A thud startled Jesse from his dreams, and he jumped from lying on his back to standing crouched in the dark parlor.
A creak of a floorboard, and another.
Someone was upstairs.
Jesse considered his options. If he ran from the house, he’d be back in the night wandering through unfamiliar woods.
He waited, tensed, but the sound did not come again. After several minutes, he slid his hands over the furniture until he found a candlestick. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat, hoping the matches he carried were not wet.
They weren’t. He lit a match and held the flame to the wick of a long black candle.
As he lifted the candle before him, he studied the room.
Heavily carved furniture upholstered in burgundy and dark fabrics crowded the space. It was not the style of the times, but a decor that Jesse imagined belonged to women in long puffy dresses and men who wore white powdered wigs.
He moved into the hallway, placing his feet gingerly and pausing at every step.
When he reached the staircase, an uncontrollable shiver rolled down his spine and left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
He was not afraid of encountering a man in the house. Perhaps another person like himself, down on his luck, who’d sought refuge.
No, fear lived in the dark corners and shadowy back rooms. Fear’s power came from the unknown things.
Jesse’s father had laughed at fear. If Jesse woke in the night scared, his father would burst through the room like a madman waving a lantern, gleeful as he flung open the closet door and peered beneath the bed. There had been no mother in Jesse’s life. She’d died giving birth to her only son. Jesse’s father was a good man, kind and funny, better than many of the fathers Jesse had met along his journeys. But the man supported a son during a time when poverty and war were rampant. It was not an easy time to raise a child, and Jesse spent more than a few months in orphanages in Michigan, Minnesota, and even a spell on the east coast - Boston, New York, and the like.
He hadn’t minded the orphanages until he got older. His father always retrieved him after a few weeks or months. Except the last time.
Jesse flinched when another creak sounded above him. He crept down the long hall and peeled back the curtain, expecting — no, hoping — to see wind bending the trees. The night appeared calm and still.
He’d seen large rats on a few trains, but found it unlikely they’d be wandering the old house. At least not the type large enough to make so much noise. But a house in a forest likely invited all sorts of vermin to seek refuge. A raccoon could make the noise. Especially when they were hunting for food or building a nest.
As he ascended to the third floor, he stared into the pocket of light cast by the candle. The faces on the walls gazed at him. A layer of gray dust coated the ornate frames, and the absurdity of such a house teeming with treasure, left abandoned in a northern Michigan forest, struck him anew.
Another creak sounded, but now it was on the floor beneath him - the second floor.
Nervous, Jesse blew out the candle and listened. He was now sure someone else shared the house. Whether they’d been there since he arrived, he couldn’t say.
He crept back down the stairs.
A shaft of moonlight filtered through a door he thought had been closed when he passed the hall only moments before. He padded along the hall carpet; grateful that the rug muffled his movements.
As he peered through the half-open door, he saw a chaise lounge in front of a large window.
The curtains hung partially open, the moon splashing light across the room.
On the chaise, Jesse saw a woman’s long, slender legs.
He stared at the legs, which ended in small, delicate feet.
Rubbing his eyes, he took a step away, not sure what to do.
Would a woman have come into the house alone?
Unlikely.
Her large, unforgiving husband was probably lurking somewhere close by.
The hairs on the back of Jesse’s neck prickled.
He spun, ready to slash out with the candle, though it would do little against his attacker.
Behind him, the hall stood empty.
His heart thumped hard and fast.
He realized he’d been ready to fight.
His desire to survive came as a surprise. He’d greeted each day of the previous year with an expectation, even a hope, that death would come for him that day. Maybe an angry stowaway on a train he hopped on would sink a blade into his heart as he slept, to steal the worn shoes that had carried him so many miles. Perhaps he’d miss one of those trains, fall on the tracks, and be crushed by the merciless rail wheels.
Never happened. Men with more to live for died by the thousands, but Jesse Kaminski traveled on.
He turned back to the chaise, but the woman’s legs had disappeared.
She’d heard him.
“Hello?” he called, his voice hollow and tinny in the quiet. The house seemed to swallow the sound.
He poked his foot forward and pushed the door in. It swung open and bumped gently against the wall.
He searched for her among the furnishings. Had she ducked behind the bed? Slipped into the closet?
“I won’t hurt you. My name’s Jesse. I just needed a place to sleep. I thought the house was empty,” he explained, stepping into the room.
“I don’t have a weapon. Just say the word, and I’ll leave,” he continued.
He walked toward the bed, surprised to find the woman had not ducked behind it.
Unsure how to proceed, Jesse continued to talk as he walked around the room.
“I’m harmless. I swear it.” He moved to the window and peered behind the shimmery pale fabric.
After he checked behind every piece of furniture and in the closet, he returned to the center of the room. Beneath the bed was the only place he hadn’t checked. As he considered laying on his belly to peek beneath the ruffled bed skirt, the flicker of disquiet in his mind grew louder.
He could hear the laughter of his father: balk-balk, he would cry out, imitating a chicken and ruffling Jesse’s hair affectionately. He wouldn’t have hesitated to drop onto his belly and look under the bed. Had Gabriel lived, Jesse would have done something similar for his own son.
He sank to his knees, and then his stomach. Inching toward the bed, he reached out a hand, dismayed to see his trembling fingers.
Lifting the dust ruffle, he stared into the black cavity beneath the frame.
As his eyes adjusted, he realized a masked face stared back at him. Dark eyes peered out from the cat-like mask.
Jesse sputtered and pushed away from the bed, dropping his candle, which extinguished.
He bounded to his feet, tensed and ready for the person to follow him, but she didn’t. The room remained eerily quiet.
Jesse left the room and walked down the stairs. He opened the front door, and the damp of the night swirled around him
He could go. Slip into those woods and never look back.
A cool mist seeped from the forest grass. Fireflies lit the night, blinking in and out from the darkness of the trees.
After several breaths, Jesse stepped back into the house, gazing at the staircase.
Reluctantly, he lit another candle and returned to the bedroom.
This time when he lifted the bed skirt, he saw the mask resting on a heap of dark fabric. He reached beneath the bed and pulled out an evening gown with a frilly satin skirt. The black mask had sat atop it, merely an illusion in the dark.
And yet, he’d seen dark eyes peering out from the holes in the mask, hadn’t he? And where had the woman gone?
He suspected he would not sleep that night, but when he lay down on the rug in the parlor, his breath grew long and deep and he slipped away.