Элизабет Чандлер: The Back Door of Midnight

“What do you see?” Aunt Iris asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What do you see?” she demanded, sounding almost fearful.

It took me a moment to catch on. If a porch post looked like Uncle Will’s ghost to her. . “Nothing but a kitchen,” I replied. “A stove, sink, cupboards. Aunt Iris, what day did Uncle Will die?”

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t know.”

Apparently, it was one of those things she chose not to remember.

She dropped down in a chair, her sandaled feet spread wide apart and loose dress gaping between her knees. “I’m exhausted. Stupid deputy. It’s indecent to keep a man half skin and half ashes.”

I sat down with her at the kitchen table.

“Fix yourself something to drink,” she said. “I don’t have Mr. Pepper.”

“You mean Dr Pepper?”

“For the love of God!” she exploded. “People expect everything from a psychic! ‘Doctor,’ ‘mister,’ I was close enough. I didn’t call it ‘Mrs. Salt,’ did I?”

“No. No, you didn’t. Water is perfect,” I said, though in fact I had been longing for a Dr Pepper and found it creepy that she knew.

I rose and filled a glass from the tap, then walked over to the freezer for ice cubes. Opening the door, I jumped back.

A large, speckled fish — scales, fins, head, and tailtumbled out, landing at my feet. I stared down at it, then up at the compartment, which was filled with fish.

“Put it back, put it back!” Aunt Iris cried.

I quickly stuffed the fish in with the others and decided I could do without the ice cubes.

“So Uncle Will is — was — still fishing a lot,” I observed.

“I can’t stand the way they look at you. So accusingly!”

“The fish, you mean, their glassy eyes?”

“The fire was Wednesday night.”

The sudden disclosure caught me by surprise. The same night as my dream, I thought, my sweaty skin feeling cold. I sat down at the table again.

“Where did it happen?”

“Near Tilby’s Dream — the old farm. The car’s been rusting there for years,” she added. “Sheriff said it took some work to pry open the trunk.”

“Uncle Will was inside the trunk?”

She nodded. “Poor William, he hated Buicks. He always insisted on Chevrolets.”

“Did someone. . put him there — did someone kill Uncle Will?” I asked.

“ I said he hated Buicks. You don’t think he climbed in willingly, do you?”

“No,” I said slowly, “not even if he liked the car.”

Obviously, Aunt Iris was not the most reliable source of information. I had to talk to the police — the sheriff, she had said. Then what? If my great-aunt was losing it mentally, what was I supposed to do? Mom would know; but she would come rushing home from a vacation she needed badly. I could handle this — at least for a little while, I could.

“How long are you going to stay?” Aunt Iris asked.

“I’m not sure. I have college orientation—”

“Your clothes are in Papa’s room, in the mahogany bureau.”

“Oh!” I visualized myself in a kindergartner’s clothes. “I don’t think I’ll fit them anymore.”

“Well, don’t expect me to buy you any. We’re going to need every penny for the child.”

“What child?”

“She’ll be here soon enough.”

I gazed at my great-aunt, mystified. Then I realized I must have slipped back into being Joanna. My mother was attending college when I was born. The child who was coming was probably myself, and she had been speaking of my mother’s clothes in the mahogany bureau.

When Uncle Will had written that Aunt Iris was doing poorly, he wasn’t kidding. Was she senile or just plain crazy?

Her eyes met mine. “You would be crazy too, if you saw and heard the things I do.”

I took a long sip of water. Had she just read my thoughts?

No. She had heard herself talking and, knowing that she didn’t make sense, had offered an explanation.

When I glanced up, her eyes were darting around the room, as if insects were popping out of the kitchen walls and she was trying to count them. Her eyes finally lit on me.

“I’m Anna,” I said, just in case.

“Then I suppose you’ve brought luggage.”

“It’s in my car at the top of the driveway,” I replied, although, at the moment, I was thinking about finding a motel.

She stood up. “You may as well fetch it and start unpacking. William knows you’re here.”

Perhaps he can knock twice to say hello, I thought. Aunt Iris was one person I wouldn’t want to join in a séance.

She gave me a sideways look. “Unless you’re afraid of me. You were as a child.”

“I’m not now. I’ll get my things.”

After placing my glass in the sink, I retraced my steps through the dining room to the center hall and front door.

When I had exited and looked back at the house, I realized I could have left directly from the kitchen. It was the first room in the long, low section of the house, and Aunt Iris was watching me from behind its screen door.

I trudged up the gradual incline to my car, feeling her eyes in my back even when the curtain of trees was between us. I drove slowly toward the house, trying to avoid ruts and cats.

Easing past Aunt Iris’s car, Uncle Will’s truck, and the horse trailer, I parked at the far edge of the driveway, snug against some shrubs so I wouldn’t be in my aunt’s way. I pulled out my suitcase and started toward the house.

There was a sudden roar of an engine, and I leaped back, flattening myself against the pickup truck. Aunt Iris’s gold Chevrolet lurched backward, then stopped. I stood on my toes, sandwiched between the sedan and the truck. If I leaned half an inch forward, I’d touch her car. I heard the front wheels wrench around on the shells and dirt, watched its big metal nose turn, and stared after the car as it sped off through the trees. She was a maniac.

I wondered if there was someone besides my uncle looking out for Aunt Iris. I had a bad feeling there wasn’t and that she didn’t want there to be. The first thing I’d do was charge up my cell phone. I dropped my bag at the bottom of the stairway, then headed into the kitchen, figuring it would have the best outlet. When I saw the stove, I gasped. A burner was on, the gas turned up all the way, with blue flames shooting into the air, looking hungry for something to burn. I ran to the stove and twisted one of its knobs. A window curtain hung just inches from the flames — if a breeze had stirred, it would have caught fire immediately.

Why did she do this? I thought angrily. Stay cool, I told myself. There was a teapot on the burner behind the one that had been lit. It was possible that Iris thought she had lit that burner, then decided to leave suddenly and forgot about it — just like it was possible that she never saw me when she backed up the car. Of course, it didn’t much matter: Whether by neglect or plan, she was dangerous. I had a credit card and could stay at a cheap highway motel. Still, I hated being cowed by an old lady, my own great-aunt, especially after the challenge she had issued. I’d stay tonight; whether or not I’d sleep was another question.

WITH THAT DECIDED, I opened the refrigerator to see if there was something more than glassy-eyed fish to eat. One look told me that food shopping was a priority. The date on the egg carton indicated that they were laid in March. The lids on the mayo and mustard were off, the mustard’s yellow separating from the vinegary part. There was a flounder lying on top of an open butter dish and the tail of another sticking out of the meat drawer. I peeked in the crisper. A package of slimy deli meat sat on a pile of mail. After a moment of debate, I removed the mail.