit made me yearn for a brother of my own. Now, for two months out of every year I would have something akin to a sibling.

Of course, being an only child, how could I possibly have known what the downside of that kind of relationship would be?

That afternoon, Father brought me along in the stagecoach to deliver William home from the Thornhill train station. With eager eyes, I scanned the crowds of people as they poured from the train onto the platform, looking for the boy with the toothy smile from my memories. But the young man who approached my father and extended his hand in greeting was a different person entirely. I gaped at the changes I saw in him. William had grown tall and thick in the years since our last visit and the scowl on his face betrayed the heavy state of his heart. His shoulders were hunched as if they were supporting some kind of weight. I soon discovered what it was — not difficult to figure out, for the chip on William’s shoulder was a large one. As soon as we got back to Colborne Street, he began griping about being packed off to Thornhill and how the city of Kingston was superior in size and quality to our little village. I couldn’t blame him for his rudeness. If I were in his shoes, I’d be resentful, too. Although only ten years of age, William was the eldest of his mother’s sons. But instead of letting him take his rightful role as the new head of their household, she had treated him as a burden to be packed off and sent away. It was a humiliating blow.

My sympathy for William, however, was short-lived because, within a mere week of his arrival, he discovered an innovative way to relieve his frustrations.

By tormenting me.

As I recall, it was raining the afternoon of the first major incident. The house was ours alone as Mother was out visiting a neighbour’s new baby and Father was working in the shop, finishing up an order of horseshoes for the Morgan family farm. Although the day started out in an ordinary fashion, it became memorable as the result of one impulsive decision — as all memorable days inevitably do. William had convinced me to play a game of indoor tag. When he’d first suggested it, I’d refused, of course. Tag in the house was against the rules. Although I had the sense that Mother didn’t mind the playfulness of young boys, Father had strictly forbidden anything of that sort in his home.

“The barn out back is the only place for that kind of nonsense,” he’d scolded whenever my young inclinations turned silly and loud. To Father, play of any kind was indulgent.

But my cousin William could be very convincing when he wanted to be.

“Nobody’s here,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. “We can’t play outside in the rain. One quick little game — come on, I’ll go first. See if you can outrun me. I’ll even give you a ten-second head start. One, two, three …”

Caught up in the frenzy of his excitement, I bolted into the kitchen.

That was my first mistake.

Growling like a monster, William chased me up and down the stairs, through the parlour and around the kitchen until my heart was pounding with the thrill of the game and my head was dizzy with speed. When he finally caught up with me, he thumped me on the back, yelled “Tag!” and scrambled up the stairwell. I turned to take chase. When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw William flying across the floor of my parent’s room. William’s legs were longer than mine and his arms were twice as strong. No matter what game we’d played since his arrival, he always managed to beat me. And how he enjoyed lording his victories over me! But this time I was determined to win. Sensing my resolve, William ran faster than ever. He dashed to the window and pushed open the shutters with a bang. A rush of damp summer air met my face as I ran to catch him. But before I knew what was happening, he was climbing up the ledge and out on the roof of the veranda. Fast as a monkey up a tree. “Can’t catch me out here!” he sang from outside. “I’m still the winner! Come on and try!”

Panting from the effort of running, I leaned my head out the window and glanced down toward the dirt road below. Vertigo seized my chest, causing me to choke on my own breath. There was no question how bad a fall I would take if my feet slipped on the smooth, wet shingles. Crushed bones would be the least of my worries.

“Oh, I see … little cousin John is afraid of heights,” William taunted.

“You dirty dog!” I yelled back, anger snaking down the length of my limbs like a lit fuse. I wanted to catch him so badly that I could hardly see straight. That should have been a clear sign for me to back down. But of course, I took William’s bait like the stupid fish I was back then.

It was my second mistake.

With one foot balancing on the sill and two hands clutching on to the upper part of the frame, I pulled my body out the window. I could hear my pulse throbbing in my ears as the wind whipped my hair into my eyes. Remembering it now, over a hundred years later, I can still feel that awful bitter taste rise in my mouth and the sensation that I was about to vomit from fright. But the overwhelming urge to follow William and shut him up transcended all my fears. I hesitated as the rain spat against my face. Sensing my indecision, William rose to his feet and swung his arms wildly in the air, like a turkey trying to take flight.

