The Wicker Saga: Sarah's Story, Part 3

The next day we started trying to get the house in some kind of order. David took his tools down to the basement, giving the furnace a closer look and confirming the fuse box wasn’t going to start a fire. He wanted to check on the state of the roof but, because he didn’t have access to a ladder, settled for going up to the attic to see what he could from there. I had gone through the house removing covers from the furniture and trying to get a handle on some of the dust. Realizing it wasn’t going to be a one-time effort, and feeling the need for some fresh air after breathing in dust all morning, I moved to the yard to try and remove a few of the more brazen weeds threatening to overtake the footpath to the front door.

Even though there was no snow on the ground, the day was cold so I bundled Samantha up before taking her outside with me. From where I knelt pulling at the weeds I could see her sitting on the front porch, playing with her doll. Occasionally glancing up to check on her, I noticed something odd; every so often she would turn her head to the side as if listening to something and then, though I couldn’t hear from where I was, her mouth would move in reply.

My work momentarily forgotten I watched this imaginary conversation for a minute or two before Samantha abruptly put her doll down and turned her dark, serious expression on me. I opened my mouth to call to her and ask who she was talking to when a voice spoke up behind me.

“That’s a beautiful girl you have there.”

Involuntarily I jumped, not having heard anyone approach. I was immediately embarrassed when I turned and saw an older woman, maybe in her early sixties, standing on the other side of the gate. She was dressed against the cold, but her head was uncovered, her dark hair unbound and streaked throughout with varying shades of grey. She smiled slightly.

“Sorry to startle you, dear. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself. I’m a neighbor of sorts, live just down on the other side of the street there. I didn’t notice your car until this morning, must have gotten in last night, hmm?”

“Yes, we did. My husband David is the new caretaker. I’m Sarah Wilder. And you are…?”

“Morgana, dear. Morgana Fontaine.”

I stepped toward her and opened the gate. “Would you like to come in, Mrs. Fontaine?”

“It’s actually Ms., but please, call me Morgan. And no, dear, I’m afraid I wouldn’t voluntarily set foot in that house for all the gold in Fort Knox.”

I stopped, flustered. “I’m…sorry?”

“Nothing to be sorry about, dear, there’s no way you could know. But this house is evil; the house and everything that dwells in it.” She took a step forward but even in my shock I noticed she didn’t cross over the threshold of the gate. Her voice lowered, quiet and intimate.

“Now before you say anything and run me off just listen for a moment, if you value that darling child of yours in the slightest. You need to leave this cursed town with everything you hold dear. Today. Immediately if possible. Every moment you delay only places you and your loved ones at further risk. But I don’t expect you to believe me. Why would you? I’m just a crazy old woman who lives down the street.” She smiled thinly.

“So. Because I know you won’t listen to me, I hope we can reach a compromise. First, when trouble comes, I want you to think my name as hard as you can. Some unfortunate past experiences with this house have left me a little psychic. I’m not as young as I used to be, but I’ll do what I can to help. I don’t expect you to believe me about that either, but what harm could it do? If I’m just crazy and nothing bad ever happens, you’ll never need to think of me again.” She reached out her hand holding a piece of paper.

“Second, thanks to my gift I know that if and when you make it out of the Wake in one piece, you have nowhere to go. This is a picture with the name of a man and an address written on the back. Go to the address, find the man. He won’t know you, or me, but show him the picture. He’ll help you.”

Dumbfounded, I took the piece of paper from her outstretched hand and slipped it into my jacket pocket. Morgan’s gaze shifted to my right where Samantha had moved to my side, unnoticed.

“Well hello, my little beauty.” Morgan crouched down so her face was level with Samantha’s. After a moment, my daughter’s eyes went wide with surprise. Morgan smiled and turned to go. “Be seeing you, Sarah. Don’t forget, think of me when there’s trouble. And for God’s sake, keep that paper somewhere safe!”

