Secrets in the dark

The smell of mildew and old books hung in the air like smoke, the intermittent drip of water seeping through the shingles kept the young girls ears perked and attentive. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood straight on end, as if trying to reach her auburn ponytail. With every crack of lighting she froze, she hated her grandfather’s house, it always seemed eerie.

With the passing of her grandfather, Anna was all that was left of her family; she was now the sole executor of the estate, a worthless estate. A run down, borderline uninhabitable house, in the middle of no-where, filled with junk to which she was responsible for removing before she sold what remained of the estate. This had been more trouble than it was worth, archaic furniture, boxes of old magazines no one would ever read, her grandfather was a hoarder, however he never seemed to hoard anything of value. There was call for a thunderstorm, a humid Monday in rural Ontario. Fall was on approach, the trees surrounding the old house made it look as if the very grounds were on fire.

This was Anna’s eighth day cleaning this house, she had one “room” left, the attic, a junkyard maze filled with boxes of photographs, more books and magazines, creepy old children’s toys, old trikes, sleds and snow-shoes, and those horrific porcelain dolls, with eyes devoid of humanity that seemed to follow you when you walk past. Most of the possessions in the house were being discarded; anything of wood that hadn’t been eaten by termites was rotting.

After cleaning up from dinner, Anna decided to finish sorting the last of the boxes to sift through, searching for anything of sentimental value. When she left the kitchen, almost as if synchronized, a bright flash of lightning startled her, along with an immediate crack of thunder, and the power in the house went out.

“Just my luck”, she thought, “Three more boxes, and I can leave this place, forever”, She looked at her watch, “Still two hours until Devon comes to pick me up, I may as well get them sorted anyway.” She walked back into the kitchen, opened the obligatory ‘junk’ drawer everyone has, and began to dig for a flash-light. To her dismay, she found an old, aluminum flash light, caked with corrosion at its base, it wouldn’t have worked anyway.

Atop the refrigerator, in the far corner, sat an old oil lamp. With a sigh she climbed onto the counter to be able to reach the lamp. She removed the ornate glass chimney, extended the wick, and removed a lighter from the junk drawer. As the flame came alive, she adjusted the wick lower, to get an even and steady burn before replacing the chimney above the collar. Now the kerosene intermingled with the musky odors already present.

The storms intensity seemed to grow, looking out the dusty windows; Anna could see the torrents of rain attempting to wash out the gravel side-road. Anna walked from the kitchen, through the foyer, to a long flight of stairs. As she ascended the familiar stairs she wondered why her family had wanted to keep the estate, and why her grandfather was so adamant about living here until the day he died.

The second floor hallway ran the length of the house. Owing to the age and the settling of the foundation, the floor was somewhat askew, a slight trapezoid shape had befallen the walls, giving the hallway the illusion of it continuing on forever. The smell of mildew and old books hung in the air like smoke, the intermittent drip of water seeping through the shingles kept the young girls ears perked and attentive. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood straight on end, as if trying to reach her auburn ponytail. With every crack of lighting she froze, she hated her grandfather’s house, it always seemed eerie.

Anna approached the attic steps, her small frame barely causing the old wooden floor to creak, as she noticed the flame of her lantern start to sway, as if caught with a draft, only, the flame was being drawn to the attic, not away from where she assumed the draft was emanating. She cautiously ascended the narrow and steep stairs into the triangular attic. The flickering lantern and ornate chimney made inky shapes on the walls; it seemed as if they were dancing to their own music. She sat cross-legged on the floor, lantern a couple feet in front of her, and opened a dust-covered box.

Notebooks, spiraled, leather-bound, all scribbled in, covered with barely legible writing. In her grandfather’s final years, he had taken to cataloguing his entire life, with shaky hands, and poor eyesight, the books were worth no more than tinder for the fireplace. The second box was filled with old photo albums. Images of her parents in their youth, their wedding, at the hospital holding baby Anna. The last photo was a family portrait, taken at the Estate when Anna was merely 7 years old. Twenty years later, the pain of losing her parents that day still made tears well in her eyes, a night similar to the current.

A dull scraping sound, like a coffee mug being dragged across a wooden table snapped Anna out of her nostalgic reminiscing. Her head snapped around the room, attempting to locate the sound. Everything was still, the only sound to be heard was the rain continuing to batter the old house. Anna held the lantern, passing it from her left hand to her right as she scanned the shadowy corners of the loft. She stood, feeling grateful for being Five-foot-five and not having to duck due to the low-slung ceiling. She continued to scan the room, and finally noticed something peculiar: The porcelain doll had fallen over, and the sound was her face sliding across the wall. The first time Anna had come to the attic, she had to turn the doll around, almost thirty years old and it still freaked her out.

Something was different though, as if to draw her to it, the dolls head came to rest on a small black notebook. “That wasn’t there before,” she thought aloud, before she approached the corner of the room and slid it carefully from under the dolls hollow head. The nondescript notebook had no signifying marks, its moleskin covers seemed to swallow what little light the lantern cast.

Anna untied the leather strap holding the book closed, as she opened it to the first page, more lightning crackled. On the first page all that was written:

“To my darling granddaughter,

As I’m sure you’ve all but finished clearing the estate, keep the porcelain doll’s necklace. You were left with nothing as a child, I did my best, but had to live modestly. Before you leave-“

The letter ended, as if her grandfather had stopped writing mid-sentence, so Anna flipped through the rest of the book, nothing but empty pages. On the inside of the back-cover, was her grand-fathers name, written in gold: Samuel Bellamy IV. As she put the notebook in the pocket of her jean overalls, the power snapped back to life, enlightened by this she snuffed the lantern and began taking the boxes to the main floor.

With half an hour to spare, she sat with the doll in the living-room, and delicately removed its necklace. A small paper tag that was tucked into the back of the dolls blouse displayed itself. A jeweler’s note, dated a year ago, with an estimation of $20,000, as well as a note: The contact information for the St. Augustine Pirate museum. Overjoyed she placed the necklace in her overall pocket alongside the notebook.

While her friend Devon finished loading the boxes into the car, Anna decided that the doll, should stay with her Grand-fathers house. She climbed back up to the attic, and set the doll on the window ledge, looking out over the grounds. Devon helped her do a final walkthrough of the house, insuring that all of the garbage had been tossed into the rental bin before they climbed into the car.

Thankfully, upon finding the notebook, the rain began to die down. Devon drove cautiously down the long lane, and turned onto the soft gravel road towards town. He kept quiet because he had noticed the box of photo-albums, and he knew his friend wouldn’t be in a very talkative mood.

A week later, Anna called the jeweler, who confirmed the appraisal, and offered to broker the deal with the museum. With the deal completed, the jeweler asked her if she had any other pieces of Black Sam’s treasure. She explained the story in which she had come by the necklace before they parted ways.

As she sat on her couch in her small apartment, absentmindedly petting her cat, and watching tv; a curious itch in the back of her mind made her think about the notebook. Much to the dismay of her feline companion, she quickly got up, approached her bookshelf, removed her grandfather’s black notebook, and flipped it open.

The first page was the same as the day she found it, however through the paper, Anna saw something on the second. She flipped the page, screamed and dropped the book. It fell to ground yet oddly stayed open to the second page, in deep black ink the page read:

“You weren’t supposed to leave me in the attic Anna….”