Twenty Stacks

Twenty Stacks

By

By Natasha Zar

The new house wasn’t new at all. It was an old Greek Revival abomination. It would be a shock to not find any decomposing corpses in the cellar. Miseria Manor. One of the oldest plantations this side of the Mississippi. Southern Seller Real Estate Magazine had called it Bayou Tricheur’s Best Kept Secret! The location of Misère Manor begged to differ. Situated at least a mile from the main road on a dirt track, hidden amongst ancient oak trees and Spanish moss it seemed more like a place that harbored secrets of its own. In the shadows of the fading sun, the old plantation house seemed to lay in wait like a predatory beast.

Ike Hexum stared at the place that was to be his new home with incredulity. It was huge. A mansion, really. However, with its stained walls, chipped columns and general decayed look, it didn't have the pristine glamour usually associated with mansions. He still thought it was beautiful. The house had once been white but was now a dirty grey with patches of mould, no doubt caused by the merciless humidity of the South. Thick, dark green vines grew up the front walls, seeming intent on covering every inch of them eventually.

Ike shook the ring of keys he held in his hand absently, wondering what the hell he had been thinking when he had signed a twelve month lease on the place, sight unseen. The name itself, Misère Manor, literally translated to Misery Manor. Maybe he was still feeling a little masochistic after losing what little he had owned in a devastating fire. He gave himself a mental shake and pulled out the key for the front door. As he slipped the key in the lock, a sudden sense of dread knotted in his stomach. Had he made a terrible mistake moving across the country to this place?

Ike swore under his breath and shoved his feeling of foreboding aside. This would be a fresh start for him. He turned the key in the lock, surprised when the door opened silently and with ease. The smell of damp, stale air filled Ike’s nostrils but he was relieved to find no trace of mould in it. Stepping through the doorway he squinted his eyes in the dim light and felt around for a light switch. He was again relieved when he found the switch and clicked it on and the foyer lights turned on without a problem. The interior of the house was surprisingly clean. Ike scanned his eyes over the bright white interior in amazement. There were no cobwebs and no dust. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the monstrously large crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, sparkling brightly and aggressively like a wolf baring its fangs.

The real estate agent had not mentioned anything about having the house cleaned when he had collected the keys only a matter of hours ago. All Ike knew about the house was that it had been foreclosed on five years ago when the elderly lady of the house had gone missing a year ago. He decided to do a tour of the house before he unpacked. He wasn’t in a rush. He walked throughout the house slowly, turning on lights as he went and examining each room. A few times he became disorientated, passing through hallways only to find himself in a room he had already entered.

Ike started down yet another hallway but paused when the light did not turn on when he flicked the switch. When he turned his head to examine the faulty light switch a light turned on behind the closed door at the end of the hallway. He narrowed his eyes at the light that shone from beneath the door and swallowed down the fear that rose up from his gut. It was an old house and the electrical wiring was probably faulty.

Ike strode down the hallway to the closed door, grabbed the handle and shoved it open. The room was bare – just like all the others he had passed through. However there was something on the windowsill. Ike walked over to it and picked it up. It was a small black notebook. It felt warm and velvety soft in his hands and when he opened it, the white pages were a sumptuous texture. He flicked through the bare pages, running his fingers lovingly over the creamy pages.

What was that?

One of the pages he had flicked over had been written on. Ike doubled back, gently turning the pages so as not to rip or crease the paper in any way. Nothing. After several minutes had passed, Ike had to wonder if he had even seen anything. But he was so certain that he had seen the writing and so determined to find it again that he opened the small black notebook at the first page and slowly turned each individual page.

There.

Floorboard beneath the window with the tallest oak outside.

Ike frowned and read the words again.

Floorboard beneath the window with the tallest oak outside.

He glanced out of the window he stood before, startled by his own reflection in the glass. The sun had now completely set and he could see only darkness beyond. Placing the small black notebook back on the windowsill, Ike leaned forward and cupped his hands on each side of his face and peered out the window. There was a tall oak outside the window. Was it the tallest? He honestly had no idea.

Ike looked down at the floor, at the floorboard beneath his boot. Crouching down, he pressed on it to see if it was loose. It didn’t budge. He pressed harder and heard something scurrying beneath the floorboard and he paused. God, he hoped the place wasn’t infested with rats. He could deal with the stifling heat. He could deal with the solitude. He could deal with the mould. But Ike drew the line at sharing his space with vermin.

Taking a deep breath, Ike used the heels of both hands to thump on the bottom end of the floorboard. The top end flipped up fast and without warning. A flash of white crossed his vision as he was whacked in the face and he went sprawling backwards. He lay on his back a moment, staring at the bare light bulb above him in stunned silence. Something warm and wet ran over his cheek and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, not surprised to see that it was covered in blood.

Feeling like a fool, Ike slowly sat up and looked down at the floorboard that jutted up. In the cavity beneath the floorboard was a black leather satchel. He carefully pulled it out, noting that the leather was as buttery soft as the small black notebook. It was heavy. Ike was momentarily terrified that the bag would contain something awful, like a bones or a dead animal. But there was no smell of decay, only the heady scent of good leather. Ike swallowed thickly and held his breath as he slowly unzipped the satchel.

“No way.” He whispered to himself.

Bills. Hundred dollar bills. Hundreds of them stuffed into the leather satchel. Surely this could not be real? Ike started slowly pulling the hundred dollar bills out and putting them in to stacks of ten to make one thousand dollars. His movements quickened as the thousand dollar piles were stacked one after the other and became a frenzied rush as more and more bills were pulled out of the bag.

After he had pulled every hundred dollar bill out of the bag and checked all of the pockets to make sure that he had not missed any more, Ike sat back on his heels and let out a deep breath as he took it all in.

In all, there were twenty stacks of hundred dollar bills. Twenty thousand dollars in total.

The End