Seek Permission
A Southern Gothic (Y'all)
“God, we have such a lazy family! I mean it must be genetic or somethin’. Look at my name.”
“Not if I don’t have to,” Dave groaned low, squirming in his reclined seat as he was being attacked by the blinding intensity of the sun spearing through the oaks which lined the road. So much for shady, he thought, throwing his arm over his eyes.
“They couldn’t even put an -ah at the end.”
“That’d be a weird spelling.”
“That’s just it! No one knows how to spell it because of how it sounds. They always spell it L-e-e, and whenever I correct them, they think I’m tryin’ to make a statement, like it’s my ‘chosen’ name.”
Dave snorted. “Laziness must be genetic. You do know people change their names all the time.”
“What, and give Nanny a reason to rise from her grave? The process to change a name is already too long and expensive, I don’t need to add a haunting. Probably couldn’t afford the exorcism.”
“Why does your music suck?”
Leigh’s tongue clicked. “It’s the radio. The more staticky it gets, the deeper you are in the sticks.”
“Isn’t there some sort of XM radio? Can’t you connect to a music app?”
His sister balked, “You do realize whose shitty station wagon you’re in? God, this thing keeps chuggin’ along while I’ve had three cars conked out on me.”
Dave resisted the urge to snort at her mispronunciation of “wrecked” and “missed payments”.
“The only good thing this piece of shit has going for it,” Leigh continued, “is if an atomic bomb goes off, we’d probably be safe inside it. Just as well, I don’t think daddy’s new car has many features, but he’s trying to sell it and God-forbid we scratch it.”
With as many sticks and pinecones on the janky road it was probably the best call, Dave thought, especially with Leigh driving in one of her moods. He was grateful his ride home was sister free; it’d be impossible for the two of them to be stuck in a contained space for too long. They’d eat each other just for the silence and solitude.
Pulling the seat up, Dave reached for his phone, trying to time connections with the fluctuating bars.
“How much longer? I don’t remember it taking forever.”
“Because we didn’t want to go. The ride home always felt long because we wanted to escape the smell.”
“The marsh or Nanny?”
Leigh cackled as her brother blew a raspberry, but they still felt that sharp prick. Could they really laugh at it now, years later? So many weekends and summers in their childhood lost at the hands of adults too bothered to babysit. A nurse for a mother, a trucker for a father and a grandmother more hermit-crab than human. Not their fault they weren’t born premade adults.
“Fuck! Why is service so shoddy? Hey, can you use your phone to put on a podcast or somethin’? I know you got accounts for every music app.”
Leigh’s slim fingers tightened around the thin steering wheel. “I used up all my free trials…and my data.”
“Come on Leigh! I thought your job was payin’ for that shit!”
“A job I had two years ago! You know how hard it is to keep up payments for good data? My phone is three years old! What does that tell you?”
“That I can keep a job longer than you.”
Leigh’s nose flared with a sneer. “Companies have low standards for delivery boys. And at least I don’t date someone for their Wi-Fi and food. They must be catching on quicker if they kick you to the curb after a week.”
“At least I have my own place and not three pretentious roommates.”
Leigh bit the inside of her cheek. It was down to one roommate now, who spent more time at her fiancé’s place than the shared apartment. Worse, apartment hunting and job hunting were both pointing her in the direction of her parent’s home. Dave wouldn’t be too far behind following that same route. Their dad had already put his foot down to no more handouts, not for Dave’s rent or Leigh’s cars.
“Maybe service will be better at Nanny’s or she has Wi-Fi at home. Daddy says that they finally got broadband at the coast.”
Lolling his head on his shoulders, Dave just glared at her. “She’s been dead for twelve years, don’t think service extends to homes of the deceased.”
“Daddy’s been keeping up with the property tax, he owns her house, he could’ve installed it.”
“Is disillusionment a genetic trait too, Leigh? Where do you think dad gets it from? Nanny didn’t even own a tv, we’re lucky she didn’t use candles.”
A shudder ripped through Leigh. “Oh God, can you imagine? For such an ugly home, it was fucking spooky at night.”
Dave shivered. He always resented sharing a bedroom with his sister at Nanny’s, until night came. Through the transparent white linen curtains the trees stretched out their spidery fingers, tapping or scratching at the uneven siding. Nocturnal animals scavenged and fought, their caterwauling indistinguishable from monsters conjured in his childish imagination. It’s just raccoons and possums, Nanny would sneer. But how could such playful creatures sound like that? Rattling like there were talons in their mouths, their eyes glinting like yellow glass on moonless nights?
