Page 17 of I'll Be Waiting

“Nope,” I say. “Anton poked in every nook and cranny. There’s nothing.”

Both turn on me with looks of clear disapproval.

“Oh!” I say. “Thereisa dumbwaiter shaft.”

Jin grins. “Now we just need to wait to hear it creaking up to the top floor, as if pulled by an unseen hand.”

“The actual dumbwaiter is long gone. It’s just the shaft. And before you say anything, it’s not big enough to fall down. Or to stuff bodies in. Again, you’d smell them. However, if you are determined to find something creepy, follow me.”

They do. On the way through the living room, Shania sneaks the last shooter from the table, sliding me a grin like she’s snatching something she shouldn’t.

I smile at her and take another handful of caramel corn for myself. Then we continue to the sitting room, which is not where we’d actually been sitting, and they are about to see why.

“Damn…” Jin says.

“Is this… a joke?” Shania says as she steps into the tiny room. “Ironic creepy decorating?”

“I’d like to think so, but I suspect not.”

The room is barely ten feet by ten feet, with no windows, which makes it a terrible sitting room. I can only guess that whoever designated it as such thought the small size and claustrophobic feel made it cozy. Anton said that when he was young, this was his grandfather’s den—a place where he could retire with his newspaper or book when the house full of grandkids got a little too rowdy.

Back then, the room held only a sofa, which would have made itnicely spacious. Now it’s crammed full with a couch, a love seat, and two recliners. If you used it as a sitting room, you’d besittingon top of everyone else. But the truly creepy part is the dolls.

The room is ringed with bookcases and every shelf holds a motley collection of books plus three or four antique porcelain dolls, all attired in colorful starched dresses, all scrubbed and clean, all retouched and repainted. And all staring at us with vacant eyes.

“I don’t get it,” Shania says, staying in the doorway as Jin and I walk in. “How does anyonenotfind porcelain dolls creepy? I can see getting some in an ironic way, where you’re being creepy on purpose. But who looks at this room and thinks it’d be a great place to curl up with a book?”

“Under the watchful eyes of the damned,” Jin says.

“This is actually an improvement over the dolls’ last residence,” I say. “Before Anton and I rented this place, we read the reviews. Apparently, when it opened as a bed-and-breakfast, the smallest bedroom was called the Doll Room, and these were displayed in there.”

“Where people slept?” Shania says. “Probably children?”

“Yep. The dolls were quickly moved down here and that became the Disney-themed room. Whenever we stayed here…”

I trail off because I find myself smiling. I’m thinking back to when Anton and I stayed here, and when I smile, it feels like laughing at his funeral. I struggle with that. I know Ishouldsmile at memories of our life together. Being able to smile at them is part of the process. But when I do, I feel as if I’m moving too fast. I might not be an old-time widow, draped in a black dress and jet jewelry, but internally, I feel as if I should be in continual mourning, and when I’m not, I’m stricken with guilt.

I smack that guilt away. This is a good memory, and I’m sharing it.

I walk farther into the tiny room. “Whenever Anton and I stayed here, he kept moving the damn dolls.”

“Freaking you out?” Shania says. “If I woke to find one of those things on my bedside table, I’d grab the keys and run. Let him find his own way home.”

“Nothing like that,” I say. “Just moving them around. I’d flop down on the sofa in the living room, and ten minutes later, I’d notice a doll on the shelf. Or on top of the fridge.”

I walk to one, with a gingham dress and bonnet, red braids, and painted eyes with a little too much white around the iris, giving her a demented stare. “This was our favorite. We named her Laura. Pioneer zombie girl. We were thinking of finding one for Lucy, to add to her collection of American Girl dolls.”

“Lucy’s outgrown her doll stage,” Jin says. “She’s moved into the preteen phase where she’d actually love that creepy thing.” Jin looks at Laura and shudders.

We continue our exploration of the house. I show them the dumbwaiter shaft. I’m honestly surprised the owners haven’t sealed it up. I guess it’s safe enough, and it’s something people find cool.

As I poke my head into the shaft, I remember a story Anton told, about his brother scaring the shit out of him as a kid, insisting that you could hear the dumbwaiter at night. I’m about to withdraw and tell the others when a sound stops me. A low moan from below.

I back out fast. “Did you—?”

“Another locked door,” Jin says, his voice distant.

I turn to see him over at the basement door with Shania. I glance back at the dumbwaiter. What was the story Anton told me? That his brother claimed to hear the dumbwaiter moving? No, that’s what Jin had just joked about. Viktor scared Anton… by making noises from below.

---