“Come on and catch me, chicken! Catch me now or give up the game and declare me the champion.”

I lifted my other foot off the ground and was about to swing it over the window ledge when I heard the terrible growl of Father’s voice from below.

“What in blazes are you two jackasses doing up there?”

I looked down and saw him standing by the front gate, hands punching his hips, and anger slashed across his face like an open wound. Petrified, I climbed down from the window with lightning speed, as if I might still have the chance to undo the damage. But, of course, it was too late. By that point, I could hear Father’s steps pounding up the stairwell, coming to get me. Shutting my eyes, I cowered against the wall and waited for my punishment to come crashing down. It didn’t matter that it was William’s idea. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t followed him out onto the roof. All that mattered was that I’d disobeyed a rule and disappointed Father … again. The price for that would be paid by my bare backside.

“William made me do it,” I sobbed as he raised his arm to strike. That turned out to be the third and worst mistake of all. Through my tears, I watched as William slipped silently back inside the house to witness me take the beating of my life.

Afterward, my skin burned like someone had set it on fire. At least my cousin had the decency to bring me a glass of cool water when the beating was over. But I couldn’t bring myself to thank him for it, for the look of smug satisfaction on his face had sealed up my throat with bile.

6 - Max

I wasn’t planning on going back to the library. Honestly, I wasn’t. But something about the place brought me there the very next Wednesday morning. Believe me when I tell you that I left my house with every intention of going to school that day. I couldn’t help the fact that my feet kind of changed direction after a few minutes and started taking me toward 10 Colborne Street. It was almost like there was a giant magnet pulling me there. I’d never felt anything like it before.

Was it the house that kept me coming back?

Or the ghost stories?

Or was it Caroline?

Don’t get me wrong, I was still feeling angry, and humiliated, and well … just plain stupid about our last conversation. But I guess all of those feelings were a hundred times better than the way I felt when I was at school:
as invisible as air
. And I guess maybe after all these weeks of feeling alone, it was nice to know that someone in this crappy suburb wanted my company … even if she
did
seem to have ulterior motives.

When I got there, I stood outside the house for a few minutes and stared up at the green shuttered windows on the second floor, remembering the story Caroline had told me the previous Wednesday. She’d sworn that those shutters were bolted down, but I knew from my experience working with Papa that fastenings came loose all the time. Especially with older buildings. A strong wind might easily have made the shutters crash open and shut in the way she’d described last week. Yeah, it was probably something as simple as that. Why was it that some people always searched for crazy theories to explain simple events?

Shaking my head, I walked up the garden path toward the side door of the library. The doubt I was feeling in the pit of my stomach was getting stronger with every step. Was I doing the right thing? Should I have come back here after what Caroline said last week? Damn! Why haven’t I been able to think straight since the moment her stupid dog ran out in front of me? I’d never let a girl play around with my head like this before. Never!

I took a deep breath and stared at the tarnished door handle. One thing I did know for sure was that I’d been spending way too much time around libraries this past month. Since the start of the term, I’d passed all of my lunch hours in the school library, pretending to study even though it was too early in the year for exams or essays. Trust me, it was a better alternative to sitting alone day after day in the cafeteria like a loser. Now here I was at another library. What was wrong with me? My old friends in Vancouver would probably never recognize the kind of guy I’d become here — some kind of a bookish, girl-obsessed, social leper. Hell, I barely recognized myself.

I took a deep breath.
Okay, here goes nothing!

My chest tightened with nerves as I pushed open the door. The rusted hinges shrieked like an old alley cat, announcing my arrival. Cringing, I let the door fall shut behind me.

Great! So much for making a subtle entrance.

I glanced around quickly to see if anybody had noticed. But the only person in sight was an old white haired lady bent over a desk. Okay, so far so good. I could still change my mind and leave if I wanted. I hesitated in the entryway for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do. My eyes jumped around, looking for Caroline, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. Before I could decide if I was going to stay or not, something pushed me onward … curiosity, stupidity, or just a case of plain old teenage hormones? Maybe all of the above.