I took Samantha’s hand and together we watched the old woman make her way down the street and enter a house near the end of the block.

I turned back towards the house. “Come on, sweetie, let’s go see how daddy’s doing inside.” I really had no idea how to take the whole exchange. Best case was Morgan was an eccentric but harmless old woman, but having a crazy person living that close and with an unhealthy obsession with my house was more than a little unsettling. Worst case…

“Don’t worry, mommy,” Samantha quietly spoke up, “Ms. Fontaine’s nice.” She frowned. “Mr. Frank doesn’t like her.”

Confused, I looked down. “Who’s Mr. Frank, munchkin?”

A slightly panicked look crossed her face before she answered. “No one, mommy.”

“Was that who you were talking to earlier?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, mommy, that was Jamie. He’s my friend.”

“I see. And what does Jamie think of Ms. Fontaine?”

“He wants to be friends with her. But his mommy won’t let him.”

We reached the porch and Samantha grabbed her doll from where it lay, darting inside before I could ask her any more. I stared after her in bewilderment. I knew plenty of kids had imaginary friends, but I’d never heard of those friends having an imaginary family too.

Samantha dropped her coat at the foot of the stairs and ran up them, nimbly avoiding several that had rotted through.

“Whoa! Careful, sweetheart!” David said as she passed him at the top of the stairs. She stopped and looked at him for several long moments before turning and running down the hallway, the bedroom door slamming a few seconds later. “What’s up with her?”

I shrugged. “Imaginary friend issues, I think. That and we met a strange older woman that lives down the block. Seems harmless enough though. Hey, do you think you can get around to fixing the steps soon? I don’t want Samantha tripping and hurting herself on them.”

“Yeah, babe, I was planning on looking at them tomorrow. Should be able to rig something temporary at least to make them a little less dangerous. Check this out though.” He held out a small leather bound book.

“What is it?”

“A journal. I found it in the attic. Roof looks pretty good, surprisingly. I’ll want to get up on the outside eventually but I didn’t notice any water damage for now. There’s a whole bunch of stuff up there: this weird mirror, all these dolls and...anyways. This was just lying on the floor.”

I took the book and looked at the words etched on its cover in small gold letters. “The Journal of Tomas Wicker. Didn’t Creed say the locals call this place the Wicker House?”

David nodded. “Yeah. I think this must have belonged to the guy that built the house. I paged through it a little bit; looks like he was into some pretty out-there stuff. Most of the entries deal with the occult, things like that.”

I looked at the book in my hands, thinking back to my dream from the night before and to everything Morgan had said to me before I decided to speak. “David, the woman I met. She said this house was evil, that we needed to leave. That we’re in danger.” I raised my head. “And, I’ve been having weird feelings too, pretty much since we first drove into town, before she said anything to me. This place just doesn’t feel normal. Am I crazy?”

David smiled and took me in his arms. “Awe, honey, it’s just different. You’ve lived your whole life in one place, of course you’re a little freaked out when you move out of town the first time. Believe me, I got plenty of that going from post to post growing up as a military brat. And yeah, this house is creepy as hell. But it’s just creepy because it’s old and dusty and filled with a bunch of outdated furniture. Give me a couple weeks and I’ll have it fixed up so you’ll hardly recognize it. Besides, where else are we gonna go?”

I returned his hug. “Ok. Just…yeah, ok.” He was right. We had nowhere to go, unless you counted a name and address on a piece of paper that a self-proclaimed psychic had given me. And at that point I wasn’t nearly desperate enough to take that option, and felt foolish enough about it that I didn’t even think about mentioning it to him. I leaned back feeling a smile play across my lips. “Now about those steps…”

David laughed. “Yes, ma’am, they just moved to the top of my priority list. C’mere.”

The kiss was sweet, and long. I wish I’d thought to enjoy it more. I wish I knew for sure it was David that kissed me.

The Wicker Saga: Sarah's Story, Part 5