“You don’t…” he started, “That portrait isn’t still there?”
Leigh’s crooked smile was a dead ringer for Nanny’s. “The rat man?” she teased, poking at his stomach, “Don’t go to the bathroom or the rat man will get you!”
“Stop it, Leigh! You didn’t like it either! God, I never understood why we couldn’t use the bathroom near us.”
“Cause, dumbass, it was the guest bathroom. We weren’t guests. She didn’t even use it; she used the half-bath in the kitchen.”
“How did she fit that large ass in there?” Dave sniggered, sending his sister cackling.
Their grandmother was such a ridiculous woman. Bent, supported by her black metal cane, always refusing a wheelchair as she hobbled around, her rotund ass swinging behind her while her enormous tits threatened to drag her down. She had a narrow face, which always seemed strange, even her neck was thin on those fatty shoulders. She was old, walked old, but her face looked nothing like the saggy, wrinkly grandmas their friends had. It was creased, but not saggy, not crepey. She probably would’ve been alright without makeup, but she applied it every day, a gunky, heavily powdered natural look. There were streaks of white in her weak brown hair, blending so perfectly you wouldn’t notice until you got close. And no one in their right mind got close to her.
She never looked pleased when their mom dropped them off for the summer or those weekends she was on duty and dad was away. Dave and Leigh had to bring their own toys, but nothing electronic, their Nanny wasn’t going to waste tons of batteries on things that rotted the brain. More likely, she just didn’t want the noise.
There were no kids to play with, not a single visiting grandchild or summer families with a friendly dog. Leigh could only think of a few times anyone came over to Nanny’s house, and that was more joyous for Leigh, seeing another human being besides an old bitch and a bratty brother.
The only cool thing about Nanny’s house was that it was full of neat things, all with strange stories. No touching, of course. Not the porcelain dolls in pretty, historic dresses nor the floral tea sets waiting for a party, those were all locked up nicely in the glass China cabinet.
Poor Dave’s fingers itched to hold the swords mounted high on the wall, so securely fastened they were practically welded to the paneling. All the figurine soldiers were kept out of reach, classified as decorations not toys.
Every visit they would bring a suitcase worth of toys only to be bored with all of them by the end of the week. Not that they had much time to play with them, Nanny was constantly pushing them out of the house, jabbing their spines with the end of her cane, warning them not to travel too far on the dirt road or to go too far off the dock. Not that they could enjoy the foul brown water. Even on hot days there was no chance of swimming, not with a strong current and no lifeguard. If it was low tide they could go beneath the dock to search for fiddler crabs, but they didn’t do it often. Any speck of mud meant a hard spray from the garden hose and being shoved in the tight shower stall, always together.
Imagination is free tv, Nanny would say. And if any of them had a damn good imagination it was the old bitch. Were any of those stories true? The internet would disagree on several corners, but they certainly felt true. When the tide was high and both Leigh and Dave were flat on their bellies peering over the edge of the dock wondering if that was a barracuda or a gar fish, both would suddenly look up, swearing they saw an old ship.
Were there ghost ships? they would ask Nanny.
Why not, she would answer flippantly, many pirates have gone through here even before Blackbeard.
The idea of finding treasure fired up a long-extinguished excitement. What would they find? Who would be the pirate captain? Girls aren’t pirates! Boys aren’t captains!
There is no treasure out there!
Nanny was always reliable in smothering joy. No treasure, no sunken ships, no maps. Just discarded junk and bones long washed away by the current. No wonder it smelled like rotting guts.
“Ugh,” Leigh grumbled as she stepped out of the car, “I don’t miss this. Why does it smell like that dead rat in the garage?”
“It smells a bit saltier than that,” Dave muttered under the shield of his useless hand.
The blue bottle tree in the front yard was plagued with windblown moss, the azaleas were bloated with more leaves than flowers and the oaks had dropped enough big branches to prevent easy access to the dock. However, the lawn had been cut and the walkway swept. His dad did mention a neighbor had been taking care of the yard every so often. Someone capable enough to mow, but not enough to clear away the debris, Dave mentally sighed, knowing full well that responsibility was going to be placed on his shoulders, without pay. Though he could probably get a neighbor to help if they had a granddaughter they doted on, he would even schmooze the ugly ones. After all, he thought, one of the neighbors had to have a granddaughter.
Most of them were retired and older than their Nanny was when she bit the big one. At least they kept up with regulations. The rest of the houses on the private dirt road had been remodeled, raised up to ensure some safety against water damage during hurricane season. Not Nanny’s. Dad was almost proud that her house had been grandfathered in and really, what would be the point? The house may’ve been ground level, but it had never flooded. The land must’ve been high enough to be out of reach when the marsh water washed over the dock.
