The house was perched on a grassy hill overlooking the nearby lake. It was an old farmhouse with a tower protruding from the center. There were slight gusts of wind that lifted some of the roof panels, making them flap up and down.
The front porch was held up by rotten cedar posts, and one of the window shutters was hanging by what seemed to be a single nail. I walked up the creaking steps careful not to step on a questionable floorboard when I was faced with a tall, narrow door with a lead-light panel.
My knock was timid. Like a child’s.
It was mid-afternoon but the glass reflected a dull darkness. My eyes searched for any sign of movement but the only response was an eerie silence.
"Hello?" I attempted to shout out. I knocked again. Louder this time so the flapping roof panels didn't drown out my voice.
The black glass gradually morphed into a pale, wrinkled face. Eyes dull. Black. Like the glass door was possessed by the image.
"Hi," I said. "Um, I'm Holly. Your new caregiver.”
No response.
"Are you Lois?”
"Yes, obviously." Her voice was gruff.
She walked away and dissipated into the darkness. I was about to respond to her curt response but decided it was pointless. So I took in a deep breath and let myself in.
The house smelled of stale coffee and lavender. I couldn't see a thing past the doorway, so I paused before taking another step.
"Are you coming in or not?" She said finally. I could see a faint light emanating from the back room. I made my way through the hallway, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. I was afraid I'd stub my toe on the corner of an unannounced object. The amount of times I've done that I shouldn't even have any toes left.
Mental note: Wear closed-toed shoes.
"Sorry I just can't see where I’m—"
When I reached the end of the hallway, in the back room was Lois, sitting in a velvet French armchair with tassel fringe that bordered the bottom so that it looked like the chair was floating. She wore round reading glasses and was holding a book in one hand and petting a white rabbit that was on her lap with the other. She looked up from her glasses with a slight eye roll, annoyed by my silent reaction as I took in my surroundings.
The room was expansive with vaulted ceilings that seemed to go on and on. Filled bookcases covered every wall, and unending spiraled staircases took you to every section. It was a library of dreams.
"I don't need help," she said. The soft light that glowed from the glass chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling and emphasized her angled facial features.
I remained silent, still stunned.
"I'm a reader myself," I said finally, after pausing long enough to make us both feel uncomfortable.
She grumbled something I couldn’t quite make out. The number of times she’s probably heard someone say they loved reading was probably exasperating like someone saying they loved Italian food when the only Italian food they’ve had was pizza.
"How long have you been collecting books?" I asked. I figured she'd been reading all her life, but it didn't hurt to ask.
"Longer than you've been alive," she grumbled.
“Is there any book in here you haven’t read?”
She scoffed. “I know every book in here back to front, in and out.”
I walked the perimeter of the room, quickly scanning every shelf to see if I recognized any of the titles. Every book was a hardcover with engravings, foils, and artwork that distinguished them from any I had ever read. I considered every title trying to find one that I’ve at least heard about, desperate to find a connection with Lois.
“I thought you said you were a reader,” she spat with a chuckle.
“I am, but …”
“These are special books, only one of a kind,” she explained.
“So then how — “
“No more questions from you today,” she interrupted. “Now, if you could just leave me to my own business, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Sorry… I mean… if ever I could loan one of your books I’d return it, I promise. I know how frustrating it can be to loan a favorite book to someone and never get it back.”
“I don’t think you would like these books very much. They wouldn’t be your cup of tea,” she chuckled. “Which reminds me, I think the kitchen needs cleaning. And a cup of tea would be nice.”
I tried not to show my agitation. I honestly wouldn’t mind an excuse to not be in the same room as her.
“I’ll get right on it,” I said, trying to mask my frustration with enthusiasm.