I started walking. The floorboards creaked under my shoes with each step — my first reminder of just how old this place was. The second reminder came soon after. The smell. An overwhelming mix of musty and earthy scents hung in the air, which immediately brought back memories of my grandfather’s old greenhouse in Vancouver. The one with the broken windows, dirt-covered floor, the jungle of overgrown plants, and the basket of rusted, ancient gardening tools that he would never let us replace. Papa loved gardening and had made it his mission to teach me everything he knew about plants before he passed away. That was almost a year ago, now. But I still missed him just as much as if it had happened yesterday. Shaking the sad memories off, I peered around the library, half hoping and half dreading to catch sight of
her
.

As I looked around, I was immediately struck by how much the inside of this place didn’t look like a library at all. It looked like an old house. An old lady’s house, to be specific. There was flower-patterned paper covering the walls, lace curtains lining the windows, plants perched on the tops of the bookshelves, and warm, rustic wooden furniture that gave it a cozy kind of feel. There was an old wooden clock in the entryway that had a fuzzy stuffed mouse running up the side. And on the opposite wall hung a series of ancient framed photos of Thornhill back from the times when Yonge Street looked like a dirt road and the most sophisticated mode of transportation seemed to be a horse and a carriage.

Were cameras really invented before cars? Guess so …

I walked in a bit farther and came to the reception area. The old lady behind the L-shaped desk had a puffy hairdo that rose several inches off the top of her head. She was curled like the letter C over a computer keyboard, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of bad work posture or one of those old-lady hunchback conditions that made her look that way. She was typing superfast and I could hear the ticking of her long nails with every stroke of the keys. I stood there waiting patiently for her to notice me.

Click-click-click …

“Excuse me,” I finally said after a long minute.

She didn’t look up.

Click-click-click …

I stepped forward and dropped my backpack onto the desk with a heavy thud. Still nothing.

Click-click-click …

Either she had terrible hearing or I really was invisible!

I cleared my throat. “Um … hello,” I tried again, much louder this time. It worked. The lady’s eyes rose off the screen and came to rest on my face. I took a step back, trying to contain my shock as best as I could. Her thick red lipstick was bleeding into the delicate wrinkles around her mouth, making her look like a geriatric vampire.

“Oh, hello,” she said with a smile that revealed a too-large-for-her-face set of perfect white dentures. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for someone who works here. Her name is … ”

“Max?”

I looked up to see Caroline come striding into the entryway. Surprise was radiating off her face like a beam of sunlight.

“Oh … hi. It’s, uh … Wednesday,” I said, unable to come up with anything better.
Stupid, stupid, stupid …

“Yeah, I know it’s Wednesday. But I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“Well, I um …”

The sound of a fingernail clacking against the desktop interrupted my moment of brilliance. “Speak up, please, young man. Who was it you were looking for?”

Caroline turned toward the old lady and patted her wrinkled hand, mercifully bringing the clacking to a stop. “It’s all right, Nana. I think he’s here to see me,” she said, yelling just a bit.

Oh crap! This was her nana? How was that even possible? She looked like she had to be at least a hundred years old.

I leaned in for a closer look — yeah, I guess I could sort of see it. The old lady’s eyes were the exact same sky-blue colour as Caroline’s. But that really seemed to be where any family resemblance ended. I forced out my most polite, grandmother-pleasing smile. “Thanks for your help, ma’am.”

Her watery eyes scanned my face for a couple more seconds before dropping back down to the computer screen. “Crazy kids,” she muttered.

Click-click-click …

And just like that, I was invisible again. I sighed, suddenly wishing I hadn’t come this morning. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just leave and …

A floor board creaked loudly to my left. I turned to see Caroline standing beside me, staring up into my face. Her gap-tooth smile was back. My stomach felt like it was being hit with a hammer.

“I’m glad you’re here, Max,” she said. “I was hoping you’d come this morning.”

“Yeah … I, well … me, too.”
Idiot, idiot, idiot!

“So, can I give you that tour now?”

This time I just shut my mouth and nodded to avoid further embarrassment. Caroline stepped forward and motioned toward the room on the right.