“Hey, remember that time we could see the fog rollin’ in from the marsh?”
“Don’t remind me,” grunted Leigh, pushing through the overgrown jasmine dangling from the pergola as she made her way to the front door. “I thought ghosts were coming after me.”
What a terrifying day. Nanny was laid up with a cold, making it the perfect time to play treasure hunt. It was going well until halfway into the game when Leigh saw it. Shivering on the balmy afternoon—Nanny always was strict with the a/c setting—she looked through their bedroom window that faced towards the marsh. It took a glance for the world to become a nightmare. It was like all the dead pirates’ ghosts were spilling out from the water. She had no problem using her little brother as a shield.
Dave, on the other hand, thought it was the coolest thing. Like a heavy white breath billowing out from the mouth of the marsh, slipping between the reeds and sliding slowly over the grass. Dave would have happily welcomed ghosts instead of what happened next.
Flicking on the switch Dave was relieved to see the lights working. Their tightfisted dad was at least keeping up with the electric bill.
“Hasn’t changed,” Leigh sighed, wandering into the kitchen connected to the foyer.
The tile was grey and hard, the little table was by the only window that looked out into the front yard, laundry room was in the back, the bay window above the sink still looked out into the living room, the only glass it had was the colorful bottles that were hands-off. She didn’t remember the kitchen ever being big, not with Nanny throwing her enormous weight around in it. Was any room big enough for that crooked woman?
But oh, the food! When Nanny decided to cook it made the boring day worth it. Her oven-fried chicken, her German potato salad and the cakes! How desperately Leigh begged Nanny to teach her to make those wonderful dishes. When you’re older or next year, were the usual responses and always with a lacquered pink smile. It was only later that Leigh began to see in her memories the maliciousness in that promising smile. Bet she died just not to keep using the excuse, she mentally sneered.
The fluorescent tubes fluttered their spent energy above her. The power might be on, but did anyone bother to check the bulbs? Unsurprisingly, no. The one in the living room popped the moment she flipped the switch, making her squeal and her brother laugh. She yanked the curtains open, coughing from the musty clouds and grimacing at the filmy panes.
Everything was still the same, just dustier. The raspberry shag carpeting was still gaudy, the cream walls still a mistake, nothing had moved. Dave even found an old action figure under one of the pink frilly-edged armchairs. All faded, even the scent, all those burgundy scented candles that intoxicated the house with a fruity aroma. Dave was convinced the candles were to match the carpet.
He glanced in their room. It was never warm or cool enough, and they had to keep those starch white blankets clean even in their sleep. It was such a boring room with nothing on the walls because Nanny didn’t want them break to anything. Yet the rest of the house was a museum to explore. Even her room was bathed in antiquities.
Artwork made completely out of human hair hung on her pastel walls. Crystal roses on the bedside table, old family pictures filling in empty spaces, fake bouquets under glass domes, how did she not knock anything over? Facing the iron framework of her enormous bed was an ornate vanity with all her makeup and perfume left to mold, the waxy ingredients seeping out the edges of tubes and containers. Ghostly talcum powder bottles sat by the chair; her perfume bottles flaking and leaking, their soured essence leaving bubbled marks in the flesh of the varnished wood.
Yet it still stunk of her.
Nanny smells like the potty.
Words Dave came to regret. After a hard pop upside the head, his dad forced Dave to hug Nanny extra tight. If that was his dad’s subtle way of telling him to ignore it, it didn’t work. The old woman probably couldn’t wipe herself with a stick. Worse, it mixed with her sweat and she always sweated, even in winter. The baby powder didn’t help any. She may have dressed like a flower, all garish colors and petal layers, but she was rank.
He twisted his face in the powdered mirror, sticking his tongue out like he always did behind her back.
He stumbled back.
A trick of the light? Suppressed trauma? That flash of blue, stern, round and piercing?
“Hey Dave!” Leigh called from the living room. “Check this out.”
Dave was better off in Nanny’s creepy room. It wasn’t like he’d be able to ignore it forever, but did Leigh have to bring attention to it? Most people have a tv in pride of place in the living room, Nanny had the portrait of the rat man.
“Look,” Leigh said, standing on the hearth, gripping the mantelpiece. Using the flashlight from her phone she shined it on the eyes of the man trapped in his hefty frame. “Look how they glow, like deer in headlights.”
“Don’t need light for them to glow,” Dave scowled.
