Chapter One

The Green House

Sunlight pierced the backseat window. To the boy within, the heat felt as intense as a flame. Dennis O’Connor considered moving to the other side of the sedan, but after all he’d been through, releasing his seatbelt was more terrifying than sitting in the sun. He inched as far from the window as he could and turned his face away. He wished he could go back to sleep, wished he’d never come. It was the eve of his thirteenth birthday and he’d been sent to spend it with a virtual stranger. He stared at the back of the driver’s head for a long moment before asking, “Are we there yet?” His tone was low, unaffected by the normal excitement of a boy traveling alone for the first time. Receiving no response, he sat up straighter and tried again. “Where are we?”

There was an odd glitter in the black eyes that stared silently into the rear view mirror. Silver sparked within the dark strands of the man’s one raised brow. His voice had a strange hollow quality, as if it echoed from a distance far deeper than his throat. “We’re almost there.”

Denny looked away from the disconcerting eyes in the mirror, trying to remember the driver’s name. He’d introduced himself at the airport, something like Band, or Land…Bland, that was it. Remembering made him feel more in control. “Why did you say my grandmother couldn’t pick me up?”

Jeffrey Bland pulled the car to the side of the road and shifted into park. Leaving the engine running, he twisted in his seat and faced the boy. “I think I liked it better when you were asleep. You didn’t chatter as much.”

Denny tensed as Bland studied his face. He’d seen that look before, although never as direct. Most people looked away, or pretended they didn’t notice the one-inch wide burn that framed the side of his face from brow to jaw. “I just wanted to know where my grandmother was.”

“At home.” Bland contorted his mouth into a clown-like grin. “I offered to pick you up, so we could have a little chat on the way. I’m concerned about Elsie. She’s barely able to care for herself, let alone wet-nurse a cripple all summer.” He paused, searching the boy’s large, hazel eyes. “Why did you come? Is this your father’s way of checking up on her?”

The word cripple hung in the air between them. Denny tilted his head so the injured side of his face was less prominent, a habit he’d acquired in the past year. He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers, watching the grafted skin stretch like a clear bandage over the underlying redness. He’d been assured the color would tone down with time and the skin would take on a more natural appearance. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know why I’m here?”

Bland leaned forward and shook his head. “Considering the abruptness of your visit, I find that hard to accept.” His lips pulled back, exhibiting small, even teeth that reminded Denny of tiny corn kernels. “I believe there’s more to it than you’re letting on. I suggest you cut your visit short and return home as soon as possible. It would be best for both of you.”

The last sentence, a rasping whisper, carried with it a smell that reminded Denny of the graveyard he visited weekly. He envisioned the marker that stood in a small, bare plot of ground with his mother’s name carved in deep, fixed grooves. He leaned back against his seat, closed his eyes and shuttered.

Bland turned to the steering wheel, shifted the car into drive, and pulled back into traffic.

Denny rolled down the window and inhaled deeply. He hadn’t experienced a panic attack for several months. His heart was pounding, his flesh felt cold. He had to get a grip on himself. Soon he would be at his grandmother’s and he wasn’t sure how she would receive him. He’d only met her once, when he was six, at the funeral of his grandfather.

The business section of the city gave way to narrower streets, shaded by enormous, moss-covered oaks. The houses appeared larger the closer to the river they came. Stately columns fronted many porches. Paved roads became brick. Brick became stone. Rays of sunlight stabbed through gaps in the covering and reflected off a signpost a half-block ahead, Jefferson Street. Denny saw it and sighed, not sure if he was relieved to have arrived.

Bland pulled smoothly into the parking space in front of the house and shut off the engine. “I hope you remember what we’ve talked about.”

Denny didn’t answer. He wrenched the door open and vaulted out of the car, with the intention of putting as much distance as possible between himself and Bland. He was unprepared for the unevenness of the ballast stone street, or the height of the old curb. He stumbled and fell. His cry of surprise was overshadowed by the strange, maniacal laughter that seemed to come from behind him. Two birds on an overhead branch, startled by the sound, took flight with angry squawks and flapping wings.

