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Old Man Miller's Place

Some light breaking and entering

By Heather M MoskoPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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"Thanks so much for coming home with me this weekend, Julie." Emma kicked aside some dead branches on the overgrown path and pushed her auburn-braid off her shoulder. "When my mom said she needed to have a 'serious' talk with me, I figured she'd seen my Biology grade." Emma turned to her college roommate, who was struggling to push aside a low-hanging tree branch. "She's not going to get too mad in front of you."

Julie nodded without much enthusiasm. When she had agreed to ride along with Emma, she'd pictured a homecooked meal and an amusing glimpse at Emma's childhood bedroom. She hadn't expected to be pushing her way through thorn bushes up a path leading to a dark and unkept house. "Emma," Julie whispered as she tripped over a tree root. "I don't mind being your buffer with your mom, but what are we doing here? I thought you just wanted to show me around the neighborhood. Why are we at this creepy house?"

Emma picked a dried leaf out of Julie's curly dark hair and widened her eye's innocently. "What? Don't you want to see Old Man Miller's house?"

"Why would I want to see this haunted looking place?"

Emma craned her neck and stared up at the three-story stone and timber house looming above them. "My mother told me Mr. Miller just died, so it's empty now." She pointed to a bay window on the top floor of a neat, cedar-shingled house next door to the wild, untamed yard where they stood. "Growing up, my best-friend Mandy lived there. We used to sit and look out of her bedroom window. We'd see Mr. Miller out in the backyard sometimes, but mostly the only person we ever saw come or go was the cleaning lady. We'd make up stories about what kinds of treasures were hidden inside." Emma's hazel-eyes shined as she rubbed her hands together. "I've just got to see it."

"But you don't know if it's vacant or not. He could have family that's living here." Julie sounded doubtful even to her own ears as she looked at the dark windows and the dusty porch, that showed no signs of anyone having walked across it in quite some time.

"I don't think he has any family." Emma walked towards the front porch. "My mom said this place was beautiful when she was growing up. She went to high school with Mr. Miller's son. They were friends and she was in the house a couple times." She shrugged a shoulder. "Then he and his mom died in a car accident right before graduation. I guess Mr. Miller kind of lost it after that and became a recluse."

Julie picked at a piece of loose mortar between two stones that were part of the porch wall and watched it fall to the ground. "Did your dad know the son, too?"

"He's my step-dad, actually, and no. He wasn't from around here." Emma kicked at some of the paving stones leading to the front steps, bending over to pick up the corner of one that was looser than the others. "My mom married him when I was around four. My real dad died before I was born." Emma continued to search under the stone until she felt something and straightened up with a triumphant, "Ah ha!"

"Is that the key?"

Emma waggled her eyebrows. "Yep. Still where we saw the cleaning lady stash it. So, really this is just a 'light' breaking and entering, since we're not really going to break anything to enter."

"Well, now I feel so much better." Julie followed Emma up the porch steps, glancing back at the street to see if anyone was watching them, but the neighborhood was quiet.

About to insert the key into the front door, Emma paused and turned to Julie. "You don't have to come in if you don't want to. I'll just take a quick look around to satisfy my curiosity and be right back out."

Julie bit her lip and thought about what would be worse, staying by herself in the silent yard, or following her friend into the deserted house.

Then Emma helped her make up her mind. "I bet there will be lots of interesting things for you to sketch in there for your art class assignment." She glanced down at the little black sketchbook that was sticking out of Julie's jacket pocket.

Julie touched the book and then wrapped her hand around the charcoal pencil she'd put in her other pocket. She knew Emma was right, there probably would be some dusty old antiques that could be interesting to sketch. Resigned to her own curiosity, Julie sighed and nodded her head at Emma.

The dead-bolt made a metallic sound as it disengaged, the door creaking loudly as it opened. Dust motes danced in the shaft of light let in from the open door. Julie pinched Emma's sleeve. "This feels like the beginning of every horror movie I've ever seen."

"Shh." Emma put a finger to her lips and whispered, "Let's just be quiet for a second and see if we hear anyone moving around."

"What? Now you want to see if anyone is here? After we broke in?"

Emma closed the door behind them and held up the key.

Julie squinted at her friend. "Just because you know where the spare key is hidden, does not mean you haven't entered illegally."

Emma made a rocking motion with her hand. "That could be up for debate."

"No, it's not. We are not suppose to be in here."

Holding her hand up, Emma motioned for them to stay quiet for a few more moments. "I don't hear anything."

Julie strained her ears, ready to run back through the door at the slightest sound, but she conceded that she didn't hear anything either, and then followed Emma deeper into the house. The meager light coming in through the heavily draped windows caste a sallow glow. She could just make out the outline of furniture draped in sheets, and walls covered in wallpaper, heavy wood trim and framed paintings.