“Only to you,” scoffed Leigh, before hungrily turning back to the portrait. “How did the painter do that? It’s not rat-like at all, rats have, like, red eyes. This is like a penny going green.”
During the day Dave was never frightened of the portrait. Just a dead guy with dull black eyes painted on a nearly black background, highlighting the olive skin, the white collar poking up from the dark shirt. Night was different and having to pee after bedtime was always terrifying.
Since Nanny kept the guest bathroom locked, Dave had to tiptoe in the dark to the half-bath near the kitchen. Which meant going through the living room. If Nanny wasn’t such a light sleeper, he would’ve turned on all the lights and there were times he considered risking it, but she spanked hard when she was cranky.
Why did Nanny always insist they drink a glass of water before bed?!
No, he had to endure the darkness, the painting watching him, its eyes reflecting in the pitch black. Every time the painting’s eyes would flicker at his presence, biding time before reaching out its rat-like claw to snatch him up. He could feel it at his back, his ears hyper aware of padded feet stalking behind him, the click of a nail on the tile floor. Often, he ran to and fro, or waited for hours in the half-bath with the door locked, peeking out occasionally to see if the sun was coming through the kitchen.
Once or twice, he collected plastic bottles to avoid having to go to the half-bath at night. Except, Leigh found them and snitched. Nanny forced him to scrub their bedroom carpet, convinced the bottles had leaked.
“I don’t like the old sea captain.”
“Check out his attire, dipshit. Does he look like a sea captain? He was probably a clerk or somethin’.”
“Yeah, but didn’t he drown?”
Leigh sucked through her teeth. “No, this is the one that died in the robbery,” then with a terrible smile, Leigh drew up her fingers, making them dance like spiders clawing the air, “And the robbers were later found mauled to death in the nearby woods!”
“Quit it, Leigh!” Dave barked, “Dad doesn’t like us tellin’ that story!”
Of all the stories their dad let Nanny tell, that was the only one he forbade her to tell. Leigh mentally snorted. Forbade, like her dad knew the word or believed it would stop Nanny from doing what she wanted. Plus, he never forbade Leigh from telling her brother. But of course, scaredy cat snitched and that got her grounded.
“What are you, five?” she hissed with the old bitter taste riling back up her throat, “It’s just a fucking story she made up because it’s more interesting if he lost everything to robbers rather than he gambled away his money.”
“But why have the robbers killed by his loyal dogs?”
“Loyal dogs? Like Hounds of Bakersville? Don’t be ignorant!” Leigh scolded, “The only pets this family ever had were ducks.”
That didn’t seem true. “Didn’t Popi have a cat?”
Leigh ignored him, too laser focused on that damn portrait. He was trying hard not to look at it, but even with his sister pressing her face up to the canvas, shining a bright light into its eyes, Dave could still feel its gaze solely on him. Nails biting into his palm, he tried to reach for any distraction. “Do all of Nanny’s portraits have glowing eyes?”
God, how he hoped not.
Leigh shook head heavily. “Sadly no. The painter was a family friend, I know that much. Probably didn’t do many of them.” Nearly dropping her phone, Leigh’s face lit up, brighter than Dave had seen in ages. “Dave, take a picture of it!”
“Why?”
“You have better resolution. We’ll take a picture and when we get back to dad’s, we’ll look online to see how much something like this is worth!”
Dave rolled his eyes at the dullard on the canvas. “Who’d pay for him?”
“Not him, the style! Think of how many people would want something so unique! You don’t hear of paintings where eyes glow.”
“Isn’t there another portrait in Popi’s office?”
Leigh laughed, “Yeah, the library. I don’t remember. The last time we went in there was for buried treasure and we were lucky that we weren’t buried in the backyard.”
She froze.
Dave wondered if she too was going back to that awful day when the fog rolled in with a moan. In a videogame it’d be an indication of a villain’s retribution. God, he recalled suddenly seeing that ugly narrow face gleaming in the window as if conjured by the mist.
The ghost of Nanny! After the naughty children who disobeyed her by going through her things and hiding them under their beds. Their buried treasure, all the pretty valuables she kept stored away in a trunk in their grandfather’s “library.” The out of bounds room had been carelessly unlocked. Maybe it was a test.
Leigh suddenly cried out, “Buried treasure! Dave, there is a portrait! The necklace!”
“What?”
“Ugh, Dave! She always talked about it; she just wouldn’t show us. It’s why we looked!”
Pushing aside her brother, Leigh rushed to the library, the forbidden key in her hand. Dave took a quick picture of the portrait in the living room before joining his sister. The forbidden room popped open. It was as dark as he remembered, no flashlight seemed strong enough to scare away the monsters hiding. Leigh was never afraid of the dark, even now she wandered bravely into the pitch black while he fumbled for the light switch.
