Page 5 of Magpie
Shivering, but not from the cold, I trudge up the stairs, trying to ignore their creaks and moans in the silence of the night. I can hear Tim and Jessica giggling wildly inside, but past the threshold of the open door, all I can see is darkness. The rot, the numbness inside me rises up, answering the call of this desolate place, and I step over the threshold into the Wandering House.
“Damn,” Mr. Mortimer swears as he hangs up the phone.
I’m wiping off a table with a damp towel, but I stand up straight and give him a curious look. Mr. Mortimer has been whispering to someone for a few minutes. I round the counter, setting a stack of dishes in a bus tub before dusting my hands off on my apron, giving him a questioning look.
“Everything alright?” I ask, noting the expression of deep concern on his face.
“Peggy’s grandkid broke his finger at baseball practice today. She’s going to be with him at the hospital all night,” he grumbles. The one hospital in this town is severely understaffed, and even a small injury can take hours to get treated.
A pit in my stomach opens as I glance nervously at the sky. He’s going to ask me to stay late. I feel myself beginning to panic—
The door to the kitchen swings open, and Peggy bursts through, holding a cake with burning sparklers on top. “Surprise!” she and Mr. Mortimer shout at the same time.
Peggy begins laughing at the expression on my face as she walks toward me and shows me the crude icing letters that spell outBon Voyage!. Tears brim in my eyes, and I have to cough to cover my shaking voice as I try my hardest to thank them, blinking hard.
“Did you think we would send you off without some kind of party?” Mr. Mortimer says as he snaps a striped party hat onto my head. Peggy busies herself with snuffing the sparklers out in a glass of water as she cut us each a huge slice of cake.
“Is your grandson okay?” I ask as she slides the plate over to me. I’m still having a hard time controlling the shaking in my arms as I reach for the fork she holds out.
Peggy laughs, punching playfully at Mr. Mortimer’s arm. “David is fine. Bob here just thought we needed some element of surprise.”
“I’m not a fan of surprises,” I whisper, moving my fork absentmindedly in a swirl of frosting. With a start, I notice I’m tracing the outline of a key. Scraping the bit of frosting off with my fork, I shove the entire bite into my mouth, swallowing vigorously to destroy the evidence.
The shadows of the booth stretch along the floor, creeping closer to me. Glancing at the windows, I note the sun beginning its last burning effort before it’s extinguished for another night.
“I should go,” I say suddenly, jumping up from the bar stool at the counter. It’s stupid to stay as long as I have. I know it’s because I’m not ready to go, not ready to give up on a life I’ve actually allowed myself to live. A lifetime of detachment has left me woefully unprepared for saying goodbye.
Tugging my apron off, I turn to hand it to Mr. Mortimer, ready to shove it in his hands and bolt out the door before they can stop me. He is holding out a brown envelope, one that is several times larger than my normal weekly stash.
“Oh…no, Mr. Mortimer, you can’t…” is all I can manage to say as my arms drop to my sides.
“Don’t try to fight it, just take it. You’re a good girl, Maggie. You remind me of my late Cynthia.”
I smile. He’s told me often of his daughter, who tragically died not long before he met me.
“Just let an old man be sentimental and accept this gift from me,” he says, sniffing and beginning to cough. I open my mouth to thank him, but he is still coughing.
Peggy slaps him on the back a few times, giving me a half-smile—but it fades, replaced with a look of horror when Mr. Mortimer drops to his knees. His coughs turn to wet, angry hacks, and he struggles more to take in each ragged breath.
“Call 911,” Peggy shouts.
Mr. Mortimer’s violent coughing echoes in my ears as I run to the phone, dialing the three numbers with shaking fingers. Like a robot, I rattle off the address of the diner, my eyes trained solely on the shadows growing longer across the floor, creeping toward my feet. With an ambulance on the way, I slam the phone down and rush back to Peggy. Mr. Mortimer has stopped coughing, his face sagging, his eyes closed. He’s unconscious, the only movements the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
“Someone has to tell Lavern,” Peggy says, cradling Mr. Mortimer’s head in her lap. “Their phone line failed in the storms last week, and Bob never got around to fixing it. He always fixes everything. I begged him to get a cell phone, but that stubborn man refused.”
She’s rambling. I grab her hand and hold it tight, drawing her gaze to mine. “Go,” I say. “Get Lavern and meet us at the hospital. I’ll stay with him.”
The shadows are stretching over Mr. Mortimer’s body, covering us in darkness. By the time Peggy is rushing out of thediner, shouting that she’ll drive as fast as she can, the sun has set.
Night envelops us, the stretching shadows like fingers curling around me, holding me tight.
“Tim?” I call into the shadows. If I squint, I can make out the smattering of furniture: a couch, a few armchairs, a coffee table, everything antique, like the House is trapped in a time long past. I take a few cautious steps into the small sitting room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness as I study the art deco wallpaper. There is a twin photo frame nestled on a table, and I pick it up, observing the old photographs inside. They’ve faded over the years, blurring the faces of the man and woman on either side of the frame.
“Jessica?” I shout, setting the picture frame down. I strain my ears to catch even the ghost of a sound. The cackling laughter of a witch, the blood-curdling scream of a patron being chased by an actor wielding a fake chainsaw. Anything to indicate that I’m not alone.
Nothing. The House may as well be empty.
I tug my jacket tighter around me and huff. What do I do now? We waited hours in the shivering rain just to walk around an abandoned farmhouse? The festering cold within me smiles,enjoying me sinking deeper into that hateful mood.This is what you get for trying.