Emma's eyes started to adjust to the dim light, and as she looked around she let out a low whistle. "Look at all this stuff. Those paintings alone look like they could be worth a fortune, along with that big grandfather clock and the crystal chandelier."

Julie shook her head as she turned around in a circle, marveling at the large rooms filled with furniture, art work and antiques. She walked up to an oil painting of a fox hunting scene and ran her finger over the bottom of the frame. She expected to see a mound of dust, but there was none. "That cleaning lady must be good, because this place is actually pretty clean on the inside for looking so rundown on the outside."

"Um hmm." Emma was on the staircase looking closely at a painting hanging on the wall.

"What are you looking at?"

"This portrait." Emma cocked her head, but kept staring at it. "I don't know. It sounds crazy, but this man looks familiar to me."

Climbing the stairs, Julie took a closer look at the portrait of a man with red-curly hair, wearing a white vest and riding breaches. A crooked grin played on his pale face. "That guy was from, like, the early 1900's or something." She rolled her eyes. "I don't think you've ever run into him. Come on, let's go into that room over there. There might be something I can sketch."

Reluctantly, Emma took here eyes off the portrait and followed Julie back down the stairs and through an arched opening, where they found themselves in a room dominated by a fireplace surrounded with ornately carved marble. On the mantel was an antique clock under glass, a wood box with a complicated design of inlaid mother-of-pearl, and a photograph in a silver-frame of a woman in a white dress, her red-hair falling lightly on her shoulders.

Julie knew she'd found her perfect tableau to sketch. She pulled the black sketchbook out of her pocket and said to Emma, "Can you stand there next to the fireplace, maybe rest your arm on the mantel. I've got to practice sketching people, too."

Still looking distracted, Emma did as her friend asked. "Like this?"

"Yeah, that's great." Julie took the pencil out of her other pocket and began sketching quickly. As she started to draw Emma's face, she noticed the uncharacteristic frown line between her friend's brows. "You, ok, Em?"

Shaking herself, Emma resettled into her pose. "Of course. I don't know why I got such a weird feeling when I was looking at that portrait. I guess it's just being in this house. It is pretty creepy. "

Julie kept sketching. "For sure, nobody would ever call this place 'light and airy', but it is really impressive. It could be beautiful again if someone put a little time and money into it."

"True." Looking around the room, Emma nodded. "I think I've satisficed my curiosity, though. Finish your sketch and lets get out of here."

As Julie moved her attention from Emma's face to the photograph on the mantel, she began to realize how the shape of Emma's head, the point of her chin and her almond-shaped eyes were so similar to the woman's in the portrait. The hair on the back of her neck began to rise.

Emma was beginning to get bored of standing in one place and started to poke around the things on the mantel. When she spotted the wooden box with the exotic inlay, her curiosity came back.

What she didn't notice was that Julie had let the sketchbook fall to her side, the pencil limp in her hand. She kept looking back and forth between Emma - who was now inching closer to the box - and the woman's photograph. "Emma, you've said your mom was pretty young when she had you, right?"

Emma's finger was pushing up on the lid of the box. "Yep. She was just out of high school." About to peer into the now open box, Emma paused to look over at Julie. "That's a weird question to ask. And why are you staring at me like that?"

"Because, unlike you, I am getting an A in Biology, and we just did a section on prominent genetic traits."

"So?"

"So. You and that lady in the portrait share several of them."

Emma 's eyebrows shot up on her forehead. "What are you talking about?" But before she could say anything else, what was in the box caught her eye. The room instantly became deathly silent, except for the sound of her own breath. Her vision focused solely on the stack of photographs in the box; her own childhood face was staring back at her.

Julie saw Emma go pale and sway slightly. She ran to her and put her hand on her arm. "Are you, OK? What is it?"

Without saying a word, Emma held up the top photo she'd taken from the box. It was a school photo with the unmistakable image of a 12-year old Emma grinning happily back at them. She read the writing on the back, "Emma. Sixth Grade." Her hand trembled as she lowered the photo. "That's my mother's handwriting."

Julie opened the sketchbook again and held it up in front of Emma. She pointed to the sketch she'd just made of Emma's face, and then to the photo of woman. "I don't think your mom wanted you to come home to talk about your grades."

Emma nodded silently, her wide eyes never leaving Julie's face.

"The good news is, I don't think we need to worry about getting caught breaking and entering. I'm pretty sure this is your grandfather's house, or should I say, your house now."

grandparents
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About the Creator

Heather M Mosko

A Communications graduate that took a left-turn into real estate appraisal, motherhood, vintage-selling on etsy, and writing romantic-suspense.

You can find me at https://heathermosko.blogspot.com/ for info on my books and vintage finds.

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