Page 5 of Eldritch

“Yeah. It is important. Because you saved my life once,” Letisha said, her expression serious. She looked at Maria. “We were on this ledge and our instructor made a mistake with the line that was securing me. Sybil saw it, opened her mouth and told the guy. He didn’t like being corrected, but when we asked another instructor about it, she said the guy had made a serious mistake, and she insisted he fix it, then it worked properly. I could’ve died if Sybil hadn’t detected the problem, because the line wouldn’t have held my weight.”

“Oh, wow,” Maria breathed, her eyes growing wide.

Letisha smiled. “Yep. I’m forever grateful. She’s a good friend.”

“Ah yes, the heroine story we all have to hear when we sign on to work for the company,” Pauline said, her dry tone clearly stating she was sick of it.

Shame blossomed in Sybil. So familiar. So heavy.

Hide it. Just give up any good points about yourself, Sybil. No one gives an actual fuck. Letisha is being nice. She is tired of you. And who wouldn’t be after decades of your shit?

Intellectually, she understood Letisha cared. Emotionally, the nagging and spiteful internal dialogue didn’t stop. Ah, yes. The gift that always kept on giving.

They bumped along at a snail’s pace on the road. Would they ever arrive?

Then the house came into view.

Sybil pointed through the front windshield. “There. Look.”

“Wow,” Maria breathed the word. “This place is sick.”

Pauline whistled. “Suspect is more like it. You have got to be kidding me.”

The structure peeked out between an endless corridor of trees. From this distance, it looked tiny. A doll house. As they drove closer, it grew and grew. And Sybil’s breath became shorter, as if she might be the one having trouble with the altitude. A shiver ran over her skin. It was good to see the house, to absorb the atmosphere of it even before they stepped inside. Conflicting fear and excitement danced around inside her. The place was damned unsettling.

Sybil’s knowledge and interest in old houses made her almost salivate. She could’ve said it was the grandeur and ornamentation that made the Italianate house special. The structure sat in a clearing, long and wide, but from here all Sybil could see was the fact the home was three stories…four if you included the attic. How many square feet had Clarice said? Eight thousand five hundred square feet, not including the basement, which was another thousand square feet. It was amazing that Clarice had lived here all on her own until two years ago.

With its elaborate cornices and tall windows, the vast home looked out at visitors. The low-pitched roof appeared almost plain but for a tower in the middle and the cupolas. A gray facade might seem forbidding to some, and in the dreary, cloudy weather the house looked like a castle. Broadly overhanging eaves acted almost like harsh eyebrows to the windows, a frowning countenance that acted as a warning to anyone who believed they understood the secrets of this house. The place lacked some things Sybil had viewed in other Italianate houses, such as a balcony or loggia. She thought she spied a ground floor terrace on the right side of the home.

“It’s beautiful,” Sybil said under her breath.

“Did I hear you say beautiful?” Pauline asked, a tinge of disparagement in her voice.

“It’s unique. Weird.” Maria said. “But sometimes weird is a good thing.”

Sybil smiled. “I agree.”

When they got closer and the trees parted more, they revealed a somewhat manicured lawn with a gravel driveway that branched out into a parking space across the front. A covered portico near the entrance was large enough to drive under.

“Stop here,” Sybil said before they could reach the widest part of the driveway or the portico. “I want to take some photos.”

Pauline halted the van. They all stepped out. Sybil used her phone to snap photos. So did Letisha.

Maria whistled. “I can see why you said this was going to be a long-term job. It’s gonna take a while to clean it all.”

Sybil sighed and lowered her phone. “Yeah. I was a little reluctant at first.”

“This is the biggest place we’ve tackled,” Letisha said, continuing to snap photos. “But the paycheck is worth it.”

Pauline snorted. “Damn straight. That’s the only thing I like about it.”

“When was it built again?” Maria asked.

“1896,” Letisha said.

Sybil stood back and took in the house, and even if she hadn’t already understood the structure was Italianate style, she would’ve known in her gut the house had quirks. Victorians weren’t building this style of house in 1896. At least not as often as they did in the 1840s when Italianate first came into fashion. She supposed because the owner was an architect himself, he could do whatever he wanted and unquestionably had the money.

Wind rustled Sybil’s hair and swirled around her body.

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