Gina Ranalli - House of Fallen Trees

Downstairs in the kitchen, Karen grabbed a cup of coffee and turned to the window over the sink. The morning was another dreary one, the churning clouds alternating between dark gray and blinding white.

At the edge of the property, she saw the red dog, Dusty, sitting quietly, watching fat crows as they paced the yard like sentinels.

Probably digging for worms, she thought, while the dog perhaps was waiting for an opportunity to pounce on one and make it her breakfast.

She had to think about what her next move would be regarding Sean. Carrying the hot mug into the living room, she paused to examine some of the old photographs decorating the walls in every room of the house. They were all sepia portraits of people sitting or standing stiffly, staring into the camera grimly, and she wondered, not for the first time, why people in old photos never smiled. Were their lives so miserable back then or was it considered in poor taste to look happy in a photograph? It occurred to her she might want to research this oddity at some point, to fulfill her curiosity if nothing else.

Sipping her coffee, she moved slowly from room to room, fascinated by the photographs. Men in dark suits, seated while women, presumably their wives, stood at their sides wearing high-collared frilly white blouses and long dark skirts, hair always piled high atop their heads, while the majority of the men sported thin mustaches or sometimes full beards.

“Creepy, huh?”

Karen jerked to find Saul peering over her shoulder, also studying the old photos.

She resisted the urge to scold him for sneaking up on her and instead said, “Have you noticed there are no children in these photos?”

Saul shook his head, his short dark hair damp from a recent shower. “Not down here. The ones with the kids are all upstairs. You didn’t notice?”

“No.”

“But it is weird,” Saul said. “The ones upstairs are all kids. I mean, like, only kids in the pictures, and down here, there’s only adults. Like the families never posed all together or something.”

“Strange,” she agreed. “So, supposing you wanted to, you couldn’t tell which kids belonged to which adults.”

“I guess. Unless maybe they have names written on the back. I don’t know, but Rory probably does.”

“Who hung them up this way? Kids up and adults down?”

Saul wrinkled his nose in concentration. “Rory, probably. Maybe Sean. Why?”

“I was just wondering if they were already here when they bought the house.”

“No clue.”

Karen tuned back to the wall of photos. “Or they could have just visited antique shops and bought them. Maybe they didn’t come with the house at all.”

Saul smiled a little. “Curious one, aren’t you?”

“Occupational hazard, I suppose. Besides, it’s not like there’s a lot to do around here.”

“Isn’t that what you expected? I mean, the place is a B&B that probably won’t be opened for business until late spring or early summer.”

“Why is that?” She faced him once more. “I mean, the place isn’t in that bad of shape. Rory really gave the impression that it was falling down when I first spoke to him on the phone.”

He looked away from her face, down at his work boots. “Yeah, well, Rory is a perfectionist and this is his latest pet project. Probably just didn’t want anyone seeing it until it’s perfect.”

“Or,” she ventured. “He was trying to discourage me from coming out here.”

Saul didn’t seem to know how to respond to that and Karen began to wonder if he just didn’t want to speak the truth aloud or if he really didn’t know the answer.

Finally, he said, “Well, you do look an awful lot like Sean. Maybe he thought your being here would be too painful.”

It was a good pat answer, she thought, though she still remained unconvinced of its truth. But, since it was probably the best answer she was going to get for now, she decided to let the subject drop. She gestured with her mug towards the kitchen. “Fresh coffee.”

Saul surprised her then by leaning forward and giving her cheek a peck, his entire face beaming as he said, “Ah. You’re an angel sent straight down from heaven. Bless you.”

She made a face as he retreated to the kitchen. “Rory made it,” she muttered. He certainly was an odd duck, but she was pretty certain she liked him. He was cute, polite, and gentle. She wondered if he was indeed gay, though she didn’t know why it mattered to her.

Because of Sean, she thought suddenly. If Saul and Rory are a couple, when exactly did they become one? How soon after Sean’s disappearance? More things to ponder. She returned her attention to the wall, sipping her coffee with a thoughtful expression.

The day never brightened beyond that of the dusk of a cloudy day, which left Karen feeling gloomy and alone, but still determined to find some trace of Sean, some vibe, whether it revealed that he was near or far.

She roamed the house freely, Rory and Saul off doing she didn’t know what, but she was happy to be left to her own devices.

Once she finished examining all the photographs, which proved interesting but ultimately a waste of time, there was only one place she felt immediately drawn to: the basement. Suspecting Rory would discourage her from exploring down there, she took it upon herself to make her own way down.

The door leading to the basement was not in the kitchen as it is in almost every other house, but for some mysterious reason, in the living room. She thought it odd, but didn’t ponder it for long. She was quickly learning the Captain was eccentric in so many ways that most of them would probably never be revealed to her or anyone else. She had a feeling even his family, assuming he’d had one, were left in the dark when it came to the workings of his mind.

She listened at the bottom of the grand staircase before moving to the basement door, ears cocked for the sound of conversation between the two men that would hopefully ensure they would be detained long enough for her to take a peek downstairs without being reprimanded or scolded like a child.

At the top of the stairs, she peered down into total blackness, feeling for a light switch, but not being particularly surprised when she didn’t find one.

This sent her back to the kitchen for one of the candles she’d seen that morning while looking for spoons for the coffee. A small box of wooden matches was located in the same drawer and she helped herself, putting the entire box in the front pocket of her pants after lighting the white taper candle. Trudging back to the living room, she paused only briefly at the stairs, couldn’t hear anything and wasn’t particularly surprised. The house was so enormous the guys could have been anywhere. Probably they had moved from the second floor to the third and were discussing plans for new rugs or curtains or wallpaper.

She returned to the basement door, and had to open it again. Odd, she thought. She couldn’t recall closing it when she went to retrieve the candle and matches. She wondered briefly if that meant either Rory or Saul had been by, saw the door open, and closed it. If so, that would mean she’d just missed seeing them by seconds. The other possibility — the more probable one, in fact — was that she’d just shut the door without thinking about it and now couldn’t remember having done so.

No matter. She opened it again, holding the lit candle out before her and took the first tentative step down. The old wooden staircase creaked under her weight but she knew it was safe. Rory would have certainly mentioned it if it hadn’t been.

To ensure she wouldn’t be interrupted in her exploration, she turned and closed the door behind herself, darkness falling on her like a heavy object, and only the small circle of light cast by the candle revealed she was not, in fact, buried alive. Carefully, she began descending the stairs, pushing any feelings of claustrophobia to the back of her mind, concentrating only on her footing.