Lying on the sidewalk, his breath coming in short gasps of pain, Denny turned to see who had laughed. Bland was staring from his open window, but the voice was surely not his. It had sounded too youthful, with a touch of fear and madness. Perhaps it was his own. Denny looked away from Bland’s dark, glaring eyes and up at the ancient, green dwelling in front of him. “Now, I’m hearing voices. I wish I could go back home. I wish. I wish. I wish.” He said the words under his breath, like a mantra, as he slowly rolled over to examine the cuts and bruises he knew he’d find on his knees.

The car door opened. Bland stepped out.

Denny could feel the man’s silent condemnation. He didn’t look at Bland. Instead, he stood and moved away, his eyes on the house before him. Like many homes built in the late 1700’s, the second story was constructed of wood atop a brick foundation. In the center of the house, two separate staircases joined in a graceful arch, giving access to an entry on the second floor. At street level, a small door stood in shadow. Denny could see it was padlocked and needed a fresh coat of green paint, as did the rest of the house.

A movement next to the door attracted his attention. He narrowed his eyes and studied an ivy-covered window, set deep within a brick alcove. Light played against its blackened surface. Wind stirred the leaves and shadows danced. For just a moment, a tiny face peeked through the growth of ivy. Denny held his breath and took a step nearer. The sun glanced off a jewel-green eye, watching him. He took another step, holding its gaze. Then, he blinked and the eye was gone. A hand seized his shoulder roughly from behind and spun him around.

“Didn’t you hear me? I told you to get away from that door.” Jeffrey Bland pointed in the direction of the car, where the trunk yawned open. “Grab your bag and let’s go. Elsie will be wondering where you are.”

Denny shrugged off the claw-like fingers and walked to the car. Though his suitcase wasn’t large, it was heavy. He grabbed the handle and tugged. He tried again and again, but was unable to lift it clear of the trunk’s lip. Approaching footsteps gave him the impetus to try one last time. Heaving with all his might, he managed to lift the case out. It cleared the trunk by several inches, but its wheels were not as successful. They crashed down on the polished chrome of the bumper, leaving two small dents in the mirror-bright surface

Bland muttered a soft curse and grabbed the handle of the suitcase out of the boy’s hand. “I’ll take it up,” he said through jaws clamped so tight the skin looked white. “Follow me.”

“What’s that guy’s problem?” Denny muttered to himself as he watched Bland march away. He was tempted to return to where he’d seen the tiny face, but thought better of it. Instead, he walked to the stairs, wincing as the cuffs of his shorts scraped against his tender knees. The steps were steep and uneven, made from bricks that looked centuries old. Halfway up, he stopped, unable to resist the temptation to look back at the window from a more elevated position. Not a leaf stirred, no green gaze met his.

“Hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”

Denny’s head whipped around. “Sorry, I had to catch my breath. I tire easy, being a cripple.” With a start, he realized his words held an inkling of truth. The trip had drained him. He hadn’t been this active since before the accident. Pushing himself up the remaining steps, he walked to the entrance and rang the bell.

Through the door came the creaking of floorboards as footsteps approached. Latches clicked, chains clinked and there was the rustle of several more security devices being unlocked before the door was unfastened. A thin woman, with thick glasses that made her eyes appear too large for her face, pushed it open. Her brown hair was laced with silver and stuck up on all sides, as if nervous fingers had been at work. She stared from Bland to Denny for a long moment, then gave a small gasp and opened her arms. “My goodness, I was expecting a child, not a young man.” Her soft southern drawl wrapped around Denny like a warm blanket. Her lilac-scented arms followed, hugging him to her greedily. “I was so sorry to hear about your mother. Elizabeth was a fine woman. What a terrible way to die—” Her eyes misted and she sniffed into a handkerchief she’d pulled from her pocket. With a shaking finger, she brushed the fringe of her grandson’s smooth, sandy bangs, stopping short of the red track that ran down the side of his cheek. “How are you holding up, dear?”

Denny busied himself with his cap, pulled it off and shoved it into his pocket. Then, he bent and kissed her. “I’m fine, Gram. Dad isn’t so great, though.”

“No, I imagine he’s heartbroken. I wanted to come out to Denver to help, but I’m terrified of planes and I haven’t driven in years. Not since—” She broke off and dabbed at her eyes. “Forgive me. You’ve just gotten here and I shouldn’t be bringing all this up. Come in, both of you.” She ushered them into the foyer and closed the door. “Thank you, Jeffrey, for picking up my grandson. It was so good of you to offer.”