The bulb crackled its weak sallow light illuminating the polished dark wood that coated everything, the walls, the built-in bookcases, the desk, and even the chairs. Taxidermy ducks stood watching from their perch, each glassy eyes nervously avoiding the bobcat sitting on the desk.
Leigh had heard about the bobcat when her mother made a crack about it. Popi’s pet. Illegal pet. It couldn’t have possibly been true, just a made-up tease explaining the stuffed animal. Probably had to come up with some story given this predatory cat lacked anything ferocious. Popi must have been swindled. Still, it sat there on the edge of the desk like a loyal watchdog for whoever came through the door.
Dave almost screamed when he first saw it, nearly giving them away and waking Nanny from her cold-induced nap. He thought it was the rat man, but it was nothing more than an adults stuffed toy. Kept with all the other shit their grandpa horded. As soon as the old buzzard croaked Nanny turned his “library” into a glorified junk drawer. Boxes, trunks and so many books. Old books, ancient books, the few kids books that were allowed and lots of romance books with rugged shirtless men on the cover. Guess Nanny had to entertain herself somehow, Leigh mused.
Any book you wanted, any book you were forced to read, Nanny was the only one to go in the room to fetch it. She always chose the title. When books wouldn’t suffice, she was the historian, the storyteller, through no one’s insistence.
With the small bulb buzzing above, Leigh smiled and pointed at the dominating portrait. “There she is,” she said gleefully, “Nanny’s lady legend. That’s where you get the sea captain from.”
Dave knitted his brows. “She was a sea captain?”
“Dipshit!” Leigh barked smacking her brother’s arm. “She was the wife! The one with the necklace, see!”
In the elegant plumes of creamy lace, long pinching fingers fastened in their grip the ornament strung on a chain. In a casing of gold was a large fiery opal surrounded by black dancing pearls. It was as infamous in stories as was the lady.
Dave could’ve smacked himself. Sea captain, indeed. “Blackbeard’s wife! I forgot!”
Leigh hit him again. “No, Blackbeard never had a wife, geez! Learn some history. She was killed by Blackbeard for her necklace, probably raped too.”
“Yeah, but I thought we were related to Blackbeard.”
“We’re related to the guy who killed Blackbeard. Her husband, the sea captain who joined the British to take down the pirate. What did daddy say was our family motto? Don’t anger a Scotsman? Well, that Scottish sea captain, our ancestor, use to sail ships that brought a lot of cargo—”
“Merchant ships.”
Leigh sneered, “Anyway, that was his wife he brought along, couldn’t bear to be parted from her, showered her in jewelry, yada yada, but that was the big one, the necklace. She wore it always, supposedly, because it was made specifically for her, no one else. Only Blackbeard didn’t think that way. He attacked the merchant ship, beat the captain within an inch of his life, and lopped off her head to take the necklace.
“When the captain got better he sought revenge and when he came face to face with Blackbeard, he saw the pirate wearing the necklace. That’s when he cut Blackbeard’s head off and took the necklace back.”
“Leigh, I don’t think he cut off Blackbeard’s head. I saw this youtube video on Blackbeard—”
“Yeah, that’s a reliable source.”
Dave rolled his eyes, sliding his gaze over to the pale woman in the picture. “She looks like Nanny.” A little too much. Maybe not the fingers or the figure, but the face was narrow, the eyes a callus pale blue.
Sauntering over to the portrait, Leigh roved her eyes over it twice. “Hardly. Anyway, this was the first wife. The sea captain remarried, a couple of times.”
“And the necklace? Why don’t we show it off? Mama would’ve loved it.”
“Apparently, you gotta be this woman to have it,” Leigh clipped, pointing a sharp finger at the portrait. “Nanny said no one is allowed to wear it but her.”
“What about his other wife?”
“Oh, Nanny didn’t tell you that one? I guess you weren’t the one she was trying to scare.”
Leigh remembered the necklace, the tacky thing tossed in with the other cheap jewelry collected over the years. It was pretty, came with its own box, but it was just as good as a plaything as the other shit she found in the trunk. You need gold and jewels for a treasure hunt, after all.
They had made one that led to under the bed, pretended to dig out the box of goods from the carpet and dressed themselves in the loot. Leigh was just about to put the necklace over her neck when in stormed Nanny, eyes blazing, her knuckles white on the head of her cane. Dave was sent to a corner while Leigh received a nasty spanking. With a red sore bottom, she was plopped on her Nanny’s bed and lectured about things they shouldn’t touch.
