The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(59)
Author: Karen White
The vast majority of houses on my street sported some sort of lighting display and impressive pumpkin carvings and nice assortments of skeletons climbing trees and walls, but Ernest and Bob’s house glowed like a lighthouse in the middle of a darkened sea. Fat old-fashioned orange Christmas tree bulbs striped the roof, wrapped around the chimney, and boldly outlined the corners of the house and the roofline. But the pièce de résistance was the pair of waving skeletons dressed in tuxedos along with the short, plump dog skeleton dressed in a silk lounging robe and wearing a tiara. They stood in front of the two coffins containing Christmas trees, their limbs gloriously filled with all things Halloween and a sprinkling of black and orange twinkling lights.
Cooper stopped in the middle of the street, lowered his window to get a better look, and laughed. “Amazing. I lived in California and even I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like it. Can’t wait to meet them.”
His casual comment filled me with a comfortable warmth at the thought of him becoming familiar enough to meet my neighbors. “Me, too. Ernest and Bob are great, and their dog, Belle, is her own character. Mardi’s in love with her, but she hasn’t yet acknowledged that they’re meant to be together.”
He laughed again, then turned his head to say something, but stopped as his gaze focused on something behind me. “I think there’s something going on at your house, or is that part of your Halloween décor?”
I turned, following his gaze. My house was bathed in the orange glow from across the street, spotlighting the previously locked windows across the front of my house now slamming open and shut in a random rhythm only a demon could recognize. Various tools and paint cans lay strewn across the lawn, and a dark, viscous liquid appeared to be leaking from the sill of the upstairs hall window, dripping slowly down the newly painted siding.
I couldn’t speak, could only sit and watch the spectacle from Cooper’s car.
“Should I call the police?” Cooper asked.
“Do you really think that will help?”
He leaned closer to get a better look. “No. But I’m fresh out of other ideas.”
I glanced down the street, amazed that no one had come out of their houses to look. I had to hope that my neighbors thought the spectacle was my contribution to the street’s holiday décor. My street was hosting a friendly Halloween decorating contest, so it would be logical that they would simply assume I was in it to win it.
“Me, too,” I said.
We sat in stunned silence for a solid minute before Cooper spoke again. “Should we call Melanie?”
“No. I don’t want to worry her.”
“Yeah, but won’t she know what to do?”
“Probably. But so will Beau.” I pulled out my phone to text him, but hesitated. He and Sam had left following dinner, walking hand in hand toward Beau’s truck. I looked at the time on my screen. “It’s almost eleven o’clock.”
“Nola, in case you hadn’t noticed, your house is going berserk and there’s something that looks a lot like blood dripping out of one of the windows. If Beau can help, you need to text him.”
I reluctantly began to tap on my screen. Need help asap at cottage. I hit the Send button, then began typing again. The house is bleeding
I’d barely touched the Send arrow before Beau responded. OMW
Cooper and I exited the car and stood in the street, then watched as one by one the windows slammed shut and stayed closed. By the time Beau’s truck roared into the street and stopped at the curb, whatever had been dripping from the window had stopped, the long tongues of liquid sucked up from the wall and swallowed under the sill. All that remained to confirm that we hadn’t imagined everything was the debris scattered in the grass, one of my spreadsheets stuck in the oleander shrub at the corner of the porch.
Despite everything, I still felt relief that Beau had come alone. I wanted to think it was because he and Sam hadn’t been together when I’d texted him. After greeting us and allowing me to explain what had just happened, he moved toward the porch. He stopped when he saw we weren’t following.
“I need the key, Nola.”
“Sorry,” I said, fishing it out of my backpack. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to go inside.”
“I’m good at a lot of things, Nola, but figuring something out by osmosis isn’t one of them. Otherwise you’d be driving by now.”
Cooper coughed and I gave him what I hoped was a stinging glare. “Whatever,” I said, stomping up onto the porch and sticking the key in the lock. The knob turned easily, and nothing pressed against the door as I pushed it open.
“I think whoever it was is gone,” I said.
Beau stepped into the room and flipped on a light switch. I made a move to follow, but Beau said, “Stay there until I give you the all clear. In the meantime, you can start picking up stuff from the yard. Keep the door open so you can hear me shout if I need you.”
I watched Beau pause at the bottom of the staircase and look up. I saw that the closet door was partially open, filling me with panic. “Don’t go in the closet.”
“Trust me, Nola. I have zero desire to go in there right now.” His index finger began strumming the rubber band on his wrist. With a burst of energy, he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, then disappeared in the upstairs hallway.
Cooper and I began gathering the bits and pieces that had been strewn by unseen hands or just blown out of the windows, and we stacked them by group on the porch. After about ten minutes we had a collection of tape measures, screwdrivers, and boxes of nails, miraculously intact. In another pile we had all the spreadsheets that I’d left tacked to the wall, and in a third pile, a dozen rolls of soggy toilet paper whose origins I didn’t want to know.
“Is this yours?” Cooper stood from behind the oleander bush, holding up a yellow hair ribbon.
“Let me see.” He handed it to me, and I held it up in the light from the porch so I could see it better. The satin between my fingers had long ago lost its stiff newness, myriad creases and wrinkles pressed into it like the papery skin of an old woman. It was still knotted in the middle, stray blond hairs captured where I imagined the ribbon had slid from a ponytail unnoticed. Or had been forcibly pulled.
“It’s not exactly mine, but I’m pretty sure I know who it belongs to.” I smoothed one of the ends between my fingers. The night had turned chilly, and a cold breeze blew through the yard, rattling the papers and making the wind chimes sing. But tonight the chimes had taken on a deeper tone, like the chanting of monks. I examined the ribbon, hoping I’d find something different than the ribbon from the hatbox. Something to prove that my suspicions were wrong. “If it’s the same one, I have no idea how it got here. The last time I saw it, it was in my apartment.”