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Looking past the tall, rusted iron gates it isn’t evident from first glance that the fire damage affected the exterior of the home. The house is a massive three-story mansion. It’s a traditional plantation home with an expansive front porch that runs the length of the home, and a multitude of windows overlooking the property.
The white of the paint has dulled with age, but the stately columns still stand strong, and most of the original black shutters remain intact.
A quick breeze picked up and blew fallen leaves across the path on the opposite side of the gate sending a shiver up my spine.
I left my phone in the car, so I peek at the black watch I’m wearing on my left wrist to check the time. Laurel said someone would be here with a key. I swear, this place looks deserted.
This week there won’t be any crews here, just me. According to the schedule in my contract, I’m to get settled in and do my own assessment of the damage. It’s important that I separate the damage due to age and neglect apart from the damage that resulted from the fire. Laurel is supposed to be emailing me over the documents for the insurance claim so that I can set up a meeting with the adjuster, and get the ball rolling on getting Wilks whatever the applicable reimbursement is, but I won’t have any of that information until I do my walk-through and assessment.
This project is my priority, so I’ve handed anything and everything else I was working on over to my team for completion. The commission on this renovation alone is more than what we usually gross annually at LGM, not to mention the unlimited budget on the reno and the fact that I will ultimately be able to add the finished product to my portfolio. This is huge for the company, so I’m giving it my undivided attention.
Taking a deep breath, I took a step back from the gate. Ok so, this place isn’t quite as creepy as I remember it being as a teenager. It’s daylight, and I absolutely do not believe in ghosts, so there’s no reason for me to be concerned.
Ugh, I guess I’m going to have to call Laurel. I hate it when people don’t do what they say they are going to do.
I turned back from the gate to grab my cell phone from where I left it inside of Ursula, and my heart stopped beating.
A scream ripped from my chest as I ran into a person that was not there mere seconds ago.
“Miss, are you okay?” A young boy dressed in a tattered pair of black pants and a stained white button-down shirt held onto my forearms. He can’t be more than ten or twelve. The top of his head barely reached my shoulders, and I’m petite. His dark hair was oily with grease and dirt smudged most of the skin on his face and hands.
Where did he come from?
I turned my head frantically in search of a parent or guardian that might explain why this boy appeared from thin air.
He continued to look at me expectantly, waiting for a response that was refusing to come from my mouth in the form of coherent words.
“Um, you…where…I’m meeting someone here.” I choked out words, as if I was being held captive and not speaking to a little boy. It’s just a kid, a child. Take a deep breath.
“Yes ma’am.” He released my arms and dug his hand into the front pocket of his pants until a smile pulled at his lips, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth.
Pulling his hand from his pocket, he opened it to reveal a gold key, tarnished with age.
“Oh, you must know Ms. Chesire. You have the key to the gate. I apologize, I’m just a little jumpy today.” I held my left hand over my frantically beating heart and reached for the key with my right. I’m not sure who I was expecting to meet here today, but it most definitely was not the young boy that stands in front of me with a knowing grin on his face.
My fingers brushed the metal of the key, still warm from the pocket of the boy just before he closed his hand and pulled back with the key still inside.
“Ma’am, this key is for that gate there. I heard the men talkin’, and I know you must be the pretty lady that is movin’ in over at the cook’s house, or I guess it was her house anyways. It’s been over a hundred years since the big house has had a lady, and we don’t take kindly to visitors. ‘Specially not ones like the men that keep stoppin’ by to check-in on our place. This key will get ya’ in, but well, it’s up to you to get out.”
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Who is we? Who is he talking about? And why does his dialect sound like something from Little House on the Prairie?
His grin remained intact, now outwardly more creepy and less endearing, as he re-opened the palm of his hand presenting the key to me for a second time. Wiping the palms of my sweaty hands down the front of my leggings, I debated on running back to Ursula and getting the hell off this property as fast as I possibly can.
Man up, Holly. Your mind is playing tricks on you.
“Thank you…” The words tumbled from my mouth as I forced my hand to take the key from the boy, pulling back quickly with the key safely inside the palm of my hand.
This is my opportunity, dammit.
With our spooky game of hide the key over, and the key now in my possession, my heart rate began to slow and normalize. I finally relaxed enough to smile at the boy.
“What’s your name?” I found myself asking him out of curiosity as I turned back toward the gate to unlock it so that I could drive through to the house.
I slid the key into the rusted padlock and rotated it, hearing the click of the lock release after years of rust and weather wear.
The padlock opened and I grabbed it with the key, turning back toward the boy after he neglected to respond to my question. I guess he’s going to get shy on me now.
Only when I turned back, he was gone.