Sobbing, Leigh said if it belonged to the family it belonged to her. Nanny smacked her hand.
What if the necklace had a curse on it, then what?
Was the woman smiling? She told the story so gleefully, the joy of it could have cured her head cold then and there.
Retrieving the necklace and avenging his first wife did not bring about a happy ending for the sea captain. He married again, out of necessity, ignoring his second wife in favor of the memory of his first one, keeping her portrait and necklace always on display. So envious and covetous was the second wife that when attending a ball in Virginia she had the audacity to wear her predecessor’s necklace.
“He was so enraged,” Leigh recalled, “That he took the chain and pulled it against her throat so tightly it took her head clean off. His third wife was smart. Just had his babies and didn’t touch the jewelry.”
“And you think we should?”
“Not to wear, to sell. What’s the point of having it if we can’t wear it, at least according to Nanny. Look, there are plenty of things here that will find nicer homes in museums or rich houses. And we both could use the money.”
Dave crossed his arms tightly, avoiding the glare of both bobcat and lady. “Won’t dad realize things are missing?”
“Daddy hasn’t been in this house for twelve years and barely before that. He sent us to do inventory so he can throw all this in a storage unit, sell the house, so he and mama can move to Charleston or downtown Savannah.”
“I thought they were talking about Miami?”
Leigh sucked through her teeth. “Daddy doesn’t want to learn Spanish.”
“Racist bastard,” Dave scoffed. “So, what, we make two lists of the inventory? One for dad and one for what we want to sell?”
“Exactly! And we’ll take pictures. I’ll take the ones for dad, you for what we want to sell.”
Made sense. Dave knew their dad wouldn’t even take the junk to the storage unit, let alone pay for something he wouldn’t even visit. And if he did, what if he skipped payment? It could be sold off to a stranger who’d make it big, probably end up on a show or blast the good luck all online.
Dave hustled over to the desk, looking for little things that would slip under the radar. “Should we start in here?” he asked, unconsciously picking up the bobcat to see if it was sitting on anything.
“Well, we can’t sell the lady portrait, yet, not without it bein’ noticed,” Leigh said as she began scouring the room.
“Leigh, holy shit, look at this!”
Springing to her feet she went to her brother’s side, gasping when she realized what had made him so excited. Under the platform the bobcat was mounted on, was a burned engraving: Wiley Roberts. Beloved pet. 1802.
“No way it’s that old! The condition is too good.”
“Must be the room,” Leigh surmised, “No sunlight. I bet it’s almost airtight.”
“Guess it’s not so much Popi’s pet as the family’s pet,” Dave mused aloud.
Leigh shrugged. “Take a picture of it, something in that good-a condition has gotta be worth somethin’.”
Dave did so, trying hard not to capture it with its eyes glowing in the light. At his feet Leigh was shuffling about boxes and old trunks.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for the trunk that had the necklace in it. God, did she put more shit in here?” she grunted throwing a cardboard box aside. “Go see about the China cabinet, the silver is kept at the bottom, under the tea set and dolls.”
No need to tell him twice. At the China cabinet, he dug out the silver taking pictures of the smaller pieces that would easily be missed, pushing them aside to separate them from the larger items. He took pictures of the crystal roses, the hair art, he took pictures of the antiquated swords—he sensed they were from the civil war, but prayed they were from the revolutionary one. The older the junk, the higher the price.
He remembered an old conch shell on the porch and a turtle bone, but was sure there were more things. The porch furniture was in a pathetic state, not worth selling or storing. He couldn’t find the bone, but there were three large conch shells dusty, grimy and covered in webs. Dave tried not to get too close, the webs were thick enough to belong to wolf-spiders and he had no desire to discover whether he was correct.
Beams creaked, their sounds knocking back and forth in a game of backgammon. Decay saturated the air, mingling with the salty muddy fragrance of the marsh. Why was there always a strange sweetness to it? With pins nipping at his neck, Dave peered through the dirty glass panes, his gaze slipping over the fallen branches that decorated the yard, straight towards the marsh. The calm grey atmosphere seemed to be breathing carefully; stilling the gross, mucky waters.
Yet, for as still as the current had become, he was sure something was smoothly gliding between the marsh grass and weeds. Wouldn’t there be a motor running? How many times had small boats sped by the house, causing Nanny to shake her cane as she shouted at the carelessness? People fished or canoed, once or twice paddle boarded along the watery route. Not a soul in sight.