“My pleasure. We had an interesting conversation on the way from the airport. Didn’t we?” Not waiting for Denny’s reply, Jeffrey motioned to the suitcase he was holding. “Where do you want this?”

“In Rob’s old room. It’s to your right at the top of the stairs, but you needn’t bother. I’m sure the two of us can manage one little old suitcase.”

Jeffrey shook his head. “I wouldn’t feel right if I left a job half finished.

I’ll take the case up and be on my way.”

“Nonsense. You can’t leave. I have sandwiches fixed in the kitchen. You must be hungry after your long drive. Won’t you join us?”

Bland paused as if considering a momentous decision. “How can I refuse? Give me a moment and I’ll be right down.”

“Wonderful, I’ll start pouring the sweet tea.” Elsie smiled and headed for the kitchen.

“Jerk,” Denny mumbled under his breath. He turned, intending to follow his grandmother into the kitchen, but was brought up short by a flash of color in the well beneath the stairs. Something green sparkled within the fronds of a potted plant. An emerald green something that appeared to be studying him.

“Coming, Den?” Elsie called through the swinging door. “I still know how to make your favorite root beer float.”

Denny pulled his gaze from the stairwell as her words sparked a fleeting, pleasurable memory. “In a moment. I…I’m looking around.”

Elsie pushed the door open and peered out. She had put away the bright welcoming smile she’d worn upon their arrival. Her face was lined with strain, making her look older, as if walking into the kitchen had aged her ten years. She peered beyond Denny to the stairs and lowered her voice to a whisper, “I’m afraid you’ll find the house isn’t as you remember. Things…well things have happened. We’ll talk later.” Like a turtle sensing danger, she pulled her head back through the opening and disappeared into the kitchen, letting the door swing closed after her.

“Tasket, he’s seen us.”

A rustle near the plant made Denny spin on his heels. His eyes returned to the fern. One frond waved, as if from a breeze, but whatever had been there was gone.

A second voice sounded from behind a Chinese umbrella stand, painted with dragons, next to the plant. It held a melodious lilt that was both pleasant and foreign. “Calm yerself. The lad can’t see us.” The floorboards squeaked overhead. The voice hardened, its rhythm brittle as rusted chains. “I dinna ken how, but Jeffrey Bland is indeed back.”

“I told you. I never forget a face.” There was a pause. “He’s still staring. Why is that boy watching us if he can’t see us?”

“Pipe down, Charles. He probably thinks yer a mouse. Boys of that age have very keen hearing, ye ken.”

Denny backed up and let his eyes wander over the walls of the foyer, pretending ignorance of the conversation beneath the stairs. The appearance of the once-grand entranceway jolted him. The walls were bare of paintings, their placement immortalized in faded wallpaper, like ghostly silhouettes. The costly antiques he’d once been cautioned not to touch were all gone. The rich Persian carpet was but a shadowy imprint on the hardwood floor. His brow puckered with bewilderment. “Where is everything?” His words echoed throughout the emptiness of the adjoining room.

Descending with a noiseless tread, Bland crept up on the boy. He wrapped his arms around Denny’s shoulders, pinning them to his side. “Do you remember what I told you?”

Denny squirmed against Bland’s grip. “You’re hurting me. Let me go.”

“I will as soon as you answer me.”

Denny stilled. “Why do you want me to go home? What’s going on here?”

Bland released the pressure but retained his hold. Bending so his mouth was within an inch of Denny’s ear, he whispered, “Whether you believe me or not, I’m trying to help Elsie. Your visit at this time complicates an already tricky situation.” He released the boy, walked to the kitchen door and held it open. The smell of baked ham and fresh bread wafted out. “I believe our lunch is ready. I’m hungry, aren’t you?”

Denny turned his face to the stairs and closed one eye in an exaggerated wink. He pulled the baseball cap out of his pocket, slapped it on his head and followed Bland through the door.

“Did you see that? Tasket, I believe that boy just winked at us.”

“Aye, I saw that and a lot more.” The reply held a hard edge of fury. There was a rustle. The plant shook as if brushed, then all was silent.

deborah ann cidboy