“Great. We can start with the parlour.”

Like a moron, I just nodded again. Sweeping past, Caroline led me into a large square room lined with bookcases.

“So, back when this was a house, this was the room where families would have received their guests and spent their social time. Playing cards, drinking tea, that kind of thing. And if they’d had a piano, it would have been here.”

My eyes did a 360-sweep of the room. In the middle were a couple of small couches, some chairs, and a coffee table with local newspapers and magazines laid out in three straight lines. The inside of the red front door stood against the far wall flanked by candle holders on either side. More old-lady quaintness. It was quite possibly the most normal-looking room I’d ever seen in my life.

“Okay … and this is where your friend’s dog went crazy, right? Because he saw a ghost?” It was the longest sentence I’d managed since I’d walked through the door and somehow, I was able to untie my tongue and get the words out without tripping all over them.

Caroline turned to examine my face, like she was trying to figure out if I was serious about the ghost thing or not. Hoping to look convincing, I beat back the cynical smirk that was struggling to come out and betray me.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she said after a moment. “It was here in this room. And the dog hasn’t stepped a paw into the parlour ever since. It must have seen some wickedly evil spirit.”

Trying to force a serious look into my eyes, I nodded like I believed her. “And I think you were going to tell me some
new
stories about the ghost this time, remember?”

“Yes, that’s right … I did say that, didn’t I?” She pointed to one of the windows. “Well, recently we’ve smelt a strong scent of cologne in the parlour right over in that part of the room … but like, first thing in the morning when there’s been nobody in the library. It’s very strange.”

I took another look around the room, trying to see if I sensed anything unusual about the place. I took a deep breath through my nose, but I couldn’t smell anything except for that musty damp odour that was everywhere. And there was no sound except for the ticking of the clock in the entryway. Really, it was just a room full of books and DVDs … nothing more. But I didn’t want to disappoint Caroline, so I stayed quiet.

“Okay, let’s move on,” Caroline said, stepping out of the parlour. Her hair bounced on her shoulders with every creaky step. I followed close behind, hoping to catch a hint of that peachy smell again.

“So, speaking of dogs, how’s Peanut doing?” I asked, enjoying how steady and cool my voice was sounding. This wasn’t so hard, after all. For a minute there, I was starting to feel like the old me again.

And then Caroline laughed and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “He’s at home today. Probably curled up in my bed right now, the little devil.”

Her bed?
The mental image of her sleeping in it with her blonde hair fanned out across the pillow brought the hammer pounding back into my stomach again. Damn! There went my chill. But, thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice because she kept walking. A few more paces and we stopped in front of a narrow stairwell just to the left of the reception desk. There was a bunch of different warning signs hanging above.

Staff only beyond this point … Caution low clearance … Notice: Authorized Personnel Only.

“Are you guys keeping government secrets up there, or what?” I said with a laugh, pointing at the collection of signs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nana glance up from her typing. But the clacking of her nails never once slowed down. Was she writing her life story on that thing, or what?

“This is the original stairwell to the second floor,” Caroline explained. “A few years ago, one of the librarians was unloading a trolley of books right here where we’re standing. She looked up to see a pair of high-buttoned boots and the bottom of a grey calico skirt on the landing. She tried to scream, but her voice was missing … like it had been grabbed from her throat.”

I swallowed back a lump that was rising in my own throat as my brain reached for an explanation. “And so? What happened next?”

“A co-worker passed by and asked her what she was staring at. And why her face was so pale and frightened. But when she tried to point out the boots and explain what she’d seen, they were gone. The stairwell was empty again … just like how it looks now.”

I stared up again into the narrow passage. There was nothing there but a tower of stairs covered with worn, grey carpet.

“And there’s more,” Caroline said. “If you’re interested, that is.”

“That’s why I’m here, right?” I replied, hoping she was still buying the act … that I didn’t come back just because I wanted to see her again.

“Okay, well there have been a lot of reports about people smelling smoke in the house. Like there’s something burning. But not an unpleasant kind of smoke … more like something from a pipe or a cigar. And the smell seems to be especially strong right here in the stairwell.”