He looked at either side of Nanny’s house. All around were summer homes, later retirement houses, like Nanny and Popi. No one had fences or hedges to maintain privacy. Water oaks, pines, feral vines that weaved impenetrable walls between the bodies of trees kept peeping toms out. This was no tight neighborhood; it had too much space and isolation.
The sun had tucked itself behind bleak clouds, the humidity was dropping fast, encouraging a familiar exciting chill. What else could glide so soundlessly or smoothly over the old bones of the marsh? It was almost like reliving that day, only something was off. The growing mist trailed on the water carrying the sound of timber moaning, thick canvases flapping. Was that a shadow of something large keeping to the mist? A vessel sailing?
A scream shot through the silence.
Dave ran into the house, finding it darker than before. He rushed to the forbidden room, stumbling into the pitch-black darkness.
“Leigh!” he cried.
Something brushed past his leg. He looked out to the hallway, the faint echo of the kitchen’s fluorescent light struggling to stretch to the entrance of the room. A whistle punctured the air and suddenly a cold thin wire was flung around his neck. He screamed.
Leigh laughed as she stepped into the poorly lit hallway, pulling tightly at the chain, dragging him into the light with her.
“You could hang someone with this,” she teased holding up the antique charm.
“Not funny!” he snapped, yanking it out of her hand.
It seemed plainer in person. The gold was tarnished, the pearls dull and the opal lacked luster, maybe it was always junk. It was unusually heavy; it was surprising the flimsy chain hadn’t popped. Gathering it up the excess chain, Dave slipped the pendant into his front shirt pocket, already hearing the seams straining.
At his feet he saw a trunk Leigh must have been pushing out of the room when he came looking for her. Should’ve hurt like hell when it nudged against him, but it felt softer, more fluid.
“What’s got you so antsy?” Leigh sniped with a grin, “Come on, help me with a few things, I want to take a few pieces with us for appraisal.”
“You don’t think the neighbors will see what we are doin’?”
Leigh scoffed. “What neighbors? Most of the houses are for weekends or summer. And those who are down here are still chewing their early-bird specials before their eight o’clock bedtime.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna be here at eight.”
“I can drive in the dark!”
Dave narrowed his eyes. “It’s the boonies Leigh, you gotta watch out for deer, pigs and bobcats.”
Pointing to the dark abyss of the library, Leigh enunciated with a playful drawl, “I reckon that was the last bobcat in these here parts.”
“Why’d you scream?” Dave shot back at her, rubbing his neck.
“Bulb blew out. Whoever buys this place will have to do some major rewiring. Hmph, daddy will probably have the retailers show prospective buyers the house in the summer. He’ll have us clean the windows so that the natural light will dazzle them into purchasing. Let me see your pictures.”
She wasn’t wrong. Dave dreaded having to clean the windows. He’d happily get someone to do the rewiring, but that bridge burned with a girlfriend he had three months ago. Her contractor brother would’ve been a godsend.
He tossed his phone to Leigh who made her way to the only well-lit room in the house, though it looked like it wouldn’t be too long the way the kitchen lights were flickering. He didn’t like having his back to the open room. He could feel eyes on him. Were they her eyes? He was wearing her necklace, but he was a guy. He wasn’t going to show up to some party with this heavy shit around his neck. How did people wear these things? The chain was biting into his neck, pulling the fabric of his shirt from the confines of the pocket.
Glancing into the room, he saw nothing, not even the glow of the stuffed bobcat. He never thought they were so large, but then again, he never saw a live one. He heard panthers once roamed the coastline. Probably all got run over by logging trucks.
A hollow, metallic clatter nipped his ears. Dave went towards it, averting his eyes from the portrait in the living room. The swords were still in place, no figurines had toppled, China cabinet back in order, so what was it? He rubbed his neck. He better not have to get a shot from wearing this thing, he inwardly growled.
Peeking into Nanny’s room, Dave spied something sticking out from under the bed. He started to pull it out, only to jump back. Dear God, it was her cane! Did dad not have the decency to put this up, he thought.
His stomach turned. Baby powder. Sweat. The stench of shit. Dave turned, eyes latching onto the vanity mirror. Air plastered to the wall of his throat like gunk, the cogs of his heart stiffened. Around his neck the thin wire of gold dug into his tense flesh, the seams of his pockets giving way under the unbearable weight of the bauble.
No, he told himself, clawing at his neck, it’s just a reflection, a trick in the light. Except the room was darkening. The mirror, through the shadows and dust, shined enough to where he could see an emerging outline.
At first only blue, hard and cruel, then a narrow face, a long neck and that damn little knowing grin. Who was he seeing? Which woman was it? Her? Nanny?! Oh God he wanted to scream, but in the midst of a sharp pain it came out as a gurgle.
Leigh looked up at the struggling light. What a piece of shit, she thought before continuing to scroll through the images. Dave’s pictures were near perfect, if only her phone was this good. Maybe she could lower her standards and find a guy who would buy her a phone and a decent plan. She might have to stay with him for a while to keep up with payments. She sighed; the photo of the living room portrait was shit.
Why was he so scared of it, she wondered, it’s just a painting of a guy. All Dave had to do was be still for five seconds to take a damn picture. This looked like he ran as he took it. She couldn’t even make out the glow.
The lights went out with a snap.
Leigh groaned. Turning the flashlight feature on, she called for her brother. When he was silent like this, it meant he was trying to sneak up on her. She should’ve known better than to start that up. Poking her head into the library, she tried to illuminate any corners he might hide, only to find nothing. Even the desk was cleared.
“Oh no,” she griped, “Dave, don’t you dare try to scare me with that cat! If anything happens to it, I’m taking your cut from the necklace. You hear?!”
Damn, he was adamant on getting her back. Well, he had to remember she had the car keys. Though the idea of driving in the dark was becoming less ideal. Was it going to rain? It didn’t feel late, not yet six.
He wasn’t in the guest bathroom or Nanny’s room, nor in the living room. Leigh lowered the phone, staring at the portrait that was staring at her. Not rat eyes, but they burned like copper or lightning bugs. She used to like catching lightning bugs, but there hadn’t been any in years. Save for two, stuck in paint, mixing with the bronze. Did it…always look so predatory?
“Dave!” she called out, “Dave let’s go! I want to avoid deer! We can come back in the morning! Dad can spring for gas money. Dave?!”
Their bedroom had always been so starched white, sheets, curtains, walls, all clashing with the raspberry carpeting. It had a way of looking like syrup at night; put your feet in it and you’d be stuck forever, forced to stare out the windows. She hated how she could always see through the curtains, out into the wild where the water was, where the marsh was hiding within its stiff hairs any number of carnivorous creatures.
Hugging herself, Leigh felt frozen to the spot, her eyes glued to the movement outside the window. The fog was rolling in, eating its way up the yard. Specks of grey deepened in the white, suffocating plumes, giving the impression of sunken eyes and wide grinning teeth. The bones of pirates hadn’t been swept away. They had evaporated, turning into mist.
Feet were padding behind her. She could feel the hungry gaze sinking into her neck.
Breaking free, she ran, crying out, “Dave!”
Rushing into the blackened living room she smacked into him. Objects fell at her feet, one striking her toe. She picked it up, feeling a large stone welded into a metal base, smoother stones surrounding it. The thin chain was slick and warm.
Gripping her brother’s arm, relieved that it was there, she still managed to scold him. “Gross, Dave, what is this?”
Silent treatment.
She shook him by the shoulder. “Dave?”
If it wasn’t for flesh and clothes, she would have thought it was furniture or a statue. But why did he seem so much shorter? So much colder? She gasped when her foot suddenly nudged something. Fumbling, she turned the flashlight feature on once more, its bright light striking upon an object on the floor. Pale, empty eyes stared up at her, a gaping mouth purging a gallon of blood.
Leigh screamed, dropping the phone. Staggering back, a force like flattened palms hurled against her back, sending her face down onto the carpet. The necklace shot from Leigh’s fingers. Her ears caught the sound of a throaty rattle. She pushed herself up, her gaze fixed on the baleful eyes staring down at her. They were not merely glowing, they were moving!
A sound deeper than a purr rumbled along the mantelpiece. Sharp ends tapped and scratched at the wood as the echo of thick padded feet treaded along the edge. The eyes never blinked, never took themselves off of her, only burning brighter, hungrier. It leapt, landing on the carpet with a heavy thud. No dainty house cat elegantly landing on the floor. This was its wilder, ancient ancestor that could take down boars and deer, that could swallow possums whole, devour racoons in two bites. It would have run alongside panthers, learning to survive where they couldn’t.
It bore into Leigh, carefully advancing. Shoulders rolling, claws digging into the shag, eyes like orbs of fire, all under the gaze of its master. The only one of its kind loyal to a man and his memory.
© 2026 E.R. Dyal/Escape by the Fireside
Thank you all for joining me by the fireside, I hope I have provided a little escape for you this month. You can support my channel by reading my other works, liking or commenting. If you’d like to get first dibs on a story, then please subscribe.
Thank you again and see you next time by the fireside.
good way to raise tension just through description of the house and surrounding grounds.